The end! CANADA!

On September 12th, 2010, Smokey and I woke up to another rainy Washington day.  As we went through our morning routine we kept saying, "Well, this is the last time we'll pack up our tent on the PCT... This is the last time we're going to eat breakfast on the PCT... This is the last time we'll wake up and hike together on the PCT."  It was a feeling of incredulous disbelief.  Could it really all be coming to an end?  After living as we had, in a routine of hiking and living in the wilderness, it didn't really felt like the border was waiting at the end of the days walk.  Winding through the final ridgelines with the rain and wet fog closed in all around us, we kept looking around every corner for some sign of the end only to find more trail and more rain.

Hiking out along a shoulder ridge we heard the loud guttural laughter that only comes from an open and old Southern soul.  Out of the mist the figures of three hikers appeared, sitting taking a break in the cold.  Two Georgian PCTers who had hiked the trail in the 70's were there with their nephew, hiking the last section to the border.  They were out reliving their old trail memories and were happy to swap stories with us about our journey on the trail.  The fondness that they still felt for their hike was beautiful to see, that they still treasured all the precious memories they'd made.  They were impressed with how hard we'd been hiking and later even woke us up by knocking on our tents and calling out, "hey badasses!"  The respect was mutual.  There are only a handful of people in this world that can truly understand what we'd gone through to make it here, to the last day, and those are the people who have gone through it themselves. 

As we got ready to move on, saying our goodbyes, the loudest and most jovial of the two--appropriately named Happy--asked me, "Are you going to cry before or after you get there?"  To be honest, it hadn't even crossed my mind that I might cry.  We'd spent so long trying to tough out every aspect of life in the woods that crying seemed like a rather foreign emotion.  He told us his story: "I cried when I got there.  I was walking in and all of a sudden the enormity of everything I'd done hit me all at once and I just broke down in tears right there at the end."  We turned to go and what he said seemed to open the gates, all the things that I'd been pushing to the periphery of my mind in order to stay focused on hiking came rushing in.  As we hiked the last few miles, waves of overwhelming emotion kept hitting me every time I looked up to scan the trees for the border swath.  When you tell people that you have hiked 2650 miles, the number seems unbelievable to them.  But that's because they're think about the distance all at once.  While you're actually out there doing it, you take it one day at a time.  You wake up, you hike your miles, you go to bed, and wake up ready to do it again.  Twenty, 25, 30 miles at a time, you slowly chip away at the miles, never really paying attention to how little a 30 mile day is in comparison to the whole.  Every day you hike as hard as you can and eventually you get to a point where you are prepared mentally and physically to just keep doing that.  Whether you were hiking 2000 miles or 10,000 it wouldn't matter.  Each day's miles would seem just as possible as the next.  When, after 4 and a half months of hiking, you are standing there looking at the end, that's when you realize that all of those days have added up to this--you are steps away from finishing the PCT.  When we finally came around the last corner with the border stretched across the valley below us, it hit me all at once.  We did it! 

Holding back the tears at that point wasn't even a possibility.  It was a feeling of accomplishment unmatched by anything I have ever experienced, coupled with the knowledge that it's all over, that this beautiful and simple life in the wilderness was ending.  It was a moment of such bittersweet triumph to know that this day we'd been working for all this time was finally here, but a part of you wished it wasn't.  So, Smokey and I stood there for a few hours in the rain, soaked to the bone, celebrating, saying our goodbyes to the trail and the life we'd come to love.  We both knew that this was a time in our life that we were at our strongest and when we left it we'd leave a lot of that behind.  When it was time to go, we turned around and walked away from the trail like kings exiled from our beloved kingdom.

All my life I have searched for a real and meaningful connection to this world.  In school, in the cities, on the rails, in the bars, I have constantly sought something that would bridge the gap I felt existed between my soul and my life in the cynical world of mankind.  To know the wilderness as a word, to build it cerebrally in your head like a castle in the clouds, this is as close as most people ever get to the idea.  Living as we did, making our home in the wilds, you begin to see and feel the wilderness come alive.  I hiked to the edge of our world, to the farthest reaches of man's law, and then beyond into the dominion of something else.The PCT provides the opportunity to see these forces in action, shaping the physical world into a neverending source of beauty, tragedy, life and death.  All the while, the unseen, the unwritten, the unrevealed lingers in the back of your mind exposing the poetry and magic which underlies it all, showing you that the mystery is there but never giving it away.  With this understanding, there is nothing left to do but to humbly lay yourself out before it and know that you are blessed simply to be a part of it.  The idea that man can or will ever control it fades from a sense of destiny to a cruel joke.

