Here is the 14th installation of my PCT trail journal (a little more than one week off the present timeline as a safety precaution).

Here is where I admit defeat in the wintery Sierra and decide to escape with my tail between my legs. I wanted to prove that sobo hikers CAN go through the Sierra in October, but I was unable to. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible, I just wasn’t prepared. Hopefully in the future I’ll have the right gear and supplies to do the Sierra in winter. Good thing I’ve still got 650 miles is desert to hike!

Follow my thruhike in section-by-section blog posts, or in daily posts on Instagram or Facebook (@JustAGirlAndABackpack.Blog). Please attribute all spelling/grammar errors to autocorrect and exhaustion at the end of the day.

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Statistics for the second part of my journey are as follows:

Statistics for this section (Independence to Bishop) are as follows:

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PCT 2021 Series: Wednesday October 20, mile 811.7, +5.5mi to I-395 (5.5 miles, day 19)

I am writing this on the 25th, because I haven’t had much motivation to write since I put so much energy into the last post.

I woke up around 5am to pack up and head out by six. My goal to catch the 9am bus, or at worse the 12:15pm bus if I didn’t manage to catch the earlier one. I had 5.5 miles to hike down the dirt forest road to the highway (395), but since I wasn’t sure what to expect, I gave myself some buffer time.

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This is the first day on trail (since July 1st!) that I intentionally got up so early, so I had the pleasure of seeing the full moon set as I packed up and the sun rise as I walked.

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The sun brushing against the mountains was a majestic sight.

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The walk was easy with its slight downhill tilt, although I could see why trail angels wouldn’t want to come out here since the road was so rocky. While I hiked, I communicated with Kurt that I would be catching the earlier bus, and he let me know when he got ahold of the bus driver to let him know that I would be waiting at the highway to wave him down.

The morning was cold, even colder than normal since it was so early and since I wasn’t moving once I came to a stop in the chaparral near the highway. I was fully bundled up in all my layers and gloves

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I hid myself in the flowering bushes so that I wouldn’t attract unwanted attention or danger by hovering right on the road.

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After almost an hour and a half of waiting, I saw the bus approaching and stuck out my arm, hoping it would stop for me as Kurt had said it would. It did, and I got the surprise of my life when everyone on the bus spoke over each other and said: “Oh! You must be Kirsten.” “Are you Kirsten?” “I didn’t know you could flag down the bus.” Apparently Kurt had told the bus driver my name, which was weird because I had never shared my name with him, but my guess is the Garmin must share that info when I send messages with it.

There were three people from Lone Pine on the bus, clearly friends or at least folks that often chat together when the take the bus up to Bishop. One lady (Katie) spent the whole ride trying convince me to go to the casino with her. The other woman (Maggie) gave me a snack and her number in case I needed anything. And the man (Charles? something with a C) was friendly and talkative. There were two other people on the bus who were friendly but not loquacious.

I hopped off the bus in Bishop and found my way to The California Hostel (THC for short. And yes, that acronym is intentional on their part), a very colorful place with lots of friendly thruhiker folks in residence and who work there.

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The theme is a combo of adventure chic and home of the marijuana smoker lol. There were ice axes and trad gear on the walls, artistic animal paintings, and lots of references to weed and THC. They have several weed plants on proud display, one of which has a massive praying mantis that keeps the pests off. These are the first weed plants I’ve seen in person, which was exciting haha. For those of you readers who are from out of state or out of country, it is legal it smoke and grow marijuana in California.

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After a shower, I grabbed late breakfast at Jack’s, did my laundry at the laundromat, and went to the library for a bit.

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Dinner was some yummy tacos at one of the 8 Mexican restaurants in town. I ordered a strawberry margarita, and the bar tender came over halfway through my meal and said “It’s your lucky day!” as he poured the rest of the blender into my empty glass.

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That night, I saw all the folks hanging out in the “Weed Room” and decided to join them for a bit to hang out. This is the most people I’ve seen in awhile, and it was cool to chat with them about hiking and adventuring. None of them were active thruhikers. but they had all been on the PCT, CDT, and/or AT in the recent past. Most of them were working here at the hostel, either for money or for a free stay.

