My 2009 PCT Thru-Hike

"So, how was your hike?" people ask me, realizing full well that 4 months of walking through wilderness can hardly be condensed into your typical one-word answers like "fine," "great," or even an emphatic "terrific!" Here I give a brief run-down of my experience, answering along the way some of the most common questions people have.

Basic info

The Pacific Crest Trail, or PCT, is a well-established, well-traveled trail of 2660 miles from the Mexican border to the Canadian border of the United States through the major mountain ranges of the west coast. There is a network of kind people devoted to helping thru-hikers (long-distance backpackers) get to trailheads, obtain water in parched desert sections, and rest up along the way when necessary. Information is available from many different sources to explain how to resupply along the way. Although the trail passes through remote and beautiful wilderness areas (along with some that are not so remote), hiking the PCT does not mean bushwhacking through the woods and living off berries and roots in complete solitude. A few hundred people attempt to hike the trail each year.

How and why I decided to hike the PCT

I decided to hike the trail in February 2009 during a period of ambiguity about my and my girlfriend's plans for the summer (we are now getting married this October). I decided to do something really exciting and inspiring -- hike the PCT -- while she figured out where she was going to work or study for the summer. We hope to do much long-distance backpacking together in the future, as our experiences so far have been very enjoyable. In 2008 we spent 40 days hiking along the Colorado section of the Continental Divide Trail, or CDT (another trans-national hiking trail). The experience whetted our appetite for more long-distance hikes. In January 2009 we spent 9 days backpacking in the Peruvian Andes and wished we could do more. A year before hiking through Colorado I had discovered ultralight backpacking gear, which almost automatically leads to hiking more miles with greater ease. My personal desires when choosing to hike the PCT were to experience the natural beauty of the West, test my physical limits and my gear choices, and enjoy the simple outdoor life for the duration of my hike.

How I prepared for my thru-hike

I did a ton of online research on the PCT to learn about resupply strategies, gear choices, hikers' personal experiences, paperwork (simple, by the way), nutrition, etc. I had been exercising regularly and was in good shape, but had no mountains, hills, or even dirt trails to train on where I was living. I already had most of the gear I would use and did some trading to get some new items. I created a blog to document and share what I had learned. I had a passive income of roughly $500 per month, and no savings, and so opted to do the hike on as small a budget as possible. Even if I had had a lot more money to spend, I probably would have done the hike the same, since frugality in no way interfered with my enjoyment of the thru-hike. In the end, I would spend just under $2400 on the entire hike, including food, lodging (basically none), postage, plane tickets, and footwear, but not counting gear I had before the trip. Most thru-hikers typically spend between $3500 and $5000.

Getting to the PCT trailhead near Campo, California

I got in contact with some well-known "trail angels" (kind people who help thru-hikers) in San Diego. These people picked me up at the airport, gave me a place to stay, fed me and dozens of other PCT'ers, and drove us all to the trailhead early the next morning. At 7:45 am on April 24, 2009 I touched the PCT monument at the Mexican border and started walking towards Canada. Although I had already met some cool people, I started off alone and was glad I did so; I was tired from all my last-minute preparation and wanted some time to myself. Everyone was so excited that they were hiking super fast, even jogging, and making a host of other mistakes. For instance, I had drunk so much water before leaving the house that morning (dehydration paranoia) that I had to have the entire car caravan stop so that I could run out into the brush and pee.

PCT Kick-off, or "ADZPCTKO"

I finished that first, 20-mile-long day with a foot cramp that would bother me for a week (I didn't know how to use Ibuprofin then). A good 3/4 of hikers had foot problems by the end of the first day due to inadequate physical conditioning and blister prevention. At the 20-mile marker is Lake Morena, site of the yearly PCT kick-off event, and everyone was pushing to do those 20 miles in one day to get there on time. The Kick-off's main purpose is to provide thru-hikers from previous years and PCT devotees with a chance to see each other again and relive the good times. There are also a host of activities and useful presentations, and some gear vendors come to the Kick-off to sell their products. It was freezing cold there, and with no hiking to do for an entire day, many hikers were the coldest they would ever be during their hikes. I was the only one who seemed warm, walking around in my puffy green cocoon that converts into a sleeping quilt. It was an effective conversation starter, to say the least.

