We All Start Somewhere

Let’s play two truths and a lie. One, my eyesight is so bad I can’t see past my outstretched fingertips without my glasses or contacts. Two, prior to hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I never once spent a night alone camped in the backcountry. Three, I got a killer deal on a pair of Five Ten climbing shoes last Christmas, but they’ve yet to see the light of a climbing gym. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Before we start in on the lie, let me say that I had every intention of giving climbing a fair try. It’s just that as soon as we celebrated bringing in the new year, my obsession with the PCT grew tenfold so anything non-PCT related became a waste of time that could be better spent planning and preparing. The new year meant I was about to take on my biggest dream and the greatest adventure I could ever imagine. I wasn’t going to risk injuring myself before this incredible opportunity so taking on a new hobby could wait, especially such a physical one. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Shall we move onto the lie? I’ll preface it with this: I think it’s going to surprise many of you that the lie isn’t too far from the actual truth. Here goes; I only camped in the backcountry once prior to the PCT and it was only for one night. I picked a day in early June of 2017, before the summer rush of backpackers flooded all the popular spots. 

It went off without a hitch; the hike itself was pleasant enough with my fully loaded pack, I somehow had the lake all to myself and the weather was perfect for leaving the rain fly off my tent. I sipped whisky from my flask and watched the stars dance across the night sky before falling sound asleep. In the morning, I took my time watching the sun light up the lake basin while I ate breakfast. Shortly after, I packed up camp and began my hike back to the trailhead. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Fast forward to April 3, 2019. It’s just after 3pm and I’m taking a video of my boyfriend and I walking away from the monument at the PCT’s Southern Terminus, but in different directions; he, toward the rental car that would take him back to the San Diego airport, and me, heading North towards Canada. I turn the camera on myself to capture my emotional yet exciting first steps on the PCT. There isn’t another hiker in sight, which is how I planned it. Rumor has it that the monument can be very busy from sunrise until just after lunch with tourists, hikers, etc. so I wanted to do what I could to avoid the crowds. My pace is slow. I take my time soaking in all my “firsts,” like coming across my first water source and delving into my food bag for my first snack stop. Afternoon turns to evening and every campsite I come across is somehow already full. Finally, only 8.5 miles from the terminus, I find a random, right-along-trail spot that was both flat-ish enough and big enough for me to pitch my Zpacks Duplex tent. I toss my pack inside just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the desert sky with the most beautiful blues and vibrant purples I’ve ever seen. 

Here’s one more truth: you don’t NEED any experience to hike the PCT. That one and only overnighter was CUSHY in comparison. I think it’s fair to say that not a single moment of it prepared me in any way for the 135 days I spent walking from Mexico to Canada. Furthermore, I met several people along the trail who had even less experience than I did, yet they also dreamt of discovering what this trail could provide; what better way to learn how to backpack than to completely immerse yourself in the dirtbag, hiker trash lifestyle. One of these people belonged to my tramily. He was from Liverpool (i.e. he had zero experience). After a heavy night of drinking, he woke in the morning to find his browser history full of PCT videos on YouTube and an email from Amazon confirming his purchase of a Six Moons Design tent. Just a few months later he found himself at the Southern Terminus, ready to see what the hype was all about. 

So for anyone with 2020 permits or dreams of other long-distance trails with hesitations regarding their experience level or lack of, remember that we all start somewhere and that somewhere can be humbling and sometimes comical, but also inspiring and admirable. Don’t be afraid to admit you’re new to the game or unfamiliar with something, even if it’s the very gear you brought. Your voice has the power to bring a surge of courage, confidence and also a sense of community to those who feel the same. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

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I decided to do a 100 mile section hike of the PCT in Oregon. 

And… I wanted to hike it entirely solo. 

Let me preface – to any thru-hiker reading this, 100 miles seems like a chip shot and I totally get that. I’m a fan of graduated practice and 100 miles was still outside my comfort zone at that point in my life. I wanted to make sure I would enjoy the long distance hiking lifestyle before going out and buying all the expensive gear I thought I should own. I also wanted to know if I’d be absolutely miserable or if I’d truly enjoy myself. 

Photo by Chad Lubinksi

Back to the solo section hike.

 Yes, I wanted to do everything “my way”. After watching hours and hours of YouTube videos and going on a few early backpacking trips, I figured I was dialed in. Hilariously, I only ended up downloading the Guthook app a few days before leaving as I didn’t think I would need it! 

My lovely girlfriend, Karlee, dropped me off at the PCT trailhead at Willamette Pass. Ten minutes into my hike, I had already made a wrong turn and was starting to go under the ski lifts! Talk about being a rookie!

 Oh Guthook, what would I do without you?! 

