Are you homeless or on a hike? First week on the PCT

For two and a half years I have dreamed of returning to long-distance trail riding. I wanted to hear the crunch crunch crunch of my worn Vibram soles against the ground as I follow a winding path up and over mountains, through forests and across panoramic views. I wanted to eat ramen noodles from a pot that was last washed in a hotel sink, just minutes after washing my dirty socks in that same sink. But most of all I missed the feeling of achieving something.

So I did what anyone who lost their mind on their first multi-month backpacking trip would do: I went hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail, to once again be in my element and among the trash of other hikers. This time he wasn’t walking alone. My partner Ryan and I would walk together 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada.

We arrived at CLEEF the night before our hike, our backpacks loaded with food and nervous energy. We had taken the long, bumpy bus ride from El Cajon to Campo, and met a couple other hikers on the bus. When we arrived at camp, the hosts were giving the traditional “fireside chat” where they talked about water safety, how to avoid heat exhaustion in the desert, how to safely cross streams later on, and a few other things. We then set up our tents and tried to sleep, excited to start the trail the next day.

Our first official morning on the PCT started with the most delicious Banana Walnut Chocolate Chip Pancakes. We then reconnected with Bryson, one of the two hikers we had met on the bus ride, and headed off to take photos at the south terminal. Unfortunately, we started on the wrong path! About a third of a mile down the trail, we realized our mistake and walked the mile back to the Mexican border.

Now that we were heading in the right direction (again), the miles seemed to melt away. Once again I felt very comfortable under the weight of a fully loaded backpack. We met a few more hikers that day, some completely new to backpacking! We also experienced the first of many grueling water carries, trekking down a dry trail for 10 miles with 4 heavy quarts on our backs in the scorching desert heat.

Iconic sign at a railway crossing

That night we stayed near a dry creek bed and I slept like a baby. I was so excited to get into my new quilt and lay down on my old, familiar inflatable pillow. I could barely keep my eyes open that night in the store as we discussed our plans for the next day.

We soon realized that the PCT is a completely different beast from the AT. On the AT, I planned much of my camping around shelters or within a half mile or less of a water source. It was rare for camp to dry out, unless you were sleeping on top of a mountain trying to catch a beautiful sunrise. The PCT had something different in mind. Water was scarce in the desert and the heat was relentless during the first days. We were desperately drinking liters of electrolytes to replenish the buckets of sweat that soaked us.

Morena Lake was our first water stop after our dry camp that second day. We hung out at the malt shop for a while, then filled up at the campsite and moved on, surprised at how few people we saw compared to our expectations. When we stopped at the Boulder Oaks campground that night, the campground host confirmed our suspicions. The PCT normally sees a large number of international hikers, but due to current events and visa restrictions, many international hikers opted not to receive their permits this year. This means we may see fewer hikers overall, or we may have started during a slower time due to the heat wave in the west.

Stopping at the campsite to drink some water.

With this in mind, we set out for Mount Laguna to pick up a resupply box we had shipped ourselves from home. We weren’t planning on doing this again, but felt a box would be better at this particular stop due to the reported price increase at the small town store in Mt. Laguna. We spent that entire third day gaining elevation, but the miles weren’t too bad. Then, around 8:30 the next morning, we arrived at Mount Laguna and treated ourselves to the first of many breakfasts on the giant trail.

Filled with pancakes, eggs, and potatoes, we grabbed our box from the post office and began our descent down the mountain. Through Mount Laguna, we had been in a beautiful desert pine forest, but once the descent began we encountered gnarly bushes and cacti again. Still, this was our first real experience with constant views and it was impressive. That night, we camped on a dry creek bed with Bryson, who had taken the name Shade Goat, and marveled at the number of ant colonies darting in and out of holes all over the place. You couldn’t walk a mile without seeing a handful and stepping on dozens!

Our tent located among the Jeffrey pines before Mount Laguna.

The water sources had now become a mix of cisterns and water tanks out of the way, some of which tasted questionable, but at least they all still had water. We stayed with the same few people, outdoing each other but never making friends beyond Bryson. Ryan and I found it harder to make friends with people here than on other trails we’ve hiked, but we remained hopeful.

After this the town of Julián remained. This was our first real stop in the city. The night before we had camped 14 kilometers from the town, in another underground cistern next to a dirt road. The morning wasn’t too challenging as we descended into a valley where we crossed a road. There, an angel of the path passed by and picked us up to take us to the city. We didn’t even have to hitchhike!

The trail angel dropped us off at the gear store, where I was able to get new socks. I had already put holes in both of my pairs. The lady at the store suggested I buy a larger size since toe socks tear more easily when worn too tight. After grabbing socks and a few other things, Ryan, Bryson (now Shade Goat), and I headed to Mom’s Pies to get our free slice of pie. The apple crumble with salted caramel ice cream was out of this world! We signed the log book before leaving, where a friendly, clean lady asked us if we were homeless or on a hike. In their defense, we did look and smell pretty unpleasant.

Two hikers full of cake and happiness.

In Julian, Ryan and I stayed at the Gold Rush Inn, a quaint little Victorian B&B. The room was comfortable, but the hotel did not offer laundry service. We decided we would wash our salty, smelly clothes in the bathtub like real hiker trash, only to find out our room had a shower. Half defeated, we went through the exhausting task of washing clothes in the sink, using our food drying bags as laundry bags to help. After showering (and still smelling bad), doing laundry, and restocking, we enjoyed Mexican food at a nearby restaurant and settled in for an early night (midnight for hikers is still 9 pm even in the city).

The next morning, we enjoyed the hotel breakfast, although not as extensive as we expected, and walked 14 miles to our next water source. The fountain was a stash of hundreds of gallons of water that someone had driven down a dirt road and stored in the bushes under a huge tarp. Grateful for the water we didn’t have to filter, we filled our bottles and settled in a hidden spot among some bushes.

A slope of cactus on the way up from Julián

Although we thought we would have a restful night’s sleep, a storm blew up and strong winds shook our tent all night. The sandy desert soil was not compact enough to hold our stakes, and our tent collapsed on us twice during the night. This, combined with intermittent drizzle, made for a restless night and a discouraging end to our first week on the trail.