PCT Vol. 1: Lighter Steps North
On the decision to thru-hike for a second time, why the PCT, the fears I no longer have... and the new ones I do have.
If you’re reading this, I’ve already begun walking from Mexico to Canada on the Pacific Crest Trail.
I knew that it would be different this time. No first-day jitters. No zing of static uncertainty up the center of my spine. It didn’t take long to gather my gear from storage, packing up all the worldly belongings I would carry on my back for months on end. Just as I had every day on the Appalachian Trail, two years ago. Routine and comfortable.
The Pacific Crest Trail is standing on one horizon, looking north towards the other… again.
This time, though, the view was longer. The sun was—is—hot and unhindered by the green tunnel of the first Trail I called home. The PCT is an alien, barren world in comparison. But, as I stood there at the southern terminus with my husband at my side for our last few moments of together, I felt a strange calm. I already knew, in large part, what lay ahead: the routines, the miles, the life on trail.
But (perhaps ironically) I’m just as comforted by the unknowns. I don’t know if wildfires will make me flip up trail and hike south or jump off trail entirely, saving a section or two for a later season. But I do know that, whatever happens, just like last time… I’ll walk.
I’ve been so lucky to have had several great loves in this life… and it’s a forever kind of love, this thru-hiking thing. So I’ll just walk until I can no longer.
Finding my “Why” for this Thru-Hike
Your “why” is everything when you thru-hike. When you decide to live outside for months on end, subsisting on instant mashed potatoes, tuna packets, and whatever else you can reasonably carry… there’s a point in every thru-hike where you genuinely question your reason for doing the damn thing in the first place.
When I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2022 (you can read my trail journals on the Trek by clicking here,) there were points on the trail where I threw my trekking poles in frustration, cried, hated hiking, and none of the petty, surface-level reasons for thru-hiking mattered. I didn’t care about the glory of the final summit; I didn’t give two shits about the pretty views and even found myself longing for the monotony of pre-trail life. “Normal people go to fucking Cabo or Vegas when they get divorced,” I complained to myself as I scrambled up the rocky, slippery Maine summit that marked 2,000 miles of hiking. “Why do I always choose to suffer?”
But still, I made it to the top of that mountain, and the next, and the next, all the way to Mt. Katahdin. The Appalachian Trail was more than just a goal to me; it was the physical embodiment of an inward journey I had already been on for years—one that will hopefully never conclude. My trek along the spine of the Appalachians was one of the single most meaningful things I’ve ever done. The hike felt almost heavy with purpose.
The Pacific Crest Trail is different in every way. It’s a different trail; one that I got a taste of when my then-boyfriend, now-husband and I hiked a 100-mile section of it last summer. It’s arid; particularly the first 700 miles of desert. The views are longer. The “shelter culture” of the Appalachian Trail doesn’t exist, so it’s a different social experience as well. A solid introvert when I started the Appalachian Trail, I turned mostly extroverted by the end, and looked forward to meeting other hikers from all walks of life. I’ve heard that it won’t be as easy to befriend others out here, and for the first time in my life, this worries me.
But beyond that, there is the question of why. Why, now? Why, this trail? Why, really?
The answer that has seen me to the beginning of this trail… is how I completed the last.
In the last 24 hours of my thru-hike, I stared at Katahdin across a lake, some 40-odd trail miles away, and knew that I would be standing on the summit the next day. I had never hiked more than 26 miles in one day, and that day, I completed 30 miles. I pushed myself more than I ever had on the trail and in my life, and it felt good.
That level of steady confidence, of physical strength combined with a strange sense that I floated down the trail more than hiked… it surprised me. I had never considered myself a fast or strong hiker. But since then, I wondered what I would’ve been capable of, if I had tested those boundaries sooner.
It’s curiosity that drives me to the trail this time; less critical of a reason than the one that inspired my last long walk in the wild. I’m curious to see what hiking for the pure joy of it feels like. I’m curious to see if wanting, not needing, a thru-hike is enough of a motivation to complete one. There’s a small part of me that worries my “why” isn’t a good enough reason for setting out on this journey. The AT was so suffused with meaning that it felt inevitable that I would complete it; I felt that I had to; or that I was even destined for the trail somehow.
This time; I’m relying on pure willpower to see me through 2,650 miles. This hike is a challenge, not a necessity. Half of me rises to the challenge with a wide, mildly-feral thru-hiker grin; the other doesn’t necessarily shrink away, but is definitely giving this venture an uncertain side-eye.
The Appalachian Trail changed my life; it changed the way I view the world and interact with all things in it. I have no reason to doubt that the Pacific Crest Trail has its own share of lessons to teach me. One of the things I take pride in is that I’ve become comfortable with the idea that I am a person always in flux; always changing, never the same as a previous version of me. What a small life we would live, if we didn’t allow our experiences to transform us.
And it’s always the most unexpected things that challenge and change us for the better.
The PCT was never on my radar like the AT was; I even had half a mind to thru-hike the AT again (southbound) this season instead. But I have a feeling that this new path; a more difficult one in many ways, is going to be a better teacher.
Where you can Read about this Thru-Hike:
This time around, you’ll be able to find my writings here on my website. I want to keep things simple for myself this time around; navigating the backend of an online magazine’s website to create and format posts was tricky at times and often required me to hole up in a library for hours on end. I love the Trek and would love to write for them on a shorter, less-logistically-difficult thru, but for now, I’ll keep my posts here for ease of writing access.
Something to note about Squarespace: in the past, several of you have offered to contribute donations to support my work on Substack via pledges, which I really appreciate. At this time, Squarespace doesn’t have a one-off donation button; it only allows me to put up a paywall for a one-time payment (but you can’t access my posts unless you pay) or a monthly subscription. This doesn’t feel right to me at this time.
I’m fortunate to have my financial needs for this thru-hike met, but if you feel so inclined to support my writing and my hike, you can do so through this nifty little platform called “Buy Me a Coffee.” It’s aptly named, though in the interest of full transparency, any funds received will likely be split equally between coffee and the tuna and mashed potato dinners I’m weirdly not sick of yet, even after the AT and the time I’ve already spent on the PCT.
(Please don’t feel the need to send me anything; interpret that button as “Buy Me a Coffee… if you want.”)
As for the email newsletter that Substack used to be; if you were subscribed to my old Substack, you’re now subscribed to my emails here. I’ll post blogs here and send occasional newsletters from the trail so those posts find their way into your inbox. Instead of “Thus Far,” I’m going to call that segment “True North.” (Spoiler alert: it’s one of the working titles for my Appalachian Trail thru-hike memoir.)
I love hearing from y’all, so feel free to leave comments on the posts here, to reply my email newsletters (I see, and read, every response,) or just say “hi” on Instagram. If you have any questions about hiking, writing, hostel-ing, life questions you think I could weigh in on, let me know and I’ll do my best to get back to you, cell signal/Internet willing.
See y’all up trail.
