Someone emailed the PCT-L asking for answers to some interview questions. Even though I wasn't a thru-hiker and didn't hike this year, here are mine.
What was the purpose of your thru-hike?
It was something I have wanted to do since I was 10 years old. That year, 1975, my dad got a National Geographic book about the PCT. I wanted to hike it ever since I read that book. The pictures in Washington looked wet, brooding and scary so I never wanted to hike that part. I settled on hiking the whole state of California as my goal and that's what I set out to do in 2008. I didn't make it all the way. I only made it to Dunsmuir. So I returned the following year and completed the trail, including adding a little 100 mile section from my front door in Santa Barbara out to where the trail meets Hikertown, re-hiking Hikertown to Cottonwood Pass, then picking up sections I missed in 2008 due to chickening out or fires and then resuming where I left off and finishing the rest of the trail to the Canadian border. I decided to hike the whole trail because after I got a taste of long trail hiking and saw some stunning pictures of Washington, I decided I just had to see the whole thing.
What were your expectations for walking the trail? For completing it?
I honestly expected it to be a solitary wilderness experience. I was shocked when it wasn't, but not in a bad way. I fell in love with how social and fun it was, how it was like a tour of small-town California. On my second hike it was very much the solitary wilderness experience I had originally expected because I hiked outside the main body of thru-hikers. I loved this solitary experience. I enjoyed it more than the more social experience the year before. I felt like a secret wood nymph living in the forest, peering out at a curious world of cars and machines, a strange world I no longer was a part of. That was a really special feeling.
It was a very difficult experience, though. I did get lonely. I had someone back home and I felt guilty leaving him home to work and take care of my animals (parrots) while I was out having a grand adventure, not once but twice. Somewhere around Crater Lake the mosquitoes became extremely vicious and this brought my morale down. After that, I struggled every day with loneliness and wanting to go home. At the same time I was not ready to go home and I knew it.
I had this experience hiking somewhere in the middle of Oregon. I totally had a vision of myself at monument 78. I was overcome with emotion right then. I KNEW with absolute certainty that I was going to make it and I knew exactly what it would feel like. A sort of burden lifted off me. All I had to do was keep going. It was impossible to quit because I knew I had already in a way finished the trail. I just had to make it so.
That did not make it easier, though. It was still very hard. I was scared much of the time. I was starving. I was running from mosquitoes and dreading scary river crossings. Later I was running from rain. I hiked 30 mile days, sometimes two in a row, to get out of the wilderness to somewhere where the air wasn't prickling with proboscises or slapping me in the face with wet leaves. Still, through all that, I felt like I belonged out there, that I was doing the thing I was put on this earth to do.
Another story: In Ashland I was hitchhiking and someone picked me up and like many others they were amazed at what I was doing and like many others they all had some kind of big dream tucked away for that "someday". Somehow meeting me was making that dream come alive for them. It suddenly became apparent that my hike was not for me only. It was to help others awaken their own dreams. For the first time in my life I was actually making the world a better place. Knowing that I was doing something meaningful in this world helped me keep going. There was a purpose for all this.
If you didn't complete your thru-hike, what changed?
I didn't complete my first attempt to hike the whole state of California because my feet broke down. I made a mistake and bought shoes that hurt my feet. I had shooting pains that felt like my metatarsals were broken. At the same time, I was feeling lonely. I missed my birds back home. I had this strange experience on one of my final days where I was just talking out loud to my pet bird at home as I was walking down the trail. A day or two later, I went home. When I got home my boyfriend told me of this strange experience the previous day or two. He was sure he heard my bird greeting me coming up the stairs. He was so sure he ran to the front door to see if I was there. So when I went home, I really knew I was supposed to go home. In a way, I had already gone home.
At a Christmas party a few months later I was just standing there eating something when this lady, a neighbor, walked into the party and made a beeline to me. She said she was so glad I was at the party because she came to tell me that she had this sense that I needed to finish something I started and that she really needed to find me and tell me this. She asked me if there was anything I had started and not finished and I told her about the trail and she said I had to go back. I was so relieved. She sort of gave me permission to go ahead and go back. It's what I really wanted to do but I was having trouble letting myself admit it.
If you did complete your thru hike, were your expectations met?
My expectations for a great experience were met. How I thought it would feel at monument 78 was exactly how it did feel. Emerging from the trail at the trailhead in Canada was a huge enormous let-down though. It was the saddest thing I've ever experienced. There was some thru-hiker trying to hitchhike on the highway. We never spoke. There was nobody there to meet me. No celebration. Nothing like breaking the tape at the end of the marathon. Nothing. You just reach the end of the dirt and find yourself on a paved road. There's not even a sign to take a picture of or anything. I choked and sobbed over some pancakes at the lodge and felt totally lost. What now? My boyfriend was supposed to have met me on the trail and somehow we missed each other, so that was part of it, but I think I would have felt lost anyway. When he finally turned up with another hiker that I had met and hiked with a little, we had a big celebration and then it finally felt complete.
What has been nice has been all the little things after. It's like I walk around with a big secret inside. There's another world out there not like this one. There are things I've done, memories, accomplishments that nobody can take away from me. Before if a boss yelled at me I felt threatened I might lose something and bad about myself for not measuring up. I got a really crappy job after the hike where the boss yelled at everyone. When he yelled at me I knew there was nothing he could take away from me. He didn't have the power to scare me.
This year had a lot of snow and unusual weather ? how did this effect your experience of the trail?
I only section hiked this year. I experienced some of the unusual weather. I had a great time despite the misery.
What role did challenge, sacrifice, and/or discipline play in your trail experience? In your ideas about the trail?
The day I crossed the Suiattle River over that log was the happiest day of my life. You have no idea how much that log loomed over me and scared the living daylights out of me. When I got there, I cinched up my pack tight and walked over it standing up. When I got to the other side, I felt so great! There was now nothing between me and Canada. It felt almost like reaching the monument itself only happier because I wasn't done with the trail. There was still some of the best part of it left.
I didn't really like to be challenged quite as much as I was. I had gone in hoping for a quiet, contemplative experience. I had that most of the time, but these interludes of scary stuff were often just way too much for me. After I did the section between Tuolmne Meadows and Sonora Pass in 2009, I didn't want to see any more snow or creek crossings again. I had been considering re-doing the section from Sonora Pass to Lake Tahoe, but after swimming creeks that were over my head and generally being terrified most of the time in Section I, I decided to keep to my original plan. I skipped redoing Section J and took a bus north so I could hike Quincy-La Porte road to Highway 36 which had been closed in 2008. 2009 was a high snow year but not as high as this year. I can't imagine what this year would have been like.
How much of walking the trail is Physical? Spiritual? Mental? Emotional?
It's really all these things. It is physically demanding to hike a marathon every day. It feels great to be able to do it though. That was one of the best things about the hike was feeling so athletic and powerful. I've never been athletic so it felt great to be so strong. I did have to take a lot of zero days to recover though.
The hunger is a big physical issue. I don't read a lot about this aspect, but I think the hunger and poor food damaged my metabolism. I ate as much as I could but out on the trail I was constantly hungry. I lost a lot of weight but never got real thin. I gained all the weight back and have struggled with hunger ever since. If I do anything that is physically demanding coupled with a calorie deficit I get panicky hunger like I had on the trail. I'm still searching for a solution because I would like to lose the weight I gained back and feel healthy and hunger-free, if that's even possible for a woman my age. Also, my feet still hurt after two years off the trail.
It was a huge mental challenge. The mental challenge is the hardest part. It is mentally exhausting to hike in snowmelt. You have to search for every step. It's much easier when the trail is clean and easy. You just put your head down and go. After a while, even that becomes a mental challenge. My life had become reduced to hiking and nothing else. There were so many other things I used to do. I even started missing going to a job.
Emotionally it was a challenge, especially going solo. It was probably better for me to be solo because there was nobody to project any negative feelings on. I couldn't blame anyone or dump my emotions on anyone or spiral out of control with complaining. I was scared a lot and lonely and hungry and I was alone. There was nothing to do but put all feelings aside and just keep going. So many times I would come into town and go get something to eat first thing and it would be like the world would shift from black and white to in color again. I literally could see colors again. Without realizing it, I had had to shut something down inside. At the same time, I would start crying sometimes as I woke up. Man it was so hard to be out there alone like that! But I wouldn't have done it any other way and I would do it alone again in a heart beat.
Spiritual is a strange word. I grew up a Lutheran but I don't go to church or believe in any of that like I used to. I hate when people mix up church and spirituality, too. I think they are different. But I have to say that the whole time out there I felt like I was getting Bible lessons.
Jesus said (something like) leave everything and follow me. Here I was carrying almost nothing and walking walking walking. I felt like this is how people are meant to live. I had so few possessions and needed so little to be happy. Exercise, food, friendship, hard physical labor and a relative deprivation of "things" and comforts made me incredibly content, happy, satisfied, giddy with freedom. Jesus wasn't saying something all mysterious. Literally, leave it all behind and walk!