This hike was a steep, yet enjoyable learning curve. On the first night, fate ended up bringing Salty Dog – a 68 year old hiker from North Carolina who thru-hiked the AT in 2015 and was finishing up the PCT this year – whistling into my camp at Bobby Lake.  From then on, Salty and I became hiking partners for the duration of my hike. At first, I was curious to see how this would play out since my plan was to hike solo and learn everything on my own. 

What happened was better than anything I could’ve anticipated. 

Fast forward to day two: a dense, dark cloud of mosquitoes pleading to get into my tent, my ankle throbbing, and chafe between my thighs made me reconsider what in the hell I was actually doing after only my second day out. The doubts began swirling in my mind and the thought of completing 100 miles seemed extremely daunting, if not extremely doubtful. However, Salty’s particularly positive attitude about the situation put me at ease. We discussed the general craziness of what thru-hikers go through between our tent walls as the sun was still up (if you’ve ever been through Oregon during mosquito season, you’ll know why!). We agreed that one of the most important things a long distance hiker can own is the space in their mind to put up with suffering on a day-to-day basis, or – in Salty’s words – the ability to get “trail hardened” – letting the natural adaptation to the rigors of the trail set in before calling it quits.

My trail hardiness was tested on this hike as I experienced the gambit of conditions throughout the week – cold rain, a day of snow travel, mosquitoes, lava rocks, and heat. I saw several other hikers getting off trail early, as well as opting out of traveling through the snow that still lingered under the Three Sisters Mountains.  

I started to reframe my mind around how I viewed each of the conditions I was subjected to; I began to view them as a pros vs cons. For example, it may have been rainy and miserably cold the third day, but there was no instances of running down the trail from mosquitoes, and the cold weather allowed for smaller carries of water between sources. 

I was miserable well over half the time on trail, but absolutely loved it and couldn’t figure out why.

I had officially caught the bug.

A month later, I used my new mindset to plan and complete my second section hike. This time I was going to do 150 miles. This time the hiking would be mostly solo with no primary mentor. 

The first day I was dropped off it was pouring rain. I woke up the next day to more cold rain, fog, and wind. Salty’s mantra of “Never quit on a bad day,” and “There’s more good days than bad days on trail,” began playing on repeat in my head. For context, the weather was bad enough to make a thru-hiker I had camped with up and quit!

I was fortunate enough to be hiking during the tail end of the thru-hiking bubble. When I caught up to someone (or more like they caught up to me), you bet I was picking their brain. This meant I got to talk to many different thru-hikers about their experiences.

After eating lunch at Olallie Lake, I ran into a thru-hiker sitting next to the dusty trail. We hiked together during that warm evening for a few hours. I had expressed to him the disappointment I had with the weather at the start of my trip. His response was interesting and enlightening. He said that you have to look at obstacles like that as challenges to be overcome. Once you overcome them, you become a much better and more experienced hiker. He also told me that a trick to stay motivated for him was to challenge himself on a day-to-day basis – things such as making himself carry a minimal amount of water for X number of miles or dry camping. He said, “Otherwise, you’re just walking in the woods.”

Each thru-hiker I met did things a little different, but the thing they had in common is that they were normal people. That’s right folks – anyone can hike a ton of miles, but the common denominator is a positive mindset, dropping the “know it all attitude” and learning from the people you meet on trail. It struck me that if I had been recording all the hikers I was informally interviewing on trail, I could’ve been the next up and coming hot podcast! 

Another mindset piece I developed on this hike was the inclination to always be looking forward to small things throughout the day. This helped curb the monotony associated when hiking through boring sections (yes, the trail will get boring at times!) and allowed me to stay motivated each day.  An example of this would be looking down at my watch and telling myself that I’ll allow myself to listen to music or a podcast in an hour. Looking forward to the giant distance between you and the finish line never did anyone any good. 

The difference between this hike and my first was unrecognizable. The skills I learned in the first section hike were built on during the second. I ended up completing the 150 miles within the same amount of days as my 100 mile section hike (6). Additionally, I pulled off my longest day on trail – 28 miles!

To sum it up, my advice to any aspiring long distance hiker is this: be willing to walk (literally!) outside your comfort zone, have little things to look forward to during the day, adopt a stoic philosophy, drop your ego, and LEARN from those on trail. 

We are each far more capable than we think. 

Although I’m not a thru-hiker, I encourage anyone that’s going to be pushing their comfort zone in the realm of hiking to take some of the things I learned from my hikes and put them in your tool belt. It could be the difference in whether you stay one more day to complete your trail hardiness break-in period… or walk out of the woods and back into your comfort zone, as I saw many times on my hikes. 

I often wonder how everything would’ve transpired had I not met Salty Dog at Bobby Lake.

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