The mindset of long-distance hiking plays a huge role in forming this intimate bond with the wilderness.  It begins as a matter of necessity.  If you are hiking 20-30 miles a day it is only practical to start cutting as much weight out of your pack as possible.  It is a long process of evaluating what you consider to be essential gear and what your level of comfort will actually allow you to endure.  The pack you started with, overloaded with the excesses of our worldly lives, dwindles away item by item until you find yourself 100's of miles away from civilization with nothing in your pack but a sleeping bag, tent, and a few days of food.  Everything you thought you couldn't live without has been sent home, given away, or scrapped and your changing mentality has allowed you to feel comfortable without all of these things.  We were hiking 150-200 miles out of packs that were hardly bigger than a school bookbag.  We'd constantly encounter hikers who were doing 20-50 miles with packs that were as heavy as 60 lbs--they would stop and marvel at how we were able to survive with what we had.  One group of hikers we met two days from the end of the trail actually called us out, telling us that we were naive and unprepared and that we weren't likely to last through the night.  They were each carrying extremely heavy packs, 4 gallon jugs of water between the two of them.  Smokey and I were each only carrying an empty Gatorade bottle.  They were almost angry about this.  "What the hell are you guys doing out here?"  The answer is, we live out here.  There's a reason we're not carrying water: we're in Northern Washington and we're crossing 30 streams a day.  We drink the water where we find it instead of hauling gallons of it down the trail because we're afraid that we might get thirsty.  Even if we do run out of water, we both know with complete confidence that we could easily hike 20 to 30 miles without a drop and if you can't find water in that time, you have no understanding of the woods.  The truth is that people enjoy the wilderness, but they fear it.  They go there for a vacation from their busy lives, guarding themselves against it with all their expensive and unnecessary gear.  On the trial, we learned to embrace it.  We went into the wilderness and made it our home.  When someone on a weekend hike tells you that you can't survive without some piece of gear, and you respond, "Well, I just hiked 2000 miles without it and I could do another 2000 more" it clearly comes down to how confident you are in your abilities, whether you feel the need to cling to things or are able to let them go.  So, as we went along, stripping down our gear until our packs were around 20lbs and we could move freely and easily through the woods, there was a direct correlation to our relationship with the wilds and each article we left behind.  The more you could embrace discomfort, deal with it and over come it, the more the wilderness was revealed.  You can't hide behind your gear when you don't have it, so you up the ante on yourself and put the burden on the strength of your own soul to endure.

So that's how we took on the challenge of this trail, intimately and personally.  We depended on our own strength to keep pushing, to keep hiking hard and by the time we reached the end living in the woods had become so natural that it was hard to even picture going back home to all the plush comforts of daily life in our society.  It all seemed so excessive.  The miles, the landscapes, the adventure, these are obviously all things to hold dear but the most valuable experience of the trail was the opportunity to know the wilderness and to know yourself without all the interference of the senseless hustle and bustle of our times.  The simple existence of man in the wilderness where the hardships make you stronger, the discomfort makes you appreciate every simple beauty in life, and the opportunity to just BE is an incomprehensible gift.

In conclusion of this whole experience I'd like to thank the trail for everything it has given me, a debt I can never repay.  To all my friends and family who followed along and stayed interested while I was so far away, your support means everything.  To everyone that donated and helped to make the fundraiser for the Wildland Firefighter Foundation a success, thank you, your faith in me and in this cause is truly appreciated.  To everyone I met on the trail, every one of you was an inspiration and made this trip so much more valuable by being a part of it.  To my main man Smokey the Beard, couldn't think of a better person to have shared this with.  We will share this bond for the rest of our lives--we'll be 60 years old, drinking beers and still retelling the same old stories about this hike.  Lost and Found, I love you buddy and was so stoked for you to be out there with us.

Be Goodness,
Clay 'Woodward' Jacobson

Oregon and Washington

Well, it has been a red hot minute since my last update.  There has been a serious lack of computers as we've hiked through wilderness after wilderness all the way from Northern California to here, Skykomish, WA.  Only about 150 miles left til CANADA!

Northern California was some spectacular hiking.  Coming out of Dunsmuir (where the annual west-coast hobo gathern is held) we climbed into the Castle Crags Wilderness, crossed the Marble Rocks Wilderness, and then the Russian Wilderness.  The wildflowers in this section were absolutely incredible and I totally geeked out on learning the names of them, wearing them in my hair, taking pictures.  I felt like a real nature nerd.  But it was just another astounding facet of the natural beauty we see every day.

In Siead Valley we attemped the pancake challenge.  Five 1-pound pancakes in two hours.  Hiking in to town I was starved and excited for the meal.  The first pancake was delicious--what fluffy pancake dreams are made of.  The second was a punch in the stomach.  The third was a death blow.  I was in a pancake coma before I could finish the 3rd and sat outside recouperating with the other contenders for about an hour before I could think straight again.  Gotta say, if you can finish that pancake challenge, you are an eating machine and a stronger man than I.

