Editor's Note · 560 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
Get the chance to meet Jennifer on Dec 7th, 8pm at the Charlottesville, VA Blue Ridge store and witness her stories and pictures from her successful PCT hike.
Get directions here.
Why we Hike . . . · 560 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
Why thru-hike?
Why endure physical pain, mental fatigue, and emotional anxiety to live a life that offers no monetary reward and little societal recognition? What is found in this journey that makes leaving fresh food, warm homes, valued paychecks, supportive friends, and a loving family worth six months of separation?
How do you justify it?
And when, when, is such a journey worth the sacrifice?
These are the questions that go through the mind of almost every thru-hiker that has completed, attempted, or even started a long distance trail. These are also the questions of many who, still at home, try to understand the motivation and meaning behind such individual journeys.
When provoked, every hiker will attempt to answer these questions with seemingly unique, yet fundamentally, similar answers. For, in the end, it’s not so much the questions or conclusions that matter, but rather the search for answers. It is an empirical search that stems from a call to explore, to discover, and to live in a manner that the majority of society cannot understand. And it is a search that has left me both deeply appreciative and bereft.
Thinking back to the beginning of the trail, there are several reasons I wanted to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I remember this time last year thinking and daydreaming about the trail, a process that would almost always cause an immediate stomach upheaval. It was a churning, butterfly-filled, adrenaline rush that connotes the rush of a roller-coaster all while my physical presence remained completely stoic. This rush, as ridiculous as it may sound, was one of the main reasons I knew I had to hike the trail. It seemed the sensation in my stomach was a conglomeration of fear, hope, doubt, and wonderment that placed the PCT in a perfectly frightening, yet seemingly attainable, distance from my personal comfort zone.
And certainly, the PCT offered and then provided a challenge that pushed, stretched, and probed my limits while somehow graciously leaving me unbroken. However, it also promised to restore something I had lost since coming off the Appalachian Trail. The PCT promised to restore a sense of blessing and appreciation in my life. I never imagined after hiking the AT that I would re-acclimatize back into society as quickly as I did. Still, two weeks after climbing Katahdin, showers had suddenly lost their novelty, warm-filling meals were commonplace, and shelter was expected. I once again felt entitled. And I hated it.
And while the former two reasons were good for coffee dates and genuine conversation, my desire to take time off work for travel and aspirations to fundraise for Women Build provided sufficient one-line retorts to passing questions and rounded-out my fourfold justification for heading to the West Coast.
Once on the trail my reasons soon evolved and I found my motivation for daily hiking derived from unexpected sources. One would hardly ever pin self-doubt as a reason to thru-hike. It simply seems counter-intuitive. Nevertheless, from day one it provided constant incentive to carry on. I cannot recall one day of full confidence, instead it was a constant journey of struggling against the elements and myself. Do I have enough water? Do I feel okay? Did I bring enough food? Am I okay alone? Are the animals going to bother me? Can I make it to my next checkpoint? Will I be okay at high elevations? Is this section too dangerous? Do I belong out here?
In every circumstance, no matter what convention might otherwise say, I had to keep the demons at bay and tell myself I could do it, I did belong, and yes, it would all be okay. And, thankfully, for the most part by the time I went to bed it would be okay. In fact, I started to thrive on the fact that I was challenged everyday; I loved that at one, if not multiple, points throughout the day I would seriously consider my purpose, competence, and environment. It wasn’t about winning or immediately conquering the fear, rather I enjoyed seeing it through, sticking with it, and putting it to rest when safely on the other side. Each instance provided faith, confidence, and hope to take into the ensuing day.
I also began to indulge in the simplicity and focus of a thru-hike. The task was simple, the means were modest, and everything I owned I carried on my back. Coming from a world of Blackberries and multi-tasking, it was so refreshing to focus on one objective while being accountable almost entirely to yourself. Furthermore, the pace seemed somehow soothing if not cathartic. Don’t get me wrong, thru-hiking is hard work—30 miles a day doesn’t come easy. But it’s not a sprint, and it’s not rushed, it’s a constant level of exertion, which over an extended period of time can ultimately bring you to a distant goal. It is ironic how my days of constant movement often seemed far less hurried and contrived than a day of sitting still in an office. It was liberating to lose track of the days and hours and observe the passing of time through light, temperature, and changes in nature.
And finally, as in almost every other aspect of life, I found reason to be and stay on the trail due to the rewards. It goes against human nature to work for free, and while it’s not always monetary, people hardly ever give something for nothing. It’s no different on the trail. I worked, I suffered, I gave my literal blood, sweat, and tears to the trail and I wanted something in return. The exciting part is that you hardly ever know what form your payment will come in. Sometimes you will be reimbursed through views or rainbows, sometimes it will be seeing a bear or spotting an eagle, other times it will be encountering a friendly hiker or making new friends by hitching into town. It could be a starry night or a pristine lake, the feeling of solitude, or an encouraging note sent by a friend. It might be the novelty of eating everything in sight and still losing weight or being able to visit new cities along the way, but no matter the form, there will always be times when the trail convinces you that you are absolutely the richest person in the world.