There is also a verse in the Bible about looking at the birds for an example, how they don't store things or worry about the future and yet they are taken care of. There's the trail magic people usually talk about, the stuff like coolers and getting rides, but there was another kind of trail magic that doesn't get talked about quite as much. There's a special serendipity on the trail. Everything you need will eventually come to you, often just at the moment when you need it most. I broke my sunglasses and while I'm trying one last time to figure out a way to make them work, I look up and there's a pair of sunglasses in a tree. Little things like that. People who help you out exactly when you need help the most but they don't realize they are helping you out. Those are the real trail angels.
There's a similar verse about lilies in the field being clothed in beauty. I felt like the wealthiest woman in the whole world because I had all the wildflowers anyone could ever want. I wished that everyone could experience the freedom of living out of a pack and how the less you have the happier you are and the more flowers you see the richer you are. I didn't need money and status to be happy. I needed time and flowers.
Then of course there is all that woo woo spirituality like the vision of myself at monument 78, talking to my pet bird on the trail and having her hear me back home, having that lady come to me at the party. I can't discount that sort of thing. The trail has an energy you can tap into and for a brief time I was tapped into it. I felt it. It's a real thing. The trail is the most linear place I've ever lived and yet it felt like time and distance became non-linear, that at times I was literally in two places and times at once, that there were little rifts and I could see through to the other side. I think this energy is here in regular life, too, but there's so much noise it's hard to tap into it.
Did walking the trail change you?
Yeah, it did in a lot of ways. Mostly in the confidence and peace I feel inside.
What does the trail mean or symbolize to you? Did this change before and after your journey?
When I go back for a section hike, it's like "Ahh, I'm home".
Anything else you'd like to add?
Gosh, I hope that's enough. I talked your ears off.
Showing posts with label PCT-re-entry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PCT-re-entry. Show all posts
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Can a high fat diet fix my lingering hiker hunger?
I have been running on my lunch breaks at work during the week. It's been good exercise. I think I may have lost a little weight. At least it seems like the luv handles are less unsightly. I usually run down to the lagoon, make two laps around the "island" then complete the loop around the lagoon. The other run I do is out to Patterson Ave. on the bike path. I take the dirt path next to the bike path. A few times now I've taken off my shoes and run barefoot because a large portion of the dirt path is really soft dirt that feels wonderful under your feet. A few times I've run barefoot on the beach, too, but the tar and the tide really puts a damper on the beach running.
The running has made me very hungry. I want to lose weight but when the hunger starts up it's like I'm on the PCT again and I feel very desperate. That hunger and the desperate feeling that comes with it was one thing I really did not like about the PCT.
I came across a video from a Swedish doctor advocating a low carbohydrate, high fat diet. He says it cures his patients of obesity and diabetes. He eats it himself. The dinners he eats didn't look really all that outlandish. I did a low carb diet one and lost a lot of weight. But I did it as a vegetarian, basically eating mountains of stir-fried veggies for breakfast and lunch and salad bar at Carl's Jr. for dinner. The Swedish doctor said eating his way would calm your hunger. I decided I would try it. Calming my hunger has been the biggest re-entry challenge after my PCT hikes.
I have not been perfect on eating this way, but today I noticed that the thought of eating one more high fat meal was quite unappealing. Yet I wasn't hungry anyway so it didn't matter. Hopefully this will work for me.
The running has made me very hungry. I want to lose weight but when the hunger starts up it's like I'm on the PCT again and I feel very desperate. That hunger and the desperate feeling that comes with it was one thing I really did not like about the PCT.
I came across a video from a Swedish doctor advocating a low carbohydrate, high fat diet. He says it cures his patients of obesity and diabetes. He eats it himself. The dinners he eats didn't look really all that outlandish. I did a low carb diet one and lost a lot of weight. But I did it as a vegetarian, basically eating mountains of stir-fried veggies for breakfast and lunch and salad bar at Carl's Jr. for dinner. The Swedish doctor said eating his way would calm your hunger. I decided I would try it. Calming my hunger has been the biggest re-entry challenge after my PCT hikes.
I have not been perfect on eating this way, but today I noticed that the thought of eating one more high fat meal was quite unappealing. Yet I wasn't hungry anyway so it didn't matter. Hopefully this will work for me.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The secret of the PCT
As I drove home from my 5 day section hike of the PCT, the one where I endured mostly misery and terrible weather, I thought about the secret that the PCT showed me.
Our whole culture that we normally live teaches us to be concerned with three things: Comfort, security and status. It tells us the more of those things we have the happier we will be. The PCT turns all of that on its head and instead says that the less of those things we need the happier we are.
Comfort
The PCT shows you how little you need to be comfortable. You need only to stay warm and dry and to eat, have enough water and a safe place to sleep. Anything more than that is luxury.
I remember when I was hiking toward a planned hiker feed in northern California. I and the two people I was with that day were hurrying, hoping to make it in time for the food. It became clear that we were probably going to be too late for the food, so we hoped there might be some leftovers. It became clear that we'd probably be late for even leftovers so we hoped there might still be chairs. Chairs! We worked ourselves into a rapture of desire over the thought of sitting in chairs. When we got there the hiker feed was gone, but there were chairs and apples. We were in heaven.
Hiking the PCT makes the tiniest things into enormous pleasures. A chair becomes a dream come true. A cup is a luxury that gives you fits of pleasure. The secret to happiness is not to have more. It is to have less. The less you have the more happiness you feel because little things bring you happiness beyond measure. In our culture we have too much and so endure a sort of law of diminishing returns where we keep trying to add things to gain happiness but find happiness eludes us. This is one of the big secrets the PCT teaches. Comforts should be minimal for maximum happiness.
Security
Our modern world is obsessed with security on many levels. The most common level is the day-to-day preoccupation of securing enough money to afford a decent life. It takes a lot of work and a lot of money and you are never quite sure you've done enough to have made your life secure.
The PCT strips away most security from you. You are left only with a bag of stuff on your back and your wits. That stuff and your resourcefulness become your security. Your body becomes strong from strenuous exercise and you are able to do things you never thought possible. A marathon becomes an easy distance. Your resourcefulness tells you that you can fashion chopsticks from sticks if you lose your eating utensil. You can make a rain poncho from your ground sheet. You can just hike a few more hours or days to a shelter if needed. Your tools and your feet can keep you safe under most conditions.
On the PCT you walk through many different kinds of landscapes. No matter how austere the landscape, it is filled with living things. All these living things are meeting their needs for life. Nature is giving them what they need. There is no landscape that is worthless because it brings life to whatever is living in it.
You almost become a part of the landscape and the economic system that the creatures in it are living under. There is the phenomenon of trail magic, which I believe is the energy of the universe that governs the living things of nature. This magic force wants you to live and it shows you its benevolence by giving you the things you need when you need it. It is another economy outside the one we have built of money and greed. It is the economy of life, of love. Some people call it the Gift Economy where everything is freely given.
In the economy of money and greed, we never have enough. The things that give us life become mundane and taken for granted. You turn a knob and water comes out of a faucet. There is no wonder or gratitude. When you walk 20 or 30 miles in the hot sun to a spring flowing out of the ground, water becomes life embodied and you feel love and gratitude for the water. The universe wants you to be alive and it provides water. It is freely given.
I think often about the horrible things we do to the earth. The plastic filling the seas, the fracking destroying the water for a few minutes of energy and money. When we turn to money for our security we separate ourselves from the source of our true security. Hiking the PCT brings us closer to the source. You do not have to reach and grab to get what you need. You only need to walk quietly and you'll reach the next stream, the next town. Water and food will be waiting for you. We learn there is a hole in the fence of this prison we live in daily and on the other side is a different world. One of love and wonder, beauty and freedom, happiness, struggle, pain and pleasure. It asks only that we live fully and that we walk.
The PCT takes you through places that only hikers and hobos will ever see. Only a hiker or a hobo or perhaps a swallow can see a culvert under a freeway as a safe place to sleep. Only a hiker or a hobo or perhaps other woodland creatures will feel the safety and security of sleeping under a tree in the middle of nowhere. When you can sleep anywhere, the whole world becomes your home. You can never be homeless.
All of this makes you aware that we worry too much about the future. The PCT calms the fear that rises up in our daily lives that we won't have enough, that we'll lose everything, end up on the streets. There's a 2663 mile long unpaved, single track street waiting for you to call home. You carry inside your pocket the key to that street like a secret and it burns a warm secure feeling inside you.
Status
On a long distance hike you meet people with made-up names. You don't know their real names or what they do for a living. The rankings of ordinary life go away. Being the kind of people we are, there still are ways to rank each other on the trail, but largely you are free from the status you came with. You can camp with someone of a far lower or higher social status than you and not even know it. The skills needed out there are different than the skills needed in society and it levels the field a bit. It's freeing.
At the start of a thru-hike people are very much concerned with their gear. How light is it? Do you have enough of it? What brand is it? As you go along, you realize your gear is just a tool. Everything you own is just a tool. Your possessions are only worth as much as the service they provide you. If they aren't providing any service, they are not worth anything. An aluminum can may provide as much utility as a $300 sleeping bag. Your expensive shoes may be destroying your feet and the cheap ones might be saving them. The money or brand name isn't what is important. What's important is the usefulness of the object and your skills.
PCT hikers are never truly outside society. (If anything, it is only because of our society that we can even do such a thing as hike the PCT.) We still need money. We still carry food bought in stores. Our gear is made with plastics and things that couldn't have existed without industrial society and made in processes that pollute the planet. We aren't at one with nature. We're just passing through. But we touch the edge of a world where you can just be and don't have to prove, and it feels good.