When we reached the California/Oregon border it was time to celebrate!  After 3 months and 1700 miles of walking, we finally finished our first state.  Man, I can't even explain how monumental it was walking up to that sign.  California definitely felt our hiking wrath--we layed it down.  After seeing and going through so much, we were finally moving onto the next challenge: Oregon.

The first stop was Ashland, Or.  It was such a great town!  We took a zero day, relaxed, went out and saw some live music and had a great time.  Even though we are true-blue mountain men, it is nice to have the comforts of town life every once in a while.  After Ashland, we cruised on up to Crater Lake.  Planning on hiking 30 miles, we stopped after 6 when we topped the Crater Lake rim, setting our eyes on one of the most magical sights of natural splendor that we've seen on this trip.  It is such a special place--nothing else like it in the world.  We spent all day just gazing into the crystal blue water, camped on the rim watching the sun set and rise over the azure pool.

Oregon's trails were really mild, crossing flat meadows, lakeshores, river valleys.  We were able to pull 30 miles a day as we passed towering, snow-covered volcanos.  Passing around the bases instead of climbing up and over them, to which we were unspeakably greatful.  But, in the vein of the PCT, everytime the one aspect of the trail gets easy, another challenge presents itself.  The mosquitoes were the plague of Oregon.  Often times they were so thick that you could hardly keep your eyes open for all their flying into your face, down your mouth, completely mobbing you as you tried to walk.  Suffice to say, we did serious miles as we tried to out run those damn bugs.  When we'd set up the bug net at nights, clouds of the little bastards would hover overhead, buzzing their annoying little buzz that sounded more like the drone of a huge, blood-sucking death machine.

The Three-Sisters wilderness was one of the most rewarding hikes of the trail.  The walking was easy and the views were beautiful.  The wildflowers were out in full as we crossed mountain meadows in the shadow of Sisters.  Whoo, absolutely incredible.  Soon after, we crossed the 2000 mile mark which was a trip. Even though there was no marker and we were just in some logged out, mosquito infested valley, it felt important.

Next stop was the buffet at the Timberline Lodge, Mt Hood.  We'd been hearing about how great it was from all the southbounders we'd seen and dang, they weren't lying.  Fresh Salmon, stuffed tri-tip, locally grown fruit and produce.  It was a little spendy but I think we got our money's worth, probably hiking a few miles doing round trips from the buffet to our table.

Before we knew it, we were hiking down into the Columbia River gorge and the Oregon/Washington border.  We got in early to Cascade Locks, hit the Char Burger, ate ourselves sick, then settled down at a camp ground by the river.  The crown jewel of this campground was a shower that has gone unmatched by any along the trail.  You never appreciate a great shower like you should until you get on a schedule that involves showering once every 2-3 weeks.  This one was a mind-blower.  Haha, probably not that interesting to anyone reading this but hey, I loved it.  My friend Lauren also came out from Portland for a visit.  I saw her when I was a few hundred miles into the Appalachian trail--this time I was 2100 miles in and looking and feeling like a wild animal.  It's great to visit someone who you have known for so long and feel like a completely different and much stronger person.  Getting to share how much you have grown is a special moment.  She took Smokey and I out to dinner and then we sat by the water, drinking a bottle of wine, then wrote a little note and casted our message-in-a-bottle out into the mighty Columbia.  With that, Oregon was done.

In the morning we crossed the Bridge of the Gods and started the last state of the trail, Washington.  You could feel the change from dry, mosquito-ridden forests of Oregon to the thick, wet Washington woods.  Feeling like the end is near we charged through the first 100 miles.  As we climbed up into the Goat Rocks wilderness, a slight pain in my right shin turned into a debiliting injury as a terrible shin splint came on.  The Goat Rocks were amazing, one of the highlights of the trail.  Our first night we camped in a high alpine meadow, surrounded by wildflowers and jagged peaks.  Up above, a heard of mountain goats lazily grazed amongst the glaciers, coming down close during the night to check us out.  Yeah dude!  Mountain goats are a rare sight and this was a beautiful encounter.  The next day we walked a high knife edge ridgeline, the trail winding through the rocks with the mountain dropping straight off on both sides.  With my shin hurting more and more every step, it still wasn't enough to take away from the experience.  Trying to make it to White Pass in time to get some dinner, we decided to run the last 5 miles.  Suckerin' up to the leg pain, we jogged it out... Another herd of goats scattered as we rounded a corner and we found ourselves right in the middle of the pack.  I think we measured up, being just as wild as we were.  We ran passed a couple hiking south and the girl told us, "I saw you running on the ridge over there and I was like, damn, those are some G's right there!" Haha, thank you mystery woman for that badass compliment.  Then we snuck up on a trail crew as we came running down through the last switch backs into White Pass.  By coincidence, we'd passed them once already back at in the Three Sisters.  We said our hellos and kept running... All for nothing though because the store was closed when we got there. AAAAH, such heart break.  We went to bed hungry and showed up bright and early in the morning to wolf down some hotpockets and gas station fare.

