Thru-Hiking’s Shorter Side

My favorite summer weekends start with a Friday-evening drive to Stanley, Idaho. I grab a Sawtooth Special pizza and a craft IPA at Papa Brunee’s in downtown Stanley. Then, I head to a dispersed camping spot near a trailhead and sleep in my Ford Bronco. When morning arrives, I hit the trail and backpack to a high mountain lake in the Sawtooth Wilderness, camping there for the night. On Sunday, I hike back out, feeling recharged from my microadventure. Weekend backpacking trips are my go-to reset button, helping me manage the stress of daily life.

I discovered that the real magic happens when I spend more than just a weekend in the wilderness. Without artificial lights, I start sleeping better. I wake up with the sun and go to bed when it gets dark. Life gets simple. It’s all about the weather and putting one foot in front of the other. My mind quiets down. I start thinking about what really matters to me and where I want my life to go. When I head to town to resupply, I don’t feel the urge to doomscroll on my phone. I just want a freshly prepared meal, a cold IPA, and face-to-face conversations with people.

Once countries began reopening, I resumed international travel.  But I didn’t give up thru-hiking.  Both travel and thru-hiking are important to me, so I divide my vacation days between the two.

After years of trying, I finally won a permit for the Happy Isles trailhead on the JMT in 2023. That year brought the most snow ever recorded in the Sierra. Still, there was no way I’d pass up my shot at a full SOBO thru-hike of the 211-mile trail. Normally, I’m obsessive about planning—spreadsheets for everything. But this time, I had to set out with some big unknowns:

On the JMT, I had to let go of my usual plan-everything mindset. I just rolled with whatever came my way. I picked up the latest trail beta by chatting with NOBO hikers. If a creek looked sketchy, I searched for a safer crossing. I teamed up with a hiking partner to cross snowy passes, making it much safer for both of us. And despite what almost everyone was saying on Facebook, the South Fork San Joaquin was fordable. Before this hike, I thought “The Trail Provides” was just a hippie-dippie saying—now I totally get it.

I started out solo on the JMT, but after a nero day at Vermilion Valley Resort, I teamed up with another hiker. We’d actually met earlier at the Reno airport, spent hours chatting on the bus to Mammoth Lakes, and even stayed at the same hostel. Her original hiking partner had to drop out due to injury, so we decided to join forces. She named me 😱⬇️💦 Water Fall after I kept wiping out on creek crossings. I named her 🥔💥🥣 Mashed Potatoes, because this was the only vegetarian food she could scavenge from the hiker donation bins at Muir Trail Ranch. (Trail names born from goofy mishaps are the best!) Although hiking with a partner wasn’t part of my plan, our camaraderie and friendship turned out to be the highlight of the adventure.

The JMT is the longest—and most rewarding—self-supported backpacking trip I’ve ever done. After finishing, I started to identify as a “trekker,” just like I’m a runner and a traveler. It was a formative life experience.

Last summer, I got my answer after hiking the Collegiate Loop and summiting four 14ers. I proved to myself that I can handle the daily mileage needed to finish the Colorado Trail in under five weeks. Sure, there will be tough days. But I’m used to pushing through physical challenges. As long as I stay injury-free, I know I’ll be physically capable of pulling off a thru-hike of the Colorado Trail.

 

I’m fired up to thru-hike the Colorado Trail this summer!  I want to take on the Long Trail in 2027, which would knock out my bigger goal of the Mini Triple Crown. Would I love to tackle one of the big Triple Crown trails? For sure—I’m planning to hike the PCT after I retire. Maybe someday I’ll even join the full Triple Crowner club. Until then, I have a long list of epic shorter thru-hikes I want to check off.