I managed to win a $250 ULA backpack at the annual gear contest, where I presented a dinky little (but effective) map case that hangs on the side of my backpack. Though I only won fourth place, the three winners before me had not looked closely enough at the prize table and had passed over a piece of paper that said, in effect, "any piece of gear from ULA." In the future I would refer to the map case as my "250-dollar map case," and I used the heftier pack all through the Sierra Nevada, where bear canisters are required and more food must be carried because of the long distances between resupply points.

More photos of Southern California

Southern California

I had made a common mistake in my hike planning. In my desire to meet relatives and friends along the way, I had arranged to meet an uncle at a road four days from the Kick-off. From here we would hike for two days to another road crossing, where he could get picked up. The problem was, to get to the meeting place, I would have to put in four 26-mile days in a row right from the Kick-off. With a hurt foot and underprepared joints and ligaments, I soon realized this would be a big mistake. I thus arranged to meet at another road much closer and ended up having to take two "zero days" (rest days with no mileage gained) at this location. While this was good for my foot, and our two-day walk through a desert section was very enjoyable, it put me far behind all the people I had just gotten to know. For three weeks afterwards I would be trying to catch up to them. Then, I later ended up inadvertently passing them while they were at The Andersons, a popular trail stop. By that time, however, I had made new friends and was more independent.

From the border, the PCT passes through low mountains and semi-desert largely covered in chaparral -- dense, woody, low-growing evergreen vegetation that burns frequently. There were colorful flowers and cacti in bloom, strong fragrances, and marvelous desert views. Burrs constantly got into my socks, which were hopelessly brown from the incessant dust. Temperatures were moderate at first but tended to rise over time. I found I grew listless and uncomfortable when temps got above 80 F. Many an afternoon was spent resting in the shade of some oak tree; I and most other thru-hikers would try to get up early and hike into the evening to avoid the heat. In these semi-arid locales, I saw lots of lizards, rattlesnakes, desert rabbits, and mule deer. The snakes sometimes get to you; you'll be walking down the trail and almost step on one, then it hisses and rattles at you while it slithers off the trail. Occasionally, a rattler will coil up and refuse to move off the trail, no matter what you try to do to it. Bites are actually extremely rare and often contain no venom at all. Still, encounters can be unnerving.

Eventually, the PCT rises into Southern California's higher mountain ranges -- the San Jacinto, San Bernardino, and San Gabriel mountains. It was a joy to hike under large conifers in somewhat cooler temperatures. However, lack of companionship had made me quite lonely, and I reached a low point in the town of Idyllwild. As often happens, however, the next day was a good one; I made two new friends, one of whom I would end up hiking with for hundreds of miles in Southern and Northern California.

I climbed San Jacinto Peak and undertook the long, windy descent to the desert floor in the middle of the night to avoid the heat. The next day I rose early and made it to the Whitewater River (a wonderful respite!) before the temperature peaked out at 108 F in the shade. A couple miserable hours were spent lying beneath my reflective ground cloth for lack of shade. Later I heard that 8 thru-hikers had spend the day lying under a truck. So-called water caches (replenished by trail angels) were important in these sections. We would plan our breaks and campsites around tiny springs, trickling creeks, and water caches, which were carefully described in a document we had received at Kick-off.

I managed to meet two more sets of relatives in Southern California and enjoyed the chance to reconnect, have a hearty meal (or two, or three), and clean up. As I would discover throughout my hike, I never got enough sleep on zero days and tended to be hot, hungry, and dehydrated when in town due to the hot weather at lower elevations and pressure to get things done within a certain time frame. As a result, the last two months of my thru-hike would include only one zero day, taken at an old friend's house in Portland, Oregon.