On the trail you learn that your body is strong. You can walk a long way. You can endure scary things. You can make it through a difficult night of bad weather. You can solve problems. It brings a sense of calm, a sense of pride. Next time someone treats you poorly you can see right through the attempt that person is making to position himself above you and it just doesn't work. You carry a secret inside of you. You can walk 2663 miles with very little possessions and endure hardships and still be comfortable, warm, safe and dry. You have the key to happiness and nobody can take it away.
This is the secret I learned from the PCT. Having less comfort makes life happier and full of luxury. Security is not fully dependent on money. The kinds of status modern society bids you to seek are irrelevant. Whenever the cold sweats come in the middle of the night, when you think of your future and how you don't have the millions of dollars the financial experts say you need to survive your old age, you can think of the trail, of the birds and other living things. They have no insurance. They have no portfolios. Yet they live in beauty that even then richest man on earth will never see. They have not hoarded and saved for the future and instead live in the present and let nature care for them. You can think of Billy Goat still hiking the trail in his old age. You can remember the hardships you endured and the priceless treasures you saw that can't be bought and you realize that somehow, everything will be okay.
Our whole culture that we normally live teaches us to be concerned with three things: Comfort, security and status. It tells us the more of those things we have the happier we will be. The PCT turns all of that on its head and instead says that the less of those things we need the happier we are.
Comfort
The PCT shows you how little you need to be comfortable. You need only to stay warm and dry and to eat, have enough water and a safe place to sleep. Anything more than that is luxury.
I remember when I was hiking toward a planned hiker feed in northern California. I and the two people I was with that day were hurrying, hoping to make it in time for the food. It became clear that we were probably going to be too late for the food, so we hoped there might be some leftovers. It became clear that we'd probably be late for even leftovers so we hoped there might still be chairs. Chairs! We worked ourselves into a rapture of desire over the thought of sitting in chairs. When we got there the hiker feed was gone, but there were chairs and apples. We were in heaven.
Hiking the PCT makes the tiniest things into enormous pleasures. A chair becomes a dream come true. A cup is a luxury that gives you fits of pleasure. The secret to happiness is not to have more. It is to have less. The less you have the more happiness you feel because little things bring you happiness beyond measure. In our culture we have too much and so endure a sort of law of diminishing returns where we keep trying to add things to gain happiness but find happiness eludes us. This is one of the big secrets the PCT teaches. Comforts should be minimal for maximum happiness.
Security
Our modern world is obsessed with security on many levels. The most common level is the day-to-day preoccupation of securing enough money to afford a decent life. It takes a lot of work and a lot of money and you are never quite sure you've done enough to have made your life secure.
The PCT strips away most security from you. You are left only with a bag of stuff on your back and your wits. That stuff and your resourcefulness become your security. Your body becomes strong from strenuous exercise and you are able to do things you never thought possible. A marathon becomes an easy distance. Your resourcefulness tells you that you can fashion chopsticks from sticks if you lose your eating utensil. You can make a rain poncho from your ground sheet. You can just hike a few more hours or days to a shelter if needed. Your tools and your feet can keep you safe under most conditions.
On the PCT you walk through many different kinds of landscapes. No matter how austere the landscape, it is filled with living things. All these living things are meeting their needs for life. Nature is giving them what they need. There is no landscape that is worthless because it brings life to whatever is living in it.
You almost become a part of the landscape and the economic system that the creatures in it are living under. There is the phenomenon of trail magic, which I believe is the energy of the universe that governs the living things of nature. This magic force wants you to live and it shows you its benevolence by giving you the things you need when you need it. It is another economy outside the one we have built of money and greed. It is the economy of life, of love. Some people call it the Gift Economy where everything is freely given.
In the economy of money and greed, we never have enough. The things that give us life become mundane and taken for granted. You turn a knob and water comes out of a faucet. There is no wonder or gratitude. When you walk 20 or 30 miles in the hot sun to a spring flowing out of the ground, water becomes life embodied and you feel love and gratitude for the water. The universe wants you to be alive and it provides water. It is freely given.
I think often about the horrible things we do to the earth. The plastic filling the seas, the fracking destroying the water for a few minutes of energy and money. When we turn to money for our security we separate ourselves from the source of our true security. Hiking the PCT brings us closer to the source. You do not have to reach and grab to get what you need. You only need to walk quietly and you'll reach the next stream, the next town. Water and food will be waiting for you. We learn there is a hole in the fence of this prison we live in daily and on the other side is a different world. One of love and wonder, beauty and freedom, happiness, struggle, pain and pleasure. It asks only that we live fully and that we walk.
The PCT takes you through places that only hikers and hobos will ever see. Only a hiker or a hobo or perhaps a swallow can see a culvert under a freeway as a safe place to sleep. Only a hiker or a hobo or perhaps other woodland creatures will feel the safety and security of sleeping under a tree in the middle of nowhere. When you can sleep anywhere, the whole world becomes your home. You can never be homeless.
All of this makes you aware that we worry too much about the future. The PCT calms the fear that rises up in our daily lives that we won't have enough, that we'll lose everything, end up on the streets. There's a 2663 mile long unpaved, single track street waiting for you to call home. You carry inside your pocket the key to that street like a secret and it burns a warm secure feeling inside you.
Status
On a long distance hike you meet people with made-up names. You don't know their real names or what they do for a living. The rankings of ordinary life go away. Being the kind of people we are, there still are ways to rank each other on the trail, but largely you are free from the status you came with. You can camp with someone of a far lower or higher social status than you and not even know it. The skills needed out there are different than the skills needed in society and it levels the field a bit. It's freeing.
At the start of a thru-hike people are very much concerned with their gear. How light is it? Do you have enough of it? What brand is it? As you go along, you realize your gear is just a tool. Everything you own is just a tool. Your possessions are only worth as much as the service they provide you. If they aren't providing any service, they are not worth anything. An aluminum can may provide as much utility as a $300 sleeping bag. Your expensive shoes may be destroying your feet and the cheap ones might be saving them. The money or brand name isn't what is important. What's important is the usefulness of the object and your skills.
PCT hikers are never truly outside society. (If anything, it is only because of our society that we can even do such a thing as hike the PCT.) We still need money. We still carry food bought in stores. Our gear is made with plastics and things that couldn't have existed without industrial society and made in processes that pollute the planet. We aren't at one with nature. We're just passing through. But we touch the edge of a world where you can just be and don't have to prove, and it feels good.
On the trail you learn that your body is strong. You can walk a long way. You can endure scary things. You can make it through a difficult night of bad weather. You can solve problems. It brings a sense of calm, a sense of pride. Next time someone treats you poorly you can see right through the attempt that person is making to position himself above you and it just doesn't work. You carry a secret inside of you. You can walk 2663 miles with very little possessions and endure hardships and still be comfortable, warm, safe and dry. You have the key to happiness and nobody can take it away.
This is the secret I learned from the PCT. Having less comfort makes life happier and full of luxury. Security is not fully dependent on money. The kinds of status modern society bids you to seek are irrelevant. Whenever the cold sweats come in the middle of the night, when you think of your future and how you don't have the millions of dollars the financial experts say you need to survive your old age, you can think of the trail, of the birds and other living things. They have no insurance. They have no portfolios. Yet they live in beauty that even then richest man on earth will never see. They have not hoarded and saved for the future and instead live in the present and let nature care for them. You can think of Billy Goat still hiking the trail in his old age. You can remember the hardships you endured and the priceless treasures you saw that can't be bought and you realize that somehow, everything will be okay.
Labels:
Adventure,
authentic life,
consumerism,
getting free,
PCT-re-entry
Friday, November 12, 2010
PCT Slide show
I gave a slide show tonight about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. It seemed well-received. I think the trick is to not spend more than a couple seconds on a slide.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Lessons of the trail
Somebody wrote an article in our local Sierra Club newsletter and I wanted to craft a response. He wrote that the Sierra Club outings are nice and all, but activism is what really changes things and we fun-loving outings people should step up and so some real work for a change. This is a response I wrote but I'm not sure I will send it in or not.
The Pacific Crest Trail runs from the Mexican Border to the Canadian border through California, Oregon and Washington. I hiked the trail by myself in large and sometimes overlapping portions in 2008 and 2009 and continue to hike segments whenever possible. The trail is home to me and has taught me more than any other experience I have had in life.
Hiking such a long distance is more a mental challenge than a physical one. I walked 12 to 14 hours every day. It got boring. Mosquitoes or other unpleasant events can wear away the joy, bring morale down and make you want to quit. As a solo traveler, I fought loneliness and homesickness. As a person whose personality doesn't lean toward daredevil behavior, the anxiety of scary challenges approaching, such as swift stream crossings, precarious log crossings and snowy mountain passes wore away at my resolve constantly and I had to steel myself to keep going. Gnawing hunger more ferocious than anything I had ever experienced literally ate at me from the inside out even despite the joy of being able to guiltlessly eat a pint of ice cream in one sitting. It became a job. But the rewards are great and if the mental challenges can be met, they and the physical experiences have a lot to teach.