Next up, more mosquitoes, lakes, excruciating leg pain, and a climb up to a ridgeline in Ranier National Park.  We could see Ranier, Hood, and St. Helens looming on the horizon around us.  These volcanic mountains are so impresive, rising high over all the surrounding landscape.  It is crazy to look at peaks like Ranier and know that when we climbed Mt Whitney, we were higher than that.  Makes you feel like a champ.  By the time we hit Snoqualmie Pass my leg was hurting so bad that I could barely walk so we called up Smokey's pops and arranged a little break at his house on the Pugent Sound.  We took 2 days off, resting up, eating like kings, and just straight taking it easy.  The Matsko's definately know how to take care of some weary, worn-down hikers.

Smokey's dad dropped us back off in Snoqualmie on a gray, rainy day.  We hiked in the rain for 9 hours and the rain didn't stop all night.  We were soaked through and through.  It was miserable.  The next day we awoke to patches of blue sky and thanked the lord for the break in the weather, I've never appreciated a tiny patch of blue sky so much in my life.  As we hiked, we talked about how great it was going to be to get to sleep that night, dry in our bags, making up for all the rest we'd missed out as we layed in our tent, soaking wet.   Well, it just wasn't meant to be.  Trying as we could to get our bags dry, that night they were still soaked and I layed there shivering for hours in the cold.  It was the coldest, most awful night of 4 and a half months of camping.

The North Cascades are some of the most ruggedly beautiful mountains we've seen since the Sierras.  It is extremely remote and every mountain pass reveals a new breath-taking view of the hiking ahead.  That said, the hiking is absolutely brutal.  Every pass takes hours of hiking steep switchbacks, climbing and climbing just to drop straight down the other side.   Then, cross a valley and it's right back up the next ridge.  Yesterday we hit four passes and by the end of the day we were wiiiiped out.  Fortunately, our bags were dry and we were treated to one of the greatest and hardest-earned nights of rest of my life.  We woke to the morning sun spilling into our tent across Hope Lake, had breakfast and coffee, then knocked out 8 miles to Steven's Pass.  From there we hitched down to the Hiker Haven in Baring, WA where we are now.  Watching Forest Gump and taking it easy.  The shin is feeling great, the weather is clear, and we've only got about 150 miles left!  Hard to believe, but this adventure is almost over.  There are some mixed feelings about the end but, there is time to deal with all that later.  For now, time to focus on the last leg of this journey. 

Hiking on!

Northern California.

Well, I survived the High Sierra.  All the snow, the falling down, the river crossings, the dizzying mountain passes... It's all done.  After about 300 miles of solid snow, we finally emerged out of the arctic tundra that was the Sierra this year.  For a few hundred miles more the snow showed up regularly to hide the trail for a turn or two, but it dwindled and dwindled until now: Northern California.  The trails are gentle and rolling, cutting a path through dense forests and quiet brooks.  Life is good on the trail.

After the big snow, we hit the big rivers.  The first, and what we thought was going to be the deepest, was chest deep.  I had my already fragile mp3 player in my hip belt--now the 2nd disc of Ryan Adam's Cold Roses album is all it will play.  The next river crossing, and what we're hoping will be the deepest, was Stubblefield Creek.  I went first, stepping slowly through the water as it got deeper and deeper.  About half way out, I was just bouncing on my tippy toes in the current, losing ground and going down stream.  Next, Andrew almost got swept away.  This convinced Smokey the Beard, Zorro, and Digger to cinch down their packs and swim across.  Things are getting ridiculous when people are swimming across snow-banked rivers. 

We watched Spain take the World Cup--catching games in Mammoth, South Tahoe, Tahoe City, Sierra City, and then Belden.  Our friend Zorro, who is from Spain, was the happiest man I've ever seen.  I hope I can summon up half of the joy for the birth of my first child as he did for his country's first World Cup.

Currently we are in Old Station, CA just passed the half way marker (mile 1325) where we did the Half-Gallon Challenge.  There are about 1300 miles to go until we show up at that Canadian Border with our mountain beards and hiker stench.  Aaaaah, we'll be there in about 5 weeks.  Time to do some big miles and wrap this baby up!

Hope everyone at home is doing well--

Clay

THE SIERRAS!

Holy crap.  I don't even know what just happened.  14 snowbound days in the wilderness.  We ripped some miles through the desert, getting stronger and stronger every day, feeling like kings... for 700 miles we cruised along in confidence.  Then the Sierras punched us in the face and stopped us dead in our tracks.  We've been knocking out 100 miles every 4 days and it just took us 14 to get through the 200 miles of the High Sierra.

