Misfortune at Mather Pass – The Trek

I want to start by saying that the last few weeks have been very, very beautiful. I spend my days watching marmots running among the rocks. I bathed naked in a lake with ice covering the edges. I walk along river banks and see wildflowers blooming on rocky outcrops.

It only took me two months to start finding happiness along the way. But well, I don’t know what to tell you. This is surprising, but it is also. Damned. Hard.

Kings River wants my shoes

It was just a ten mile day. We start at five in the morning. So I shouldn’t have stayed so far behind, I shouldn’t have kept walking more than twelve hours later. But when I reached another stream crossing, I walked as far upstream as I could, looking for rock breaks or a viable log. I walked as far as I could down the river, but to no avail. There was nothing to do but get wet.

I took off my shoes and pants, putting the former in the outer mesh pocket of my backpack. Then, I took a step towards Kings River. Against gravity, against God, my shoes came out of hiding and began to float away.

«My God!» I screamed.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. I splash down the river, miraculously pulling my right shoe out of the water, then my left. I climbed up the riverbank, tossed my shoes aside, and slid down, chasing socks, gaiters, and anything else I could reach. I didn’t know or care if my backpack was getting wet. Let me repeat: I didn’t know or care if EVERYTHING ELSE I NEEDED TO SURVIVE in freezing temperatures was getting wet.

In the end, I only lost one sock, leaving me with three soaked socks, two soaked leggings, and two magnificently soaked shoes. Lesson learned.

The next morning, I woke up with shoes that were more ice than shoe. I stomped my feet until I could fit them inside and then walked for about 45 minutes in constant fear of freezing. After that, everything was fine.

Ha ha ha. No!

The PCT is flat

I thought it would be smooth sailing after Forester Pass. I thought all I had to do was go through hell once and then I’d be fine. The trail up Mather Pass was suspiciously flat. I should have known better.

Vivi was right in front of me when I realized the trail was gone. The only way to get through was to go up (straight) up a snow bank.

When people tell you the PCT is flat, they’re not… lying. But when you go through these passes, it doesn’t matter how many curves you have when every one of them is buried in snow.

This time, there were no steps to follow. I looked up at the hikers fearlessly climbing, and I began to cry.

«DanceOff, you’re not going to like this part!» Vivi called.

“Yeah, I think I’ll try going left!” I called again.

I sobbed as I worked my way through another deadly fall, and another, and another. The only thing that kept me from panicking was the fact that I hadn’t seen it coming.

The only piece of equipment I’m missing is a penis

Miraculously, I made it over the pass and began to slide down the other side. We try our best to follow the trail, but it’s easy to get lost among the snowbanks and scree. It’s exhausting, but at least I’m not afraid.

Suddenly, I felt a rush of blood between my legs.

«Fuck, Vivi, I think I just started my period,» I moaned.

As if my body heard me, a second wave of blood gushed out. «Oh my god, I just started my period. Damn!»

I dropped my bag and began frantically searching through it to find my diva cup. I knew I only had seconds before I bled through my only pair of pants. I pulled it out, but it was covered in dirt, so I quickly rinsed it with my water bottle. Then, in plain sight, I reached into my underwear and tucked it in, wiping my hand on the snow when I was done.

I’m the best at first impressions

After all the trouble I’d had getting over Mather Pass, I made sure to let the rest of my group know that I might need some support getting up Muir Pass the next morning. Paz, the newest addition to our team, took my request very seriously and followed me the entire way. We chatted as we went, coming to a surprising number of stream crossings along the way.

He was just telling me that maybe my group could teach him how to have a little more fun on the trail when I tripped on a rock and fell hard. It was not a pretty sight: a piece of my thumb was missing and there were deep cuts on both palms.

«I’m fine,» I repeated, trying to get up, «It’s okay, we can keep walking.»

Paz could detect my nonsense from a mile away. “Sit there,” he ordered in his French-Canadian accent.

She took out an entire medical kit from her bag. «Show me,» he said, pointing to my hands. As I cut gauze and tape, I tried to calm my breathing, but I let the tears fall. Mostly I felt embarrassed. I had literally been walking with this guy for less than 24 hours and I couldn’t keep calm anymore. Luckily, another hiker had gifted me a pre-roll, so I was fired up the moment we reached the top, soaring at the highest point like a real trash bag.

Over the next few days, I was reminded again and again how important my hands were. Tasks as simple as standing up took me twice as long since I couldn’t put pressure on my palms. I had to ask for help all the time, which seemed silly to me because the only thing that was really wrong were a couple of boos that hopefully didn’t get infected.

too big booty

The other thing you may not know is that despite all this, he had a big tear in his pants. I had to start putting sunscreen on my butt, that’s how bad it was.

My friends begged me to try sewing it closed.

«I don’t think I can sew it. I don’t think there’s enough fabric left to cover my butt.»

“You don’t believe it?” -Peace questioned.

«Honestly, I don’t think they ripped from the glissading. I think my butt is getting so fat that pants literally couldn’t contain them.»

“And that would be… a good thing?” -Van Gogh asked.

«Hell yes I would!»