It was all a haze. The goodbyes, the airplane flight, the shuttle to and from the hostel. Like I was in somebody else's body, passively watching as these things happened to me. But when I piled out of the van with other the other hikers and touched the southern border, reality rushed back. This was real.
Scout and Frodo are trail angels located in San Diego that offer transportation, food and lodging. Because of their generosity, they have become a common gathering place for PCT thruhikers before they start their journey.
Along with insider knowledge about the trail, they provide a space for hikers to meet each other before they even begin. There were around 20 hikers who stayed there the same time as me, and we enjoyed a Hawaiian-themed dinner, Scout's stories and jokes, and an evening guitar sing-along.
We were dropped off under misty skies at the Mexican border early in the morning. I hoisted my 30-lb pack (water is heavy!) and made my way to the monument with the other hikers.
Pictures followed, and I ventured down with a few others to poke my finger through a hole in the wall dividing Mexico and the U.S. If I was going to walk this whole distance, I had better make sure I truly hiked from Mexico to Canada. Then I was off.
Some things I noticed right away, different than the AT:
1. The path is easy to walk on. There are relatively few rocks and roots, making walking really easy.
2. This trail is SO MUCH EASIER. I may be speaking too soon, but wow, where are the hills? The trail gently sloped up and down, skirting most hills and mountains rather than summiting them. (The PCT is graded for horse-back riders, meaning there can't be any steep hills.) Thus, the hills aren't steep, just long.
3. So much beauty. Everywhere. No need to decide if you should take a side trail to go to an overlook, just look around and BAM, epic scenery.
3. The miles fly by. Because of the smoother terrain and the incredible scenery, the trail so far is physically and mentally easier.
Since so many people left the monument at once, the trail was busy. I could look ahead and behind and saw groups of hikers strung out along the trail. I ended up hiking with people most of the day. We made it to the first campground relatively early, plopped down in the shade, and pulled out some snacks. We had just put in a 15 mile day but I still felt really good. There was another spot 5 miles ahead with a lake, showers, food, and camping. Tempting, but I was content to call it a day and take it slow in the beginning... That is, until a group passed me. And then another, and another, and another. Everyone was pumped up on adrenaline and excitement. My competitive side kicked in and I briefly considered pushing on. Thankfully my wiser side took over and I decided to stay. Too many people start too far too fast too soon and end up getting injured.
Finally the people who arrived started to stay rather than moving on, and tents popped up everywhere in the camping area next to a small dirt road. A group of us gathered in the shade for dinner. As we were eating, I heard the bushes by the dirt road rustle, and a Mexican guy with a small backpack popped out. We all looked over and greeted him. He skittishly nodded and made a noise, crossed the road to avoid us, and picked up his pace as he continued down the road.
As I was getting into my tent I heard a vehicle coming down the road. I peeked out and saw that it had "Border Patrol" painted in huge green letters down its side, the static of a radio drifted from the open window.
I walked much of the second day alone, taking a break at a watering hole with other hikers. It was too cold to swim, but I ripped off my shoes and socks and plunged my feet in the cold water. I had caught up to the group from yesterday and we exchanged stories before they moved on, leaving me alone by the desert creek. I took a catnap before moving on myself, and soon I was at the campground. It was early, but the most of the group I had stayed with the previous night trickled in. Some wanted to move on, some wanted to stay. Those that planned on staying managed to convince everyone else to stay as well. Thus the trail family formed: TC, a 2010 AT thruhiker with a totally awesome beard; Jazmine, a friendly and eager gal from Germany; Adam, a guy from the UK who is disgusted by American food; Stretch, an awesome woman who worked in Alaska; Southbound, a 2014 AT hiker with a steady pace and mad guitar skills; and Cameron, a determined hiker who really appreciates sage plants.
Eventually we would deem ourselves "The Rattlesnacks." It may be silly, but as Southbound says, "You become more childlike the longer you hike."
