Beneath the watch of ancient peaks

It had been years since I cried with joy.

In those last few miles before Kennedy Meadows South, where the snow-capped peaks first appear like a long-awaited breath of fresh air, I cried myself completely unraveling in the moment.

The last time I remember feeling like this was at the Tour du Mont Blanc. When I returned to France from Switzerland and saw Mont Blanc again after not seeing it for a few days, I cried from pure joy. I was about to finish my first hike, circumnavigating the Queen of the Alps.

On the Camino Primitivo, I was overcome with joy upon arriving in Finisterre, looking at the sea and being grateful that my body was healthy enough to take me there.

On the Arizona Trail, I cried watching the sunrise over the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and again as I watched numerous shooting stars cross the canyon’s night sky.

I promised myself I would look for more moments like this: experiences of beauty and joy that, even years later, make me cry when I remember them.

Under the mountain skies

It was a huge relief to have finished the Southern California desert section. Slower mornings. Less rush and stress to combat the brutal heat of the day.

I was back in my element and felt like I was home.

Lush alpine meadows.

Imposing snow-capped peaks.

Abundance of living beings under the skies of the Sierra.

Beautiful, clear flowing water. Green grass dotted with simple but cheerful wildflowers.

So much life.

The Sierra had lived in my imagination for years. I had looked at pictures, read books, heard stories and dreamed about these mountains long before I set foot among them.

The tall granite walls and dramatic craggy peaks were more beautiful than I had ever imagined. Incredibly unique rock formations rose in all directions. Walking among the giant sequoias, I felt like they were guardians of the desert’s exposure and openness.

An abundance of life

I took great delight in watching the butterflies chase each other in what seemed like a fun dance.

Watching the deer splashing in the Kern River and the hares nibbling in the undergrowth.

Swallows flitted back and forth under the Kern River Bridge.

Bumblebees feasted on the vibrant alpine wildflowers.

Furry marmots sunbathed on rocks and woodpeckers worked like tiny construction crews on tree trunks.

Everywhere he looked, the landscape pulsed with vitality.

The desert taught me resilience. He taught me to be patient. He taught me to appreciate the little things.

But the alpine environment will always make you feel at home. This is where my spirit feels most alive.

The best days on the trail

Of all my days on the PCT so far, three stand out above the rest.

The first was to enter the Sierra and meet with Seth and Lyn. Two people I met on my first day, but had lost over the miles. What a sweet reunion, after walking more than 700 miles. There were so many stories to share.

The second was to get to the Kennedy Meadows General Store. Hearing the sound of my fellow hikers clapping and cheering us on as we walked in was a memory that will always be one of my favorites. Sitting there and applauding and cheering on everyone else was even more rewarding.

The third was walking to Horseshoe Meadows, a lush alpine meadow that felt like a little piece of heaven on earth. My friends were a day ahead and waited there to greet me with hugs, cheers and beer. It was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. When I die, I really hope that is one of the memories I can look back on as my life flashes before my eyes.

Learning the mountains

John Muir wrote about the air of the Sierra and, being there, I understood exactly what he meant.

He urged people to climb the mountains and spend time in the forest to cleanse their spirits.

The Sierra has a way of silently untying everything the world has knotted inside you.

As the days passed, I became more of a student of the mountains. Learning the signs of the skies, trees, animals and birds. Learning when the climate was changing. Learn where the creatures gathered and why.

The mountains reward attention.

The closer I looked at them, the more they revealed.

Forever an alpine girl

What I will remember most is perhaps the air itself.

The incredible aroma of the Sierra.

Fresh, clean and impossible to describe to someone who has not experienced it. Everywhere, carried by the breeze, is the unmistakable air of the Sierra.

The kind of air that makes you breathe a little deeper.

The kind of air that makes you feel grateful simply to be alive.

The Sierra answered something in me that I didn’t know I was missing.

Under the gaze of ancient peaks I realized that I am, and always will be, an alpine girl.

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