The Weed Room is exactly what you think it is and more: a place where they not only smoke weed, but where they also prep their weed plants for smoking haha. There was paraphernalia on every surface, as well as bowls full of leaves and buds, and drying plants hanging from the ceiling.

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I don’t smoke, but I did have a few beers while we were hanging out.

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PCT 2021 Series: Tuesday October 19, mile 811.7, +1.7 to backtrack to Taboose Pass trail junction, +10.5 to Taboose Trailhead (12.2 miles, day 18)

“This is where I made a potentially deadly mistake”

Slowly Dying

I felt the need to put into detailed words my experiences on this section as a therapeutic way come to terms with what could have happened had the worst come to pass. This is fairly verbose and yet I still don’t think I fully captured the emotions of the experience. All that follows happened in a single day that stretched on for what seemed like a year.

I spent a good portion of the night worrying over the fact that my gear wasn’t up to the task of keeping me warm and dry in the early Sierra winter. I had three choices. One: hike back 1.7mi to the Taboose Pass trail junction and take that 16mi exit to highway 395; this has a known 5.5mi road walk and 10mi of steep and slippery trail. Two: continue on to Bishop Pass trail for a total of 32 miles, with two higher altitude passes and presumably a lot of snow. Three: continue with my original plan to hike to Vermillion Valley Resort for resupply.

The third option was quickly discarded, as at the rate I was hiking, I would run out of food before I arrived, there was the threat that they would close down before I got there, and there was quite a bit of deep snow between me and there that I would have a cold, wet, potentially dangerous time traversing. The first and second option were what were keeping me up at night.

My family and friends were messaging me, telling me to get out of the mountains asap, get better gear asap, stay safe, asking me if what I was doing was reckless, etc. All legitimate points that I knew and understood. By their advice, the first option was the smartest because it was the shortest path out. But, from the commentary on Guthooks, Taboose Pass was not the safest, easiest route (except for one comment saying that in adverse weather conditions, SAR recommends this route).

My gut was telling me Bishop Pass was the way to go because the weather was supposed to be nice and relatively warm (40 degrees during the day), so even when my shoes, etc got wet, I’d be able to stay warmer and dryer than I had the day before, and the exit trail had better recommendations from people, other than it was a little longer.

These warring thoughts were going through my head all night until I finally made the decision to listen to my friends and family and get out asap via Taboose Pass. This is where I made a potentially deadly mistake.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let me start at the beginning of the day.

“The morning was brutally cold, even colder than the snow storm the day before”

Slowly Dying

The morning was brutally cold, even colder than the snow storm the day before, which I believe had something to do with higher humidity levels, because the forecast had said that today was supposed to be warmer. And clearly the humidity was high because the whole inside of my tent had frost all over it, and my quilt was damp. My shoes were literally frozen solid, the only saving grace was that I had the foresight to loosen all of the laces the night before so that I’d be able to slide my feet in. My toes instantly froze in the wet socks and frozen shoes, sticking together, hurting, and being more of an encumbrance than helping me balance.

I had to cross back over the sketchy river crossing, which involved crawling over a snow covered log at waist height, balancing on icy stones, and slipping across frozen water.

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When I got to the trail junction 1.7mi back, I filtered some water because I wasn’t certain what awaited me on the exit trail and I wanted to be prepared. Unfortunately, I learned that even with the precautions I take at night, my filter had frozen, and somehow my dirty water bladder had gained a leak. I’m not sure what happens when a Sawyer filter freezes, but I’m hoping that once it thaws its still in working condition, otherwise I might find that I have a fun GI issue in the next ten days or so.

There were also some lovely animal tracks that hadn’t been there the day before, which may or may not have been puma tracks based on their different shape from all of the canine tracks that I had seen in the snow previously.