It was cold and misting. I booked it to Mount Laguna, and arrived at a small general store mid-morning. I waited outside while my phone charged, shivering cold. By the time I decided to call it good enough I was frozen through. I found Adam by the general store, but I could barely hold a conversation with him through my chattering teeth. I learned that the rest of the gang was down the road at a restaurant. I had passed it up because (according to google) they weren't open. I hurriedly shuffled a quarter mile back to the building and slouched in a chair next to everyone, thankful for the warmth. They were thinking about moving on, back out into the frigid weather for a few more miles. I had originally wanted to push 6 miles on, but was warned that the trail was along an open ridge for a while. The wind was 25mph, temps in the mid-thirties, and it was still misty-rainy. I wasn't about to go back out there. So when the owner of the restaurant asked if anyone wanted to seek shelter for the night and stay on the lodge floor, my hand flew up. I wasn't passing up an opportunity like that. I managed to convince everyone else to stay as well (though convincing people to stay somewhere warm and dry isn't too hard).
After resupplying my food, I sat down to enjoy a bowl of chili. When I went to pay, I discovered that a woman had paid for everyone's food. Unexpected trail magic. This day kept getting better. After filling up, the crew moved to the lodge to play games all afternoon into the evening. I don't think I laughed that hard in a long time.
It was nice to wake up inside, warm, as the strong wind blew cold mist against the windows. I had decided against a bringing a rain jacket for the desert section, so I had nothing to block me from the elements. I kept delaying the inevitable departure from the lodge, busying myself with sweeping, straightening tables, and figuring out mileage. Hikers slowly meandered out into the weather, and I finally decided it was calm enough to follow. Once I got hiking, it wasn't terrible.
Sure, chunks of ice littered the ground and drops of water attacked me from the trees, but I just put my head down and charged through. Around every turn in the trail a gust of wind hit me, threatening to blow me over. Every now and then the mist parted, causing me to halt in my tracks and soak in the view. Mountains had appeared out of nowhere.
Echoes of laughter and song drifted back to me, and I knew I was catching up with the gang. Soon I came across Southbound, Stretch, Jazmine, and Alex (a hiker we met previous night) standing in a circle. We took a moment to take in the most recent view, then headed on.
After lunch I slowed down. My feet were in pain. Pain from Achilles tendonitis (AT injury), pain in my left arch, and pain from walking. There was nothing to distract me from this pain aside from the cold and relentless wind. Finally I met the others near the water source. The wind blasted me head-on, cutting through my thin fleece layer as we headed down the side trail toward water. Knowing our planned camping spot was windy (according to the guidebook), I cut off the trail into a small valley to see if it was protected. It was better than nothing, so we decided to pitch tents there. We went to bed early, exhausted after a long day.
The next few days the routine was the same: I woke early, and hiked in the cold as fast and far as I could before it got too hot. When noon hit I would crash in some shade and eat lunch, sometimes alone, sometimes with group members, waiting out the scorching sun. Then around 3, as it got cooler, I would slowly meander the remaining miles to camp.
The rest of the Rattlesnacks filtered in and we would eat dinner, set up our beds, and go to bed as the sun set, leaving a cold night in its wake.
Water is scarce, but not as scarce as it may seem. There are a surprising number of desert streams and springs, and spigots for livestock are a common source of water. Occasionally there are water caches; trail angels fill up tons and tons of gallons of water and place them at points on the trail where there are no other water sources. Oftentimes our plans revolve around water, forcing us to stop early or go further just to have access to the precious source.
Often I wonder if my group has secluded itself, scaring other hikers away. Or maybe we are just intimidating, as we are overly enthusiastic about inviting others join us. As we were sitting in the shade, we invited others to join as the passed on the trail. They all denied. "Maybe we are too cool for them," Jazmine wondered. "Or maybe they are too cool for us?" I countered. We asked one guy how far he was going. "I'm walking til I die," he panted.
We hit the 100 mile mark! I can't believe it was less than a week ago when I set out from mile one.
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