One evening after several days of hiking with shoes ill-suited to the hot desert and a package of food in the Post Office waiting for my arrival, I approached a city that was reported to have an outlet shopping center. I could get new shoes tomorrow morning! I was near an Interstate Highway in view of a towering Indian casino. I stepped off the trail onto a road and began walking toward the tower. Unfortunately, the road ended at a dead end with private property signs all around. What little traffic that came by would not give me a ride. Nobody could provide directions I could follow on foot. So much of our modern world is designed against those who travel without a motor. The sun was going down quickly and I began to worry about where I would go if I could not figure out how to get to town. If you have ever been to an unfamiliar place with nowhere to stay, you might be familiar with the feeling. Where will I sleep? What will I do? Who will help me? Who will hurt me?
Then I remembered I had a tent on my back and a trail full of other friendly travelers who already knew me and cared about me. All I had to do was continue down the trail and I would be home. That was when I came to understand that the trail was my home. Every day I woke up and began hiking at 6 a.m. and stopped hiking around 6 p.m. not knowing in advance where I would be or if there would be a place to stop for the night. Without fail, every evening a place to set up my tent would appear. I was always already home because I was self-contained and minimal. Because all that I owned—all 12 pounds of it—was on my back, it left me open to receive. From campsites to gear replacements to extra food and even psychological counseling, I found that trail magic took care of my needs. Free from the constant striving to obtain that modern life trained me for, I learned that whatever I needed was provided to me when I needed it most. I was awakened to an understanding that needs can be met outside a consumer economy. The way this works is full of surprise and delight and taught me I need very little to be happy, and in fact, the less I have the happier I am.
One day I hiked into a community on the shores of a very large lake. People in this community kept very nice homes with green lawns and beautiful gardens of flowers. I realized that because of those lawns, and the boats on the lake and the roads full of cars dripping pollutants to run off into the lake on rainy days, this large lake would not be safe to drink. I had walked hundreds of desert miles with water sources usually 20 miles apart and often up to 35 miles apart. Through the desert I drank from piped springs feeding cattle troughs and from plastic bottles left by kind strangers. Seven hundred hot and thirsty miles formed within me an acute understanding of the value of clean water, a visceral understanding more urgent than the intellectual one I had before. Living in an arid land where no matter how long a drought lasts, fresh water always comes right out of the faucet, it is possible to be told water is precious, to sense its value from the water bill, but until you face the true thirst of 35 miles of waterless desert, you really do not know. We need clean water to live. Without it we die. Our way of life works against this basic fact in almost every conceivable way.
On the Pacific Crest Trail I walked 20 to 30 miles every day. I saw the mountains approach and recede. One thing I learned from over 3000 miles of hiking is my own physical power. Seeing a big volcanic mountain approach over the horizon, just its snowy tip showing above the curvature of the Earth, finding myself on its shoulder the next day, and seeing it fade into the haze behind me the following day was one of the most life-changing experiences I had on the trail. It showed me I am powerful, strong and independent. I do not need machines and cheap oil to move my body vast distances over the earth. I can travel a visible arc on a globe with only my two feet. If I can do that, I can certainly grocery shop or attend a lecture or reach a trailhead to go for a hike on foot, too.
While hiking the trail I saw four rattlesnakes, nine bears, countless birds and one fox. I saw hundreds of millions of ants, velvet ants, mosquitoes, locusts and beetles. Bird song and warning screeches followed me everywhere. Deer and fawns leaped away from me in fright. I chased Spring up the side of the globe always turning the corner to one amazing floral display after another. I climbed huge mountains every day and walked through every climate zone of the West from desert floor to high alpine. I grew to believe myself to be a creature of the forest like my wild friends (and enemies, oh those mosquitoes!) When the trail encroached upon the edges of civilization, I sometimes would peer out into the common world of modern life with curiosity and then slip back into the forest unseen. I rejoiced that the Earth is still very much alive and beautiful and that I was a part of the web of life even if all I really was was an out-of-place weed just passing through. I stopped buying hotel rooms on my layover days in towns. I slept better right on the ground without a pillow or mattress or indoor plumbing. The living Earth cradled me and kept me safe.
As a hike leader with the Sierra Club I often encounter people for whom the first response toward being out in nature is fear. They want to know if I was afraid, if I carried pepper spray for the bears or if I had a gun to kill rattlesnakes. Some are shocked when I tell them I carried no weapons of any kind. The only knife I had was the kind with the little scissors and nail file. Some respond with anger that I traveled alone, carried only 12 pounds of gear and hardly any first-aid equipment. This is because many people have a complete lack of experience with nature or what experience they do have has been mediated by a "be prepared for danger" ethos that fosters and reinforces society's belief that civilization is safe (when the reality is that it is full of hazardous chemicals and machines that intend to proceed full speed ahead to ultimate destruction of all life) and nature is deadly (when in fact it is what sustains us and gives us life). Their deficit is so profound that the only honest feeling they have about nature is fear. Intellectually they love nature, but viscerally they are terrified of it. Sierra Club outings are a way for people to get started being out in nature. It helps them learn about their bodies, how to manage hydration, sun exposure, hypothermia and physical fitness. Most people have a political understanding of the value of nature, but when their immediate bodily response to nature is terror, something very important is missing. When civilization appears safer that than which gives us life it is easier to kill life with every day acts of transporting, bathing, shopping, working, consuming, investing, eating etc. It becomes easy to believe that token acts of voting or writing checks or driving "green" cars are enough to let us live with our comforts, that our shopping to "save the planet" will earn us a pass should a day of reckoning ever come.
Because of the trail, I gained a sense of freedom more real than the standard political kind. It’s a deep feeling I carry inside myself as I navigate my off-trail life in a world that wants me to believe I’m powerless, weak and dependent. A world that attempts to mold all facets of my life toward its aims. I broke out of it for 6 months and came back with clear eyes and a knowledge my cells already understood but had to have awakened so I could know, too.
If I had never taken time out in the wilderness to learn all these lessons I would not have known what I know now about being at home in nature, living simply with serendipity and trust and understanding the size and shape of the Earth and my place within it as a living organism. I stepped outside industrial culture and found a chink in the fence. We do not need industrial culture to be happy and we'd be best off if we could find a way to end it.
Traditional political activism at best slows down the relentless march of industrial civilization toward environmental destruction but does not and cannot ever stop it so long as most people are unaware of the kinds of things I have learned. Somewhere deep inside we all know this, but it lies dormant, waiting. If I can open the door to another person awakening this knowledge I feel that I will have accomplished as much as a thousand successful political campaigns.
Lessons of the Trail
I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.The Pacific Crest Trail runs from the Mexican Border to the Canadian border through California, Oregon and Washington. I hiked the trail by myself in large and sometimes overlapping portions in 2008 and 2009 and continue to hike segments whenever possible. The trail is home to me and has taught me more than any other experience I have had in life.
Hiking such a long distance is more a mental challenge than a physical one. I walked 12 to 14 hours every day. It got boring. Mosquitoes or other unpleasant events can wear away the joy, bring morale down and make you want to quit. As a solo traveler, I fought loneliness and homesickness. As a person whose personality doesn't lean toward daredevil behavior, the anxiety of scary challenges approaching, such as swift stream crossings, precarious log crossings and snowy mountain passes wore away at my resolve constantly and I had to steel myself to keep going. Gnawing hunger more ferocious than anything I had ever experienced literally ate at me from the inside out even despite the joy of being able to guiltlessly eat a pint of ice cream in one sitting. It became a job. But the rewards are great and if the mental challenges can be met, they and the physical experiences have a lot to teach.
One evening after several days of hiking with shoes ill-suited to the hot desert and a package of food in the Post Office waiting for my arrival, I approached a city that was reported to have an outlet shopping center. I could get new shoes tomorrow morning! I was near an Interstate Highway in view of a towering Indian casino. I stepped off the trail onto a road and began walking toward the tower. Unfortunately, the road ended at a dead end with private property signs all around. What little traffic that came by would not give me a ride. Nobody could provide directions I could follow on foot. So much of our modern world is designed against those who travel without a motor. The sun was going down quickly and I began to worry about where I would go if I could not figure out how to get to town. If you have ever been to an unfamiliar place with nowhere to stay, you might be familiar with the feeling. Where will I sleep? What will I do? Who will help me? Who will hurt me?
Then I remembered I had a tent on my back and a trail full of other friendly travelers who already knew me and cared about me. All I had to do was continue down the trail and I would be home. That was when I came to understand that the trail was my home. Every day I woke up and began hiking at 6 a.m. and stopped hiking around 6 p.m. not knowing in advance where I would be or if there would be a place to stop for the night. Without fail, every evening a place to set up my tent would appear. I was always already home because I was self-contained and minimal. Because all that I owned—all 12 pounds of it—was on my back, it left me open to receive. From campsites to gear replacements to extra food and even psychological counseling, I found that trail magic took care of my needs. Free from the constant striving to obtain that modern life trained me for, I learned that whatever I needed was provided to me when I needed it most. I was awakened to an understanding that needs can be met outside a consumer economy. The way this works is full of surprise and delight and taught me I need very little to be happy, and in fact, the less I have the happier I am.