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This exit trail was not marked on Guthooks, so I had to rely on the map on my Garmin’s EarthMate app for guidance, which I haven’t used before and was hoping would be reliable, but was just one more bit of uncertainty related to taking this route. At this point I started the tracker on my Garmin as a safety precaution because I knew I was going off the typical trail, into the snow, without any real knowledge of where I was going or of the safety of the area, so that if the worst happened, my family would at least have my last known whereabouts.

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There was enough snow on the ground that I happily followed another hiker’s tracks until they significantly departed from the trail line on my map, at which point I struck out across the landscape, occasionally using the map to realign myself. I was nowhere near the trail for the majority of the way to the pass. And only very near the top where the snow had blown off in some areas was I able to find pieces of the trail again. This was alright, though, because the grade was low and the ground wasn’t too unstable. I kept a record on Guthooks of where to find water so that other folks would know they had options.

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“I was in a state of unconcerned bliss, unknowing of the terrors that the next few hours would hold”

Slowly Dying

I was in a state of unconcerned bliss, unknowing of the terrors that the next few hours would hold.

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At the top of the pass, I lost the trail entirely.

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I kept looking at the map and it showed me on one side of the trail, then the other, then back on the other side again. Sometimes there were deer tracks that I followed because at least I knew how deep the snow was there, and already had a track broken. Other times I jumped from rock to rock so I wouldn’t have to fall through the snow. I think the gps wasn’t quite able to figure out where I was, and that put me at a major disadvantage as the terrain got sketchier and sketchier.

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At first, I tried my utmost to get back on trail several times by using the map, but after I had backtracked multiple times, climbed over a bunch of boulders and slipped around loose stones, then found myself high, high up on the top of a major hundred foot drop with the bone chilling wind dragging me and my pack towards the edge, I decided to take matters into my own hands and just do my best to find the safest way down.

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I used the topo map to confirm which part of the mountainside was the least steep, and tried to find my way all the way over there. I did the hiker equivalent of putting my hair up and taking my earrings out: I tightened my shoelaces to have more control over my feet, put my trekking poles into my pack to free up my hands, and put my earbuds away so that I wouldn’t get caught on anything.

This next part involved some class three, maybe even class four, downclimbing, which means I turned my body to face the rocks and used crimpy finger holds to lower my body down the sheer rock faces. Downclimbing is always more dangerous than climbing upwards, most likely because you can’t see where you’re going. The snow did not help me, as it obscured where the bottom of these drops were and caused me to slip down the boulders because I couldn’t get traction through the ice.

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Despite the deep chill of the air, I was sweating from fear, and my shaking was not from the cold.

My wet shoes were not doing me any favors, either. This would have been scary and potentially dangerous if I was wearing climbing shoes and no backpack. But I had maybe 35 pounds on my back, a bear cannister strapped to the top and a bag strapped to the bottom of the pack, creating drag for the wind, and added bulk to get caught on rocks and branches.

I stopped to rest and gather my courage before finishing this section. At that point, I had made it to the thick willows that covered the dry river bed, and I had to push throw the dense shrubs to get to the other side (there was a drop off where a waterfall would normally be that I had to get around).

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“I thought that the worst was over”

Slowly Dying

Although shaken, this stretch was decently short and I thought that the worst was over. At this point I still had energy, the sun was high in the sky, and I hadn’t fully realized that I had only gone a very short portion of the way to the bottom of the trail. That would soon change though.

The section of mountainside that followed was a boulder field that stretched for what felt like miles.

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Remember, I was using a route on my Earthmate app that didn’t have distances on it, just the little scale marker that doesn’t really help when you’re not actually on the trail, and if the trail isn’t straight.

“Time and distance take on a different quality when you are scared, cold, and exhausted”

Slowly Dying

Time and distance take on a different quality when you are scared, cold, and exhausted. What might only be half a mile feels as though it is many miles, and minutes feel like hours.

A boulder field is basically like a rockslide of massive rocks. To get across this field, a person has to step from boulder to boulder, hoping that the rocks are stable and won’t either send you flying down the mountain, or start a rockslide that will at best twist an ankle, or at worst bury them. The added difficulty of this boulder field was the steepness of it, and the fact that I had to go down it, not across it. This meant that gravity was not in my favor, and each down step I took carried extra weight and momentum that was more likely to destabilize the rocks I was on.

