Post 6: Desert Dash

(Editor’s Note: Hello all, what a delay! I apologize for not writing this over two years ago. I found the writing difficult to accomplish while on trail when I was already behind schedule. I acknowledge this was not fair to everyone who wanted to keep up to date on my adventure. A longer diatribe, excuses, and my feelings post-hike will be at the end of this blog, as well as an important update. Again, thanks for your patience and enjoy!)

Day 29

Today was the day that we were going to conquer Mt. Baden Powell. Pierre, Ali, and I agreed upon a proper alpine start in order to take advantage of the snow that had hardened overnight. Waking up at 3am, I slurped down a hefty breakfast of five instant oatmeal packets. By 4, we were headed straight up the mountain. There was only a handful of miles to cover, but a few thousand feet of elevation stood in our way. The actual trail featured dozens of switchbacks, but thanks to the snow we were able to go directly up the mountainside. Illuminated by moonlight and our headlamps, we stairmastered our way up for 2.5 hours. As we approached the top, the sun began to peek over the horizon behind us. Thankfully we were able to make it to the peak just a few minutes after sunrise. Our luck continued, as although the forecast predicted a rare cloudy day, they had cleared briefly while we took our obligatory photos at the top. Mt. Baden Powell would be the highest point on this leg of the trip at 9,407’! As far as I can remember, this would also be the tallest point I’ve ever been to in my life.

The weather did not cooperate much longer. Strong gusts of wind began to pick up once we began our long descent which seemingly caused the clouds to cover up the sun as well. Following the ridgeline for the next few miles, we walked alongside enormous cornices formed by the relentless wind. It was a total relief to finally go downhill - we could slide a bit (with caution of course) down the undulating snowdrifts. Curiously, Ali spotted fresh tracks on the trail about an hour after our summit; puzzling considering how far up we were and how few people were on the trail in the same area.

Our questions were answered not soon thereafter as we could see three fellow hikers in the distance. Pierre and Ali recognized them as the other members of the group they were hiking with previously. Charlie and Lily were from Bristol and Donaat was from Belgium. The early start we had that morning was apparently enough to catch up to them. I soon found myself as the only American amidst a group of foreigners again! Only a few minutes after convening with the rest of the group, we were presented with an opportunity to glissade down the side of an enormous hill that was around 200 feet tall. Charlie chucked his pack down the hill and followed right after it, using his ice axe as a brake and rudder. Seeing him make it look easy, I threw myself down the hill as well, except I made the crucial mistake of not taking off my pack. I picked up an uncomfortable amount of speed, leading me to stick my ice axe in the ground. Slowing down too fast, I flipped over on my stomach and began careening down the hillside uncontrollably. My Ice axe had fallen out of my hand and was dangling behind me by its leash. I had to quickly grab it and resume braking before I caught too much speed or before I ran into a tree. Luckily I was able to do so and stopped about halfway down the hill. All of my water bottles had flown out and were tumbling down the hill, along with my phone which was also unsecured. Luckily Charlie was able to catch all of my belongings that tumbled down the hill. I resumed by glissade, this time with a bit more caution and control. That was definitely the most unsafe I had felt the entire leg of the trip!

Thankfully the remainder of the descent was not as dramatic. The six of us aimed for a campground that was in a few miles, reportedly with a picnic bench and a flush toilet - luxuries on trail. However, they were not to be found as the snow had buried any trace of a campground. Dejected, we pushed on in hopes of finding a better lunch spot. The trail precariously paralleled above the Angel’s Crest Highway, so we made the collective decision to slide down the hill to hike the mostly snow-free road. After just a few minutes, we were greeted with an impromptu waterfall and an abandoned highway rest stop featuring all of the amenities we had missed earlier in addition to a breathtaking view!

A few groups of SOBO hikers passed us by as we ate, telling tales of a brutal week-long road walk of death to the next town. