I’m sure there are much easier ways to get from Mexico to Canada, but few will be as memorable or life affirming as the 2650 mile Pacific Crest Trail, which I’ve been lucky enough to hike in a shade under 3 months this summer.
The trail traces a line up the mountains of west coast USA, traversing five major regions (Desert, High Sierra, Northern California, Oregon, Washington), each of which are sufficiently diverse to mean you’re frequently adjusting your setup and approach as you go, from 20 mile water carries and 40+C temps in the Desert, to snow capped passes and freezing temps in the Sierra, to wildfires in NorCal, mosquitoes in Oregon, and then the epic scale and remoteness of Washington.
It takes a few weeks to ease into trail life, but once you do it becomes a sublime existence – the simplicity of a routine composed almost entirely of walking, eating and sleeping (or planning for each of these). The community that forms with other hikers, the awesomeness of trail angels and their acts of random kindness along the way, walking from sunrise to sunset, the constant backdrop of mountains and uninterrupted wilderness, and sleeping under the stars each night with a shelter rarely required.
You quickly learn a level of resilience and resourcefulness you didn’t know you had, and problems are either solved, or you’ll soon be heading home – in my case the wrong shoes and constant dry heat and sand abrasions of the desert generated some truly award winning blisters (technically blisters on blisters), which lasted for the first 2-3 weeks, and were my companions with every step. I finally solved the problem by first taking a penknife to my shoes, and then strapping some pipe insulation (found by the side of the road) onto my heals, and the relief was immense.
I spent the vast majority of the trip feeling a bit like a blissed-out hippy, living in the moment, grateful for each day and the ever changing landscapes. Wildlife alone was so abundant that even the desert sections had more animals and plants than I’ve seen in all of the UK’s uplands combined.
Low points were few and far between, but most involved snakes. Lots of snakes. Particular lows included about 10 rattlesnakes that I very nearly stepped or sat on, and the 5’ snake that I did actually step on (a distinctively squishy ‘feel’ after 2000+ miles of otherwise solid trail). I never knew I could shriek so loudly or leap so high. And then there was the 5’ snake that mockingly swam an arms-length away between me and the shore when I was swimming one day, as if I hadn’t seen enough snakes already.
The dream of most PCT’ers is a ‘continuous footfall’, or uninterrupted hike, from Mexico to Canada, but sadly this is now a distant reality given the increasing prevalence of wildfires, and instead completing a trail of this length is probably more about resilience in the face of obstacles – heat, drought, sections of closed trail, illness etc than anything else.
Overall I hiked perhaps 200+ miles of previously burned areas, with trees like slender and tottering black gravestones, limbs and entire trees collapsing and crashing all around you, the earth a fine powdery black ash, a lack of shade, and a total silence/absence of life, like a post-apocalypse world. These areas do regenerate surprisingly quickly, but it’s a sad sight nonetheless.
I was forced to skip 3 sections of trail in NorCal and Oregon due to active wildfires/mandatory trail closures, and then – totally unbeknownst to me – as I reached the Canadian border I was surrounded by several massive and rapidly advancing fires. I hiked for a further 10 miles after the border, still blissfully unaware I was now in an active fire zone as I was alone and in a wooded valley. I jumped into an alpine lake, and then as I was swimming back to shore I spotted the smoke for the first time, a cumulonimbus cloud the size of half the sky, one mountain away. It was like drinking 15 cups of espresso, and I instantly felt a very long way from safety, and very small.
By this point two rangers had emerged and were evacuating people, and I was told I could camp that night as long as I continued hiking out the next day. My penultimate day had been 34 miles, that day 35 miles, so I was sleeping well that night. Until midnight that is. When a random hiker woke me, “the ranger has been in touch with me via my InReach (satellite SMS messaging), the wind has changed direction and the wildfires are now 2 miles away, we all need to keep hiking to get to safety”. Gulp.
My hike was made possible with an army of family and friends in the USA, helping with travel, accommodation, resupplies etc and much more besides, and seeing all these familiar faces was one of the major highlights of the trip. Meanwhile trail angels left random stashes of food and water, and I met some completely awesome and inspiring fellow hikers along the way, all of which totally restores your faith in humanity given the wider state of the world. It’s hard to express enough gratitude for all the kindness I’ve been shown these last 3 months. What a summer. It feels like I’ve lived another complete life.
For the stats bores – the PCT is officially 2650 miles, but I had to skip 244 miles this year due to 3 mandatory wildfire trail closures. The base weight of my 25-30 litre pack was about 3kg, and I completed in 77 hiking + 11 rest days (averaging 31mpd/27mpd respectively). Sorry it took so long. I’ll try harder next time.
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Olly Stephenson