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I used my hands and butt as much as possible to lower my center of gravity to mitigate any potential falls. My legs started shaking from exhaustion within minutes, and I began contemplating the likelihood of surviving the day. I wondered if I should just leave my gear and pick my way down unencumbered, but came to the conclusion that I’d die of exposure without food and shelter.

“I began contemplating the likelihood of surviving the day”

Slowly Dying

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I kept a weather eye out for clouds or other weather, and to watch the sun’s position in the sky to make sure I wasn’t about to end up in the even more dangerous situation of finding my way down in a storm or after sunset.

On a particularly worrisome accidental slide down a rock, I heard the bag holding my sleeping bag to the bottom of my pack rip. I decided to shove my layers that I keep in my bear can into my pack so that I can put my sleeping bag in the bear can to both protect it, and to have on less thing on the outside of my pack, but this destabilized the canister and in a jolting move it popped off and rolled and bounced its way down the slope.

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Tonk.

Dun. Dunk.

Clang.

Bang.

Shhhhhh.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Bang.

Each time it landed, I cringed and wondered if that would be the one that shattered it or sent it careening down to somewhere I could never reach. The further it rolled, the more my heart sank and my stomach dropped with the horrible imagery that that could have been my lifeless body falling down the boulder field if I took a wrong step.

“The further it rolled, the more my heart sank and my stomach dropped with the horrible imagery that that could have been my lifeless body falling down the boulder field if I took a wrong step”

Slowly Dying

When it finally came to a stop a hundred, maybe two hundred feet down, I sat down and contemplated my options while looking at the seemingly endless valley of boulders.

I could try to go back up the boulder field and then the cliff, down from the pass back to the PCT, then up Mather Pass and up Bishop Pass–both considerably tough, 12,000+ foot passes–then down to the road from there, with probably 40 miles of untold danger, postholing and who knows what else. And that was assuming that I would be able to actually get back up the literal cliff I had just descended from.

My other option: give up and call SOS and get rescued.

And my final option: continue the way I was going and hope not to die.

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The thought to call SOS was a moment of weakness, and backtracking at that point really wasn’t an option because of too many unaccounted for variables.

So, I took a deep breath, ate some candy to give me some quick energy and to give my mood a boost, and then picked my way down to the bear cannister, feeling lighter and more agile without several pounds of gear.

“I looked up and saw that the worst part was definitely behind me”

Slowly Dying

When I got down to it, I looked up and saw that the worst part was definitely behind me, as the grade of the slope had flattened out a little and the boulders started getting smaller and less daunting. Although still shaky and tired, I was able to continue forward with renewed confidence.

“The mountain wasn’t quite ready to relinquish its hold on me though”

Slowly Dying

The mountain wasn’t quite ready to relinquish its hold on me though. The smaller rocks came with the new challenge of almost always being loose and unsteady, causing me to slide a little with each step, or to pitch forward or sideways as a stable looking rock revealed it was more of a pendulum or seesaw, resting on the fulcrum of the rock below it.

But after everything I had already been through, this was child’s play, and eventually I was low enough in altitude for hints of a trail to peak out from under the snow.

I shouted in excitement when I finally saw human prints in the snow, which had probably been left between the last two snows when there was still enough trail uncovered for them to find their way. I only got off trail a couple of times after this, and then the trail became especially obvious.

By that point I was moving quickly and confidently, back to making comments on Guthooks about water availability and campsites.

The trail passed through several eco-zones as it descended about 6,000ft in elevation: barren boulder fields, a scraggly single species of evergreens, a wet and shady area of many species including a combination of evergreens and berry bushes, a burn zone that had probably once been chaparral, riparian willows and roses, and desert chaparral.

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I even called David when I had a moment of reception as I merrily flew down the mountain with relief coursing through my veins, the trail flattening out and becoming more and more a path for sane people to hike, built by sane trail builders.