The PCT passes through mountain areas that had been my teenage playground (I grew up in the L.A. basin). I even camped at Little Jimmy campground in the San Gabriels -- the site of my very first overnight backpacking trip exactly 20 years earlier. After the San Gabriels, though, everything was new. We dropped down to the Mojave desert floor and crossed a piece of it to get to the relatively dry Tehachapi range, home to cattle ranches and wind farms. And yet from Tehachapi Pass northward, I finally felt a new sensation: I was in the wilderness. With no towns in the vicinity and fewer visitors, the mountains were silent and almost untouched. Gathering storm clouds and periods of cooler temperatures stimulated greater attentiveness to the environment. Luckily, I did not end up needing my tarp until later; I had mailed it ahead from Big Bear City to Kennedy Meadows -- the beginning of the High Sierra. In an effort to lighten my pack as much as possible, I had sent home two packages of gear and had sent one small package ahead to where I would likely need it more.

My resupply strategy, planned carefully before the thru-hike, would remain unchanged to the very end. At a few town stops I would buy food out of local grocery stores, but generally I would have my mother (bless her heart) send me food packages with amounts measured out to the gram. These were usually mailed to post offices along the way, where I would pick them up after showing my driver's license. Bought in bulk whenever possible, this food was generally more nourishing and less expensive than if I had resupplied as I went, even with the shipping cost included. I typically consumed about 5000 calories per day and finished the PCT weighing just 5 lbs less than when I started. Poor food choices during my thru-hike in Colorado the year before had caused me lots of problems, and by the time I did the PCT I had learned my lesson well. My diet provided me with 100 grams of protein per day and was tasty enough that I did not get tired of most things. Furthermore, the way I requested food allowed me to modify my diet as my needs or tastes changed.

Most thru-hikers end up taking on some kind of trail name. One reason for this is that it's easier to remember a unique trail name like "Salt Lick," "Lint," or "Pockets" than another "Scott," "Ann," or "Chris." Some people's trail names, however, are long and hard to remember, like "The Old Lone Wolf Expedition" or "Boots The Ultimate Trail Hiker." Trail names also emphasize the fact that one is living a completely different life on the trail than back in the city. Plus, it's just plain fun to have a different, often humorous name. In fact, people would ask me what my name was, and I would feel I was letting them down by saying, "still Rick -- don't have a trail name yet." Ideally, you're supposed to wait till others name you, but by mile 400 I had noticed that the hikers I tended to hang around were generally too serious to give other people trail names. So, to avoid hiking the whole trail without one or picking one up in the middle of Washington where it was too late to do me any good, I chose my trail name myself. "Buckwheat" is a name someone else could easily have given me, seeing that I ate it almost every night for dinner. The name was unpretentious and reflected my Slavic heritage. I just woke up one day and started introducing myself as "Buckwheat" to any new hikers I met. "I like to soak my wild groats," I would sometimes add if the moment was right. Much to my surprise, my trail name added some humor and fun to my hike that hadn't been there before.

Central California

I reached Kennedy Meadows on May 30 at the head of the pack. Such an early entry into the High Sierra seemed reasonable due to the low snowpack. After two rest days to allow other people to catch up, I headed out into what is one of the PCT's most magnificent stretches. The southern Sierra crest is an unbroken alpine and subalpine wilderness without a single road for over 200 miles. I switched some of my gear to rise to its challenges: an ice axe (smart), light crampons (unnecessary), bear canister (required), a more supportive and heavier pack (more comfortable), and some warmer clothes (but not enough, as it would turn out).

