Hello everyone, how are you all? I hope you’re all doing wonderfully. I’m really happy you’re reading this post on my blog about my experience on the PCT. Over the past few days, I’ve passed through some of the most breathtaking natural landscapes I’ve ever seen, and I’m really excited to share what happened during these two days on the trail.

Previously

It’s early May, and spring hasn’t yet had enough strength to melt the snow on the paths I’ve been walking. If you recall the end of my previous post, PCT Stage 04: Big Bear to Wrightwood  I had a double surprise upon arriving at Inspiration Point. The first was running into my trail friend and role model, High Five, and the second was something that absolutely blew my mind.

I had arranged my stay with the owner of some cabins in Wrightwood. Her husband came to pick me up, and when he told me his name was “Diego,” my mind immediately thought he had some Latin roots or background. His answer to the question “Where are you from?” came in Spanish with a tone that felt so familiar, as if he were one of my neighbors. And he is! His reply was, “Soy Argentino”

Relationship between Uruguay and Argentina

Uruguay is a small country bordered by Brazil to the north and Argentina to the west. Compared to most South American countries, my country is quite small, and to top it off, we only share borders with the two giants of the continent. In the border regions of Uruguay, we experience a strong influence from our neighboring countries, but on a broader scale, we have a particularly close bond with Argentina.

This connection with Argentina is so strong that we even share things that are rarely seen between South American countries. For instance, in an area I’m familiar with, Uruguay’s electric grid was originally an extension of Argentina’s system, and even today, they still work together in solidarity.

We share traditions, musical tastes, national heroes, history, and passions like football. It’s a deep bond, though we are still two different countries. It’s much like the relationship between siblings, where one is the older sibling—larger in population and land by more than 15 times—and the other is the younger one. This creates a bit of rivalry, with occasional moments of tension between the two, but most of the time, we enjoy an excellent relationship. It’s like two siblings who share the same essence, but over time have each followed their own path, while still coming together to celebrate the holidays.

Personally

I have a great relationship with Argentinians. It’s the second country where I’ve spent the most time in my life, and I have countless friends there. In Argentina, I took courses in trekking and mountaineering, studied photography, and hiked numerous trails. So, after 23 days of not even speaking Spanish, running into an Argentinian was quite overwhelming for me

Conversations between the two of us flowed like water. We laughed, reflected, and caught up. He was very curious to know how a Uruguayan ended up in this tiny town in the U.S., with the almost utopian and unreachable goal of walking across the entire country. All while carrying only a backpack, where I had everything I needed to survive for that entire time.

He was used to hosting hikers in his home, but having a South American stay was extremely rare. The South American PCT hikers he knew were mostly people who had some family connection or had lived in South America during their childhood but were now living in a first-world country.

Wrigthwood

After about 45 minutes, we arrived in the town of Wrightwood and drove through its streets. The town is small, incredibly beautiful, and peaceful. The snow-covered mountains in the background give the area a breathtaking touch. It has a little over 4,000 permanent residents, a rather expensive grocery store, and an outdoor gear shop.

New shoes call!

On the trail, I had started to notice that my shoes were wearing out quickly. It really caught my attention because I thought they should last at least 600 miles, but these had around 450 miles on them. It wasn’t just the side tear that kept growing, no matter how much thread and needle I used to patch them up. The soles were losing grip, and I was beginning to feel pain in the soles of my feet when stepping on rocks along the trail.

I went to the outdoor gear shop to check out the shoes they had available and their prices. In these first few weeks in the U.S., I had been very impressed by how expensive everything was—lodging, food, and other essentials. At the grocery store in Wrightwood, prices were even higher, so I was a bit nervous when I arrived at the gear shop.

To my surprise, I found the same trail runners I had been using, and while they were priced slightly higher than what I could find online, it wasn’t too bad. On the trail, I had already noticed the wear on my shoes, and at that moment, I had decided to make my first online purchase and send it to the post office in town. I ordered the same model of shoes I had been using. This worked perfectly, allowing me to save some money, time, and to get exactly the pair I was looking for.

Winds of change

The hikers I was meeting on the trail weren’t using Altra Lone Peaks as much; there were more Hokas and a brand I wasn’t familiar with called Topo. The reason was pretty clear—they had noticed that Altra Lone Peaks weren’t lasting as long, especially the 7s, which were exactly the ones I had bought, LOL. With this information, I decided to be more mindful of my next shoe change and maybe try on a pair of Hokas or Topos at an outdoor store. Even these new Altras were a full size larger, and I was feeling some lateral pressure on my feet, right in the spot where the tear was.

