Taking my dad across the PCT

My name is Alayne and this summer I will try to hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

Unlike many other hikers, the PCT was not my first choice. Yes, you read that right.

After losing my father suddenly in October, without even having a chance to say goodbye, I wanted nothing more than to disappear down a long road and try to make sense of the peace of mind that comes when someone you love suddenly disappears. Unfortunately, winter and school made that impossible. So I spent the winter in Bend, Oregon, imagining what life would be like on the Continental Divide Trail this summer. When I’m grieving, my instinct is loneliness. Maybe that’s not the healthiest approach, but I’ve never felt comfortable showing emotions to others. That instinct probably comes from my years as a military medic, where emotions were something you learned to put aside so you could keep moving and get the job done.

The path I thought I wanted

Two of my closest friends, people I met while hiking, strongly advised me against the CDT. One of them told me, «You need to be around other people right now. This is not the time to be alone.» Another simply said, “Do the PCT first.” The other reason I didn’t want to hike the PCT this year, as childish as it may sound, was because I had just gotten out of a long-distance relationship with a guy who lived in San Diego. I wanted to stay as far away from him geographically as possible. Campo, in my opinion, didn’t feel far enough away. He had already stopped me from doing so many things I wanted to do, which was part of the reason for the breakup. He didn’t agree with me taking a hike. Was I really going to let him stop me from ascending the PCT even after we broke up? That would have been stupid.

When the universe opened a door

The next hurdle was getting a permit. The application window had already passed. When I mentioned this to my friend while trying to convince me to climb the PCT, he suggested I check again since people sometimes cancel their permits. When I logged in, there it was: a permit for March 30th. Enough time to finish finals, pack up my apartment, and head south. The moment was like the universe silently opened a door and gave me permission to walk through it.

The trail I had been waiting for

Once upon a time, all I wanted was to ascend the PCT. I first learned about the trail 12 years ago while I was stationed in Bremerton, Washington. I remember studying maps and tracing that long line of mountains that stretched from north to south, thinking that one day I would follow it. But the military continued to present opportunities he couldn’t turn down, like Spain and Alaska, and life took other directions. When I left in 2024, I had every intention of riding the PCT south. However, my departure paperwork was delayed and I completely missed the weather window. Instead, I changed plans and hiked the Arizona Trail that year. Learn more about psf3. So, in a strange way, the path I had been reluctant to tread this year was actually the one I had been silently waiting for in the back of my life.

Walking through the pain

I used to laugh at the phrase, «Hiking, because it’s cheaper than therapy.» Now I understand it a little differently. Time in nature has a way of holding up things that seem too heavy to carry alone. For me, hiking is truly therapy. Long walks give my pain a place to go. They help me overcome the silent pain of loss and little by little they guide me to trust my own steps again.

Taking my dad with me

Throughout this journey I will share the adventure, but also the quieter and more vulnerable parts of it. I want to show what it’s like to let Mother Nature help mend a heart broken by loss. I will also wear my father’s ashes close to my heart on a necklace so he can live the journey with me.

And somewhere between the beautiful desert sunrises and the wild mountain passes, I hope the miles slowly ease the pain I carry, until my heart remembers what it once felt like to be whole.

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