The day after we set out, the temperature dropped and snow began to fall. For the next two weeks or more, we would constantly be battling the cold, getting fresh snowfall, and hiking through snow at higher elevations. Most days, the highs were in the 40s, and most nights were below freezing. All the while we were hiking through some of the grandest scenery in the nation, if not the world -- sky-piercing granite peaks, deap glacial valleys, snow-covered passes, quiet forests of pine, fir, and aspen, and deep-blue alpine lakes and ponds. A typical day would be 15 to 20 miles of hiking and include a snowy climb and descent from a high mountain pass. The snowiest -- Muir Pass -- had 4 miles of snow leading up to it and 6 miles of snow coming down. Between bouts of fresh snow we managed to climb Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. I was the only one that day to take a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, minimal shelter, and a bit of extra food, well aware of how most deaths occur in the wilderness.

Myself included, many thru-hikers experienced chronically cold feet, leading to a months-long condition where parts of your toes simply have no feeling (from nerve damage) but are otherwise fine. In addition, by this time in the hike most people found their feet were tender to step on for the first few minutes each morning -- another condition that typically lasts for months after your thru-hike ends. Yet I was having the time of my life. Companionship was more important during this challenging section, and I teamed up with a few other thru-hikers for company and safety.

These hikers and I took a zero day in Independence before heading back into the mountains, whose peaks were hidden in heavy clouds. The locals were calling it "Junuary" because of the unusual cold and snow. One thing you learn on a thru-hike is that some type of weather record will inevitably be set during your hike, whether it be heat, cold, precipitation or drought, or a combination of these.

In addition to snowy or icy passes, the High Sierra presents sometimes challenging creek crossings. Due to the cold weather, snowmelt was low, and the creek crossings were not dangerous, though the water was frigid. Sometimes you would be moaning and gripping your feet in pain after you finished. Worst of all for me was a ford of 4 swollen arms of a large creek in Yosemite National Park. Only by groaning passionately could I divert my attention away from the exquisite pain and get through all 4 creeks. Other than the occasional large creek, there were countless small streams that could be hopped over or crossed on rocks or small logs that protruded above the water.

We learned that passes needed to be crossed as early in the morning as possible given our year's snow conditions. Going through later in the day usually meant "postholing" -- breaking through the upper crust of the snow and sinking down to your calf, knee, or even thigh. Near rocks or trees this can be dangerous; once, I fell down 4 feet, ripping my wind pants and burying my trekking pole right up to the hilt. What's more, the tip had lodged itself next to a rock, meaning that I had to dig down with my potty trowel, dislodge the tip, and finally pull out the pole. Typically, passes had steep, snow-covered climbs and descents immediately before and after the pass. A couple passes had a snow cornice (overhang) at the top, which was a bit scary to climb over. Hikers occasionally slipped, but I heard of no injuries this year.

Though most of us carried our mandatory bear canisters for 300 miles, the bears only appeared on the scene after we had sent them home. Apparently, since we were passing through the High Sierra early in the season, the bears were down at lower elevations where the food was plentiful. All in all I would see a half dozen bears, but all ran away from the sound of my voice. Mountain lions, on the other hand, are a more sinister and exclusively carnivorous beast, but, thankfully, sightings are very rare. One thru-hiker showed us a picture of a mountain lion that he had seen. The hiker appeared shaken and called home to have his gun fed-exed to him. Later, he relaxed a bit. I would often tell people, "the most dangerous part about hiking the PCT is driving to and from the airport and getting in and out of trailside towns." Some years back two PCT'ers were hit and killed on the road by a passing car. The automobile is the saber-toothed tiger of today, yet few appreciate its dangers. Instead, city folks would ask us, "aren't you scared of bears and mountain lions?"

By Yosemite National Park -- where I met an old friend and took a much-appreciated day off -- the weather had finally warmed to the season, bringing with it mosquitos, those old saboteurs of wilderness repose. The mosquitos would continue off and on through southern Washington (mid-August), peaking in intensity in late July in the vicinities of Sky Lakes and Shelter Cove in the Oregon Cascades. Beyond Yosemite, the Sierra Nevada grows increasingly lower and less rugged (but also wetter), but it was not until Donner Summit, just north of Lake Tahoe, that we had no more snowfields to cross. From here on, heat was the main problem. Summer had reached its zenith, and any place below 4500-5000 feet was bound to be uncomfortably hot. This would include all town stops from here to Ashland, Oregon.

