Roaming Reflections
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| Me being a dorky thruhiker near Mt. Hood, photo by Goaltech |
As my PCT journey reaches its final miles, I can give a bit of an update as to how my expectations for the hike were met (or not), or how they may have changed.
First off, though my prediction that the mental struggle would be the hardest was definitely correct, my expectation that my gear and physical ability were solid enough wasn't totally correct.
I ripped the bottom of my backpack maneuvering a snowy pass just 2 weeks in. The door zipper on my tent broke so I had to close it with binder clips for weeks. One of my original trekking poles broke and I left the other in a hitch's car. My buff was half eaten by moths a week in. Sometimes I'd wake up and my phone battery would have completely drained. My initial sleeping pad fell off my pack because I was running away from a horsefly. At one point I couldn't filter water because my water pouch got a hole in it, so I just chose the faster-flowing spots of rivers to drink from. You get the point.
But this was balanced by all of the times saintly fellow hikers, trail angels, or seemingly magical hiker boxes gave me what I legitimately needed. When people shared their food, phone info, light, chapstick, trekking poles, extra gloves, water bottles, water.
My 4th day hiking became my first 20 mile day because I missed the off-trail water source around mile 15. It was over 100 degrees, and another hiker shared some sips so I could make it to camp without feeling too miserable. On two different occasions, some amazing people helped me build a fire to cook on and hang around because I was having trouble walking. The instances go on and on.
My 4th day hiking became my first 20 mile day because I missed the off-trail water source around mile 15. It was over 100 degrees, and another hiker shared some sips so I could make it to camp without feeling too miserable. On two different occasions, some amazing people helped me build a fire to cook on and hang around because I was having trouble walking. The instances go on and on.
Speaking of my physical abilities, I never thought I'd do a 50 mile day on trail but also didn't think I'd spend my final 2 weeks of thru-hiking limping through painful mornings until my muscles warmed enough to feel "normal". Near the end of my hike my planned deadline didn't correlate with the rest my body needed to keep hiking pain-free.
If I do another long hike, I want no deadlines and yoga every single day instead of just sometimes : ]
(Oh, how things change. -Rogue 10/16/19)
If I do another long hike, I want no deadlines and yoga every single day instead of just sometimes : ]
(Oh, how things change. -Rogue 10/16/19)
Even with finishing the trail, I see all that I can do to further my potential with mind, body, and gear. I
I've exceeded many of my expectations but have also developed more, even greater ones : ]
I've exceeded many of my expectations but have also developed more, even greater ones : ]
--Written just before finishing my hike--
A post-hike reflection on each of the reasons I chose to hike the PCT:
A post-hike reflection on each of the reasons I chose to hike the PCT:
I'm disillusioned with mainstream society and its affinity to self-destruct. I went to school to be better equipped to contribute positive change to the world, but have lost some faith in that. Will I actually be making a change, or just operating within a framework that can't be reframed? In a system of unending paperwork and red tape, will I be any more influential than a robot just following orders? I know I can do something, I've just lost focus.
The trail let me step back from being overloaded by society and its problems, and in it I was able to see the importance of every person. On the trail, having just one other awesome person to share your camp with made such a huge difference in your life.
Without that awesome person, you'd have no one to share the ridiculous stories of your day with or talk excitedly with about the next day's route (miles, water stops, viewpoints, mountains!!!!) There wouldn't be that one awesome person to share their water bottle with you when your water pouch broke. Though it's extremely difficult for me to feel important on such a small scale, that's where people really matter and make a difference. Even large social movements begin with there being that one awesome leader (or two) among a small group of like-minded people. I had this quote hanging in the ROSE Room on campus while I was the director:
Without that awesome person, you'd have no one to share the ridiculous stories of your day with or talk excitedly with about the next day's route (miles, water stops, viewpoints, mountains!!!!) There wouldn't be that one awesome person to share their water bottle with you when your water pouch broke. Though it's extremely difficult for me to feel important on such a small scale, that's where people really matter and make a difference. Even large social movements begin with there being that one awesome leader (or two) among a small group of like-minded people. I had this quote hanging in the ROSE Room on campus while I was the director:
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” -Margaret Mead
I truly believed that when I hung it up. I just got discouraged. We all do.
It's important to always remember that we are that one awesome person in some way.
If we just throw in the towel and push everything away, withhold from being our best selves, the world simply won't be as great. It sounds funny, but it's true.
It's important to always remember that we are that one awesome person in some way.
