From Florida Flats to the Oregon border: my first 1,700 miles on the PCT

When I stepped on the Pacific Crest Trail, I had never exceeded. In fact, I had only made a handful of camp trips during the night. I am from Florida: Beach Lovin, wet, flat, flowering at sea level. This was also my partner’s dream at that time. I remember telling me about the PCT on our first appointment. Years later, it also became mine. Nothing in my origin shouted that I was qualified for this. But I knew I wanted it, sometimes that is enough.

I in the South Campo Terminal, Ca

Here, I am known as intense. The name adjusts. I am an intense person, always bring similar contributions to Mahatma Ghandi to the mixture. But it also came from my habits in the camp: once I configured my store, I don’t leave it. People say that detecting me outside my store after the day is like seeing Bigfoot. It will simply happen.

I found out about the walk very early on my trip, and even started my own blog. But the path has taken me through deserts, mountains, forests, burns areas and now, to Oregon. Through feelings of happiness to misery, each section has been its own teacher. And being in the moments when my feet are, it has been the highest priority. But I’m ready to start sharing how things have gone.

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The desert: learning to walk

I started in an environment that felt so strange, it was as if it were on a different planet. The desert was an intensive course in the future. I went from the wet air to dry heat, from sea level to thousands of feet of gain and loss of lifting, and a warmth so fierce that made Florida summers feel meek. I learned about long haules, extreme exposure to the sun and heat unlike everything I had known before.

A water cache that is prepared for 15 mile water transport

My most difficult day arrived on July 18, between Tehachapi and Walker Pass, an infamous section of windmills, Joshua trees, water haules and high exposure. He almost broke me, but he also harden me. I do not remember seeing shade stains until I found a big bush and simply collapsed in it. My backpack still fastened and right in the sand. That night I met Cheech and Smurf. His energy revived me. And he reminded me that he could do this.

The end of the day with a picnic table, simple pleasures

In the desert I experienced my first cowboy camp. It was so wind that I couldn’t even put my flat tent. I discovered the beauty of the magic of the path and the generosity of the strangers. That recovered my hope for the world. I left my inflatable pad for a folding foam foam of an inch. I even felt an earthquake of Cat 5 on day 3. I received a 3 weeks injury. Some nervous problems on my foot, with bruises and swelling. I learned to walk wounded and recover properly with rest, but also how to continue appearing despite pain.

The desert was raw and relentless, but it gave me the base I needed. I tell people all the time: if the desert had not walked, I would not have survived the mountains.

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The Sierra: Learning the power of people

The desert was about survival, but the mountains were about the connection.

The section is where I found family. A true family of paths. We called ourselves the nudist colony, because if there was no one close, we would undress and immerse themselves in the alpine lakes. It was not only fun, it was crudeness, comfort, tacit permission to completely be. They were all so beautiful. Inside, and outside.

Bishop Cookout with the nudist colony, taken by Maor (Tea cup)

• Gabe (Peanut Gallery): Always joking and commenting, always laughing. He maintained light and fun energy.

• Ellie (Crush) – A German who is strong as hell, and won his path name crushing the path struggles with grace.

• Alex (Show Girl): A man from Mountian, who plays, singing, singing, who made his way through the mountains.

• Chase (Pitufo): That was adorned from head to toe in blue and could not resist the opportunity to swim in the lighter lakes I have seen.

• Yaya (Tinkerbell): small and full of light, but so wise and gentle. She had the best questions.

• Maor (cup of tea): which literally wore a teapot and three small cups, and prepared tea in the alpine lakes and mountain passes.

And I, intense. A crew that does not match meals together in the cities, shared tea in the mountains and made each pass feel like a celebration.

A real meal, cooked by Smurf and I

The mountains tested me in different ways than the desert. He carried heavy gear (ice ax, peaks, bear can) and still pushed up and on high passes. Elevation that reaches 5 digits for the first time.

In Forester Pass, we reached the top at 3:30 pm, when the snow was muddy and dangerous. My feet continued to sink beyond post -hairs, almost the waist at the muddy snow. Of course I also had a complete food forms. My feet were soaked and cold. I remember trying to get a moment and kept sinking even more. I cried, convinced that I was going to die. But I didn’t. That was the only time on the way that I really thought my life was at risk.

The view from Forester Pass, before SHTF

But thanks to my friends on the path, they guided me through each step through the snow. Keeping myself calm, while Gabe cleaned my tears. They placed me in the middle of the group and we went through.

The mountains also gave me beauty and life. Fulfill Whitney in complete darkness and enjoy everything for the first time at the top of Tippy. Of course, we have tea.