Northern California

At Donner Summit I decided on the spur of the moment to spend the night at the local trail angels, who had posted invitations to visit them. The terrific food, hospitality, and friendly conversations lifted my spirits. What's more, that evening Joel showed up at their house. Joel and I had hiked together quite a bit before Kennedy Meadows, where he had taken a week off to visit a friend and rest an inflamed foot ligament (a common ailment). From Donner Summit we hiked together for roughly two weeks, climbing two prominent mountains along the way as side trips. Eventually our different daily routines would separate us; I seemed to need about half an hour more sleep each night, and the extra mile or so that he gained on me each day soon made it impossible to catch up.

A lesson that most thru-hikers learn is the futility of trying to keep someone else's pace and hiking style. The range of individual variation in speed, hours hiked per day, length and frequency of breaks, time for setting up and breaking camp, etc. is quite large. Hiking with someone else almost always involves compromises, and if one person has to sacrifice too much, fatigue and/or irritability set in. Once I had "matured" as a thru-hiker (around mile 1500), the routine I settled into was this: hike till about 8-8:30 pm, get to bed by 9:30-10 pm, wake up around 6:15-7:00 am, get on the trail by 8 am. When I let myself sleep in every few days, I found that fatigue never had a chance to build up. At the same time, if I met another thru-hiker I wanted to spend some time with, I would adapt my pace to theirs for as much as a day or two. By this time I had learned to be more open and spontaneous with other thru-hikers and recognized the importance of regular friendly interaction to keep my spirits up and my thoughts fresh. After spending ample time chatting and sharing experiences, I would then relish my days spent alone, pondering ideas and recollections from my past. Many important realizations or decisions that I made while on the trail came to me when I was hiking alone, but they were often precipitated by spending time with other hikers.

Around this time I also began reading books on the trail that I bought for a dollar at a local library or store or even borrowed from other hikers. I found they really sank in deep because I had so much time to think about them with so few distractions. Some books were so absorbing that I couldn't put them down. So I read them while I hiked, provided the trail was smooth enough. Eventually I got my mp3 player in the mail, too, allowing me to download audiobooks. Unexpectedly, my thru-hike became a time for picking up new ideas, not just reflecting upon what I already knew. Furthermore, conversations with other hikers during this period became increasingly interesting. After a while, you learn to dispense with formalities and get to know other hikers very quickly.

At their northern end, the once rugged Sierra Nevada gradually turn into gentle, thickly forested mountains. Some sections of the PCT included descents to low river valleys; here, poison oak lines much of the trail, requiring vigilance and careful maneuvering. Out of these rich coniferous forests rises Mt. Lassen, a peak Joel and I would climb together as a side trip. South of the peak, we explored a geothermic area reminiscent of Yellowstone. Before setting off for Lassen, we enjoyed a memorable gourmet dinner, breakfast, and soaks in hot springs at the Drakesbad ranch, which offers large meals to PCT'ers at half price.

After skirting Mt. Lassen, the PCT passes through a brief dry section and bends to the west, taking in frequent vistas of Mt. Shasta, a massive lone volcano housing California's biggest glaciers. Joel and I resolved to try to climb it as a side trip, and I had some additional gear mailed to Mt. Shasta city from home. I fell behind Joel before we got there and had to climb the mountain myself, starting out from the main base camp in the dark at 12:45 am (yawn). At 4 am I found Joel just getting out of his tarptent at a higher basecamp. We summitted together at 7:45 am after a long slog up a steep snowy slope using ice axes and crampons. The next morning, already back on the PCT, I had to sleep in late to make up for getting just an hour and a half of sleep the night before. I would never see Joel again.

