Reflecting on the Pacific Crest Trail

Note: I’ve had this post in my drafts for a few months now, and I’ve finally gotten around to editing and sharing it. I’ve been off trail for about 4 months, and I’m hoping to post more about my 2023 thru-hike before the 2024 hiker season starts in March.  

Walking on a Dream

A few weeks into the desert, I was walking with a new friend when they asked me, “Do you ever feel like this is all a dream?” The question surprised me, but I answered no after a slight pause and continued the conversation until it dwindled, only to be lost in my thoughts for the next few miles.

When I really thought about it- all of the ups and downs, how far I had walked already, all the views I had seen, all the people I had met, the joy and exhaustion I had felt- the experience was the complete opposite of a dream. Yeah, the days flew by, but somehow, they were always long, and I settled into a routine that couldn’t be broken, and I was doing something I had dreamed of doing for so long. It didn’t feel like a dream. It was all so real. I felt every single step I took and was constantly overwhelmed with emotion that I was actually hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. It was all so raw. How could any of it feel like a dream?

Yet, two months after finishing the trail, two months after walking a couple thousand miles across the country, two months after taking over five million steps with my own two feet, the whole experience feels like it was a dream, like I still have this big goal out there waiting for me to take it on, like none of it ever actually happened.

But there’s bright pink nail polish on my toes that hasn’t entirely chipped off yet from when I painted them at Shelter Cover, reminding me that it wasn’t a dream. The sunburn on my legs has faded but my sock tan line is still there if you look close enough, reminding me that it wasn’t a dream. There is a numbness in the bottom of my toes that hasn’t gone away yet and there’s a bright white scar on my shin from a bootski gone wrong. My last water bottle from trail sits in my room with a sip of unfiltered water from Oregon next to five months of scribble-filled notebooks and the beaded bracelets my trail family and I made for each other in Etna, all reminding me that it wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

 

What I’ve learned along the way

In the last few months since finishing the trail, I’ve sat down numerous times and tried to write down my thoughts on completing the PCT. Every time, it has been a jumbled mess of memories and emotions and an unshakeable yearning to be back in those very moments. I struggle to find the words to write about it, yet it’s the only thing I can think about.

And even though I’ve been struggling to write about the six months I spent on trail, I still wanted to share my experiences with those that have followed along and supported me on my journey, those that walked the same steps that I did, and those that are planning a trip of their own. So, while I continue to attempt to put my experiences on the Pacific Crest Trail onto paper, I’ll leave you with some things I learned along the way. 

It’s okay to take help from others.

I learned that people on trail and the surrounding communities are full of people who care. There are so many good people ready and willing to help others when needed, from fellow hikers to trail angels to community members to people who have never even heard of the trail. You don’t have to feel bad for taking help. Pay it forward when you can.

You will learn what your body is capable of, which will continue to surprise you.

My feet ached every single day for five months, but I still got up, pushed through, and walked every mile from Mexico to Canada. Day after day, I was proud of myself and how far my body could carry me. Countless times, I was uncomfortable and pushed to my limits, but I never gave up and continued walking north. Your body can take you far.

You never know what life will bring, so enjoy each and every day for what it is. 

I will never hike the PCT again, at least not in the same way. Just that thought alone helped me appreciate moments on trail that I would not get back. A week after completing the trail, one of my best friends went home to war, and my heart broke for him. Life is not fair and not always good, so enjoy and appreciate it when it is.

Take some time to get away from all the noise.

The further north I moved on the trail, the more I noticed and appreciated nature’s quietness. Since being home, I’ve been overwhelmed by constant noise, always something in the background filling in the space. I recently took a day trip up to San Gorgonio and felt the peacefulness of the silence I had on trail. Take some time to get away when you can.

People will tell you that you can’t do it (especially if you’re hiking through the Sierra following a record-breaking snow year).

Months before I even started the trail, I was told that hiking through the Sierra would not be possible- there would be no trail, the suncups would be too deep to walk across, and the rivers would flow so high they would be impassable. I met hikers in the desert who said going into the Sierra was stupid and irresponsible. I was told by a man at a grocery store in Bishop, while I was already halfway through the Sierra, that I shouldn’t be out there, that I could die. But I did it, and I didn’t die, and I had a hell of a time. You know your skills and abilities, trust your experience, believe in yourself, and push your limits. 

You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. 

This one took me until my last 20 miles of hiking on the PCT to realize. Take your time and enjoy the trail- go swimming in alpine lakes, camp at that cool camp spot with an epic view even though you want to do more miles, spend one more night in town, SLOW DOWN. Don’t get bogged down by miles and what everyone around you is doing. Hiking isn’t supposed to be miserable. It’s supposed to be something you enjoy, so enjoy it.

Don’t be afraid to take some risks.

There will be things that scare you, but most things that are worth it should scare you at least a little. Be brave; it’ll make a great story.

You’ll start to realize what is important to you. 

When you live out of a backpack for five months, you carry everything that you need to survive on your back. Life becomes simple- set up and take down camp, keep yourself warm and dry, feed yourself and keep your body healthy, filter water, and walk. Material things will start to matter less than they did before. What matters is your experiences and the people surrounding and supporting you. Tell these people what they mean to you more often.

Patience. 

I’ve been surprised by how much more patient I’ve been with others since completing the trail. Life moves slower in the woods, and you realize that some things just don’t matter. Every individual has their own story and struggles, and you never know what people are going through. Patience will go a long way. 

Everyone’s journey is going to be different.

Most people set out to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail with the goal of making it from Mexico to Canada or vice versa, but no one will have the same experience. Don’t compare yourself to others. Don’t let other’s journeys influence the quality of yours. You know what they say, “hike your own hike.” Embrace the journey. 

 

The Pacific Crest Trail taught me lesson after lesson, and I’m still learning more as I reflect on it almost daily. Even if I had only made it one day in the desert, I still would’ve grown more than I ever thought I could.