Campo (mile 0) – Warner Springs (mile 109.50)
Day 1 – Monday, April 24, 2017
Campo to Lake Morena
Miles: 0 – 20
Total PCT miles: 20
Total additional miles: 0
I never wanted to swear so badly but with forty-nine sets of ears nearby, I did not dare to channel my frustration vocally. Was my hike over the very same day I stepped on the trail? My heart was racing. Yet, I put on a brave face, and when Dave asked: "Are you going to be all right?" I managed a slight nod.
"I am going to be all right," I repeated those words in my mind as if saying them over and over again could somehow fix the sharp, stabbing pain in my right foot. I swallowed one of the twenty ibuprofen pills from my first aid kit, and I crossed my fingers for a miracle.
I was all right six miles ago when we started to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, a 2,650 mile-long path across the US. I was still all right one hundred feet ago when we crested a short uphill to an astonishing view of the vast desolate landscape around us.
Now I was sitting on the ground, a mere six miles from the border with Mexico pondering how the heck I was going to make it to Canada when I could barely walk.
The idea of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail was born on August 22, 2014. Dave and I were stoked that day, having just completed the official two hundred and eleven miles of another thru-hike – the John Muir Trail, our first multi-week backpacking trip. Stoked enough to ignore the wind. The strong wind roared around us, sinking its teeth into every inch of skin we left exposed. The wind, if we stepped closer to the edge, could have easily blown us off the top of the mountain. We were on the summit of Mt. Whitney at the altitude of 14,505 feet. It was a long way down.
We braved the wind for about half an hour waiting for the sun to kiss the horizon. When the moment came, the sky burst with colors. Warm evening hues flooded the land underneath us, great land full of adventures waiting for us to go and find them.
"I have a feeling that great things are coming down the road," I shouted through the wind.
"Yeah", Dave shouted back. "We just have to keep walking."
"One day we should walk the PCT," I said.
It was a crazy idea. 2,650 miles or ten times the length of the trail we just completed. An average hiker takes five to six months to complete the distance. Many don't finish at all. But something about the idea resonated, and nothing, not even the wind that had the power to blow me off the top of this mountain, could sweep it out of my mind.
* * *
Twenty minutes passed since I took the ibuprofen. The pain was marginally better but my foot, when I tried to take a step, still refused to fully bear the weight. It was going to be an uncomfortable and very slow hike but at least the scenery was new and exciting and kept me somewhat distracted from the pain.
This was my very first experience with the desert environment. If I don't count the semi-arid plateau tucked in the rain shadow of the Cascade Mountain Range in Eastern Washington which is commonly referred to as a desert, though in reality, it is a steppe. The closest I have ever gotten to a true desert landscape was on pages of travel books. Their stories had taught me to think of a vast expanse of sandy dunes, hot and barren topography, without sufficient rainfall to sustain life other than snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas. I only saw a handful of snakes in the wild, and every one of those encounters left me terrified long after the serpent slithered away from my screaming and jumping act. I kept my eyes open for scorpions and tarantulas too, though I'd be quite thrilled to see those.