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The amount of beer poop in this section was impressive.

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I pulled up, exhausted, exalting in being alive, at Taboose Pass Trailhead.

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I turned around and flipped off the mountain and the valley and the boulder field and the cliff, shouting some choice words that would definitely offend some of my more conservative friends and family who read these posts (sorry everyone!).

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While I got ready for bed in the warmer air of the lower elevation, I messaged all of the local trail angels, looking for a ride to Bishop in the morning. The only one willing to come all the way out here in the boonies said he charges $140 because of how horrible the dirt road is. But he gave me a better option: the ETSA bus runs along 395 and comes through the area at 6:45, 9 and 12:15. He even offered to drive into town to catch the bus driver to let him know to look for me when I waved him down on the highway.

“‘Whomever created this trail does not care for the sanctity of human life'”

Slowly Dying

While reflecting on my day at camp, this is the comment I left on Guthooks to warn other hikers about how horrible Taboose Pass trail is: “Whomever created this trail does not care for the sanctity of human life. If you have any love for your life and limb, do not go this way. If a SAR person actually recommended this route, it was only because it would be easy for a helicopter to access this area. Yeah, it’s steep, yeah it’s gravelly, yeah it’s slippery. But there is also a literal cliff and a boulder field that you have to navigate. I’m 90% certain there’s no actual trail from the top of the pass through the cliff part; just one trail coming up from the road and one coming up to the pass on the other side. The part in between is between you and whichever gods you pray to. Very rarely on the PCT have I been scared for my life; this is one of those times. I had my GPS tracker on just in case.”

“The part in between is between you and whichever gods you pray to”

Slowly Dying

Yes, I know this is a little dramatic, but I find that the dramatic posts are the ones I listen to, or at least take into account, if for no other reason than they are entertaining to read–All stories have at least a kernel of truth.

As the end of this terrible day came to a close, I watched the full moon rise magnificently above the horizon. I fell asleep with one of the storm doors on my tent open for some much needed fresh air, feeling grateful towards Kurt the trail angel, and to the universe for my life and safety.

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PCT 2021 Series: Monday October 18, mile 802.6 to mile 811.7 (9.1 miles, day 17)

I’m having the hardest time falling asleep right now, so I decided I might as well be productive and write this journal entry.

“For almost three hours, I couldn’t sleep for fear that the tent would be ripped out of the ground, or a tree would land on me or some other calamity would befall me in the night”

Slowly Dying

At 2am I was awakened by the howling wind, the tinkling of ice crystals ramming into the tent, and the wet pricks of snow landing on my face. For almost three hours, I couldn’t sleep for fear that the tent would be ripped out of the ground, or a tree would land on me or some other calamity would befall me in the night. Those men who gave me the warning to camp asap saved my life.

“Those men who gave me the warning to camp asap saved my life”

Slowly Dying

Thankfully I eventually succumbed to sleep, and when I awoke the only issue was a little bit of snow had gotten into the tent. It was brutally cold outside, but my little nest of down kept me quite cozy. Glad to have a real excuse for not starting my day early, I lounged in the warmth for as long as I could before forcing myself to confront the day.

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There was less than an inch of snow around the tent, mostly because there was too much wind for it to stick, and not because it hadn’t snowed a lot.

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The tracks of a large family of deer were visible nearby where I had slept, meaning I hadn’t even noticed their passage.

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As I approached the pass, the snow got deeper and deeper until I was postholing up to my mid calf, and sometimes almost up to my knee.

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I got off trail a few times, but surprisingly I was on track most of the way up.

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The way down the other side was another story altogether. The snow was up to my knee in many places and the trail was almost entirely invisible.

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By the time I got to the lakes at the bottom, I was exhausted, soaking wet, and freezing. I took my lunch in the sun, laying out all of my socks, gaiters, shoes, soles and pant legs to try to dry a little. The pants dried, but everything else was still wet and cold. I finally got good use out of the down booties that Andrea gave me though, as they kept my toes from freezing off while everything dried. This is when I realized my gear was woefully unprepared for the Sierra winter.

