3:35 a.m. My alarm pulled me from a shallow sleep. Ugh. 10 more minutes won't matter. I reset my alarm for a 10 minute snooze, doubting I would even fall back asleep in that amount of time. When I opened my eyes again it was 5:15. Shoot. Two perfect morning hiking hours were lost. I sighed and deflated my air mattress. Nothing I could do about it now, at least I got a good nights sleep. I packed quickly and set off into the fading darkness, the moon casting a shadow in front of me. The sun soon brought a shower of light streaming through the moss-covered trees. It was a perfect day for the 50 mile challenge. Sunny and cool, but not too cold. The terrain had gentle hills and long flat stretches.
The Challenge: Hike 50 miles in one go. I'm not sure when I decided I wanted to do something so insane, the thought must have settled in the back of my mind at some point on the trial. I had heard of the 24 hour challenge early on, and had decided against hiking for 24 hours for fear of hurting myself, throwing off my sleep patterns, and needing at least a few days to recover. Although people usually got over 60 miles in the 24 hour challenge, I didn't have the time to spare recovering or risking injuries. When time was of the essence, I had to hike smart. But I also wanted to have fun and see what I was capable of, so I settled on the 50 mile challenge.
The Strategy: Get as many miles done in the morning as possible. Keep up a 3mph pace and minimize breaks.
The first ten miles flew by. I had service on top of a ridge and used the 4G to email, facebook, and browse the net to entertain me as I hiked, still managing to maintain a 3mph pace. I pushed the pace all morning, stopping only for water, bathroom runs, and a quick snack. Lunch was half an hour, and restful. I had only done 20 miles by lunch, and still partly kicked myself for sleeping in. I would be halfway done by then if I had woken up on time.
I hadn't seen any other thruhikers all day until a guy named Polar Bear came cruising by me. I had been leap-frogging with him for a week or so. It turned out he was doing a 50 mile day too, but was 4 miles further in than me. He looked like he was hurting. I was much better off; I had had weird foot pain and arch pain that morning, but it had faded, and aside from my sore knees I felt good. Of course, I was hardly halfway done at that point- only 27 miles in.
Podcasts and audiobooks carried me through the next little bit as the trail skirted a lake crowded with dayhikers. Soon I found myself at a side trail to Little Crater Lake. Though I didn't want to walk the extra quarter mile to see it or have the time to spare, I decided it was not something I could just skip, so I took a short jaunt to the small, deep, and incredibly blue pond. The small lake had formed from an artesian spring, and its temps hovered just above freezing. Perfect. I waded in up to my knees, delighted for the relief as the cold water seeped into my joints, bones, and muscles. I couldn't stay in long--it was cold after all, and I had 18 miles left to go. It was already 5:00.
Little Crater Lake
But then a guy hiked up and offered trail magic, and of course I couldn't refuse. I had to wait while he put a sign up on the PCT advertising his magic. He seemed to be taking forever, and I pondered just leaving, but I had already agreed so I sat tight. Finally he came back and we walked another quarter mile to the parking lot where he popped open his trunk. The quantity of food took me by surprise. A line of 2L soda bottles marched across the trunk floor and a cluster of chips and bananas sat on top of the shelf. He said he wanted to feed 100 hikers over the next few days. We talked as I ate a sandwich, chips, soda, cookies, yogurt, banana, carrot, and milk. I had met him two other times, benefiting from the blessing of his trail magic in the desert. Finally I managed to finish off the plate of chips and hopped up to go. It was wonderful to not have to stop to cook dinner, though the detour had costed me precious time.
Back on the trail I picked up my pace again to make the most of the fading light. I love pre-dusk light, but as the sun set the woods turned a bit eerie, and I pondered the threat of mountain lions. It was the perfect horror movie setting: a deep forest with thick, black, moss-draped trees. I turned the audio on my phone up louder to scare the cougars off, hoping they didn't feel like eating a human. I noticed a huge mountain across the valley, blue against the darkening sky with tiny lights flickering 3/4 the way up. I suddenly realized that was my destination for the night. It seemed so incredibly far away. My headlamp light bobbed as I walked, darkness battling for a grip. Still paranoid about big cats, I swiveled my head around and spun every now and then, scanning the woods to make sure I wasn't being followed or stalked, but I never saw any glowing eyes.
The road was loud and frightening, I felt like a deer as I stood at the side of the pavement, headlights growing as they approached and then disappeared with a woosh of air and loud noise. I scampered across to find Polar Bear making dinner. I had only 10 miles left, and I felt safer knowing he was out there. I still felt relatively good; thankfully my brain wasn't letting my legs feel the full extent of the pain. It knew I needed to push through. I found I was stumbling more often, perhaps out of sleepiness rather than fatigue. It was way past my bedtime. I passed by some silent tents in the dark forest. It was rather beautiful to be hiking as others were sleeping; a sort of magic to it. Another road crossing, this one devoid of cars, and I stopped on the other side to brush my teeth (I read somewhere that tooth-brushing is supposed to give you 3x more energy). Polar bear passed me, catching a second wind. I was fading; 5 miles to go.