Out of Kennedy Meadows we started climbing.  For 2 days we went further and further into the mountains, climbing higher with every mile.  By day 3, the trail was completely buried.  The lakes were frozen.  The mountain passes got your heart-pounding with fear and amazement.  Since there is no trail to follow, we've had to rely on topo maps and compass to navigate through the frozen valleys and icy passes.  It is a constant feeling somewhere between being completely lost and having a rough idea of where you might be on the map--it is so hard to make progress when you have to constantly be watching the maps and the landscape for reference points.  How the walking on the snow goes depends on the time of day.  In the morning it is frozen, hard-packed, and slick.  This is ok if you're crossing a meadow on the valley floor or walking a mellow ridgeline.  It's not ok if you're scaling slidehill across the icy face of a mountain.  The sun melts the ice to a nice slush that is ok at first,  but gradually deteriorates as the day goes on.  By late afternoon, when the snow is the softest, every step is like walking through a minefield.  You  never know when the snow will give out and drop you into the rocks below.  This is called postholing.  It will drive you insane.  You take a step-ok-step-ok-step-DROP and your leg just goes out from under you as you spear down into the snow, keeping your fingers crossed you dont break your leg in the boulders.  This will go on for hours, and hours, and hours... AAAHH!  I could lose my mind just thinking about it. Then there are the river crossings.  All the snow melting off the mountains is coming down the hills in torrents that would like nothing more than to knock you off your feet and send you cascading through the rocks.  The rivers are all just raging and we have to wade across them, hoping hard that your footsteps will hold as the water just blasts you.

Day 3 had us deep in the heart of the Sierras and feelings completely alone in the wilds.  We walked all day in the snow, postholing every other step, crossing river after river.  We got to Crabtree Meadows and hiked 7 miles off trail to go up Mt Whitney.  7 miles of crunching through the snow just to get to the base of Whitney and when we got there all the switchbacks were buried so we had to climb up the bare rockslides.  From the top, the view of endless snowcovered mountains stabbing into the sky like shards of broken glass--it was so intense, knowing we were just going to go deeper and deeper into those hills.

After Whitney we had this absolutely maddening day of hiking towards Forester Pass, the highest point on the trail.  We missed a turn and went up the wrong way to Forester and hiked all day up into this saddle.  As we went, post holing the whole way, a pair of coyotes started howling at us from a field.  The were yapping and running circles in the snow.  From the top we looked out and saw Forester Pass was not in the correct place on the horizon and now we had to drop down the other side of this unnecessary climb.  The first step I took I postholed up to my eyeballs.  Both legs dropped down and dumped me in a hole with just my head and shoulders poking out.  Well, this just wasn't going to work.  We ended up having to scale down through the boulders to the valley below to get back on track.

(ran out of time on the library computer... more later)

Agua Dulce to Kennedy Meadows

     There lie two trail angels within 24 miles of each other.  One in Agua Dulce, the well run, organized and functional Hiker Haven.  There L Rod Saufley cranks out laundry in a way that no normal human experience can relate to. The rotten, funky smells of hiker laundry get channeled through the Saufley machine and arrive with name tags on the porch of the hiker hangout.  It is amazing the kind of organization and work that goes into keeping that place running smoothly.  Twenty four miles down the trail is the Anderson's.  A wild, dishevealed party that has no end.  Drunk Doug gives you the tour, shows you where the hawaiian shirts and the beers are kept, and sets you loose.  Terri and Joe Anderson hold it down with huge dinners and breakfasts, hooking up hikers like no reasonable person should.
     In between are 24 miles, and therein lies the challenge.  24 miles in between hostels, 24 beers in a case.  Smokey the Beard and I took on the challenge, picking up a case each of Coors lite in Agua Dulce and setting out through the desert at 130pm, hottest time of the day.  About two hours later we were too drunk to be held responsible for our actions.  I airplaned a dip into Smokey's lip, causing him to puke.  Then, falling behind I fell off the trail and bloodied up my knee pretty good.  By the time we arrived at the Andersons, we were in good form and ready to keep the good times rolling.  Managing to squeek by with only one zero day we set out on a few hundred miles of serious desert hiking.
     Basically we crossed the whole mojave section without battin an eye.  The weather was nice.  The hiking was great.  The scenery was beautiful.  We ran into Patchwork, accosted first by his dog; a huge pit.  Turns out it wasn't his dog.  It had followed a few hikers previously, then latched on to ol' Patchwork.  We talked to him about how he'd found an awesome dog then kept walking, not thinking anything of it.  20 minutes later we hear the jingling of his collar in the bushes and knew we'd picked up a straggler.  We named him Rocket after his defining attribute and hiked with him for the rest of the night and through the next day.  The humane society came and picked him up at  a road crossing and hopefully took good care of him.  Smokey wanted to keep him but he was in too poor of shape to make the miles that we're hikin'.