“This is when I realized my gear was woefully unprepared for the Sierra winter”

Slowly Dying

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There were some creek crossings right before the campsite that had me worried; slipping and falling into ice cold water while it was below freezing out would have been a nightmare.

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I packed the snow down at camp, because packed snow is a better insulator, before putting my tent up.

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Dinner was a struggle because my water bottle was freezing up, the olive oil had solidified, and my spoon kept freezing to things when I set it down. How do people cook when there’s snow everywhere?? Not to mention, how do they do anything without everything being cold and covered in snow?

I finally crawled into my nest, but couldn’t get warm, so I ate a couple of bars, but then I was so overheated I started to sweat! I’ve been trying to sleep for hours and can’t seem to drop off. The human body is weird.

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PCT 2021 Series: Sunday October 17, 789.1 mile to mile 802.6 (13.5 miles, day 16)

I’m going to try to save battery for this long 6 day section of trail, by not reading, listening to music or audiobooks, keeping my location off unless I really need it, turning my phone off at night, only making quick Garmin messages once a day and not waiting on responses, trying to keep my journaling brief (I’m already failing at this), only using Guthooks when absolutely necessary, instead of doing a lot of commenting and reading ahead.

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I had a hard time getting moving this morning. I only got 4 miles in by 1:30pm. And that whole time I was drinking my nasty ass burnt food water.

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To be fair, this four miles got me over Glen Pass and to Rae Lakes, which was a lovely place to take lunch and drink that beer I had forgotten I was carrying from the trail angel who gave me a ride to the trail. There were trout leaping out of the water, and a whole flock of birds chasing each other around the lake. I saw a couple and their beautiful golden retriever near there. The pup was carrying her own saddlebags!

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I stopped to fill up on water and decided to cook dinner before I finished hiking for the day. I had a bag of unflavored couscous, a packet of sauce that had no English writing on it (tasty though!), a packet of soy sauce, a packet of tabasco and a packet of parmesan cheese. All of these went into my dish, and it still had basically no flavor, just a little bit of sweet vinegar flavor that I think came from the Tabasco; there was simply too much couscous and not enough quantity of any of the seasonings.

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The trail sank into a valley fully of many plants that I hadn’t seen on trail yet: there were aspens with their yellow leaves and white bark, and a dozen species of conifer, one of which I’m almost positive was the giant sequoia!! A small deer made itself known at one point.

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The trail then went over a beautiful bridge, that bounced around and actually has a loose bit of grating that is going to send someone to their death.

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After this, the trail goes up up up to Pinchot Pass, following Wood Creek of the water slide and many waterfalls.

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So, it’s hard making miles in the Sierra when the sun sets at 5:30pm and it’s below freezing soon after. I had hoped to get over Pinchot Pass with a few hours of night hiking, but some nice older dudes warned me a storm was brewing, with chance of snow and 25mph gusts forecasted. I am not (that) dumb, so I found the last campsite before the top, which was still 4.5mi away, and set up in the trees. It didn’t stop the wind fully, but there was a good bit of protection.

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PCT 2021 Series: Sunday October 16, mile 789.1, +7.5 from onion valley campground, +2 in Independence (9.5 miles, day 15)

“Today was one of those days where every other thing goes wrong”

Slowly Dying

Today was one of those days where every other thing goes wrong (but I could also say that every other thing went right).

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It started off well, with a tasty, hot breakfast at the motel. Jimmy and Tatiana (the folks who gave me a ride down to town yesterday) were asleep there and we had a good time chatting and exchanged info.

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I packed up and while I called David, I did some gear repairs like patching rips in my rain shell and pants, and sewing up holes in my pants. I also followed a tradition that Chuckwalla and I have done since our first thruhike: using paracord we find on trail to make a bracelet.