From Mt. Shasta, the PCT heads west and even southwest to follow the main crest, which now passed through the modest, but very scenic Klamath Range. Eventually, we began walking north again towards Canada. A particularly beautiful area was the Marble Mountains -- an area of limestone peaks, caves, and luxuriant flowers. Finally, with over 60% of the trail behind me, I reached the Oregon border. From here on the PCT would pursue a more or less straight course to the north.

Oregon

Southern Oregon was hot. Records were being set around the state when I descended to the university town of Ashland. During this typical town stop, I spent as much time as I could online at the library (buying plane tickets, among other things), then walked over to a grocery store. As usual, I was hot, hungry, and dehydrated. I bought food for the next trail segment and stopped at a nearby park to feast. Now, I was stuffed, hot, and miserable. From here I walked two miles in the heat to the freeway onramp, where I stood under my sun umbrella for nearly an hour trying to get a hitch. Finally, I was picked up by a woman who was driving another hiker to the trailhead. This would be the most miserable town stop of my trip.

Hitchhiking is often the only way of getting to one's resupply point. The more locals know about the PCT and the more they backpack, the more likely you are to get picked up. Places like Ashland can be tough to hitch out of because it is not in the mountains and PCT awareness is low. PCT'ers are easily mistaken for homeless people and transients. Having a girl with you increases your chances, but girls at the front of the PCT pack are few and far between. The longest hitch (out of Bridgeport, CA) involved two stages, an hour's drive, and two hours standing at the side of the road. A more typical waiting time was 10-30 minutes. I had no bad experiences or dangerous drivers.

Southern Oregon was somewhat drab, with much fewer views and more monotonous terrain. Oh -- and mosquitos. Still, "it's better than going to work," as they say. The first big highlight came in the form of an ancient volcano that had erupted and filled with rainwater and snowmelt, forming an immense, deep blue lake encircled by steep, high cliffs. This was the famous Crater Lake. I camped on the rim with the first "SoBo" (southbound thru-hiker) I'd met and stared awestruck at the lake. That morning, I'd enjoyed an all-you-can-eat breakfast at nearby Mazama Village, hiking a record 38 miles the previous day to get there and purposely letting myself go hungry to maximize stomach capacity. A more typical mileage was 25-32 miles in a day.

From Crater Lake, the trail dropped down to more plateau lands punctuated by occasional, increasingly lofty extinct or dormant volcanos. We were in the Cascades. I ran into some thru-hikers I had previously met and hiked with them for a while, enjoying the company. At times the mosquitos were horrendous -- or maybe it just appeared that way to me. I would slather on DEET, only to have to reapply it two hours later. The mosquitos would still land on me just to check whether that spot was covered in repellent or not. Luckily, the lake country eventually ended, giving way to the Three Sisters -- a set of magnificent glaciated peaks surrounded by fields of lupine, lush meadows, burbling creeks, and lava flows. From there, it was not a long walk to Mt. Jefferson -- the next volcano.

However, I never saw Mt. Jefferson while I was traversing its slopes. The night before I reached the mountain, clouds descended, producing the cold, incessant drizzle for which the Pacific Northwest is famous. The next day was spent trying to keep warm and dry underneath my umbrella. Towards evening, a section of overgrown brush got my legs and arms completely wet. My hands were covered in socks and rain mitts, and my core was warm only because of walking fast. As I lay shivering that night underneath my ultralight poncho tarp after a small snack because I didn't feel like making a real dinner, I thought, "This is not optimal. What if much of Washington is like this?" (which it often is). I was poorly prepared for these conditions. I made a mental list of the items that would make my life better, including my large tarp, synthetic parka, and soft gloves. These I later had sent to me in Portland. Ironically, the weather in Washington would turn out to be almost uniformly warm and dry.