Lastly, at the end of my journey I found one final and incredible reason to thru-hike. So rarely in life do we have the opportunity to pursue the perfect completion of something that seems otherwise unattainable? Thru-hiking is not easy by any stretch of the imagination. It is the hardest, most arduous challenge I have ever faced. And it is the physical accomplishment that I am the most proud of in life. To be able to take five months and pursue your dreams, push your limits, and ultimately accomplish an all-encompassing goal is a feeling unlike any other. To reach Canada and then go all the way back to Oregon to finish the one section I had missed due to fire in order to know that I had walked every step the entire way from Mexico to Canada was entirely worth it. I had given everything over to a dream, and looking back, I know that my dream was realized in its most perfect and fulfilling form.
So yeah, there are good reasons to thru-hike, but there are also strong motives to stay at home. Not having finances, gear, food, or support would have severely hampered my journey. But thankfully due to some amazing sponsors, I was able to pursue and accomplish my dream!
Thank you so much to Blue Ridge Mountain Sports, Whole Foods, and Balance Bar. Your respective gear, food, and monetary donations made this hike possible and much more enjoyable than it otherwise might have been. It was such an honor to receive support from these organizations because beyond my temporary hiking needs, they are all businesses that I believe in and look forward to supporting in the future.
I also want to give a huge shout out to Women Build and Habitat in general. Habitat for Humanity has done so much for Charlottesville and other communities in the US and around the world. Their dedication to helping people and communities inspired me daily while on the trail, and even during the hard times gave me reason to continue hiking. So to all those who work, volunteer, or donate to Habitat for Humanity. . . Thank You So Much!!!
Now a big thank you to Dorothy, one of my co-workers, who diligently sent out all of my food, gear, and guidebook boxes to stops along the trail. Because of her, I never had to worry about missing a re-supply. Thanks to all those at Ash Lawn, especially to the office staff that helped to cover in my absence.
Finally, thanks to my friends and family and all those who kept me in their thoughts and prayers. Your support meant the world to me and gave me reason to keep going and something to come back to. I love you all and look forward to supporting each and every one of you in your future adventures.
Until the next hike . . .
All the best,
Jennifer Pharr
Editor's Note · 588 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
So if you’ve been following along with Jennifer’s adventures as she knocks off the second of the “Triple Crown” trails, you should continue to read on. I’m publishing one “lost” blog entry that we didn’t receive until now. To keep them in chronological order, it’s just below “Sweetly Bittersweet.”
And as some of you may be asking, “where are the pictures?” They will be forthcoming—but hey, with the visual imagery Jennifer conjures through her writing, who really needs pictures?
Sweetly Bittersweet · 595 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
I’m done—totally, officially, 100% done. I had a faux finish at the Canadian Border on the 14th, and then after a short break I returned to Oregon to complete the 60 miles I had previously missed due to fires.
It was an ending filled with adventure, confusion, and a lot of emotion, but in retrospect it was an appropriate if not perfect ending to what has become the best four months of my life.
When I left Stehekin two weeks ago, the town was on fire, Canada was on fire, and the trail was officially closed. But with a $10 map and a generous allotment of rations I started heading north/northwest on an alternate route. While originally disappointed to not finish at the official terminus, I soon began to appreciate and actually prefer the route I had chosen. I am sure that it could have been no less scenic than the official PCT, and without a guidebook or detailed information it constantly tested me and encouraged me with unknown obstacles and surprises. It was almost like one of those “choose your own ending” books you read as a kid, but so much cooler, because it was actually real life.
The most memorable parts of my final stretch came from seeing four bears within five minutes of each other, being able to finish the final miles of my hike near the immense yet serene shore of Ross Lake, and stylishly hitching my way out of Canada in a dump truck. Yes, a dump truck.
You see, when I finally reached the Canadian Border it was nothing like I had expected. First of all there was no sign that said Canada! How was I supposed to take a finishing picture without a Canada sign? Secondly, true to form, Washington State had chosen to mark my farewell with 30 hours of continuous cold rain. Thus, my comfort level was not as high as I would have otherwise liked when I reached the border. And thirdly? Well, I was sorely depressed. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of my hike, but instead it caught me off-guard and left me feeling empty inside. The fires, detours, and last day and a half of rain had completely occupied my mind and all but masked the reality of the ensuing ending. Therefore, when I unexpectedly came across the unpretentious international boundary sign on the side of a dirt road, I really didn’t know what to do with myself. It was over? My hike was really finished? All the hard work, all the obstacles, all the challenges, and this is where it had taken me—a cold, wet, dirt road in the middle of nowhere!?