     We dropped off Rocket then went into Mojave.  At the grocery store we did our resupply then headed over to KFC to get some food.  I plugged my phone into an outlet to charge up for the coming weeks on the trail and alas, some tweaker broad stole it right out of the wall.  Goodbye world.  I have no phone.  I am alone in the wilderness.  (i'm writing this in a trailor, hooked up to a genertor with satellite phone. basically off the grid.)  In the distance we've seen the snow covered sierras drawing closer and closer... it's like watching an oncoming army come over the horizon.  From here, we can see where the battle will happen, it's just a matter of time before we get there.  Right now, we're in Kennedy Meadows at the foot of the southern Sierras.  From here we have about 200 miles of trail that sits about 9000-13000 feet including a climb of mt Whitney.  This is the roughest section of the trail and we are excited to get at it!  Everything we have been doing so far as been leading up to this: from Mojave, we pulled a 25, 26, then 3 back to back 28 mile days.  Basically we've been flying.  Time to slow it down, be careful, and make it through these crazy mountains.

Updates to come on how it all goes.

Be goodness!

Clay

Idyllwild, CA to Agua Dulce, CA

     Well, here we are sitting pretty at 450 miles.  We're in the tiny desert town of Agua Dulce, CA right on the edge of the Mojave Desert.  Fuller Ridge and San Jacinto turned out to be a lot of fun.  The trail was completely buried in snow so there was a lot of map-and-compass routefinding going on, but we made our way up and over.  It was a thrill to see that mountain rise up on the horizon then sink into the southern skies as we left it in the dust.  Another challenge down.  After Jacinto we hit some awesome trail magic down under I-15.  Some past hikers were cooking up grilled cheese sandwhiches and passing out beers so we had to stay to toast to our successful journey over the mountain, listening to the familiar sounds of cars passing on the bridge overhead and the occasional freight train. 
     We crossed a few desert ridges, did a lot of water crossing on Mission Creek, then up into the mountains towards the ski resort town of Big Bear, CA (mile 175). 
     Big Bear marked the end of our 'getting in shape' period.  Basically, at this point, the ridiculous charge towards Canada starts in a big way.  We bought food for 7 days, with a 25 mile per day schudele.  This stretch of hiking was refered to several times as the death march.  We cruised out of Big Bear and kept our momentum going strong, even though we ran into a few fire detours that had has walking down the highway for 3 days.  Oh well, you take what comes to you out here on the PCT, that's kind of the beauty of it.
     We've met a bunch of really great guys; a few from Portland, a couple from northern Cali.  We had a strong hiking crew of 7 going for awhile which was a nice change of pace.  Its amazing how much things change when there are a few new people to talk to while you're hiking hour after hour.  We left them behind at Wrightwood, which we decided to skip, but they should be catching back up to us soon.
     This section has been a lot of fun.  Adam and Aaron really seem to be getting into the thru-hiker groove and we're all just enjoying the miles and having the best time possible.  Things are changing; our bodies and minds are adapting and getting ready to knock out the next 2200 miles!  whooweee!