One day I hiked into a community on the shores of a very large lake. People in this community kept very nice homes with green lawns and beautiful gardens of flowers. I realized that because of those lawns, and the boats on the lake and the roads full of cars dripping pollutants to run off into the lake on rainy days, this large lake would not be safe to drink. I had walked hundreds of desert miles with water sources usually 20 miles apart and often up to 35 miles apart. Through the desert I drank from piped springs feeding cattle troughs and from plastic bottles left by kind strangers. Seven hundred hot and thirsty miles formed within me an acute understanding of the value of clean water, a visceral understanding more urgent than the intellectual one I had before. Living in an arid land where no matter how long a drought lasts, fresh water always comes right out of the faucet, it is possible to be told water is precious, to sense its value from the water bill, but until you face the true thirst of 35 miles of waterless desert, you really do not know. We need clean water to live. Without it we die. Our way of life works against this basic fact in almost every conceivable way.
On the Pacific Crest Trail I walked 20 to 30 miles every day. I saw the mountains approach and recede. One thing I learned from over 3000 miles of hiking is my own physical power. Seeing a big volcanic mountain approach over the horizon, just its snowy tip showing above the curvature of the Earth, finding myself on its shoulder the next day, and seeing it fade into the haze behind me the following day was one of the most life-changing experiences I had on the trail. It showed me I am powerful, strong and independent. I do not need machines and cheap oil to move my body vast distances over the earth. I can travel a visible arc on a globe with only my two feet. If I can do that, I can certainly grocery shop or attend a lecture or reach a trailhead to go for a hike on foot, too.
While hiking the trail I saw four rattlesnakes, nine bears, countless birds and one fox. I saw hundreds of millions of ants, velvet ants, mosquitoes, locusts and beetles. Bird song and warning screeches followed me everywhere. Deer and fawns leaped away from me in fright. I chased Spring up the side of the globe always turning the corner to one amazing floral display after another. I climbed huge mountains every day and walked through every climate zone of the West from desert floor to high alpine. I grew to believe myself to be a creature of the forest like my wild friends (and enemies, oh those mosquitoes!) When the trail encroached upon the edges of civilization, I sometimes would peer out into the common world of modern life with curiosity and then slip back into the forest unseen. I rejoiced that the Earth is still very much alive and beautiful and that I was a part of the web of life even if all I really was was an out-of-place weed just passing through. I stopped buying hotel rooms on my layover days in towns. I slept better right on the ground without a pillow or mattress or indoor plumbing. The living Earth cradled me and kept me safe.
As a hike leader with the Sierra Club I often encounter people for whom the first response toward being out in nature is fear. They want to know if I was afraid, if I carried pepper spray for the bears or if I had a gun to kill rattlesnakes. Some are shocked when I tell them I carried no weapons of any kind. The only knife I had was the kind with the little scissors and nail file. Some respond with anger that I traveled alone, carried only 12 pounds of gear and hardly any first-aid equipment. This is because many people have a complete lack of experience with nature or what experience they do have has been mediated by a "be prepared for danger" ethos that fosters and reinforces society's belief that civilization is safe (when the reality is that it is full of hazardous chemicals and machines that intend to proceed full speed ahead to ultimate destruction of all life) and nature is deadly (when in fact it is what sustains us and gives us life). Their deficit is so profound that the only honest feeling they have about nature is fear. Intellectually they love nature, but viscerally they are terrified of it. Sierra Club outings are a way for people to get started being out in nature. It helps them learn about their bodies, how to manage hydration, sun exposure, hypothermia and physical fitness. Most people have a political understanding of the value of nature, but when their immediate bodily response to nature is terror, something very important is missing. When civilization appears safer that than which gives us life it is easier to kill life with every day acts of transporting, bathing, shopping, working, consuming, investing, eating etc. It becomes easy to believe that token acts of voting or writing checks or driving "green" cars are enough to let us live with our comforts, that our shopping to "save the planet" will earn us a pass should a day of reckoning ever come.
Because of the trail, I gained a sense of freedom more real than the standard political kind. It’s a deep feeling I carry inside myself as I navigate my off-trail life in a world that wants me to believe I’m powerless, weak and dependent. A world that attempts to mold all facets of my life toward its aims. I broke out of it for 6 months and came back with clear eyes and a knowledge my cells already understood but had to have awakened so I could know, too.
If I had never taken time out in the wilderness to learn all these lessons I would not have known what I know now about being at home in nature, living simply with serendipity and trust and understanding the size and shape of the Earth and my place within it as a living organism. I stepped outside industrial culture and found a chink in the fence. We do not need industrial culture to be happy and we'd be best off if we could find a way to end it.
Traditional political activism at best slows down the relentless march of industrial civilization toward environmental destruction but does not and cannot ever stop it so long as most people are unaware of the kinds of things I have learned. Somewhere deep inside we all know this, but it lies dormant, waiting. If I can open the door to another person awakening this knowledge I feel that I will have accomplished as much as a thousand successful political campaigns.
Friday, July 23, 2010
PCT Hikers this year
My mom lives near the halfway mark on the PCT. When I did my first PCT hike, she had no idea how close to the trail she was. She got all excited about the trail and started wondering if she could help out the hikers in some way.
The first year I hiked, she would drive through the little town she lives near and if she saw people who looked like hikers, she'd offer them a ride to the trailhead.
The second year I hiked she did the same thing, but she also left a cooler on the trail with drinks. Sometimes she would leave her phone number offering a ride to people who called. People would call her and once she got up the nerve, she invited a few to stay at her house, which is considerably far from the little town and the trail.
At first she didn't want them in the house. She offered the back yard to pitch tents and sleep. She saw all the tents out there and felt bad so so invited them in. They played cribbage, ate tons of food and she invited them to sleep on the couch. She learned that the PCT hikers are wonderful people. She started taking their pictures and had them sign a little register in her house. She never specifically asked for donations, but she would find money hidden around the house for her. She really had a lot of fun.
She decided to do it again this year. She removes her phone number from the trail when she doesn't want to be bothered. She only has people come over to her house that she invites. But she seems to invite everybody.
Today she sent me a link to pictures she has taken of the hikers she's met so far. Some of them she's only driven to and from the trailhead and others stayed over at her house. Looking at all the pictures fills me with melancholy for a world I'm not a part of right now. The trail is a whole little community, a special world. I miss it!
Here are her pictures.
The first year I hiked, she would drive through the little town she lives near and if she saw people who looked like hikers, she'd offer them a ride to the trailhead.
The second year I hiked she did the same thing, but she also left a cooler on the trail with drinks. Sometimes she would leave her phone number offering a ride to people who called. People would call her and once she got up the nerve, she invited a few to stay at her house, which is considerably far from the little town and the trail.
At first she didn't want them in the house. She offered the back yard to pitch tents and sleep. She saw all the tents out there and felt bad so so invited them in. They played cribbage, ate tons of food and she invited them to sleep on the couch. She learned that the PCT hikers are wonderful people. She started taking their pictures and had them sign a little register in her house. She never specifically asked for donations, but she would find money hidden around the house for her. She really had a lot of fun.
She decided to do it again this year. She removes her phone number from the trail when she doesn't want to be bothered. She only has people come over to her house that she invites. But she seems to invite everybody.
Today she sent me a link to pictures she has taken of the hikers she's met so far. Some of them she's only driven to and from the trailhead and others stayed over at her house. Looking at all the pictures fills me with melancholy for a world I'm not a part of right now. The trail is a whole little community, a special world. I miss it!
Here are her pictures.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A year later - still not easy
A year ago I was hiking the PCT. I was just about to arrive in Ashland. I was at the peak of happiness, loving every minute of the experience, feeling that I was doing the right thing with my life, the thing that gave my life purpose.
A year later it is still hard to adjust being back in civilization. I don't know if I'll ever adjust. Nothing about "real" life is real enough. It's so pointless sometimes and I find myself wasting my time away just waiting. Waiting for time to pass.
A year later it is still hard to adjust being back in civilization. I don't know if I'll ever adjust. Nothing about "real" life is real enough. It's so pointless sometimes and I find myself wasting my time away just waiting. Waiting for time to pass.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Getting back to life after the PCT
It's hard coming back from such an adventure as hiking the PCT. Real life is on the trail. This other life is just waiting time until you can get back. The sooner you accept this, the better.
I actually got me a job, but a part-time job. Seems better that way, but I blew it. I should have asked for less days per week instead of less hours per day. I still have to try to cram backpacking trips into a two-day weekend.
And two-day backpacking trips are what I'm doing now. As many as I can.
Fortunately I talked about my hike enough to make The Man want to try it. He's leaving in about a week. It's my turn to ship the packages and be the support person. I'm going to go down to Campo and hike with him the first two days. If I can do it, I'll try to meet him on the trail on weekends if he's near somewhere I can get to. If not, then I'll just do another two-day backpack trip or set up a lemonade stand for thru-hikers.
I've been trying to get involved in things. Music, classes, stuff like that. I decided I liked being able to walk 30 miles in a day so I've been dabbling in trail running and might try an ultramarathon someday.
You have to get involved, stay active, do the things you enjoy. Keep living life to the fullest.
I actually got me a job, but a part-time job. Seems better that way, but I blew it. I should have asked for less days per week instead of less hours per day. I still have to try to cram backpacking trips into a two-day weekend.
And two-day backpacking trips are what I'm doing now. As many as I can.