Being an open and otherwise deserted border crossing, I actually walked back and forth between the US and Canada several times. Was I really there? Maybe it just needed a minute to sink in? But several minutes passed, nothing happened, and I resolved to continue hiking north on the road to the nearest town of Hope, British Columbia.
Trudging along in the midst of my despair that stemmed from a sudden loss of purpose, I unexpectedly heard something rumbling up the road behind me. I didn’t move. This was the first sign of civilization I had encountered in several days, and I was bound and determined to either get a ride or get run-over by the oncoming monstrosity. Although my determination faltered a bit after identifying the beast as a park service vehicle and realizing that federal employees weren’t allowed to offer rides, I nonetheless put on a prize winning performance of pitiful and won myself a ride inside the large green dump truck. Riley, the driver, was not only willing to overlook regulation, but he also shared the front cab as opposed to being jostled around in the back with steerage and garbage.
Riding ever deeper into Canada, Riley soon sensed my lack of direction, and as opposed to leaving me in Hope, offered to transport me all the way back to the US. Seemingly a good plan, I agreed. For me, it was a logistical solution as well as a free ride back into the States. For Riley it meant company on an otherwise lonely drive from a small boat dock named Hozemeen on the northeast shore of Ross Lake to the park headquarters at the southeast end. Hozemeen, which would otherwise be no more than 30 miles as the crow flies from the lake’s south shore, turns into a six-hour one way trip by car because the only access road to the small port comes in from rural Canada.
Overall I spent five hours in the truck with Riley. After my first official weigh station and commercial immigration inspection, it was decided that he would drop me off in the small Washington town known as Sedrow-Wooley. Sedrow was decided upon not only due to its close proximity to I-5 and access to Greyhound, Amtrak, and an airport shuttle, but also because Jason, a fellow co-worker of Riley’s had offered to let me stay at his house for free.
Like Riley, my new host Jason proved one of the most gracious individuals I could ever hope to meet, and despite his offer to let me stay at his house in Sedrow-Wooley as long as I wanted, I knew that I needed time, a computer, and a good friend to help me decide upon my next move. That’s why the next day I found a great last minute fare and an open seat on a flight down to Northern California where “Running Moon,” after 18 months and 1,000 miles now my “official” boyfriend (worth the wait), picked me up that evening.
From Running Moon’s, aka Steve’s, homebase of Napa, I was now able to set up command central, where I exhausted every resource available to decide if and when I could go back to Oregon and hike through the 60-mile section I had previously skipped due to wildfires. Coincidentally, the major fire in that region had been named the Puzzle Fire, and that’s how I now viewed this region – the missing puzzle piece to my otherwise complete thru-hike. Doing research, I found it fairly difficult to get an affirmative answer as to whether the wilderness section involved was still technically closed, but after two and a half days of phone calls and fretting, I booked a Thursday Greyhound ticket to Sisters, Oregon in order to attempt the trail irregardless of conditions. Despite everyone telling me I should be more than happy with the 2,600 miles I had accrued, I knew my heart and, moreover my type A, goal-setting, personality would not be satisfied unless I had tried my absolute hardest to complete, if not chronological then at least an unbroken thru-hike.
Thus leaving sunny California, I arrived 17 hrs later in the cool, brisk, Fall winds of Central Oregon. By the way, you know you really want something badly when you are willing to suffer through a 17 hour Greyhound ride to attain it. (I have almost as many stories from that lone bus ride as I do from the entire PCT!) But, thankfully, at the end of my long journey I was met by Sarah McDougall, a former C-ville resident and Women Build volunteer, who dutifully whisked me off first to the ranger station to confirm that the trail was still closed, and then to the PCT to hike through anyhow.
Whereas reaching the Canadian border somewhat caught me off guard, I was now thoroughly prepared to make these 60 miles the last and concluding chapter of my odyssey. After all, the setting just seemed right for an ending. The literary symbols were all in place: the fall colors and fallen leaves, the burned trees and smoldering logs, not to mention the dusting of snow which covered the trail above 6,000 ft. Yes, all signs suggested that the blaze of glory was now over, and that this season of my life had now come to an end. And oh, what a season it has been.
Coming out of the woods on Sunday to meet Sarah and her husband Chris, everything felt right and at peace. I don’t necessarily credit the revelation to the final 60 miles, although I can’t imagine having missed them (Mt. Jefferson is amazing), but rather to the time that has elapsed since reaching Canada. The past few days had heightened my sense of awareness and appreciation, they have revealed the blessing of the past four months and the memories which will always last, and they have helped me say goodbye to a world that holds so much majesty and possibility in order to return to a reality that shares just as much beauty and potential.
