Back at it Again! Pretzel Hikes the PCT

It is officially thru hiking season,

and I have just under two months left before I take on my next big hike: the Pacific Crest Trail. This will be the first time I commit to writing a blog about one of my thru hikes. Although I’ve been a decent and creative writer most of my life, the task feels daunting—not because I struggle to articulate my thoughts and feelings, but because the seeming urgency of every moment on the trail will make finding time to write a challenge.

So I suppose if I’m going to do this thing, I should do it right. And that requires an introduction. Most of you don’t know me, and let’s be honest, except for a few friends and my parents (hi, Mom and Dad!), the majority of you are strangers who, like me, are a fan of following people’s hikes on The Trek’s platform. Some of you might even know me from my previous hikes, but either way, I’m sure you’ll be learning a good deal about me in the coming months- I’m Pretzel. 

I spent most of my life in Georgia, and when I left to hike the Appalachian Trail (most of it anyway; I’ll get into that more later), I lived in Atlanta. I dropped out of college twice when I was 18 (such a good decision I made it a second time), and pursued work in the film industry in the city. I was a set dresser, meaning I was a part of a team of people that would decorate sets for shows. I worked on the fourth season of Stranger Things, a Marvel show, and a kitschy horror show based on some comic books from the 80’s called Creepshow. I spent more time pursuing union film work than I spent actively working on sets, but those three gigs, plus the extra unemployment money I was given during the pandemic, paid for my AT thru hike and full thru hiking kit. 

Another silver lining of the collective pause we took as a society that year- time. Enough time to go on a section hike of the AT in Georgia, and more than enough time, once I’d committed to the decision to thru hike the following season, to excessively research every last piece of gear I would need for the trek. 

By the time March rolled around

and I began my thru hike attempt, I’d backpacked somewhere in the vicinity of 100 miles between time spent on the Appalachian trail in Georgia, and on the Foothills trail for a shakedown hike. That was already enough trail time to realize that, despite the apparent glamor of working in the film industry, and all the struggle that had gone into pursuing my current line of work, it wasn’t the life I wanted or could see myself being happy in. The pivotal moment came when I’d gone to a fellow film industry friend’s birthday party, and became completely disillusioned by seeing the way all of these people interacted with each other. Superficial people, all comparing their success against that of their peers, all seemingly wanting something from each other. Connections, opportunities, clout. Too drunk to drive home, but now seeing these people too clearly to want to be around them, I spent that night sleeping in a hammock in the backyard. While hanging between trees all night, I thought of the last time I’d slept outside in a hammock, years ago on the Appalachian Trail. I decided that night that I would go on a backpacking trip, and complete the Georgia section up to Bly Gap. It was something I just knew that I needed to do to rid myself of this feeling of being trapped in the life I’d created for myself, surrounded by people that, for the most part, I couldn’t stand. 

Everyone has a story about how they first found out about and were inspired to thru hike. For me, it was my senior year of high school on a three day backpacking trip with my mom. We started at Neels Gap, and finished at Unicoi Gap. I’d never carried so much weight up such steep climbs, and the experience was brutal. I vividly remember how often I stopped to cry while struggling against gravity, but I remember even more vividly things like how unbelievably DELICIOUS food became (that packet of trail mix changed my perspective on how good food could taste once you’d really worked for it), and when we first met thru hikers at camp. This one former thru hiker, Fish, named so for jumping in every swimmable body of water “from here ‘til Maine!”, sparked up a joint while he and other aspiring hikers told us about their undertaking.

“Maine?? How far is Maine??”

“Up there by Canada!”

“CANADA?!???!!”

My mother and I walked for three days, and at Unicoi gap, there was some trail magic for the thru hikers. The very concept of trail magic blew my mind- absolute strangers were feeding these hungry hikers, and no one was even paying them?? A world existed, adjacent to the world I lived in, where people walked for months on an epic hero’s quest, and random impressed and inspired citizens came with food and support to help them achieve their goals? I’d never seen something that felt as important as this- a life outside of the one we tell ourselves is real and important, where people were doing something so unbelievable. When we got home from that trip, I knew I wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail someday. 