Mount Whitney Summit for Dawn

I saw three bears and rabbits the size of the dogs. Alpine lakes that were never touched by our stinky feet. We climb Half Dome outside the Yosemite Valley and also provided towards him.

Nudist colony in Half Dome

We adopted those who made us feel like a family. We would say «Hi Sierra, how are you?» When the passes appeared in sight. We shouted words that Ellie taught us, like «Glitcheq!» … a German word that means «slippery» that we reuse to mean «impressive» or «sick.» And we would remind ourselves: «Hiking is about finding a good place for lunch.»

Maor pouring a little mango tea in half dome

But path families do not always last forever. Yaya and the tea cup just walked the Sierra section. Others were left behind. Little by little, our group separated. I also decided to get an inflatable sleep pad … sometimes comfort wins. When I left Yosemite, I was walking north without all my nudist colony.

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Northern California: Learning to walk alone

Norcal began with a detour: I left the road to walk with my little brother near South Lake Tahoe. But being from sea level, he obtained altitude evil. So I ended up carrying our two packages downhill for four miles … mine on my back, its in front. It was one of the most difficult things I have done, and shortened our trip. But I was happy to have some time with him and rest.

I with our two packages put, going down for almost 3 hours

To return to the road, I took a scooter and four different buses back to Chester from SLT. I expected my Sierra family to get up to date, but they never did. The path of the path is not so simple.

Did Yo Mention that my partner and Yo Did you also separate? At this point it is when we decided to go separate officially forms Walk alone. Oh.

At first, I hated being alone. Loneliness crushed me. The burns sections extended forever. Some hikers skipped, others went to the days of path. Sometimes I didn’t see a PCT hiker for days. It was painfully quiet on the road.

Beauty in the burning section was fun to search

But slowly, I began to accept it. And I decided to change my perspective of what my purpose was.

I fell in love with chasing thousands. I arrived at my first day of 30 miles with the help of a couple from the United Kingdom. My feet throbbed so much that I couldn’t sleep, but I was proud. Cowboy camped at a glance between Lassen and Shasta, looking at Mount Shasta for the first time.

A small moon to bathe anyone hurts

Finally, I wanted more. When I fell into Seiad Valley, I pushed my first day of more than 30 miles (32.7 miles), walking towards the dark despite my fear. The farms were crazy. At one point, I was horcated in a huge fallen tree, sliding down on a steep slope, convinced that I was about to fall into the dark abyss.

He was basically running through the mountain. Praying so that the bridge to the camp was just around the corner so that I could finally sit. My back hurt, and my legs began to feel like a jelly. But I managed to pass, at 9 pm I came across the Grinder Creek camp, exhausted but victorious. It was a hot night, and was soaked in sweat. Each specification of earth and ash hit me. So I bathed under the bridge in the stream in complete darkness. It was rejuvenating. I was finally becoming the hiker who always wanted to be. Pushing my limits and fears.

Brian’s place and the 1,000 -mile countdown

I was lucky to get the magic of the path in the valley, thanks to Brian. A well -known boxes stop before Siead and the beginning of the official 1,000 -miles official account. He took me to Yreka and repeated in Walmart and felt that I was in New York City. Oh Wally World … The bright lights and endless options were overwhelming. Even so, I loaded a refueling of eight days because how often do you take Walmart on the road? My barely closed package.

The next morning I woke up at 4:45 to leave the valley before the heat. I wasn’t pointing to a great day, but while I walked, I thought: What happens if I sent it to the Oregon border?

And I did so. From 5:30 am to 9 pm, I walked. 9,300 feet of collective ascent, through alleged, burns of burns and constant change environments. At dusk, my lighthouse caught the Oregon border sign.

My Farout route of my biggest day on the road so far

I was alone. I had not expected it. At first, he saddens me. But then tears came anyway: pride tours. I signed the record, I wrote a poem, I sat for a moment and realized how far I had arrived.

He arrived at the border at 8:30 pm

When I was ready to go, I realized that I no longer needed company to define my walk. I could establish my own rhythm, pursue my own goals and impress myself. I didn’t have to wait for anyone.

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Oregon: Learning to belong to myself

Crossing Oregon was different. It was not the family, survival, or even show that it could make great miles. It was about realizing that after 1,700 miles, I finally belong to myself.

I learned to walk alone, to overcome fear, to rely on people when they are there and continue moving when they are not. I learned that vulnerability is not weakness, but it is part of my strength.

The desert taught me to survive. The mountains taught me to connect. The north of California taught me to walk alone. And Oregon is teaching me to trust myself.

The PCT is not just about walking. It’s about becoming. And I’m just starting.

Dulce Dulce Victoria

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