I used to think that a thru-hike was a completely egocentric and self-serving endeavor, but after having completed my journey and being left with an overwhelming desire to continually improve both my community and myself combined with a newfound courage to see it through . . . I smile and think to myself: perhaps thru-hiking isn’t so selfish after all.
So to all the readers and supporters, thanks so much for sharing in my journey and best of luck on your own. And if you’ll grant me one last indulgence, then I’d like to submit one final update within the next few days. I need to roll the credits if you will and thank some people who made this hike possible, and I’d also like to take a stab at the question, “why thru-hike?” It was asked long ago, and I have been putting it off until now, but I think that I am at a place where I might be ready to answer.
Until then, thanks again, and happy trails! jp
The Final Stretch · 598 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
In my younger years, when I attended Catholic school (yes, plaid jumper and all), all the students recited that prayer every afternoon before going home. Now that I am older and nearing the end of Washington State, once again I hold those words close to my heart and repeat them on my lips in an utter loss of what to do in order to finish the trail and, once again, return home.
I spoke these words of guidance this past section when I was forced to choose from several differing routes. The original PCT seemingly was not an option because of the flooding and landslides in 2003, and because it was officially closed. So my options were to take either the official re-route – which is well marked, but extremely brushy and not very scenic; the unofficial re-route—which is poorly marked and brushy, but extremely scenic—or the roadwalk which . . . well, trust me . . . roadwalks are always the worst option.
Wavering between those three options, I was surprised to learn from Scott Williamson that the original PCT was now passable, thus giving me a 4th and final option. If you’re not familiar with the PCT, then you probably haven’t heard of Scott Williamson, so let me fill you in. Scott is currently attempting to complete his 9th thru-hike on the PCT; he is the only person ever to yo-yo the trail (Mexico-to-Canada-to-Mexico) in one year, and he probably has more hiking talent and outdoor knowledge in his left pinky than I have in my entire body.
Considering those facts, I realized that Scott’s idea of “passable” might be different from my own. However, besides being an amazing hiker, Scott is also one of the nicest most down-to-earth individuals that I have ever met and I struggled to believe that Scott would verbally endorse a highly dangerous and potentially fatal route. So all things considered, I decided on option 4 and set out to hike the original, yet officially closed, PCT.
And, although obviously passable due to the existence of this update, my past 100 miles on the deserted and indecipherable PCT were the hardest, most trying, and most exciting miles I have ever hiked. I saw bears, coyote, elk, and eagles. I danced and waded my way over 6 river crossings where there had previously been bridges. I wandered unknowingly through large areas of devastation where the trail had been washed away, and bushwhacked for miles in places where the trail had been totally overgrown. I scrambled up rocks with all fours and slid down numerous slopes on my butt. I navigated under, over, and around more fallen trees than I care to recount. And when it was all said and done, I was beaming with pride, but running on empty . . . I have never been so exhausted in my entire life!
So when I exited the Glaver Peak Wilderness and came to the dirt road leading me to my final town stop and separating me from the final section, I had to choke back tears at the sight of the message board. There in big bold print was a sign saying they had closed the last section due to wildfires. Canada was closed. I’d hiked 2,500+ miles to get to Canada, a country I had never been to before, and now there was no way I could get there on the PCT.
Sitting at the trailhead bemoaning my fate and wondering what to do next, I was relieved to see the daily bus to Stehekin coming up the road. Surely Stehekin would hold the answers of what to do next. Following this ray of hope up to the front of the bus, I met Alton, the very friendly, very bearded bus driver, who then informed me that Stehekin was . . . closed. Yep, closed. (Seems to be a theme.) Come to find out there are fires threatening the town, and the one access road is now closed with a guarded barricade.
At this point, with no hope of post office, phone, or re-supply, things were looking pretty bleak. But thankfully Alton, sensing my anxiety assured me that the Ranch and Bakery were both outside of town and open, and everything else would work itself out and be okay.
At first, I wasn’t convinced, but after Alton took me to the Ranch where I could shower and eat, I felt a little better. Then when he took me to the local bakery, I not only had the best cinnamon roll ever, but also found my Post Office boxes that had been left there by another hiker who knew I was coming (YES!). After that, Alton took me to find a local forest ranger who sold me a map for $10 and suggested an alternate route (nice!). Following the good news, and with some spare time, Alton then took me to Rainbow Falls and the historic schoolhouse, before sneaking me into town that evening.