I got a bit more energy (the power of clean teeth!) as I started the final climb, a 2000 foot hill. I could see the lodge lights twinkle through the trees every now and then, encouraging me up the mountain. They slowly got closer. I passed Polar Bear setting up his tent- he had completed his 50 miles. I congratulated him and kept moving. 4 miles left. It was late. I was tired. 3 miles. It was taking so long. I passed by more sleeping tents. 2 miles. I emerged from the woods and worked up a grassy hill. The full moon cast a crisp shadow on the ground. Mount Hood loomed over the valley, glowing in the moonlight. A few stars dotted the sky over a carpet of grass swaying in the wind. Silhouettes of trees and rocks rested on the edge of the meadow, and a river's song came from below. The air was crisp and cold. I slowed and turned off the music to gaze at the incredible scene, to drink it all in. It was too perfect of a moment. 1 mile. I wanted to curl up right there in the grass, the stars a blanket and the mountain guarding over me, but I was so close. It would be stupid to not finish now. The last mile took half an hour because of a sandy, steep hill and the constant distraction of the awe-inspiring views, but finally the lodge lights welcomed me, the cheery stream congratulated me on the big day, and the backdrop of mountain made for an epic finish line.
1:00am. I found a flat space among some other tents and cowboyed under the starts, too weary to set up my shelter. I was tired, yes. Incredibly tired, yet I felt I could still go further if I had to. I snuggled into my sleeping bag with aching feet and stiffening muscles. It was funny; I had felt much worse after 20 mile days, but 50 miles? It wasn't so bad. It was just a number. I couldn't really comprehend it, but I did it.
I was in pain. My feet hurt. My knees hurt. It kept waking me up. The pain, and the cold. It was incredibly cold without my tent. I pondered taking the time to set it up. No, too much work. I settled for using my jacket as a hood and my lumpy socks took its place as a pillow.
When the sun rose I didn't want to get up and slept in as much as I could, but I didn't want to miss breakfast. I hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, only 5 hours or so, but I had walked all that way to wake up to a breakfast buffet so I drug myself down to the lodge. It was an absolutely beautiful structure. A massive fireplace welcomed me into the lobby, thick oak beams formed the walls, and art was around every corner. I wandered through the maze to find a bathroom where I could wash up before breakfast.
The restaurant was packed. I joined some random hikers at a table, thankful to know one of them. I piled my plate high with eggs, sausage, biscuits, and potatoes. Polishing that off with ease, I headed back for loaded yogurt, pastries, and fruit. I finished with another round of biscuit sandwiches and such. Two smoothies down. The food was high quality and delicious. I managed to stop at uncomfortably full rather than painfully full. I lounged in the lodge for a bit, charging my phone until I couldn't keep my eyes open, and made my way back to the trail. I set up my eno and curled up in my sleeping bag for a nap.
At noon I packed up and got moving. My everything hurt. I hobbled down the trail, all speed gone. There was lots of downhill, which hurt terribly on aching knees. Despite the pain, I took a side trail to Ramona Falls. It was worth the detour: the side trail cut deep into a valley and wound through old trees towering over soft dirt paths, moss and ferns blanketing the forest floor. The falls was beautiful, peacefully bouncing and splashing over the rocks, dancing on the way down to the stream below.
I made my way up one of the steepest hills all trail (2000 ft over 2 miles) and decided to camp at the top. It was still a bit early, but the sun was setting soon, and I pitched my tent next to some others. I cooked up some mashed potatoes with cheeze-its and mourned at my dwindling food supply before heading to bed.
It was a long day into Cascade Locks (35 miles), but after 50 miles it seemed a breeze. After pushing to your limit you discover what you are capable of, and everything less than that is no longer intimidating. What once was hard and impossible is now completely within reach. I made excellent timing despite a late start, and strode into town just before sunset. I stopped in a grocery store to get snacks and ordered a pizza before heading to a campground to meet Steak. He had put me to shame with an 80 mile day and then back-to-back 40s and he was in incredible pain, but he had caught back up to me. I was delighted to see him and we enjoyed the pizza before I took a shower and turned in.
The last of Oregon. It took about 2.5 months to cross California. It had only taken about 2.5 weeks to cross Oregon. The trail was flying by so quickly I didn't have time to be tired of hiking day in and day out. But as I approached the last state I thought more and more about the beginning-- the early memories and mindset, taking off from Mexico with thousands of miles ahead of me promising untold adventures. The beginning seemed like a lifetime ago. It was weird to think it was all coming to a close in less than a month. I wasn't ready to be done. I had again fallen into the thruhiking lifestyle so easily that I didn't often daydream about the luxury of beds or good food. I was having far too much fun.
But like it or not, Canada was approaching, and I had only 3 weeks to get there.
One state left. Washington, here I come!
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