In any case, it’s all about learning and taking care of my feet, which were without a doubt the part of my body suffering the most—pain, blisters, and moisture. At the gear shop, I decided to buy two more pairs of socks, one liner and one hiking pair. My new strategy was to change socks at midday to avoid keeping my feet wet for too long.

Massive Trail Breakfast Magic

When I arrived in Wrightwood, I found out there was a special event happening the next morning. The town’s community had organized a free breakfast for all the PCT hikers who were in town. The place was packed with hikers, which really caught my attention because I hadn’t realized that so many people were hiking the PCT alongside me. I sat down at a table and noticed that I didn’t recognize most of the people there.

Since I had been averaging over 20 miles per day during these first 20 days on the trail, I was constantly changing the groups of hikers around me. Almost all the hikers I met were new to me, which made me feel a bit solitary. I sat at a table and started chatting with a group of hikers, and the main topic of conversation was pretty common: “What are you going to do about the climb to Mt. Baden Powell?”

Firsts talking about Mt. Baden Powell

In my case, I was still in the research phase and hadn’t made a decision yet, mainly because I hadn’t verified the information for myself. All I knew was that there was a lot of snow—I had already seen the accumulation when I approached the Acorn Trail descent, and it was a lot. To my surprise, the decision among the seven hikers I was talking to was unanimous.

“We’re going to skip the summit and walk along the highway.”

This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I was hoping to find more people confident about climbing the mountain, but that wasn’t the general outlook. An additional piece of information came up during these conversations: the weather forecast predicted rain for the coming days. Rain, with the current temperatures, would likely mean water in town and snow in the mountains.

After filling my stomach and having these initial talks with the hikers, I began thinking about how to approach this new challenge—how to line up my options to face How to Tackle the Impossible Ascent of Mt. Baden Powell.

Acorn Cabin

I returned to Acorn Cabin, and the first thing I noticed was the mess I had left on a chair. Organizing all your stuff on town days can be quite exhausting—washing clothes, resupplying for the next stretch on the trail. That’s the excuse I tell myself for leaving my things scattered all over the floor. The truth is, I’m naturally untidy, and it’s something I’ve been trying to improve, though, as you can see, with little success so far.

My untidiness has led me to use bags to organize everything I carry on the trail. I always have:

• A bag for my sleeping bag.
• A bag for my clothes.
• A bag for food.
• A bag for my first aid kit.
• A bag for electronics.
• A bag for random stuff.

But when I take things out of the bags, you get what you see in the photo above—a real RoadRunner mess.

Living in the USA

Diego’s house was beautiful, full of details and clearly the result of a lot of hard work. His parents were also at the house that day, and I enjoyed a long afternoon of conversations. They had plenty to talk about, especially their beloved Argentina and how they see things from their perspective. It was a nice exchange of opinions, all very respectful.

We talked, shared some mate cocido, and it was a really special moment for me. I believe it was good for them too, even though they meet thousands of hikers every year, talking to a South American hiker is different. It’s closer to your customs, to the home you were born in, and it’s rare to see one tackling such a long trail. I hope that changes in the future, and more South Americans take on this adventure.

More hikers arrive to the Cabin

A lot of hikers arrived at the cabin that day. Honestly, it was the cheapest place to stay, and that’s really important, at least for me. Besides being an affordable place, it was clear that Diego genuinely enjoyed having hikers in his yard. He was always very attentive, making sure we had everything we needed. Of course, I asked everyone what they planned to do about Mt. Baden Powell. The answer was the same as before—no one wanted to attempt the climb. On top of that, more and more people were talking about the bad weather forecast for the next day.

My process of gathering information from the hikers had come to an end. In total, I spoke to 32 people, and none of them were planning to reach the summit. Everyone was taking the highway alternate to reconnect with the PCT further along. I decided to just enjoy the rest of the day with them. One of the hikers was celebrating their birthday, and we were all celebrating together.

How to Face the Impossible Ascent of Mt. Baden Powell

After talking to so many people, Mt. Baden Powell felt like an impossible climb. As you know, I took a mountaineering course before starting the PCT to handle situations like this. At that moment, I was assessing the risks to decide whether this was a level of risk I was willing to take on.

General info

The first thing I did was gather general information about the mountain. This includes its height, its tendency to have snow accumulation, and a very important detail: whether the summit is usually reached via the route I planned to take. The answers to those questions were that the mountain stands at 2,850 meters, likely with snow accumulating above 2,200 meters, and there’s typically a marked path to the summit.

These details were within the risk level I was willing to take on. The most challenging aspect I saw was that, with snow on the ground, I wouldn’t be able to clearly distinguish the trail. To manage that, I downloaded the summit track and used it on my phone in a specific navigation app.

