The highs, the lows, the lessons learned.
Our first week on the trail has been full of ups and downs, both literally and figuratively. But overall it’s been incredible and we’re beyond grateful to be out here.
We made it to mile 115.
”If it was easy, everyone would do it.”
The Highs.
The trail is amazing. Around every single turn (and there are a lot of them) there is a new landscape to awe over or a new species of plant or animal to admire.
The PCT community is super supportive. I’m not sure a thru-hike would be possible without the trail angels. They stock pile water in the desert. They camp out under overpasses and give out free cold beers. They throw us BBQs in parking lots, equipped with more cold beer, homemade pie, and campfire songs. And even with gas prices as insane as they are, they give hitches into towns. God bless you, trail angels.
Montezuma Valley Market. We desperately needed a shower and a resupply. We heard about Montezuma Valley Market from one of our trail grandpas - Chip-Away. He highly recommended it, and he hadn’t led us astray yet, so we listened. It was perfect. We ended up booking a room for the night. We got two hot showers, did laundry, resupplied our packs with food and electrolytes, ate more food than what should be humanly possible, binged “Ultimatum” on Netflix, and played our new favorite game, Road Fruit, with some of the locals. If you ever hike the PCT, this place is a must. The whole property burned down in a wildfire a year ago. Even in the midst of a rebuild, it was everything we wanted and more.
The Lows.
It’s SoCal and we’re in the desert, but it gets freakin cold. There’s been a few times I’ve had on every single piece of clothing I have with me. Knowing it’s only going to get colder as we head north and climb to higher elevations has brought tears to my eyes on multiple occasions. Thank you dear lord baby Jesus for creating Chris - a space heater in the form of a human.
Water is heavy. Despite the trail angels blessing us with water caches, we still carry up to five liters of water each. That’s 11 pounds. Doesn’t sound too bad until you add those pounds to your already heavy pack and then climb a doggone mountain.
Sometimes we wonder what the heck we’re doing out here. The desert is monotonous. Each day brings new aches and pains. We bust our asses all day just to eat freeze-dried dinners and sleep in a tent. But mostly, we miss our people and we grieve the things we’ll miss. The thing I was looking forward to most about getting out the Army was spending more time with family. I just got out in March, and now I’m spending months on end thousands of miles away from them all. We think about all the things we’ll miss - the birth of my nephew, my cousin’s graduation party, birthdays, get-togethers with friends, the 4th of July in Florida, etc. We feel sad, but then we remember we’re doing this to ourselves. I guess that’s the hardest part though. When you miss something important because of something that’s out of your control, it certainly sucks, but it’s just that - out of your control. When you miss something important because you chose to do something else instead, you feel pretty guilty. The guilt along with the blood, sweat, chills, and tears will definitely make you question what you’re doing out here. The success rate of summating Mt. Everest is higher than the success rate of thru-hiking the PCT. We understand why.
The lessons learned.
Listen to your elders. I believe there’s something to be learned from everyone, but especially our elders. We’ve gotten to know a couple “trail grandpas” pretty good out here. They’ve delivered us from evil multiple times and filled our hearts and minds with life advice.
Preparation is key. We’re so thankful we put in the effort to train for this ahead of time. If we hadn’t, we’d probably still be back at mile 20 crawling up the mountain on our hands and knees. We hurt like hell, but we have the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Stay vigilant. Rattlesnakes prefer to sunbathe on the trail as opposed to the thousands of other better options, and they don’t give a single flying f*ck about passerbyers. You can throw rocks, click your trekking poles at them, scream, shout, spit. Yet they hold their ground. Until you try to skirt around them… then they rattle like psychopaths and flail their fat slithery bodies all over creation.
Food is the best motivator. You want to see some hikers hike? Tell them about the hot meal that’s waiting for them. We’ll set records.
We‘re out here going strong and we can’t wait to see what adventures the miles ahead hold!
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