Letting go of control – The Trek

PCT: The next chapter

There’s a strange pressure that comes with preparing for a process as big as the PCT. And it’s not just about the 2,650 miles, although that number alone may make you question your sanity. There’s also everything behind those miles: change, surrender, the understanding that no matter how much you plan, nature is still the one making the decisions.

After twenty years of winemaking, control is built into me. And that means temperature, timing, chemistry, precision. Everything is monitored, measured and marked. And yet, trails don’t work like that. You can’t get out of a storm with a spreadsheet and you can’t program how your body will feel in week five. The trail requires you to loosen your grip.

So perhaps the most important thing I hope to learn is what I’ve been kicking around for years: how to let go.

If the first part of my journey story was about discovering that I belong out there, the next part is about honestly getting there.

What the path has taught me

The Colorado Trail confirmed something I had already begun to suspect. It showed me a kind of community that only exists out there, strangers who become lifelong friends, the way Lake City made me feel like royalty, the quiet murmur of «“You are one of us now.” who followed me through each trail town.

That feeling changed me. It gave me a sense of belonging that I didn’t know I was missing. It taught me stewardship, vulnerability and connection. Surprisingly, everything I didn’t expect when I first walked into the CT. And once you taste that kind of community, you want more, need more of that.

For that reason, the PCT seems like the next chapter in that lesson.

Exploring the lake city!

But even with that growth, some concerns remain.

What worries me

Of course, I have the usual hiker concerns. Water has been in the desert for a long time. The cold… I freeze. The snowy June trips and the miles of postholes that accompany them. Relentless rains turn a good day into a character-building exercise. The injury also remains quietly in the back of my mind, although I try not to give it too much space.

Muir Pass, Sun Cup City.

I have some experience in all this; Not enough to be arrogant, but enough to know that I am capable. And with every trail I’ve hiked, I know those nerves calm down once the steps start piling up. Fear subsides when you move.

What I hope to discover there

I want more openness, more connection, and ultimately more clarity.

A deeper understanding of who I am when the everyday noise disappears.

And honestly, I want to see new things. I’ve barely been north of California…never to Washington, barely to Oregon, and I’ve never been to the Mexican border knowing that every mile to Canada would be mine to earn.

I’m between chapters right now. Between the life I’ve lived and the one I’m building next. So I hope the path opens some doors for me: opportunities, friendships, and maybe even a connection that I’m finally ready for. Not because I’m expecting to meet my soulmate halfway around a bend… but stranger things have happened.

Above all, I want to grow.

Walk north and let the path take away what no longer serves me. To face the things I have buried, without distractions or escape routes. Come out more open, less cautious and more myself.

Looking ahead to May: preparing for what’s coming

Preparing for this walk has been its own journey.

I’ve spent the last few months researching the trail, adjusting my training routine, and, like every gear-obsessed backpacker, trying not to fall down another ultralight rabbit hole… I swear I have enough gear to open a small, poorly organized REI in my garage. I have left carry everything except the kitchen sink it was at Do I really need this thing that weighs 1.8 ounces? was.

Because a backpack is never enough…apparently.

And yes, I’m still debating whether to bring a stove or fully embrace cold living. (I know. I know. Send help.)

Next time

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The road is long, the views are worth it and the journey has only just begun.

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