Mexican Border to Idyllwild, CA

     After a week of ridiculousness riding trains and hitchhiking from the sweet ol' land of Boise down to the Mexican Border, our hike has begun!  Years of dreaming, months of hard planning and preparation and here we are, finally, walkin' it out.  I can't even describe how stoked I am to be out here getting it done.
     We left the border monument (mile 0) on April 25th.  It was like a force that has been building, dammed up by time and waiting, was finally released.  A four month journey had begun and we were now riding out the course, trapped by time but freed from our normal lives.  Feeling unstoppable, we knocked out the first 100 miles by day 5.  We crossed a bit of desert in mild temps but high winds.  Getting blown off the trail into all kinds of prickly plants as we walked.  One night, high up in a box canyon, we couldn't even get our tent up so we wrapped up in it and weathered the elements.  No big deal.
     By the time we hit Warner Springs, CA (mile 109), Adam and Aaron were suffering pretty bad from over use injuries.  I had been walking my dog Katy every day for 3 months prior to leaving so I was ready to do some walking, but the other boys got the crash course as we hiked 21-25 miles per day.  Adam's knee had a good case of tendinitis and Aaron was dealing with some shin splints.  This really took the wind out of our sails and we had to take 2 days off at Trail Angel Mike Herrera's house.  Not exactly a curse, as he cooked up about 120 lbs of smoked chicken and ribs and brought out cooler after cooler of beer.  We got a little spoiled but remained anxious to do what we came out here to do: hike on!  We got a lot of good advice from hikers that were coming through about taking care of their injuries and on day 3 of resting up, we headed out on a short 9 mile hike to Tule Spring.  This short hike helped to strengthen up their ailing limbs and the next two days we were moving again.
     We covered 50 miles in 3 days after Casa Hererra to the town of Idyllwild, CA (mile 178).  This is a true trail town with all the things hikers need to continue down the trail: grocery stores, cold beer, a quick pizza stop, and a cheap camp ground.  As I write this, we're doing laundry for the first time since we left the Mexico border and getting some showers in before we head back out towards Big Bear.  We were trying to make it to town last night, hiking hard for 22 miles up the San Jacinto crest around Apache Mountain and Taquitz Peak.  As we got up to 8000 feet we started hitting little patches of snow, nothing serious but a wrong step could send you sliding down a little snow chute 20-30 feet into the trees below.  As we neared Saddle junction and the trail down to town, we hit solid snow.  Losing the trail around 7pm we hiked into the twilight using our compasses and maps, cutting sidehill towards the saddle.  The sun dropped quick and we ended up cowboy camping on a bare spot, watching the stars go from sparse twinkling to bright shining glory.  It seems like every night I look around, my eyes peering through the tiny face-hole in my mummy bag, and wonder at the fact that I am finally out here hiking the PCT with some of my best friends, having the best times, and truly testing myself as a man and a human being.  What more could you ask for then to fall asleep in a warm sleeping bag after a day of trekking through the snow?
     Come morning, we hiked the last mile towards the saddle and descended down the south face of the saddle eventually hitting the Devil's Slide trail switchbacking down to town.  Now, here we are.  Resting up quick and preparing to head out.  Apparently some hikers had an illegal camp fire which they let get out of control, now the climb over snow-capped San Jacinto peak and Fuller Ridge (touching 9000 ft) is blocked for the next day or so.  We are trying to push hard and can't really afford to wait around, so hopefully we can get back up into the pass and hike through once we get word from the fire marshall that the trail is open again.  San Jacinto has been looming in the distance for the last 80 miles or so, lingering on the sky line and presenting the first real challenge of the trail.  I'd really hate to have to skip it because of this fire but it is a possibility.  Best case scenario is that I'll be picking up some ice cramp-on's to wear over my sandals and tomorrow we'll be charging through the snowpack over looking Idyllwild to the west and Palm Springs to the East.
     We're all feeling really strong and ready to take on this trail.  There are many challenges ahead: we'll be hitting the waterless Mojave desert on the other side of Mt San Jacinto and then after that up into the snowbound Sierras, climbing up to 14,000 feet.  So far though, things have been going well and the things we have seen and done will never fit onto a simple blog... and we're only 178 miles in, 2475 left to go.  Pictures will be coming when we get a chance to sit at a computer (right now I'm in a library with a 30 minute time limit) but we have some awesome footage of the mountains we have crossed, a couple huge rattle snakes (one of which Adam got into a staredown with and scared off the trail), and the icy slopes we have been traversing.
     I hope everyone at home is well and that you are as blessed to be there as we are to be out here, living a life that seems like a dream.  Much love to you all and take care!

3 Weeks Until the PCT!

Only a short few weeks until we put our first foot prints on the PCT.  It is a strange feeling, knowing that the routine that I have gotten into over the past winter, everything I have been doing, will all be flipped over on its head and life will be completely, utterly, unimaginably different.  All this planning and dreaming and finally, the time is right around the corner!  We are all extremely excited.

The picture to the right is of myself, Aaron Matsko, and Adam Winkler.  All of us fight fire together in John Day, Oregon and have been good friends for a long time.  We took this picture on a training hike along the Snake River out here in Southwestern Idaho.  We started from the Swan Falls Dam and hiked to Celebration park.  This is within the Birds of Prey National Conservation area and follows a deep canyon along the Snake River.  I was intending to go mostly for the exercise but, as with most hikes, there were constant surprises along the way that enriched the entire experience.

The canyon itself is beautiful.  It makes quite an impression as you drive along the flat valley floor to the South of Kuna and all of a sudden find yourself on the rim of a deep, expansive cliff face.  The birds of prey follow the currents along the cliffs walls as they hunt the canyon floor and we got to see Osprey, Eagles, and Hawks.  We also had to stop a few times to listen to the eerie cooing of doves who sat in droves along the cliff walls, letting their songs reverberate in the canyon.  It was funny to hear them, cooing louder and louder and then immediately silent as a predatory bird soared by.

Next, along the North bank of the river, we began to find ruins of old homesteaders.  Mostly these were just the fallen walls and foundations of old stone cabins but we found one which was still in great condition.  It stood strong enough that I would still feel comfortable spending a night in it.  It looked right out across the water into a copse of alder that were completely saturated with red-winged black birds.  Who ever built the cabin did a damn good job, and picked a great spot to put it.  I wouldn't mind spending a little time there myself.