Fortunately I talked about my hike enough to make The Man want to try it. He's leaving in about a week. It's my turn to ship the packages and be the support person. I'm going to go down to Campo and hike with him the first two days. If I can do it, I'll try to meet him on the trail on weekends if he's near somewhere I can get to. If not, then I'll just do another two-day backpack trip or set up a lemonade stand for thru-hikers.
I've been trying to get involved in things. Music, classes, stuff like that. I decided I liked being able to walk 30 miles in a day so I've been dabbling in trail running and might try an ultramarathon someday.
You have to get involved, stay active, do the things you enjoy. Keep living life to the fullest.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Hiker Hunger
I remember the day my hiker hunger kicked in. It was the day after Mission Creek Canyon, the day before Big Bear.
I struggled up Mission Creek Canyon with no energy at all. I could barely make it. I couldn't figure out how it could feel so steep and look so level. At the end of the canyon it gets really steep as it goes up to Mission Creek Camp. I thought I would never make it.
The next day I was sitting by the side of the road casually snacking on one of my tiny little bags of dried fruit and nuts. I would normally ration one bag for the whole day. Before I knew it I had eaten the whole bag. I suddenly had more energy. Then I found bananas and mountain dew a little further on the trail. Now I felt great. I did my first 26 mile day. Duh! I need food! In Big Bear I really started eating.
In the Sierras I shrunk and shriveled up from starvation. At one point in the Sierras, because I didn't expect to do so few miles each day (I started doing 20-ish but then two passes a day was too much so had to cut back), I ran out of food and was rationing. A handful of nuts for lunch, diet Crystal Light for dinner. Oddly I wasn't really that hungry although I was very hungry, if that makes sense. I lost whatever was left. My breasts became empty sacks. I became an emotional wreck.
They say hikers need anywhere from 3000 to 10,000 calories on the trail. Closer to 3000 if you hike less than 10 miles a day. Closer to 10,000 if you're up to 30 or more. It's really strange to need so much food. But you learn soon the more you eat the farther you can go. In 2009 I was regularly hiking 30 miles a day. No way was I eating 10,000 calories, but I bet I was close. My typical day of food was:
In 2009 my hiker hunger hit quickly within about 200 miles. I made sure to eat as soon as the hunger kicked in. I lost the padding from off-trail life, but otherwise I had no sunken cheeks, no shriveling.
I still get hungry easily but I'm getting better. The hunger has mostly subsided, but it comes back easily. I think I'm actually starting to lose the weight I gained since returning home again. Maybe I'll finally even back out to normal or reach a place where I can lose weight and be fit like a hiker without having to hike all day like a hiker. I can only hope.
I struggled up Mission Creek Canyon with no energy at all. I could barely make it. I couldn't figure out how it could feel so steep and look so level. At the end of the canyon it gets really steep as it goes up to Mission Creek Camp. I thought I would never make it.
The next day I was sitting by the side of the road casually snacking on one of my tiny little bags of dried fruit and nuts. I would normally ration one bag for the whole day. Before I knew it I had eaten the whole bag. I suddenly had more energy. Then I found bananas and mountain dew a little further on the trail. Now I felt great. I did my first 26 mile day. Duh! I need food! In Big Bear I really started eating.
In the Sierras I shrunk and shriveled up from starvation. At one point in the Sierras, because I didn't expect to do so few miles each day (I started doing 20-ish but then two passes a day was too much so had to cut back), I ran out of food and was rationing. A handful of nuts for lunch, diet Crystal Light for dinner. Oddly I wasn't really that hungry although I was very hungry, if that makes sense. I lost whatever was left. My breasts became empty sacks. I became an emotional wreck.
They say hikers need anywhere from 3000 to 10,000 calories on the trail. Closer to 3000 if you hike less than 10 miles a day. Closer to 10,000 if you're up to 30 or more. It's really strange to need so much food. But you learn soon the more you eat the farther you can go. In 2009 I was regularly hiking 30 miles a day. No way was I eating 10,000 calories, but I bet I was close. My typical day of food was:
- Two trail bars, or 1/4 bag of fig newtons, or one bowl of dense cereal with powdered milk
- 1 stack of Pepperidge Farm cookies (some have 2 stacks per bag and some have 3)
- About 2 inches deep of hummus in my 1 liter pot with crackers to scoop it up
- 1 King sized candy (M&Ms, Reeses Pieces, Candy Bar)
- 1/3 box of Cheese-its, sometimes with a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter
- At least one diet hydration drink and 2 Emergenc-C packets
- Almost 1 liter of dense pasta with 1 packet of Alfredo cheese powder, 1-2 individually wrapped cheese sticks and maybe some dried veggies
- 1 King sized candy or large candy (gummy bears, 1/2 giant Hershey bar, M&Ms, Reeses or Candy Bar) for dessert
In 2009 my hiker hunger hit quickly within about 200 miles. I made sure to eat as soon as the hunger kicked in. I lost the padding from off-trail life, but otherwise I had no sunken cheeks, no shriveling.
I still get hungry easily but I'm getting better. The hunger has mostly subsided, but it comes back easily. I think I'm actually starting to lose the weight I gained since returning home again. Maybe I'll finally even back out to normal or reach a place where I can lose weight and be fit like a hiker without having to hike all day like a hiker. I can only hope.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Transitioning back from a long distance hike
The transition process is different for everyone, and different for the same person who does it more than once. For some people it is smooth and for others it is not.
I met Frodo in Old Station and she said that the people who do best with the transition have something to go back to.
Some friends on the trail had to go back to work the day after they got home and they reported that it was the strangest feeling, as if the whole PCT hike had never happened and was only a dream.
Most people suggest taking some time to transition back. Things in the regular world will seem odd. Cars move too fast. People talk too loudly and about stuff that doesn't matter. I couldn't handle my type of work right away because it takes too much brain power and concentration. It's hard not to overeat. I've tried not to overeat and yet the pounds piled back on anyway. I think it's because on the trail your body thinks you're starving so no matter what you do, your body's going to hoard everything it can in case you start up again.
I hiked two summers in a row. After the first summer, I was reminded to bathe a couple of times. After the second summer I couldn't stop bathing it felt so good. I think that was because after the first summer, I didn't want to come home so I really didn't. I was home physically but in every other way I was still on the trail. Zero days until I could return.
After the first summer my feet were injured (that's why I went home) and I spent about 6 weeks walking around town barefoot to heal them. It actually worked. It took until almost the anniversary of when I left the Mexican border before I felt 99% back to normal physically. I met another woman who said it was about the same for her.
So far after this year's hike I am still physically a mess. Lingering injuries to my feet (different ones this time around) and generally I just hurt all over all the time. I went to the doctor and there's an elevated enzyme indicating muscle damage. Not sure what that means yet. I will probably be told to settle into my chair and drift off to the black hole of normal American life. A fate worse than death.
I'm left with a lingering feeling that this "normal" life is completely wrong, 99% meaningless and pointless and that most things people are so concerned about are not important. If the whole oil crash scenario were to happen, I would be cheering it on. Finally we can go camping permanently.
I met Frodo in Old Station and she said that the people who do best with the transition have something to go back to.
Some friends on the trail had to go back to work the day after they got home and they reported that it was the strangest feeling, as if the whole PCT hike had never happened and was only a dream.
Most people suggest taking some time to transition back. Things in the regular world will seem odd. Cars move too fast. People talk too loudly and about stuff that doesn't matter. I couldn't handle my type of work right away because it takes too much brain power and concentration. It's hard not to overeat. I've tried not to overeat and yet the pounds piled back on anyway. I think it's because on the trail your body thinks you're starving so no matter what you do, your body's going to hoard everything it can in case you start up again.
I hiked two summers in a row. After the first summer, I was reminded to bathe a couple of times. After the second summer I couldn't stop bathing it felt so good. I think that was because after the first summer, I didn't want to come home so I really didn't. I was home physically but in every other way I was still on the trail. Zero days until I could return.
After the first summer my feet were injured (that's why I went home) and I spent about 6 weeks walking around town barefoot to heal them. It actually worked. It took until almost the anniversary of when I left the Mexican border before I felt 99% back to normal physically. I met another woman who said it was about the same for her.
So far after this year's hike I am still physically a mess. Lingering injuries to my feet (different ones this time around) and generally I just hurt all over all the time. I went to the doctor and there's an elevated enzyme indicating muscle damage. Not sure what that means yet. I will probably be told to settle into my chair and drift off to the black hole of normal American life. A fate worse than death.
I'm left with a lingering feeling that this "normal" life is completely wrong, 99% meaningless and pointless and that most things people are so concerned about are not important. If the whole oil crash scenario were to happen, I would be cheering it on. Finally we can go camping permanently.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Injured feet
Just as I thought, I have a sesamoid injury to my left foot and achilles tendonitis in my right foot. My doctor was pretty shocked that anybody could walk 30 miles in a day and even more shocked that I'd get right back up and do it again the next day, too.
I have to get some blood tests. There's probably nothing that can be done to help me, but my main complaint is that even now, 6 months after my big hike, if I go out and do a hike, I can barely get out of the car afterward. I'm so sore. I feel like I'm 100 years old. I limp and creak and hurt all over. Then I go to bed and feel fine the next day.
If I try new sports, like jogging or riding my bike, same thing happens. I get really really sore and then the next day, or maybe the day after that, I'm fine. If I bend over to pull weeds or clean the tub, I'm incapacitated for almost a week, though. My hamstrings just can't take it.