If we just throw in the towel and push everything away, withhold from being our best selves, the world simply won't be as great. It sounds funny, but it's true.
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To humble myself and get a new perspective of the world
Hiking 25 miles in the blazing heat while out of water, covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, with no one to tell you that everything will be okay, and only steep elevation gain to go-- is humbling. So is yelling out while hiking to "scare away wildlife" only for there to be another thruhiker. Or falling behind the hikers you've been keeping pace with because your mind or body says "nope". Or hitching into a non-PCT trail town straight from the wilderness, to instantly become a "hobo" by definition.
As much as the trail helped to build my confidence, it was constantly reminding me of my place in the world. Certain days I'd crush my miles and low-key brag to other hikers, other days I had trouble just walking to the bathroom in the morning because I was so sore. One moment I'd be cruisin through a beautiful meadow, the next I'd have tripped over a rock and eaten shit. Everyone has there ups and downs. Everyone. Even the most wild achievers of things you can think of.
What makes people successful on the PCT, and in life, is not letting the off times keep you down. Or keep you in a bad, angry mood. Making yourself get back up after being taught a good lesson in humility keeps you appreciative of what you do accomplish and compassionate towards others. It also usually makes for some pretty good material to make fun of yourself with later.
It's our biggest failures that end up making for the most hilarious trail and life stories.
What makes people successful on the PCT, and in life, is not letting the off times keep you down. Or keep you in a bad, angry mood. Making yourself get back up after being taught a good lesson in humility keeps you appreciative of what you do accomplish and compassionate towards others. It also usually makes for some pretty good material to make fun of yourself with later.
It's our biggest failures that end up making for the most hilarious trail and life stories.
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To get over my biggest fear once and for all: being alone
On the trail I was more alone than I'd ever been-- as in I could blow my pack whistle and no one would hear or I didn't see any other human for 24+ hours.
In these moments it felt as if I'd never come into human contact again; as if I were in some vast, never-ending space with no endpoints. Looking back, these moments fill me with warmth and peace.
The grandeur of the world and one's small part within it is most exemplified here.
In these actual moments though, it was hard not to feel anxious. Being that alone when one is so used to so much noise and so many people is quite a shock to the system. As time went on, it became more comfortable and fulfilling to be this alone. Near the end of my hike, I had a really enjoyable desert day of music and walking where I saw no one. The apprehension still came when faced with the possibility that I may continue to see no one for multiple days.
After 5 months of backpacking, one day alone seems to be the comfortability limit I reached.
I don't think I had the right idea about "getting over being alone" when I began my hike. No one is ever going to feel comfortable with being alone forever. Unless you're one of the rare people that actually do.
One of the books I read, The Stranger in the Woods by Michael Finkel, explained that this range of comfortability with being alone is based on genetics. For me personally, I am content with my progress. I went from barely being able to be alone for a few hours to doing a 5-month hike where I was more or less alone 50% of the time.
In these moments it felt as if I'd never come into human contact again; as if I were in some vast, never-ending space with no endpoints. Looking back, these moments fill me with warmth and peace.
The grandeur of the world and one's small part within it is most exemplified here.
In these actual moments though, it was hard not to feel anxious. Being that alone when one is so used to so much noise and so many people is quite a shock to the system. As time went on, it became more comfortable and fulfilling to be this alone. Near the end of my hike, I had a really enjoyable desert day of music and walking where I saw no one. The apprehension still came when faced with the possibility that I may continue to see no one for multiple days.
After 5 months of backpacking, one day alone seems to be the comfortability limit I reached.
I don't think I had the right idea about "getting over being alone" when I began my hike. No one is ever going to feel comfortable with being alone forever. Unless you're one of the rare people that actually do.
One of the books I read, The Stranger in the Woods by Michael Finkel, explained that this range of comfortability with being alone is based on genetics. For me personally, I am content with my progress. I went from barely being able to be alone for a few hours to doing a 5-month hike where I was more or less alone 50% of the time.
My fear of being alone was largely replaced by a fear of encountering grizzlies or mountain lions during the hike. I say this with the disclaimer that the wildlife on the PCT is realistically NOT that big of a threat.
After months of sleeping alone in dark, endless landscapes that seem to echo the unknown, my fear shifted from this to more tangible things.
My experiences with black bears, grizzly bears, and mountain lions seemed like very real threats, whereas the stillness of being alone in the wilderness itself wasn't.