So, on March 8th, 2021,

when I was 22 years old, my sister dropped me off to begin my own hero’s journey to Maine. I was excited, a bit nervous, but fully invested in my single minded goal- make it to Katahdin. My sister was the one who cried as I took my first steps north, while I had a hardened resolve to accomplish what I had set out to do.

 That first thru hike didn’t go exactly as planned, as I struggled with some health issues I’d been dealing with for years. Not to get into too much detail, but the long and short of it is, mold makes me very sick. Although I started the trail in the best health I’d had in years (which was a low bar), the moldy shelters and buildings in the wet and humid east coast forests made me progressively sicker, which wore me down and cut into my mileage. Aside from a section of around 450 miles from Delaware Water Gap to the Vermont/ New Hampshire border, I walked every mile of that trail, and even walked half of the 100 mile wilderness twice. I hiked as the inflammation in my joints, muscles, gut, and brain grew more uncomfortable. I hiked long after so many others had left the trail because it “wasn’t what they expected”, or just didn’t want to be there anymore. I loved my new life in the woods, and everything about being out there felt so right. All the while I struggled against my own body, trying to stay healthy enough to keep going. I give so much credit to my amazing friends for keeping morale as high as possible and walking with me at the end, when I knew I was slowing them down. They’re the reason I kept going- I’ll love them forever for that. A big thank you to Grizz, above all others.

I finished my imperfect hike 6 months and 2 days after I set off, on September 10th, 2021. I summited Katahdin with some of my best friends from trail, Howdy and Captain. I watched as my friends, who I thought of as “true thru hikers” because they hadn’t had to skip any sections of trail, accomplished what I felt I had failed to do. I had a lot of mixed feelings as my hike came to an end, and it’s only been with time and reflection that I’ve realized that I was also still a thru hiker, and worthy of feeling proud of what I’d accomplished despite the extra challenges I’d faced. It may not have been the hike I was hoping for, but it was the hike I was meant to have, and it changed me to my core.

When I got back to my life in Atlanta,

I knew it was time for a big change. It had been my dream, since a very memorable conversation with my dad at 15 years old, to one day live out of a van and travel, so that became my next Katahdin. I bought my ‘97 Dodge Ram van in October, and had it built out and ready to live out of by March of 2022. I was working (and living) at a climbing gym north of the city, and in April I set out west to Colorado to become an outdoor guide. 

Over the last three or so years, I have hiked the full length of the Colorado Trail over two section hikes, done a full 500 mile Camino de Santiago, and several smaller backpacking trips in places like Zion and Rocky Mountain National Parks. I’ve guided whitewater rafting on the Arkansas River, been a hiking and backpacking guide, have taken clients up Via Ferratas in the Rockies, and have been a canyoneering guide in the desert of Zion National Park. My biggest achievement in guiding was becoming certified by the American Mountain Guide Association as a Single Pitch Instructor teaching rock climbing, mostly working with kids camps in the Rockies. I learned to snowboard at the ski resort I’ve worked at for the last three winters, gone mountaineering with some of the most amazing friends I’ve ever had, and had countless other adventures in landscapes that have reshaped me into the person I am today. None of this would’ve been possible without the Appalachian Trail.

So I’ve been itching for another really long walk. It’s only taken me this long to make the PCT happen because gear is EXPENSIVE, and I’ve taken on half a dozen new hobbies these last few years. I finally buckled down and saved enough for my upcoming thru hike, updated some pieces of gear that were showing the 3k miles of wear they’d been put through, and got my PCT permit. All that’s left to do now is finish out the ski season, go goof around in the desert near Moab for a few weeks, and then catch a bus to California. I’ve been getting my body and my mind ready for the upcoming months of hiking every day, as best as you can before actually being back out there. I’ve been soaking in moments with my friends, enjoying my warm bed, and taking extra long showers to fully appreciate what I have now before I leave it all behind for life on trail.

Of course as the hike gets closer,

I get more nervous. There’s nothing left to buy, no planning left to do. So instead of spiraling, I’ve started to write. Gratitude journaling has been a great mindfulness practice to keep me present and focused on joy, and I can’t begin to convey the importance of having a meditation practice when facing something as wrought with emotional struggle as a thru hike. I’ve been going snowboarding, climbing, and training cardio as often as possible.  There’s nothing left to do but wait, and revel in the chaos of emotions leading up to another life changing adventure.