The Wheater

I checked the specific weather forecast for the area I was heading into. What the hikers had told me was true—there was a storm coming at night, with strong winds and rain. I talked to Diego about it, and he was quite surprised. It usually doesn’t rain in this area at this time of year.

At that moment, I decided to ask for help from my mountaineering instructors in Argentina, to be completely sure about the weather conditions. They sent me the forecast they had from Mountain Forecast and shared their insights. It was an amazing conversation—very professional. They treated me like one of their own, providing technical information.

Pablo Bravo, the head of AZ, analyzed the forecast and told me that if I started hiking at 9 a.m., the weather would improve. However, I’d need to be careful with the temperature, as the wind chill at the summit would be below -14°C.

Final decision

With all this input, I decided on my strategy. I would spend the night at Acorn Cabins instead of on the trail as I had originally planned. The reason was to avoid the rain that would fall all night, and since the forecast improved around 9 a.m., there was no need to start early.

Unlike my climb up Mt. San Jacinto, with such low temperatures, I didn’t have to worry about postholing. This made it ideal to start at the time Pablo suggested. The only aspect I wasn’t covering was that I would be hiking alone.

Solitude is not a good companion in the mountains. Many risks can be mitigated by having a reliable hiking partner. The main cause of accidents in the mountains is falling, and usually, before a fall, the most common thing is that the person gets lost. It’s easy to get lost in these conditions—snow covers the trail, and low clouds reduce visibility. If you don’t have experience navigating blindly in the mountains, it can be very dangerous.

But looking at the forecast, I realized that clouds wouldn’t be an issue, because based on their base altitude, it could be inferred that they would clear up.

In summary, after analyzing the situation, I determined that the risk of doing the activity was below my acceptable risk threshold. With the right gear, preparation, and strategy in place, it seemed like I would be able to make the ascent.

Mt. Baden Powell

The Early Morning

As the forecast predicted, the rain that night was relentless—a heavy curtain of water that didn’t let up for hours. Luckily, Diego had anticipated the possibility of rain, and with his father, they quickly arranged a sheltered spot to fit as many hikers as possible.

Seven of us squeezed in, which turned out to be a blessing because if we’d stayed on the deck, all our gear would have been soaked. Some hikers chose to remain outside, and everything they had ended up completely drenched.

By around 6 a.m., the rain finally stopped. I got up and had my last conversation with Diego. Our talks in Wrightwood had been incredibly motivating for me. A short while later, he drove another hiker and me back to Inspiration Point, where we picked up the PCT again. For me, this marked the start of what felt like an impossible mission: climbing Mt. Baden-Powell.

The forecast had definitely been spot on. The sky along the trail to the base of Mt. Baden-Powell was perfectly clear, allowing us to see the mountain and the snow that had accumulated. Another piece of good news was that the snowline was quite high, meaning the first part of the ascent would be easy, with the trail clearly visible.

For now, the trail was easy to follow—no snow, just a steady incline up to about 2,000 meters, and it was cool. I reached the base at 9:40 a.m., and from there, I had 4.5 miles left to the summit.

Beginning the Ascent

The cold was intense. My nose was frozen, and I was wearing all my layers. As I climbed, patches of snow began to appear. Soon enough, those patches turned into solid blocks, and eventually, I found myself walking through completely snow-covered sections. I passed several day hikers attempting to reach the summit, but I noticed most of them didn’t have snow gear, making it unlikely they’d make it to the top.

Still, even at that point, the trail was breathtaking. The frosty trees created a magical scene—raindrops that had settled on the leaves seemed to have frozen due to the low temperatures. Although it was cold, seeing these unique mountain landscapes made every second worthwhile.

As I walked through the snow, I started losing traction. On even a slight incline, walking on snow makes you lose your footing, forcing you to burn more energy. So, I stopped by a tree and put on my microspikes.

Footprints everywhere

I resumed the ascent with some difficulty. The trail had disappeared beneath the snow, and I relied on footprints to guide me. But these tracks didn’t follow a consistent path—some descended to my left, others climbed to my right, and what seemed like the main trail often faded, forcing me to use my GPS to relocate it.

After a while, I noticed that every time I lost the main track, it was because the trail had taken a switchback. Others, like me, had overshot the turn, leaving a line of off-trail footprints and a scattering of tracks as people tried to find their way back.