We reached Celebration park and looked in vain for the Indian petroglyphs that I'd heard were there.  The Paiute Indians spent their winters in this area but we found no trace of them in the park.  We crossed the old Guffey railroad trestle and set up camp on a butte overlooking the Snake.  We sat down for a nice hot meal only to realize the fuel canister which I'd assumed to be fuel and leaked since the last time I'd used it and was now empty.  Ooops, my bad guys.  Enjoy your cold, tasteless dinners.  What an amateur mistake--been awhile since I've pulled something that dumb when it comes to hiking.  Don't get my wrong, I've been doing plenty of dumb things, but not when it comes to hiking.

In the morning we headed back along the South side of the river.  After walking for an hour or so, we came to some open fields with scattered boulders.  To our surprise, the boulders were covered in petroglyphs.  There were pictures of men, antlered animals, insects, the river, and plenty of things we couldn't distinguish.  It is such an incredible experience to be transported into the past.  The ramifications of such an encounter are limited only by the imagination.  The people who carved this drawings spoke a different language, thought in completely different ways, and in many ways, lived in a totally different world.  And here we are, bringing with us the changing of times and a new culture, standing in the same spot and sharing the same experience.  It is a beautiful thing to try to wrap your mind around.

There were hundreds and hundreds of petroglyphs as we continued hiking.  After a few solid hours, we were back at the dam, scaling across some scaffolding because the walk way was under construction and there was no other way across.  This hike was a great chance to explore parts of the canyon I'd never seen.  I was grateful for the opportunity and had a blast hanging with my buddies, getting ready for the PCT and shootin' the bull all the while.  It was a great day to be alive.  Fortunately, we have many, many more days like this to come as we make our way along the PCT.

Gear list

Alright, here's the post for all you gear heads and tech wizards.  This is my list of gear for the PCT.  I've got some new additions plus a few old friends from the Appalachian Trail (sobo 07).

Pack: Osprey Stratus 40, 2400 cubic inches, 3lbs 4oz.
Shelter: GoLite Shangri La 3, 2lbs 15oz.
Sleeping Bags: EMS velocity 35, 1lb 10oz.  GoLite Adrenaline 20, 1lb 14oz.

Pad: Thermarest Pro Lite 4 Small

Clothes: North Face fleece, Patagonia quarter zip long sleeve, Underarmor base layer, GoLite Paradigm Jacket, Marmot vest, Granite Gear insulated stretch pants

Cooking: JetBoil stove

Water: Aqua Mira treatment drops,  Platypus 3 liter water bag, 2 1 liter SmartWater bottles

Guitar: 1/2 scale Greg Bennett ST6-1BK

So, that covers all the main items in my gear list.  For some of you, thats way to much info.  For some, not nearly enough.  Only 2 months until the kick off and then it's trail time!  Ah man, I cannot wait!

An Introduction

    Hike for the Fallen was conceived on the McGinnis Creek fire in eastern Oregon. As we gridded back and forth on a shadeless slope, digging smoldering embers from burned out stump holes, our minds began to wander. Perhaps it was the blistering sun and the hundred degree drinking water that fed the delirium from which this idea, and many others, emerged.  Whatever it was, here we are, a mere 3 months away from taking those first steps from the Mexican border towards Canada and the dream is beginning to take shape.   Through the course of our years fighting fire, we have learned how to push through physical challenges and begun developing our strength of character. The idea of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail seemed to us like a great way to test ourselves and push on to the next level of our growth as young men. We know we can handle this trail. We know it will be grueling. But we know we can do it.
    We have decided to hike it fast to up the ante on the physical and mental stress that we are willingly setting out to endure. The greater the adversity, the greater the growth. The average time for a PCT thru-hike is 5 and a half to 6 months. We are going to do it in 4.  That means we will have to maintain an average of 25 miles of hiking per day. It may seem crazy to some, but it is somehow feasible to us.
    Beyond the physical and mental challenges of the trail, we have also committed ourselves to raising some money and generating awareness for the Wildland Firefighter Foundation. We feel like, though the hike will be difficult, we can do more than just walk for 4 months. We will attempt to expand the scope of our lives beyond ourselves and do what we can to help out this great foundation.
    We got to see first hand the amazing work the WFF does after the Iron 44 tragedy. The two pilots and seven firefighters were killed when their helicopter crashed in northern California. The WFF was there, helping families to deal with the grief of losing their loved ones. The seven fallen firefighters worked for our company and I remember the day of the crash, when we received the news.  It was a very eerie feeling knowing that could have easily been you, and thinking about the impact on the families and friends of so many lives lost in an instant. We are honored to do what we can to help the foundation in their work supporting people at a time when they need it most.