Yes, Alton snuck me (crouched down in the back of the bus) through the patrolled blockade and into town. Typically, he wouldn’t even be allowed through, but they needed his bus to transport firefighters to the Ranch because it was the only place where they could eat dinner. He agreed to help me sneak into town because by now we were very good friends, and I informed him that if I couldn’t get into town to call my mother and let her know I was alive, she would pretty much be in a state of hysteria for the next 5 days. He, having a mother, understood this concept and took me to the only phone available within a 30-mile radius.
One phone may seem pretty unrealistic, but Stehekin prides itself on being “rustic”, meaning no phones, no televisions, no computers, and no contact with the outside world. I am soooo over “rustic.” In fact, with Stehekin sandwiched in between the North Cascades and Lake Chelan, if you’re not hiking in, then you either have to take a boat or waterplane to get there, because there are no—I repeat NO—access roads and no other way into town. How cool is that? Yes, after a brief and reassuring phone call with my mother, Alton and I watched the flames grow above the few summer cottages and general store that make up Stehekin and, in turn, saw the multiple hoses and helicopters dipping into Lake Chelan in an attempt to save the town. We also befriended many a firefighter who were all eager to be taken to the Ranch for dinner. Riding back out of town with my new friends, I decided that if all of my other careers fail, then a “wildfire parachute jumper” might be next on the list.
So it’s now Monday morning September 11th and in a few hours my friend Alton (one thing I will say about Stehekin is that it has GREAT public transportation) will return to the Ranch and, once again, whisk me away to the trailhead where I will be able to resume my walk to Canada. I’ll be able to hike about 10 miles on the PCT before I am forced off on alternate trails to the west, where I am uncertain of mileage and water sources and many other details that might otherwise prove helpful. But what I do know is that I’m still headed north and everyday I’m a little closer to Canada. And now, appropriately enough, I am no longer headed to Manning Park as my final destination, but instead to a little town 40 miles inside of British Columbia called Hope. How good is that?
The odds of this letter making it out of town are questionable to say the least. But I have great faith that we will both make it to our final destinations.
Until then, all my best and serenity, wisdom, and courage to all,
jp
Dad's Visit · 602 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
When I told my family of my plans to hike the PCT, their reactions were varied to say the least. Mom, never being the one to hold back, immediately dictated that I find alternate summer plans. My eldest brother tried to insist that I take a satellite phone and left me with the parting words, “don’t die.” My other older brother, being an English teacher, received the news with one of those drawn out sounds like a “humph,” “hmmm,” or “uh-huh?” Which in his mind I am sure led to other poignant and elaborate thoughts . . . but for the life of me I can’t figure out what they are. And then there’s Dad . . . . When Dad heard I was doing the PCT, he immediately went out and bought every PCT trail map he could find to plaster over his walls and track my progress; he told all his friends what I was doing and how proud he was of me, and he also started making plans to come see me during my hike so that he could experience the PCT as well.
Well, with fishing season coming to a close and things winding down at the beach, my father finally flew out to see me this past week. His timing was impeccable as he arrived the day after I had been detoured out of the 60-mile Cascade Crest Fire Complex. With his help I was promptly returned to the nearest section of open trail and not forced to spend a day and a half trying to hitch around the section on deserted gravel roads. And although Dad wasn’t exactly willing to hop on the trail with a thru-hiker and push out 25-mile days, he was primed and ready to get his rental car as close as he could to a later point of egress. This way, by taking my pack and leaving me with a day sack, he allowed me to complete my daily mileage before mid-afternoon. And then, after picking me up, he would whisk me away to dinner and a hotel every evening! Quite the treatment!
And after four days, I’m totally spoiled. All my hiker friends tell me I’m going soft. However, my calluses, aches, and pains remind me that soft is still a long way off. But the four days of luxury, creature comforts, and hanging out with Dad have gotten me geared up and fairly well rested for my third and final state—less than a mile away. Yes, after finishing this update, Dad will leave to return home, and I will journey out from Cascade Locks, OR across a bridge and into Washington state. The bridge I will hike over is actually called “The Bridge of the Gods,” most find it appropriate for those who have made it this far into the journey. I still find it as a bit of an overstatement, but could possibly justify the 2,100 + mile marker being named “The Bridge of the Titans, or Demi-gods, or possibly, the Damned.”
The latter I fear might be the most appropriate seeing as how I have heard nothing but horror stories of Washington’s cold, wet Septembers. (Speaking of horror story, did I mention that Dad and I stayed at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, which was the same hotel used in the movie, “The Shining.” Freaky, huh?) In spite of my fear and inhibitions, however, I’ve resolved to effectively continue placing one foot in front of the other until my goal is attained, and I am at the Canadian Border. After all, Dad’s presence has reminded me that the three states along my trek are not that dissimilar to a family with 3 children. California, the first child, received the most time and attention and will also have twice as many photos as the other states. Oregon, the middle child, often complains of being overlooked due to the obstacles presented by his neighboring parties. Yet, when appreciated for his subtle distinctiveness, always becomes a favorite. And then there’s Washington, the third and last child, always the hardest to deal with, but often the hardest to let go of as well.