Turned out that I wasn't being alone itself that was the biggest mental challenge to overcome, it was finding the mental strength to deal with challenges that caught me off guard-- for me, the wildlife.
I was stalked by a black bear my first night on the PCT, had a grizzly growl at me while hiking alone in the North Cascades, heard a wolf howling in close proximity to me, and was almost sideswiped by a mountain lion while sitting down on the trail. Obviously nothing actually happened, but they felt like way too close of calls.
I didn't store my food properly my first night on the PCT, should have been making more noise and carrying bear spray if hiking alone in the North Cascades, and shouldn't have been sitting crouched in an overgrown part of the trail (which makes one look like prey). This fear requires a certain practicality and preparedness to overcome, because it doesn't just live in my imagination. (Though the sensationalized stories of the dangers of encountering wildlife do.)
Life is always going to throw new fears and mental challenges at you, there's no "overcome one and you're done!" sort of thing, unfortunately. But as we overcome more and more of these hindrances, we become stronger and more capable of a vastly bigger amount of things than we had previously set our sights on.
After months of sleeping alone in dark, endless landscapes that seem to echo the unknown, my fear shifted from this to more tangible things.
My experiences with black bears, grizzly bears, and mountain lions seemed like very real threats, whereas the stillness of being alone in the wilderness itself wasn't.
Turned out that I wasn't being alone itself that was the biggest mental challenge to overcome, it was finding the mental strength to deal with challenges that caught me off guard-- for me, the wildlife.
I was stalked by a black bear my first night on the PCT, had a grizzly growl at me while hiking alone in the North Cascades, heard a wolf howling in close proximity to me, and was almost sideswiped by a mountain lion while sitting down on the trail. Obviously nothing actually happened, but they felt like way too close of calls.
I didn't store my food properly my first night on the PCT, should have been making more noise and carrying bear spray if hiking alone in the North Cascades, and shouldn't have been sitting crouched in an overgrown part of the trail (which makes one look like prey). This fear requires a certain practicality and preparedness to overcome, because it doesn't just live in my imagination. (Though the sensationalized stories of the dangers of encountering wildlife do.)
Life is always going to throw new fears and mental challenges at you, there's no "overcome one and you're done!" sort of thing, unfortunately. But as we overcome more and more of these hindrances, we become stronger and more capable of a vastly bigger amount of things than we had previously set our sights on.
-
I'm not sure if I can handle the mental challenge of completing the PCT, and want to prove to myself and others than I can
Looking back on the trail, it was just another challenge that seemed insurmountable when looking at it from a big-picture perspective but revealed itself as extremely doable when looked at in the smaller-scale.
Hiking 2,650 miles is crazy. Hiking a few more miles to take a break at the next water source is not.
Achieving goals-- especially the really intimidating ones-- is all about taking things one step at a time, while keeping the full extent of the journey in the back of your mind.
Post-trail I'm constantly reminding myself that each mental challenge I face in everyday life is just like all of the ones I overcame on the trail. They all seemed like they would never end, but looking back at the end of the day or a few days the challenges seemed small in the distance.
With each mental struggle in life, we can either "sit down in the trail" and slightly pout (which I had my fair share of), or pick ourselves up and get on to all of the wonderful things the trail, or life, has to offer.
The hardest part remains fueling oneself mentally so as to not get burnt out, which is a very real thing on trail and in "real" life. As long as one takes a break when actually needed (very different than being lazy, and we all do have a good personal sense of what this means to us), we're more than strong enough to accomplish almost anything we set our minds to.
Even if it's hiking 2,650 miles through the "wilderness" alone.
Hiking 2,650 miles is crazy. Hiking a few more miles to take a break at the next water source is not.
Achieving goals-- especially the really intimidating ones-- is all about taking things one step at a time, while keeping the full extent of the journey in the back of your mind.
Post-trail I'm constantly reminding myself that each mental challenge I face in everyday life is just like all of the ones I overcame on the trail. They all seemed like they would never end, but looking back at the end of the day or a few days the challenges seemed small in the distance.
With each mental struggle in life, we can either "sit down in the trail" and slightly pout (which I had my fair share of), or pick ourselves up and get on to all of the wonderful things the trail, or life, has to offer.
The hardest part remains fueling oneself mentally so as to not get burnt out, which is a very real thing on trail and in "real" life. As long as one takes a break when actually needed (very different than being lazy, and we all do have a good personal sense of what this means to us), we're more than strong enough to accomplish almost anything we set our minds to.
Even if it's hiking 2,650 miles through the "wilderness" alone.
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