THE UPDATED STORY BEHIND my PCT hike

From canceling in 2020 due to the pandemic to failing attempting a thru-hike in 2022: LET’S DO IT AGAIN!

There is always a story. Whether it is family, a midlife crisis, chasing a feeling from a previous thru-hike, the views, the challenge, the people, or trying to find meaning. A why. Something that keeps you going—through the hard days, the long days, the endless miles that look the same.

If I am being honest, I don’t remember what triggered this intense desire to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I grew up in a family that loved the outdoors. We would drive long hours to Colorado every summer and explore the mountains. My dad was a kayaker, hiker, backpacker, photographer, and lover of the outdoors (he still is). There was a gap in my love for the outdoors somewhere around those pesky teenage years, but it was still in there somewhere. My family moved to California while I was in nursing school and I followed not long after. I explored Yosemite for the first time…my first time really exploring the mountains on my own. I surely wasn’t in Iowa anymore. I hiked from Tuolumne Meadows to Glen Aulin on the PCT. I saw thru-hikers (didn’t know it at the time) at the grill and store. A few years later, I moved to Washington. It is pretty much impossible to live in Washington and not like hiking or the outdoors. So I started to hike. And hike some more. And backpack. I gained confidence and experience.

The mountains are my stress release. My happy place. Even before Covid-19, labor and delivery nursing wasn’t just about “holding babies.” It is triage, emergency, surgery, post-anesthesia care, birth, death, mental health, and so much more wrapped into one amazing package. A patient inside of a patient. The more I learned about the Pacific Crest Trail, the more I wanted—needed—to hike it. Day hikes, section hikes. Could I really do a thru-hike? As I said, I can’t quite remember when I first decided this was an option. Ask any of my former coworkers, I have been talking about this for years. In 2019, I finally decided that it was time. I had experience at work, enough that I felt comfortable leaving. I started making plans, but I didn’t tell anyone exactly what they were until it was official. I got a permit: April 10. I started buying food for resupplies and replacing a few pieces of gear.

In January 2020 (you see where this is going), I put in my notice at work. I finished the remaining projects on my house (including installing new floors, painting the exterior, adding gravel to landscaping, and replacing a very large broken window). I then sold my house, car, and many of my belongings. All this happened in those first few weeks of Covid-19 when nothing was really happening yet. No mask mandates. No lockdowns. It wasn’t until my last day of work that masks were required for hospital staff and temperatures were taken before entering the building. Still, this should blow over soon, right? Right? I packed up my remaining belongings (and cats) into the U-Haul and drove to my parent’s house in California. My dad saw no reason I couldn’t hike still. Ultimately, things got worse and I decided to cancel my thru-hike for 2020. I grabbed a couple of permits for the Sierra, just in case, and waited. In the end, I thru-hiked the John Muir Trail (JMT) southbound out of Tuolumne Meadows. After the hike, I can say for a fact:

Thru-hiking ruins your life.

For the better. All I wanted to do was get back on the trail (note: post-trail depression is definitely a thing as well).

I spent 2021 working and hiking a shorter section of the PCT (from Sonora Pass to Cottonwood Pass).

And in 2022, I attempted to thru-hike the PCT. But as we all know and learn, hikes don’t always go to plan, especially when you are hiking a long-distance trail. Plans change. And that is okay. Mentally, it just didn’t feel right. I got off the trail near Acton in mid-May. I had nearly 1,000 miles that I still planned to hike. But I lost the desire to thru-hike this year. I had zero regrets.

Plans change. The trail, while it may change a little each year, is always there. I know of at least half a dozen hikers and couples I have been closely following this year that have had to make big decisions with their hikes. Some due to injury, some fear, and some just felt done. Some, like myself, made one decision that spiraled out of control, where finishing just felt impossible.

I will admit, I am struggling at the moment. I did what I told myself I wouldn’t. Repeating 2019.

In 2019, I attempted the John Muir Trail. I had terrible foot issues and it was my first introduction to long-distance hiking. I was solo and hadn’t found who I was on trail yet. I made a decision to quit on a bad day and ended my hike at Red’s Meadow. In reality, a few days of rest and switching out my shoes in Mammoth probably would have solved any issues I had.

But…I came back. And I did two amazing long hikes in the Sierra.

I did start hiking again in 2022, after stopping near Acton. On June 30, I got back on the trail in Ashland. I planned to hike until the Canadian border. I felt great. I hiked from Ashland to Hyatt Lake on day one. I took my first zero at Fish Lake for the Fourth of July and then set out toward Crater Lake. I planned on 3-4 days to Mazama Village. Mosquitos aside, those two days of hiking were great. A few snow patches here and there, but beautiful landscape the further north I moved. The snow picked up less than a mile before Devil’s Peak, but it was easy walking with micro spikes (many people I saw even did without).

Then: injury. It was nearing noon when I reached the top of Devil’s Peak. I’ve never glissaded before and I had only seen two other NOBO hikers today. My plan was to use the path of the people that had just hiked up. This ended up being a bad plan. The snow was too soft. I was forced to my butt after two steps. I try scooting on my butt. Nope. I started sliding. Then my right foot slips, pulling my knee and ankle behind my body. I hear a loud POP in my right leg, as if something had snapped or was out of the socket. I stopped myself on some rocks to my right, then slowly climbed the 30-40 feet back to the top.

So here I am.

This is where I should be. Yes, I am happy with what I have accomplished this year. I hiked 500 miles.

…but I also have that thought that keeps coming back and back and back. This is where I should be.

I may have failed not finished in 2022, but I need to try again.

So here I am.

Begining again.