A Story of the Pacific Crest Trail: The Trail Provides (Pain and Suffering) Part One

Years of dreaming. Years of planning. Months of training and preparation. The day finally arrives. Do you think you’re ready? You are in the best shape of your life.

You’re an idiot.

I am “you” in this story.

For starters, the Pacific Crest Trail is different for everyone. I’m no stranger to challenging outdoor adventures: With the summits of Mount Rainier, Mount Whitney, and others under my belt, I figured hiking would be, for all intents and purposes, a walk in the park.

It wasn’t.

With temperatures in the 80s and almost no water on the first day’s route, this day would be as far from a walk in the park as I could imagine. A 14-mile uphill trek through water to a beautiful hideaway, left by even more beautiful people, and I was already defeated. My new hiking friends could see it on my face as I stumbled down the last mile of descent to our first campsite. I didn’t have enough energy to eat dinner that first night, something I would pay for over the next few days.

The next day started without breakfast. Still too tired to eat, I faced a 1200 foot climb. Fortunately, it was followed by a nice, hilly downhill stretch to the Lake Morena campground.

Oh, lovely malt shop.

I had a salad. It took all my energy just to get it down. Extreme fatigue, combined with even more extreme heat, had robbed me of my appetite.

No more salad, a liter of water down the hatch and there were still six more miles to go. Six miles, right at the hottest time of the day. It wasn’t a particularly challenging hike, but the dry desert air took everything away from me. I walked slowly toward the Boulder Oaks campground around 3 p.m., greeted by other hikers who seemed to be doing much better than me.

I needed to eat.

I scarfed down a very boring dinner (ramen noodles and some fries) before climbing into bed, feeling defeated once again.

The next morning, I woke up to a bustling scene. More hikers? No… cars. Many cars. Apparently, a trail race of some kind was taking place there that morning. It forced many of us to wake up earlier than planned.

I moved slowly. Very slow.

I was sore (to be expected), but I still had no energy. I needed to eat, once again. And once again I had to force it. Oatmeal this time. I couldn’t even finish it. It’s unknown how many calories I had burned, but I know I hadn’t replenished enough.

«Oh well, I have to start walking.»

It’s the only thing to do here.

The day began with optimism and a gentle climb up a ridge, where I was quickly greeted by many of the friends I had made over the past few days. This was my favorite part of the trail so far: Kitchen Creek.

Kitchen Creek was an excellent source of water, not just for drinking. The oasis had natural pools, perfect for a refreshing, icy dip.

After soaking in the cold and relaxing for about an hour, I refilled my water (four liters) and began a grueling climb toward Mount Laguna, a wonderful wilderness area in the middle of the unforgiving desert. I hiked an exposed ridge during the hottest part of the day. This stretch, for me, was not only eye-opening but also heartbreaking.

I’m completely lost.

I have zero appetite and zero energy.

This is a problem.

When I got to my campsite, it took me over an hour to set up my tent. As I lay there, wondering what to do, I made the decision to get off the road.

The next day would have to be a day of action, and that action would not be action. I needed to rest. true rest. But most importantly, he needed food, fuel and energy.

On my four-mile climb up Mount Laguna, I got cell service, booked a room for the night, and made plans to do nothing but rest and eat. And that’s exactly what I did. With a little help from Mother Nature (cooler weather was in the forecast), I was sure I would get back on the trail, find my friends, and finally start enjoying the hike.

Unfortunately, the trail wasn’t done playing its mind games yet.

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