Because of all this soreness, it's very hard to find an activity I can do to try and stay in shape. I've gained back more weight than I lost from my big hikes, and I was hoping I'd feel better by now and be able to get some exercise and keep up my fitness. I was hoping to take up trail running so I could get that invincible, super-human feeling back again like I had walking so far every day. Alas, I can barely run down the street and back.
I guess I will have to stick to cycling. For the first time in my life, I live really close to work and now ironically, it's too close to ride my bike!
I'm too young to get old so soon. I thought I was just getting started.
I have to get some blood tests. There's probably nothing that can be done to help me, but my main complaint is that even now, 6 months after my big hike, if I go out and do a hike, I can barely get out of the car afterward. I'm so sore. I feel like I'm 100 years old. I limp and creak and hurt all over. Then I go to bed and feel fine the next day.
If I try new sports, like jogging or riding my bike, same thing happens. I get really really sore and then the next day, or maybe the day after that, I'm fine. If I bend over to pull weeds or clean the tub, I'm incapacitated for almost a week, though. My hamstrings just can't take it.
Because of all this soreness, it's very hard to find an activity I can do to try and stay in shape. I've gained back more weight than I lost from my big hikes, and I was hoping I'd feel better by now and be able to get some exercise and keep up my fitness. I was hoping to take up trail running so I could get that invincible, super-human feeling back again like I had walking so far every day. Alas, I can barely run down the street and back.
I guess I will have to stick to cycling. For the first time in my life, I live really close to work and now ironically, it's too close to ride my bike!
I'm too young to get old so soon. I thought I was just getting started.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
My metabolism sucks
Not only am I not a thru-hiker anymore because I don't eat M&Ms on the ground, I'm not a thru-hiker anymore because I'm so fat now.
Even though I've been running every other day about 20 or 30 minutes (I'm working my way up) and hiking on the weekends and walking a 3 mile round trip to work every day, the pounds keep piling on. It's very distressing.
I recovered pretty well from the first hike, gaining the weight back but keeping some off, but two in a row seem to have destroyed my metabolism. It's very sad. This is not a PCT Reentry issue I am fond of at all.
Even though I've been running every other day about 20 or 30 minutes (I'm working my way up) and hiking on the weekends and walking a 3 mile round trip to work every day, the pounds keep piling on. It's very distressing.
I recovered pretty well from the first hike, gaining the weight back but keeping some off, but two in a row seem to have destroyed my metabolism. It's very sad. This is not a PCT Reentry issue I am fond of at all.
I'm not a thru-hiker anymore
Well, it's official. I'm not a thru-hiker anymore. As I was walking down the street there were M&Ms on the sidewalk and I didn't eat them.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Cleaning up after the PCT
I hate to replace a reasonably good post (yesterday's) with more boring news, but I just feel like it.
I made significant inroads into the disaster that is my room. I have filled about 10 grocery bags with unwanted clothing and camera stuff to be given to the thrift store. I also unpacked my sent home boxes from the PCT. I unpacked my bounce bucket and gave it a second life as a gray water catcher in my shower. All my camping gear is now in a huge pile of tubs. I have way too much camping gear, but I'll go through it eventually. Or never. Whatever.
Small steps toward getting rid of clutter, but I already feel much better. Although it is sad to see my bounce bucket no longer being a bounce bucket.
The Man is thinking about doing Section A of the PCT over his Christmas break. That gets me all excited. I hope he does it. He could go up to Paradise Cafe during this time of year without difficulty. He probably won't, but it would be great if he did. I read someone explain the feeling perfectly: "I wish you could be here all alone to share it with me." He could be out there all alone and it would be like sharing my experience with him. Then he could come home and tell me all about it and then he'd be sharing his experience with me because I would understand.
If he did the PCT, it would kinda be like doing it again myself. Not really, but sort of.
I made significant inroads into the disaster that is my room. I have filled about 10 grocery bags with unwanted clothing and camera stuff to be given to the thrift store. I also unpacked my sent home boxes from the PCT. I unpacked my bounce bucket and gave it a second life as a gray water catcher in my shower. All my camping gear is now in a huge pile of tubs. I have way too much camping gear, but I'll go through it eventually. Or never. Whatever.
Small steps toward getting rid of clutter, but I already feel much better. Although it is sad to see my bounce bucket no longer being a bounce bucket.
The Man is thinking about doing Section A of the PCT over his Christmas break. That gets me all excited. I hope he does it. He could go up to Paradise Cafe during this time of year without difficulty. He probably won't, but it would be great if he did. I read someone explain the feeling perfectly: "I wish you could be here all alone to share it with me." He could be out there all alone and it would be like sharing my experience with him. Then he could come home and tell me all about it and then he'd be sharing his experience with me because I would understand.
If he did the PCT, it would kinda be like doing it again myself. Not really, but sort of.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Being back now for almost 4 months, it is still hard to adjust
I read a really nice interview called Nothing to Lose But Our Illusions.
I think what I liked about it is that it is another voice that echos my experience of leaving my job to hike the PCT two summers in a row. He quit his job to do different things, but his thoughts are similar to mine.
He writes about our way of life:
So, I quit and went hiking. While hiking, I realized the same thing that the man in the interview realized after he quit his job and started living simply:
I think what I liked about it is that it is another voice that echos my experience of leaving my job to hike the PCT two summers in a row. He quit his job to do different things, but his thoughts are similar to mine.
He writes about our way of life:
the death of the planet is symptomatic of a deeper, institutionalized subordination of all life-including human life-to profitBack when I was working full-time and making a lot of money, I suddenly woke up one day and realized that my entire life, my time—which is the only thing I truly own—had become completely subordinated to helping others profit and get rich. Sure, I was making decent money, but it stopped feeling like it was worth trading my time away for it. I would climb into bed each night shocked that another day of my life had passed by with no memories made, no experiences had. Sometimes I would catch myself wondering if it was Spring or Fall, what day of the week, what month of the year, even what year it was. Even though my job and the work of the company itself seemed relatively benign, my time and energies were supporting a huge machine that is devouring the planet and killing all of us. I couldn't do it anymore.
So, I quit and went hiking. While hiking, I realized the same thing that the man in the interview realized after he quit his job and started living simply:
Once you start to see through the myth of status, possessions, and unlimited consumption as a path to happiness, you'll find that you have all kinds of freedom and time. It's like a deal you can make with the universe: I'll give up greed for freedom. Then you can start putting your time to good use.The beauty of the hike was that the less possessions I had the happier I was. I could feel deep inside that being a part of nature was like coming home. It no longer mattered out there if I wore fashionable clothes or even if I impressed people with my gear. I could just be me and speak the truth and talk softly.
So don't ask yourself what people want. Ask instead, What is true? What really inspires me, excites me? What will really help people and take away their confusion and suffering? It's sort of a funny, crazy way to go, but I think it's the only way to bring water to the wasteland Joseph Campbell described. When I read something truthful, something real, I breathe a deep sigh and say, "Fantastic-I wasn't mad or alone in thinking that, after all!" So often we are left to our own devices, struggling in the dark with this external and internal propaganda system. At that point, for someone to tell us the truth is a gift. In a world where people all around us are lying and confusing us, to be honest is a great kindness.It is difficult to be back from the PCT and know that I'm not going back. There is pressure to rejoin the system and commit to it permanently. I risk being rejected and alone if I don't conform. I feel conflicted between the truth that I learned out there and the fake world that I've returned to. According to the interview, telling the truth about this is helpful because it helps others not feel so alone. Hopefully someone out there reading this will feel less alone if my words have rung true for them.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Questions and answers about hiking the PCT
I gave a slide show last night of pictures from my solo hike. At the end, I opened it up to questions. Here are a few:
Were you lonely? Yes. But my loneliness was a good kind. I was lonely for my family and for the things I do in the community. It wasn't the alienated loneliness you feel in civilization.
Were you afraid? No, not really. What scares me are mean bosses and not being able to survive in civilization.
Did you have food cravings? Not really. I craved food, period. I laid waste to all you can eat buffets and satisfied all cravings in town, so on the trail, I didn't crave any particular food.
What was the best part of the trail, the part you would recommend to someone? It depends on what you like. If you like forests, hike Oregon and Washington. Otherwise, California has a great diversity from desert to the High Sierra. The prettiest is the Marble Mountains in California and the North Cascades.
The most amazing thing is getting to see the progression through biological zones. You go from desert to alpine as you go up in altitude. But you do the same as you go up in latitude, and seeing that at such a slow pace is the most amazing thing. In California, it's forest at 8000 feet, sub-alpine at 10,000 feet, alpine at 12,000 feet. In Washington, it's forest at 5,000 feet, sub-alpine at 6000 feet and alpine at 7000 feet.
Hiking a long trail like this really shows you your connection to the Earth. You know on a deep level where water comes from and how important it is to your life. You feel the tension between modern, civilized convenience and its devastating effect on the environment, and the privilege of being in nature. It's eye-opening.
Since hiking the trail, I no longer aspire to the kind of financial or career success I grew up believing I should. At the same time, I struggle with feeling like a failure. I hope I can resolve this conflict.