The surprise

At one of these moments, I heard footsteps beside me. A tall, skinny guy with a school-sized backpack and a long stride passed me as if I were standing still. He looked over and said, “Hey! You’re a PCT hiker, right? I’m Lars. I’m on the PCT too, with some friends coming up behind me.” I introduced myself, feeling a little embarrassed, LOL—if I’m Roadrunner, Lars was Flash or something faster that I can’t even think of yet. We chatted for a bit, and he mentioned he was waiting for his friends.

Just like that, my biggest concern disappeared—I’d found PCT hikers doing the route I wanted. They were likely part of a group that didn’t follow what everyone else was saying and decided to take on the adventure of climbing the peak. I felt much calmer and stuck with Lars, waiting for his friends to catch up.

Luckily, Lars’ friends didn’t hike at his lightning-fast pace. They were quick, yes, but if they had kept up with him, by the time I reached the summit, they’d already be sipping tea at camp. We exchanged quick greetings with the rest of the group; there would be time to chat more once we were on less steep ground. For now, we had to keep moving.

Up & Down

The trail kept getting steeper, just like the cold and the number of frozen trees. As we went up, we passed day hikers heading back because their gear wasn’t enough for the conditions. Microspikes and trekking poles became crucial to conserving energy.

Lars’ group had a far better strategy than mine. They simply ascended straight toward the summit, wherever the slope allowed. It was much easier than constantly scanning for hidden switchbacks beneath the snow.

The Battle Against the Cold

As we climbed higher, the cold and wind intensified. The trees seemed to want to tell the story of how rough the night had been, but they couldn’t speak— their mouths were frozen shut. The wind had clearly dominated from the northwest, wild and unrelenting.

How do I know? Because the trees were shouting their story. Their frozen faces all pointed in the same direction, while icicles clung diagonally to their branches, showing how the relentless wind had battered tiny droplets of water running down their limbs. Then, the cold played its part, freezing this scene in time. But not for long, because the one responsible for powering our planet didn’t care much for such things. With its pure, intense, unstoppable energy, it was already freeing the trees from their icy prison.

Into the mist

I started matching the group’s pace, and once that happens, you can relax. I no longer worried about finding the trail or the best route. That’s when I could finally relax and start taking photos of the environment around us.

For a moment, I was transported back home to Montevideo, sitting in front of my computer. It wasn’t the landscape that took me there, of course—we don’t have snow or mountains this high in Uruguay. What brought me back was the memory of my photography teacher, Alejandra Melideo, who used to share stories about her photos. One, in particular, came to mind—a picture she took during a snowy race. She said she got down to ground level to capture the flying snow and mist, with a runner immersed in that scene.

That exact scene unfolded before my eyes. Lenette, one of the hikers walking with Lars, was in the perfect spot for me to follow Alejandra’s advice.

The result is the photo you see above. I’m really proud of it. I feel like it captures a lot of what that day was like. It lets you feel the cold we were immersed in and how small we are against the power of nature. The ascent was offering us incredible views, and I felt like I was able to capture a part of what I was witnessing.

Walking the ridge

The trail began to open up, and the vegetation thinned out. The wind was merciless. We were getting close to the summit, entering more exposed terrain, where we were just tiny warm dots walking along the mountain’s edge. Clouds were piling up on the eastern face of the mountain, blocking our view on that side.

That touch of mountain drama heightened the excitement of reaching the summit.

The Old Tree

Just a few meters before the summit stands the oldest tree in the San Gabriel Mountains. This Limber Pine is around 1,500 years old and is known as the Wally Waldron Tree, named after a boy scout who volunteered in the area for a long time.

The tree was massive, but its most striking feature was its unique shape and its location. It stood on a steep mountainside, its roots twisted in strange ways to reach the ground. It was truly amazing to see such a large tree balancing on the edge of the ridge, clinging on for years to avoid falling into the void.

Summit

One more small climb, and we should be there. In the distance, a small cement obelisk stood out from the snow, along with a leafless tree, just a bare trunk. That had to be it, the summit of Mt. Baden-Powell.

Presentation time

We made it! We reached the top, and finally, we could introduce ourselves as part of the group. From left to right, let me briefly introduce the team that led me to the summit:

• Lars: the first guy I met, fast-paced with a wide smile and contagious enthusiasm. He was usually at the front of the group but always took time to check on the rest, even waiting for us and pointing out the easiest routes he found along the way.
• Alice: a girl with an immediate and infectious joy. She seemed like one of those people who are always happy—you could see it in her face and even in her stride. When she chose a tricky or slippery path, it was so funny to hear her laugh. That attitude took the drama out of what we were doing, making you feel confident, which is crucial when navigating tough terrain.
• Sunscream: a calm, reflective guy who moved through the snow with remarkable ease, as if he never missed a step. My first impression was that he wasn’t very friendly, but I have to say this—I couldn’t have been more wrong! He turned out to be a great, kind person, always helpful and fun to chat with. I didn’t ask him, but I suspect his trail name came from his meticulous use of sunscreen, always applied right on time. I think my initial impression came because he walked more independently, much like I tend to do.
• Gabriela: the most careful person in the group. She moved through the snow with confidence, clearly experienced in these conditions. Even though the PCT had just begun, you could tell that being on the trail for a while teaches you the safest way to move and enjoy the journey.
• Lenette: she set my pace on the ascent. It was easy to follow the tracks she chose since she always picked paths that felt comfortable to me. She favored areas with less slope, took short but quick steps, and tried to avoid both snow and rocks. That last point is crucial—when wearing microspikes, walking on rocks is dangerous, as you risk slipping uncontrollably and getting injured. Walking behind Lenette, I noticed she was naturally careful about that, which showed she was focused on what she was doing and truly enjoying the terrain.

Maybe I’m wrong about my first impressions of this group, but the truth is, I felt very comfortable hiking with them. The way they moved and the independence they showed felt natural to me. It was how I enjoyed walking this trail, how I came to experience the Pacific Crest Trail—the biggest challenge of my life.

Summit tree

That lonely frozen tree at the summit caught my attention. With my camera in hand, I took the chance to capture the details of its icy state.

The thick layer of ice covering the trunk was so dense that it was hard to imagine it had formed just from the rain the night before. But after looking closely, I concluded that it had, since the frozen side matched the others I had seen during the climb.

The sun had already begun to do its work here as well. On that icy side, small branches revealed patches of brown wood beneath. The difference in textures for composing a photo was something I learned from Alejandra’s photography course. The sun’s energy revealed the rough, cracked, and coarse texture of the wood on that lone tree—a survivor of these extreme conditions. Unlike the others, this one had no leaves; it was just a standing trunk at the summit. The other texture in the photo was the smooth, shiny, and sleek surface of the ice. Without a doubt, one of the images from that day that will stay with me.

Walking down

As I started the descent, my theory about the freeze happening overnight made more sense. The mysterious magic of that storm was that the frozen side of the trees was the one facing away from the ridge. On the snow-free side, that part had spent more time exposed to the sun. This landscape captivated me, and I loved understanding what had happened that night on the mountain.

Trees beaten by the wind

As we began the descent, we started to see short, stunted trees. These were clear signs of a strong, constant wind that shaped them over time. These wooden guardians stood firm, carved by the relentless gusts.

When the frozen leaves swayed in the wind, they clashed against each other, making a sound like thousands of tiny bells chiming together.

We continued on our way and reached the ridge crossing. We had chosen a trail along the ridge to head down toward Jimmy’s campsite. Being at that height exposed us to the relentless wind, making it hard to move forward. But the slopes were gentler, and in many sections, the snow was gone. This allowed us to move with more ease. Plus, the views from the ridge were a priceless reward for our eyes.

Safe Zone

That day, I felt very comfortable hiking with this group. The teamwork was smooth, safe, and above all, fun. Lars, who had already completed another thru-hike, the Continental Divide Trail, shared his experience with me generously. Talking to other thru-hikers, learning about their motivations and how they connect with the mountains, brings you closer to the people and the journey itself. This connection stirs something deep inside you. It helps you become more aware of your own feelings and makes you appreciate the joy of hiking in these places.

The preparation for facing the challenge of Mt. Baden-Powell paid off. Luckily, I followed the plan as I had envisioned: I thought it through, calculated, and decided to take the risk of hiking it alone. The trail, however, gifted me with the company of this group of hikers. Although Mt. Baden-Powell is not a technically impossible climb, it’s essential to respect every mountain you face.

Accidents and problems can happen on any mountain, and it’s up to us to take the necessary steps to minimize those potential risks. In this case, we conquered the challenge, and the reward was immense.

Next Challenges

From the top of the mountain, we could see the vast Mojave Desert ahead—our next stage. In the distance, we spotted the soft ridges of the Sierras emerging on the horizon. Whether I will continue walking with this beautiful group remains to be seen. The trail will decide, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that nothing happens by chance.

There’s an invisible thread weaving my journey, my preparation, my past, and my character. All of this is shaping the path I’m walking. This day confirmed that idea for me—the landscape was magical, and I found the perfect company to enjoy a unique setting, shaped by the area’s geological history and the icy rain from the night before.

Thank you for following my adventures on the PCT. I hope you enjoyed this day as much as I did. Stay tuned for my next posts, as there’s still a lot of trail ahead!