Washington

Ah, Washington. The Cascades at their finest. Land of glaciers and temperate rain forests. I was excited to reach Washington and expected it to be a highpoint -- perhaps the highpoint -- of my thru-hike. At this point I was a seasoned thru-hiker; my beard, lean frame, persistent "musty polyester" smell, and daily conversations about food proved it. I no longer took zero days; I just slept in more and didn't push as hard to put in the most miles possible. My average mileage hardly dropped, even with the heavier pack, now stuffed with warmer clothes, a larger tarp, and a heavyish library book from home.

I was not disappointed; Washington was glorious. The PCT passed through many stretches of striking post-Ice Age scenery, with rocky cirques, pyramidal subalpine firs, deep U-shaped valleys, and perennial snowfields or rapidly receding glaciers beneath the higher peaks. Myriad flowers gladdened the eye, and berries -- the palate. The blueberries were particularly delicious with my granola breakfasts or taken between bites of bland energy bars. In addition to the normal fare of deers, marmots, and pikas, I also saw mountain goats and elk. I made new friends in Washington, listened to a few audiobooks, and took more pictures per day than anywhere else.

The Washington PCT leads you past a number of mighty peaks. First it climbs to the slopes of lofty Mt. Adams, offering views of more distant Mt. Saint Helens, which erupted dramatically in 1983. Then, after passing through the spectacular Goat Rocks Wilderness, you come to face glacier-cloaked Mt. Rainier (highest peak in the Cascades), whose massive bulk will stop you in your tracks. Soon, the PCT passes through the gorgeous Alpine Lakes Wilderness and then offers views of distant Glacier Peak, appropriately named (for now, at least). After a dramatic skirting of this mountain, you find yourself in the unexpectedly dry Pasayten Wilderness, which presents views of the snowy North Cascades to the west, including Mt. Baker. High, viewful ridges lead you to the Canadian border, where bondage awaits you just a plane ride away.

I was surprised how many friends I had made on the PCT. When I was planning my thru-hike, I thought mostly about the challenges I would face and the lands I would pass through. I knew I would spend time with other hikers, but I didn't expect to meet so many people who shared my sentiments and attitudes. It is said constantly that a thru-hike is more of a social experience than you would ever imagine, and I had found this to be true. I could see now why people would make friends for life on the trail, why they would fly all the way to the PCT Kick-off just to get to see a few other thru-hikers from their year, or why they would do a thru-hike every summer and organize the rest of their life around this yearly event. It all made sense to me now.

The day I reached the U.S.-Canadian border, it had begun to rain. With great difficulty I took a picture of myself at the monument, alone now as I had been at the start of my journey. The day was a normal one; my thoughts were on the terrain, the scenery, and on backpacking gear for future trips with my soon-to-be wife. The emotion of completing the PCT I had actually experienced the day before. The next morning, walking down the trail to Manning Park, Canada, I had a scary bear encounter. I walked up on a small black bear as it was digging for roots just off the trail. It didn't notice me, and I walked backwards cautiously, worried that it might be a cub with a mother nearby. About 50 feet away behind a bend in the trail, I whistled and shouted out "Yo bear, time to move along!" There was a brief pause, then the bear began running down the trail towards me, having misjudged where my voice was coming from. When I saw it running straight at me, just 20 feet away, I yelled "NO!!" and the bear immediately swerved and hurtled down the mountainside, crashing through dense brush. That was the most adrenaline I had felt in over 4 months.

Getting home

From Manning Park I took a bus to Vancouver and transferred to a bus to Seattle. It was an expensive trip. A family friend met me in Seattle and provided me with a place to stay and some good food. Two days later he took me to the airport, and I flew home.

See also: PCT blogs or write-ups by people I met on the trail:
"DnA" - dan & anna's adventures: PCT
List of 2009 trail journals at trailjournals.com

Reader responses

Congratulations on your PCT hike. I completed my hike this year on August 30. It took me two summers. I really enjoyed your write-up and really relate to your comments at the end of your Washington section on how the hike changed you. Thank you for writing. And again, congratulations on an amazing achievement.
- Diane, 9/16/2009