Were you lonely? Yes. But my loneliness was a good kind. I was lonely for my family and for the things I do in the community. It wasn't the alienated loneliness you feel in civilization.
Were you afraid? No, not really. What scares me are mean bosses and not being able to survive in civilization.
Did you have food cravings? Not really. I craved food, period. I laid waste to all you can eat buffets and satisfied all cravings in town, so on the trail, I didn't crave any particular food.
What was the best part of the trail, the part you would recommend to someone? It depends on what you like. If you like forests, hike Oregon and Washington. Otherwise, California has a great diversity from desert to the High Sierra. The prettiest is the Marble Mountains in California and the North Cascades.
The most amazing thing is getting to see the progression through biological zones. You go from desert to alpine as you go up in altitude. But you do the same as you go up in latitude, and seeing that at such a slow pace is the most amazing thing. In California, it's forest at 8000 feet, sub-alpine at 10,000 feet, alpine at 12,000 feet. In Washington, it's forest at 5,000 feet, sub-alpine at 6000 feet and alpine at 7000 feet.
Hiking a long trail like this really shows you your connection to the Earth. You know on a deep level where water comes from and how important it is to your life. You feel the tension between modern, civilized convenience and its devastating effect on the environment, and the privilege of being in nature. It's eye-opening.
Since hiking the trail, I no longer aspire to the kind of financial or career success I grew up believing I should. At the same time, I struggle with feeling like a failure. I hope I can resolve this conflict.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Some boring news on a rainy Saturday
It has been raining this last week. It is raining right now. It is not real cold. Last weekend it was very cold. There was ice on the roof in the morning. There were a few sunny days last week in between storms and the surfers were very happy with the enormous waves from the storms.
I have been enjoying the rain. I rode my scooter a few times with my rain gear on. So-called rain gear. I learned why my thrift store rain pants had been sent to the thrift store in the first place. I was completely soaked by the time I got to work. Now they are back in the thrift store pile again.
I walked to work the last two mornings in the rain with my holey Golite umbrella. It still works. This morning I walked to coffee and then later downtown to the library in the rain. What I did was go jogging carrying my umbrella folded up, and when it started to rain, I switched to walking instead with my umbrella opened up.
I need to get more exercise. The weight I lost from hiking the PCT has come on rather rapidly and keeps coming. I'm outgrowing my clothes. I feel uncomfortable and jiggly. It is not good. I hope that running will help.
I hope that running will not only help my weight but maybe it can substitute for the loss of being a long distance hiker. Perhaps, if I can keep it up, I can gain/keep the physical feeling of strength and stamina that I had as a hiker, and maybe I can even find adventure in traveling long distances again, maybe even find community with other runners. It takes less time to go a long way while running than walking. Easier to fit it into a dreary city life.
I have been enjoying the rain. I rode my scooter a few times with my rain gear on. So-called rain gear. I learned why my thrift store rain pants had been sent to the thrift store in the first place. I was completely soaked by the time I got to work. Now they are back in the thrift store pile again.
I walked to work the last two mornings in the rain with my holey Golite umbrella. It still works. This morning I walked to coffee and then later downtown to the library in the rain. What I did was go jogging carrying my umbrella folded up, and when it started to rain, I switched to walking instead with my umbrella opened up.
I need to get more exercise. The weight I lost from hiking the PCT has come on rather rapidly and keeps coming. I'm outgrowing my clothes. I feel uncomfortable and jiggly. It is not good. I hope that running will help.
I hope that running will not only help my weight but maybe it can substitute for the loss of being a long distance hiker. Perhaps, if I can keep it up, I can gain/keep the physical feeling of strength and stamina that I had as a hiker, and maybe I can even find adventure in traveling long distances again, maybe even find community with other runners. It takes less time to go a long way while running than walking. Easier to fit it into a dreary city life.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Running
This weekend there was a marathon race in town. I did not see the race, but this morning I did see a video someone made while running the race. It looked like fun. People who run marathons look so healthy and happy.
While hiking the PCT, I would consider a 26 mile day to be a relatively easy day. A 28 mile day was about right. A 30 mile day was getting up there and more than that was too much. I can easily walk 26 miles. But I struggle to run even one mile.
When I returned from the PCT I hoped to change that. I hoped to run to stay in shape and maintain my weight loss. I hoped that in time I could work my way up to trail running and even ultrarunning. Sadly, I could barely run a mile and eventually I gave up. The weight returned and I don't even think about trying to run on trails anymore.
I would like to change that. I just need to get my butt out there and do it, I suppose.
While hiking the PCT, I would consider a 26 mile day to be a relatively easy day. A 28 mile day was about right. A 30 mile day was getting up there and more than that was too much. I can easily walk 26 miles. But I struggle to run even one mile.
When I returned from the PCT I hoped to change that. I hoped to run to stay in shape and maintain my weight loss. I hoped that in time I could work my way up to trail running and even ultrarunning. Sadly, I could barely run a mile and eventually I gave up. The weight returned and I don't even think about trying to run on trails anymore.
I would like to change that. I just need to get my butt out there and do it, I suppose.
Monday, December 07, 2009
It has been sinking in lately at some deep level, that without any plan to return to the PCT or to hike another long trail, that I'm not a long-distance hiker anymore. It had become such a big part of my identity and now it's gone.
For as much as I complained, I truly felt like I was being my essential self when I was out there. I loved the trail community. I loved living in the forest. I loved walking. There was something incredibly satisfying about being so physical each day and carrying all my belongings and having mastery over my gear and all my needs.
Without being on the trail, I'm no longer a member of the community of the trail. This saddens me. Next year when the hikers are out there, I'll just be another city person, and here in the city, I'm not a member of any community. My loneliness on the trail was pleasurable. The loneliness of the city is alienating.
There is something terribly not right about this. I don't know what to do about it. I must return to the trail someday. But what do I do in the meantime?
For as much as I complained, I truly felt like I was being my essential self when I was out there. I loved the trail community. I loved living in the forest. I loved walking. There was something incredibly satisfying about being so physical each day and carrying all my belongings and having mastery over my gear and all my needs.
Without being on the trail, I'm no longer a member of the community of the trail. This saddens me. Next year when the hikers are out there, I'll just be another city person, and here in the city, I'm not a member of any community. My loneliness on the trail was pleasurable. The loneliness of the city is alienating.
There is something terribly not right about this. I don't know what to do about it. I must return to the trail someday. But what do I do in the meantime?
Friday, October 16, 2009
Two extraordinary happenings this week
Two extraordinary things happened this week, both involving music.
The first was attending the Fiddler's Convention. I went not expecting anything in particular but ended up having a great time. I felt like I knew half the people there. I saw people from my part-time job, people from the garden where I volunteer, people from the jam session, and people from the Irish session. My favorite "local" Celtic band, Molly's Revenge, was playing. A special guest performed and it turned out all her music sounded really familiar so I went home and it turned out I had a couple of her albums. So many days while hiking the PCT I thought of how much I missed playing music in the park and at the session and the people from the various things I do and here they all were all together. It seemed kind of like magic. A reminder of all the things I missed about home while on the trail.
The second extraordinary thing was attending the Irish session last night. It was a particularly good time. The new organizer is the best thing to happen to the session. He has invited his friends and students so there were people to play with us and people to listen. There was even a woman with Scottish bagpipes. Wow! Those are loud!
So many times I would be hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail and an Irish tune would start playing in my head. Sometimes I could not remember the whole tune and I would wrack my brain trying to get myself to remember. Last night at the session they played some of those tunes and it was like having an instant flashback to the trail. I could see in my mind the place on the trail when the tune was in my head, a clear and perfect memory. The Rambling Pitchfork while coming down from Mt. Jefferson in Oregon was one of these visions. A reminder of moments on the trail, good times I miss about the trail.
The trail has been such a big part of my life. It is sad that it is over. But I have the memories. Even if I can never find another good job and have to make do with a cardboard sign, I will always have the memories.
The first was attending the Fiddler's Convention. I went not expecting anything in particular but ended up having a great time. I felt like I knew half the people there. I saw people from my part-time job, people from the garden where I volunteer, people from the jam session, and people from the Irish session. My favorite "local" Celtic band, Molly's Revenge, was playing. A special guest performed and it turned out all her music sounded really familiar so I went home and it turned out I had a couple of her albums. So many days while hiking the PCT I thought of how much I missed playing music in the park and at the session and the people from the various things I do and here they all were all together. It seemed kind of like magic. A reminder of all the things I missed about home while on the trail.
The second extraordinary thing was attending the Irish session last night. It was a particularly good time. The new organizer is the best thing to happen to the session. He has invited his friends and students so there were people to play with us and people to listen. There was even a woman with Scottish bagpipes. Wow! Those are loud!
So many times I would be hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail and an Irish tune would start playing in my head. Sometimes I could not remember the whole tune and I would wrack my brain trying to get myself to remember. Last night at the session they played some of those tunes and it was like having an instant flashback to the trail. I could see in my mind the place on the trail when the tune was in my head, a clear and perfect memory. The Rambling Pitchfork while coming down from Mt. Jefferson in Oregon was one of these visions. A reminder of moments on the trail, good times I miss about the trail.
The trail has been such a big part of my life. It is sad that it is over. But I have the memories. Even if I can never find another good job and have to make do with a cardboard sign, I will always have the memories.
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