Feast When You Can

I’m currently in the town of Idyllwild, California. With its mashup of artists, hippies, hikers, climbers and locals, it reminds me a lot of New Paltz, New York where I grew up. The town has a dog for a mayor and a very welcoming attitude toward hikers. From the local inns to the gear shop to the post office, it really feels like people are happy we’re here.

I left Julian a week ago today and rejoined the trail at mile 77.3 at Scissor’s Crossing. The same trail angel that picked me up also took a number of hikers that I knew for a bit of a crowded ride back to the trail

We all hit the trail together for the relatively long climb and 14 mile water carry out of Shelter Valley. Immediately there was a change in the flora and we saw barrel cacti for the first time. There were also a lot of rattle snakes out for their morning sun, interrupting our path up at least four times that morning.

The blisters hadn’t fully resolved and slowed me down until I found a make shift solution about halfway through the day. I was thrilled to finally be hiking without pain again and enjoyed the hike to the Gate Three water cache, a short off-trail detour where trail angels deposit pallets of Kirkland water jugs  and mercifully break a 24 mile water carry to a very manageable 14 & 10. Before I dropped my pack to head down for water I ran into a few hikers including Chill, who unbeknownst to either of us, would cook a stellar breakfast for our Idyllwild AirBnB about 6 days later.

I ate dinner and camped with the 4/18 crew and made the mistake of not securing my tent stakes with rocks. I was awoken in the middle of the night with half of my tent collapsed on me. I considered just sleeping that way, but the thought of the other half of the tent collapsing later on in the night was too unappealing, so I dug deep, got out of my warm quilt, restaked the tent, secured the stakes with rocks, and made it through the rest of the night without incident.

The following days had early starts and late finishes which made for classic views of the mountains in a collage of blue silhouettes. There was beautifully varied terrain, including pastureland with a riot of flowering grasses. I suspect that the cows that live and eat there have a superior diet to me at the moment. The days also brought a lot of miles, almost certainly too many, but more on that later.

They also brought the news that South Fork San Joaquin River Bridge at mile 854.5 in Kings Canyon, which is the only safe a passage across the river, has been severely damaged. I had already been prepared for the fact that there may be a need to hike the Sierra section of the PCT out of order this year, but the news that there might be a major disruption regardless was pretty disorienting.

While I still haven’t gotten over the news, this particular setback made me think of thruhiking as analogous to life and how we’re not entitled to any specific experiences. We’re not entitled to a continuous footpath on the trail and we’re not entitled to manifesting the visions that we have for ourselves exactly as we would intend or as others seem to have manifested for themselves. All we can do is try to hew as closely as possible to our values and goals and be good about checking in on those values and goals.

These were good thoughts to have in my head because things were about to get a lot harder. The first big struggle was hunger.  The Mountain Goats have a great song called Steal Smoked Fish with the chorus, “Feast when you can and dream when there’s nothing to feast on.” Friends, I did some real dreaming this week.

I started doing bigger miles, again to keep up with some hikers whose company I enjoyed, but then out of necessity. A half day out of Warner Springs (Mile 109.5) I realized that I had grossly underestimated my resupply the day before. I had come into previous resupply points close to empty and knew I wasn’t buying enough calories but had bought enough food to get me to town where I could gorge and make up for some of the deficit. Whether I did 18, 18, 18, 6 as some of my friends did or four days of 15, I realized that my only path to Paradise Valley Cafe, my hitch point into Idyllwild, was going to be on two days of half rations and barely a breakfast on the last day.

I have never ever been this hungry. I dreamed about food at night and even though I my hiker hunger had not yet kicked in, not being able to snack during the day or go to bed satiated at night was awful. The bar that I would usually have for breakfast in my first mile was consumed before I finished packing up my tent. I just couldn’t wait for the calories. Also, somehow, a single wrapped prune had made its way into my food bag. Something I’d noticed the week before. I had no idea where it came from. I thought that the mysterious prune was a good omen and I planned on taking it to Canada with me. Let me tell you, I devoured that prune under the shade of dessert scrub without shame or remorse.

I don’t know what real hunger feels like, the kind of hunger where there is truly no hope for enough, but I do know what kind of charity is getting my next donation.

As hungry as I was, the community of hikers around me and once again seeing Mount San Jacinto on the rise from Lost Valley Spring helped keep me going. But another problem arose on this climb, an absolutely searing pain in my right Achilles. I now know that with a little rest, some good physical therapy, and a change of footwear, this is not going to end my hike. But for the 30 miles of agony, when rest wasn’t an option because of the low food stores, I wasn’t so sure. I was behind my friends. I was in pain and I was hungry.

The final day of hiking included a 4 mile climb from my most beautiful campsite yet through Nance Canyon where the landscape started to resemble the landscape I knew from Joshua Tree.

By the time I got to the top I had slowed to about a mile an hour because of my Achilles. I just couldn’t walk uphill and had 6.5 more miles of just that.  At mile 145.4 I decide to get off trail in what I learned was Anza, California because my map showed roads and roads mean hitches. As it turned out, these were dirt roads lined with sparsely occupied homesteads and horse farms. I occasionally had one bar of service and less often saw a car on the road.

Eventually, two women gave me directions to pavement where, miraculously, within a minute I was in a car with a cheery woman who loved hiking and hikers. Twenty minutes later I was enjoying a burger, a salad and a Redbridge gluten-free beer. Redbridge is swill, but on Friday it was the nectar of the gods. Not long after I arrived, a Czech hiker named One Beer arrived and it was a particular relief to see him again even though we’d caught up earlier in the day. A few minutes later I was offered a ride into town by Lieutenant Dan, who had arranged the trail magic at Scissor’s Crossing on Day 6. They say the trail provides.

My spirits hadn’t risen yet but my fortunes had. Trippy invited me to an AirBnB in town with the 4/18 crew. In addition to a warm welcome and a cold bag of ice for my Achilles heel, I was treated to one of Leggy’s signature margaritas. Saturday was a two hot tub day and, much to my relief, a session with Blaze Physio (a physical therapist who thruhiked the PCT in 2019 and works the trail during hiking season) assured me that my hike wasn’t over and that I wasn’t doing permanent damage to my Achilles.

A couple of days with the Day 2 dinner crew and Trevor (now Stonehenge) and Kyler (now Binks) restored my spirit. Family breakfast. Family dinner. I even got to play a little guitar.

It’s not smooth sailing yet. The Achilles still needs time. The weather on San Jacinto, my next step and the first major milestone I was looking forward to, is not cooperating.

But I do have a room with DIsco Daddy, an appointment tomorrow with Blaze Physio, and a real eagerness to take this perspective forward to meet the challenges of the next 2,500 miles.