I think I’m gonna like this state.
Until next time, jp
Oh, and a special thanks to Dad, who is always supportive and proud of me no matter what I do!
Ins and Outs · 609 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
Well after coming 300 miles and over half-way through the state of Oregon, I guess you could say I’ve learned the ins and outs of this state. And so to share them with you, I’ve decided to make a list of what’s “in” and “out” in Oregon.
“Out” – gone are the voluptuous curves and stunning views of California. “In” – a more gentle, yet no less scenic “flat and pretty” landscape in Oregon (obviously I relate more to Oregon).
“Out” – low mileage days. It’s no longer possible to impress your friends with an occasional 30-mile day. If you want to be “in”, then it’s all about trying a 40.
“In” – hikers who still believe in personal hygiene. For all those hikers who wonder why I always get hitches to town faster than they do, it’s because I still believe in soap, a razor, and at least one shower a week.
“In” – the faded look. The grunge look is all the rage and there are extra points awarded for holes in clothing, shoes, or gear.
“Out” – as in passing out is definitely not cool. Trying to adhere to the “in” shower clause, I was waiting in line at Crater Lake’s gift shop trying to obtain quarters for the coin-operated showers and laundry, and the next thing I know I was laying in a man’s arms looking up at a half dozen faces hovered around me. (In retrospect, I learned that no matter how cool showers are, they are not to be prioritized above the replenishment of fluids and calories after a 38-mile day.)
“In” – black eyes. While passing out is never good, bonus points are awarded to those who manage to come out of it with bruising and a small facial scar above his/her eyebrows. The best part about it is that you look extremely tough for the next week but have no recollection or immediate pain from the injury incurred.
“Out” – park rangers who have no clue what they are doing. The protocol park ranger who came to help me after my fall delayed my shower and dinner for another hour all to place a huge adhesive bandage over my eye to cover a 1 centimeter wound and then deduce my dizziness had been due to elevation (even though I was at one of the lowest elevations I had been at in the past two months). Oh, and to top it all off, he then asked me what those things in Gatorade were called. “Um . . . electrolytes?” “Yeah, drink more of those.” Thanks for the help.
“In” – care packages and mail along the trail. Sally and my Aunt Vee are definitely leading the pack on this one. Aunt Vee for her organic chocolate bars and Sally for the silver sparkle nail polish that she stole from her 4 yr old sister Annie Lou. Nail polish, by the way, is very “in” because it manages to mask the black dirt that shows up underneath your nails every evening.
“In” – wildfires. Not so much fashionably in, just in Oregon, in the wilderness, in the trail, and IN my way.
“Out” – coming within 10 miles of the 2,000-mile mark only to have to egress to the nearest town on a 15-mile stretch of closed highway because there is a 5,000 acre wildfire staring you in the face.
“In” – seeing the same fire you were hiking near that morning on the CNN national news that evening.
“Out” – having to jump ahead 60 miles on the trail.
“In” – not dying.
Okay, obviously, some people grasp passing trends better than others, so to sum it all up . . .
I still love Oregon, love the trail. I may be dirty and hungry, but I’m fighting the fight trying to stay clean and fed and refusing to wave the white flag. I passed out, but it was more embarrassing than anything else and I’ve been fine since. A 5,000-acre fire is on the trail in the Mt. Washington wilderness, and a 2,000-acre fire on the trail in the Jefferson Wilderness. (Needless to say, these fires probably wouldn’t be eating up the trails if the parks were named after the fifth (and my favorite) president – James Monroe). So I’m skipping ahead 60 miles and hopefully somehow making my way back here after I finish to play “clean-up” with the section I’m missing—if there’s anything left of it.
That’s it for now. All the best, jp
Living in the Now · 613 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
My first two days in Washington State were ideal, highs in the upper 70s and lows in the 40s at night. It was extremely pleasant and gave me great hope for my final stretch.
Then my third day I climbed 6,000 ft up the slopes of Mt. Adams, set up camp, and awoke the next morning to a cold, damp fog. I set out to hike in the fog and soon found that, although it hadn’t rained a single drop, both my clothes and my gear were saturated with water. It was like I was hiking through a rain cloud. However, I consoled myself that, as cold as it was, at least it wasn’t snowing. Or, rather, wasn’t snowing yet. For as the day passed by the winds continued to blow, the fog grew, and the temperatures dropped . . . oh, and the trail continued to gain elevation.