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“I’m hoping against hope it is just a deep bruise from all the downhills on baby heads, and not a stress fracture”

Slowly Dying

At checkout (and opening time for the shoe store and library), I headed over to Shoe City in search of inserts for my shoes, since the left ball of my foot is in pain. I’m hoping against hope it is just a deep bruise from all the downhills on baby heads, and not a stress fracture. I cut the insert where it said to, but I think the lines were wrong because it feels like the insert has a little space between the toe of the shoe, where my toes hang over just a little. Then I walked to both gas station convenience stores to get some supplemental calories for the following 6 days (read: junk food).

The library is located within the county court house, which was a little daunting, but thankfully the entrance was separate from the one with the giant columns where they probably wouldn’t have let me bring my trekking poles (weapons!). It turned out that the library wasn’t open on Saturdays anymore, which was very sad because I had a list of things I wanted to do on a real computer. Now there will be quite a gap in my blog posts 🙁

I went back to the motel to use their wifi and charge my phone, and while I was there the owner’s husband have me a bowl of fruit he was going to throw out.

From there, I started the walk to the trailhead and got really lucky. The first vehicle that drove by took pity on my raised thumb and spirited me away, all the way to the Trailhead (13mi). It was completely out of his way, as his turn off was probably at mile 2. Marcus was a very kind man–banker by weekday and bird hunter by weekend–thank you sir. From him I was able to confirm my theories of this being a poor year for plants and animals alike: the low precipitation made the plants produce less new shoots, flowers and fruits, so all the animals are suffering, lots of babies didn’t survive, and many animals will probably starve this winter. He gave me a bit of trail magic in the form of a beer.

The 4.5mi straight uphill was pretty rough: I was panting the whole time, but I felt pretty good when I got to the top without taking a break. Why is it that the first day out is always the hottest and sweatiest? I already stink 🙁

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An older couple and two gals named Kelly and Chris stopped me at the top to ask about my adventure so I threw the pack off and snacked while they asked questions. The two ladies each gave me a protein bar, as well.

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Then off I went with the intention of at least getting to the PCT, but hoping to go a few more miles.

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Unfortunately, the smoke was coming in over the mountains, so I had to wear my KN95 mask. The only water was a puddle on trail that I had to work hard at to get half a liter of water.

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“…my stomach was upset, so much so that I couldn’t eat, I was having a hard time catching my breath, I generally felt slow, I was getting chilly even though the sun was still on me, and I got to a point where I just didn’t think it would be safe to go any further”

Slowly Dying

My original goal was thwarted. I think I got altitude sickness: my stomach was upset, so much so that I couldn’t eat, I was having a hard time catching my breath, I generally felt slow, I was getting chilly even though the sun was still on me, and I got to a point where I just didn’t think it would be safe to go any further. Luckily, I stopped at the lowest point of trail for awhile (10,600ft), which would help with staying warm and reducing the altitude sickness. I threw on all my layers even though it was still early and I should have been warmer, knowing that something was off and staying warm was priority.

Then I set up camp and moved all my food away from my tent where I was planning on cooking, keeping the smells away so that the bears would hopefully stay away.

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I had basically no water left, so I collected a bunch of snow and started melting it. I brought it to a boil for a full minute to sterilize it so it would be safe to drink, and then promptly burned myself in the pot and spilled all of the water, some of it soaking my pant leg. So I had to start over and be more careful, this time using my glove for protection.

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I made the most thruhiker meal ever of ramen with a shot of olive oil, followed by a candy bar haha. The soup was good to my stomach and I felt a lot better. Then I melted some more snow to filter (I didn’t want to use so much fuel to bring it to a full boil). The water tastes so gross, like burnt food and pine needles. But at least I can stay hydrated until I find a lake in 4 or 5 miles tomorrow.

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I couldn’t fit more than half of my food in my bear canister, so I put the rest of it, double bagged, in my OPSack (odor proof bag), then in my rolled up backpack to try to reduce the smell as much as possible.

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I managed to choose a spot with a direct view of the impressively bright rising moon, so that kept me up for awhile, even with my beanie over my eyes. And I also was on an incline that had me siding sideways off my pad all night.

Like I said: a lot of things went wrong, and a lot of things went right.

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Thank you so much for reading! What’s the longest backpacking trip you’ve done? Comment below!