Arriving at the decision to put my life on hold and spend a few months hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) involved a lot of soul searching. That soul searching ultimately yielded a list of reasons why I was hiking. I carried that list throughout my journey so that when I was shivering in the rain alone on a mountain side I could reflect on it and remember why the heck I signed up for this ass kicking. What follows is a few of those reasons and how the related experiences changed my perspective.
Faith in Humanity
Renewing my faith in humanity was a huge motivation for my hike. I grew up in a big city. My family, friends, neighbors, and I had all been victims of ever increasing crime. The violence had become a weekly occurrence and I had grown very jaded. I heard countless tales of incredible kindness from the PCT and I hoped that experiencing it might soften my perspective.
The trail did not disappoint. The selfless generosity I experienced on my journey was overwhelming. A trail angel in Packwood hosted me in her home for three days. Mr. and Mrs. Cowboy let me defrost by their pot belly stove and fed me organic pears from their orchard. Countless hikers treated me like family even though we had never met. The list goes on.
I looked like a hobo and smelled like a dumpster fire but these complete strangers still welcomed me with open arms and helped me without a second thought. Their generosity was a poignant reminder of humankind’s capacity for kindness and I can never repay them for softening my heart.
Real Life is Easy
Real life is pretty cushy and as I hoped living in the dirt for a few months renewed my appreciation for the many blessings I have at home. Let’s discuss a scenario that really illustrates the point. Consider late night emergency bathroom breaks. At home with indoor plumbing and a porcelain throne it’s pretty simple right? But out there if you’re prairie dogging before dawn it’s a little more complicated.
First, you scramble to peel off your sleeping bag, strap on your headlamp, don your insulated jacket because inevitably it’s freezing out, grab your toilet paper and trash bag, and finally unzip your tent. Great! You made it outside without releasing a mud slide in your long johns. But this is just the beginning! Now you stumble around in the pitch black to find suitable spot to drop your deposit and hopefully you remember that you camped cliff-side to catch the sunset last night. Finally, you find a nice loamy area and frantically start digging a cat hole only to hit rocks. At this point you’re doing a strange kind of dance that resembles twerking to prevent the impending excrement explosion. So you relent, drop your drawers, squat, and let out a sigh of relief as you do your business. Meanwhile, the mosquitoes have discovered you and are quickly decorating your ass with welts in a lovely polka dot pattern. Alas, the deed is done, you’ve cleaned up, and packed your used toilet paper into the trash bag. Okay, back to the tent right? Well not quite. Now you’re going to dig three more cat holes before you’ll finally reach a Leave No Trace (LNT) friendly eight inch depth without hitting rocks. Last but not least, you have to scrape your steaming scat into the hole and bury it. Congratulations! Now you may go back to bed.
Challenges
Challenging myself was a very important part of my PCT journey. I had spent much of the last decade battling illness or injury. This left me with a serious lack of confidence in my physical capabilities and resilience. If I could endure the challenges of a long distance hike, perhaps I would see clearly that I was far tougher than I assumed.
The challenge was real! The trail served up a heaping helping of daily difficulties and pain was aplenty. Initially, I doubted myself frequently but as the distance I hiked grew so did my confidence. I recall a moment of clarity in California when I realized just how profound my transformation was. Play-Doh and I were in a sun baked dry wash between two arid slopes. We had knocked out 15 miles and still had more to go. We paused to sip water and discuss where to camp. Then I began the 2000 foot climb that lay ahead. My pace was nearly a run despite the shifting scree beneath my feet. My breathing was heavy as I powered past 8000 feet in elevation. I reached the top and turned to look west into the afternoon sun. The skin on my face was raw with wind burn and the heat of sun compounded the discomfort. My knees were sore but I understood this pain and knew I wasn’t injured. Just a few months ago this discomfort would have left me wondering, “Is my knee about to fall apart again? Will I have to endure another year of physical therapy? Can I do this?” However, in this moment my mind was still. I savored the golden landscape for a moment more and then hiked on with confidence. I can do this!!!
Parting Thoughts
As difficult as my PCT journey was, the real challenge began when I returned home. At home the opportunities to become complacent are everywhere. I’ve found that continuing to reflect on the reasons for my journey and the amazing experiences that relate to them is essential. This dedication to contemplation helps me to remember the lessons I learned, maintain the perspective I gained, and nurture the faith I developed.