I had made it to the Goat Rocks Wilderness by then, where, had I read the guidebook or paid attention to the name, I might have expected a treat. Having ignored both, however, I was surprised to round a turn and spot several white mountain goats ahead of me on the trail—a nice treat on an otherwise gloomy day. And whereas I was struggling with the wind and cold and wet rocks, the goats seemed quite at ease. I was actually jealous when, after spotting me, they sprinted off to a distant meadow with astonishing agility and speed.
With the goats motivating me to continue forward, I resumed my climb up to a mountain pass and the beginning of an exposed ridge walk. Within a few yards of the pass I looked up to see another hiker cross the ridge and descend my way. He was a southbound thru-hiker and, in general, looked the part except for the fact that his customary beard was temporarily dreaded up with icicles. This guy literally had frozen snot and facial hair clinging to his face!
His experience and appearance suggested that my hiking forward might prove somewhat treacherous, but he had gotten lost (which I didn’t plan on doing) and sported a huge beard (which thankfully lacking, meant I didn’t have to worry about the face-cicles). With the billy goats as my motivation, I added one more layer of super light, yet amazingly effective clothing, and headed into the abyss.
I say abyss because after moving out from behind my sheltering boulder over to the other side of the mountain, I was enveloped by a choking fog and biting wind that blinded me with its accompanying sleet. I could see the trail directly beneath my feet and that was it. (Once again, had I read my guidebook that morning, I probably would have realized that heading into a section entitled “the knife’s edge” in a winter storm might not be advisable. But truthfully, as of late, I have had major problems with the official guidebook. It is an opinionated source written by a complete pessimist with an obvious vendetta against much of the trail, thus I find it best referenced on a need-to-know basis.)
Currently, all I needed to know was how to get down out of the storm. Actually by being forced to focus on solely the trail tread right beneath my feet, I found it rather easy to stay on course. The only thing I was truly worried about was that the wind, as strong as it was, would knock me over causing me to either lose the trail or slide down one of the ridges. But with thoughts of the billy goats, a heavy reliance on my trekking poles, and (I’m sure) at least one or two angels, I made it through the two miles of snow and sleet on the exposed ridge and down to broader ground.
Fortunately, by the time I stopped that evening, I had made my way down to below 5,000 ft where the precipitation fell as heavy rain. However, as soon as I breached 6,000 ft the next day it changed back into snow! And whereas most of it didn’t stick because the ground had been so warm, it was nonetheless 36 hours straight of what The Weather Channel refers to as a wintry mix . . . (here’s the catch) in AUGUST! I’m in southern Washington in a summer month and getting snowed on? Unacceptable!!
Needless to say, this little incident is making me a bit leery of being in the Northern Cascades in mid-September. Thankfully, however, after two days of improved temps, I have officially thawed out and am now within 250 miles of the Canadian Border.
It feels rewarding yet surprisingly bittersweet to be so close to the end. It’s easy at this point to think about home and work and friends and family. Yet not wanting to miss out on fully embracing my final weeks, I recall my lesson from the snow storm and instead of focusing on the unknown before me, I simply keep my gaze on the present path and continue to trust and enjoy what I know to be there.
Until next time, jp
A Stealthy Hike · 616 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
There are lyrics in the song “Hotel California” that mention being able to check-in to California, but never being able to leave. Well, after 2 1/2 months of hiking in California, those lyrics have never felt so true. But finally, finally, I am in Oregon! And I made it here without having to skip any miles!
Yes, after much fretting and deliberation in Etna, I decided that I would risk the federal offense, a $5,000 fine and imprisonment, to hike through the “closed” Marble Mountain Wilderness. Although scary signs and barriers had been placed at the park’s entrance, word on the trail was that the closure was not being enforced and that Rangers were turning a blind eye to thru-hikers. Still, it didn’t make the decision easy. A few more years of maturity on my side and I probably would have skipped the section, but the invincibility and foolishness of youth saw me through the perils of civil disobedience and without ramification.
I made it through the entire wilderness without ever seeing a Ranger, partly because they were all off tending to wildfires and partly because I bushwhacked a mile long semi-circle around the sole Ranger station that the trail passed. More apparent, however, were the constant helicopters that flew overhead, and while they were probably far more interested in spotting fires than thru-hikers, it didn’t stop me from taking cover under a tree every time I heard their imposing presence above.
I did see three fires while I was in the wilderness, but thankfully they were all on distant ridges. Instead, the more threatening obstacle came in the form of two bears that were planted directly on the trail. I was leery of the creatures due to the fact that animals tend to become more aggressive when wildfires are in the area. But both bears seemed perfectly content insomuch that the fire hadn’t destroyed their favorite berry patch, and they were more than happy to vacate the trail as soon as I was in range.
Yes, making it through the wilderness was both an adventure and a blessing. I really can’t imagine making it to the Canadian border and then somehow trying to figure out the logistics of getting back to the Marbles in Seiad Valley, California, a community that precociously boasts a population of 350.
No, it’s simply onward and upward from here. Oregon and Washington together claim 960 of the trail’s 2,663 miles, and I’m already 26 miles in. That’s only 934 more miles to go. And I only hope that they can be as wonderful as the 1,700 miles I experienced in California.
Until the next time. All the best! jp
Definitely not boring . . . · 624 days ago by Jennifer Pharr
Challenges . . . that’s what long distance hiking is all about.
After surviving triple digit temperatures and a lack of water in the desert, then miraculously making it through the Sierras without postholing to my death or being swept away by a turbulent river, I was eager to see what particular perils awaited me in Northern California.
Well, in case I missed the 30-mile waterless stretches of Southern California . . . they’re back along with the rattlesnakes. And those bears and lightning storms from the Sierras? Still here. Oh, and let’s not forget the biggest obstacle of all. Yep, that’s right . . .
Canada is still over a 1,000 miles away. But hey, if there weren’t any challenges then things would be boring right? Well, let me tell you—things have been anything but boring!
Like the night I was camping with some friends and suddenly heard something making lots of noise and rubbing against my tent. I semi-consciously remember shushing it away and hoping it would leave. Well, it left my tent alright . . . but unfortunately, being a bear, it went right over to my friend’s tent and slashed through the tent wall to snack on some leftover food he had stored in his pack. That definitely wasn’t boring.
Or how about the day that after skirting around thunder and lightning storms I awoke the next morning to see the surrounding mountain tops covered in white. In just a few miles I discovered that the surrounding white was actually hail from the night before, and even in warm temps I found myself walking over two to three inches of accumulated hail for much of the morning.
How about when I got stung by four bees while trying to bushwhack down to a watersource? Did I mention I’m allergic? Fortunately, two of the reactions were really rather mild and none of them effected my breathing or caused anaphylactic shock, thus avoiding having to use an epipen. But the one on my butt did prevent me from sitting comfortably for the next few days, and the one on my ankle caused swelling, puss, bleeding and yes cankles (for those of you less informed, those would be fat rolls in my ankle).
And then there was the rattlesnake that got too close when I tried to take its picture, and the thirty-mile section of totally exposed
ridgeline that lacked water and boasted 104 degree temps.
Oh, and what about my first geyser, or boiling lake, and we can’t forget the burping mud. Geothermal activity definitely isn’t boring!
Or what about the amazing views of still-snow-covered Mt. Lassen and Mt. Shasta? Nope, not boring.
And the least boring of all is the fact that although I’ve come 1,606 miles, I still have over 1,000 to go. (That’s right, I’m still in CA. This is definitely one heck of a long state). Furthermore, as if us hikers weren’t stressing out enough about the remaining mileage . . . we are now all facing a huge dilemma of whether to skip the next section or to stealth hike through it. Yes, that’s right. The Marble Mountains are closed. Closed to day, over-night, and, yes, even PCT hikers. It seems those pesky and prevalent wildfires have caused them to shut down the entire wilderness area. I guess you could say we’ve all lost our Marbles. Whereas in most areas forest fires are put out or contained, in a wilderness area they are permitted to burn and run their natural course. Ahh, in the words of Usher, “let it burn, let it burn, let it burn.”
But it can’t burn!!! We still have to hike through. After working on this unforgiving state for two and a half months and finally getting
within three days of the Oregon border, you’re telling me I’m at a standstill? What is this?
After much deliberation it seems there are only two options: A) The fires seem to be pretty much to the west of the trail, so I could technically hike through the closed area . . . risking federal punishment, a $5000 fine, and six months of prison time (not to mention the actual fires and restless animals), or B) skip ahead and finish the state of CA knowing that despite all my efforts and hardwork, there are still 50 miles that I can’t claim and continue on a hike that is sadly no longer an unbroken walk from Mexico. How frustrating would that be? The only analogy I can come up with is that it would be like kissing your sister, although I have never really understood that statement, and I definitely don’t think it could ever apply to me, but still it seems the only thing that will fit.
So yes, here I am sitting in Etna eating a pint of chocolate ice cream and trying to decide what to do. I really can’t tell you where my road will lead or which path I will choose. But I can tell you this. Either way, once the decision is made, it definitely won’t be boring!
As always… all my best, jp
If you’re interested you should check out my bio on the Balance Bar Grants website as well. Just go to www.balancebar.com and while you’re there, apply for the next round of Balance Bar Grants. That’s right, whether it’s yoga, basketball, skateboarding, whatever else your passion may be. Being chosen for a balance bar grant is a great way to fulfill your dreams. Plus I think it’d be cool if one of my friends got chosen for the next grant period!!!
Alright, that’s really it until next time. jp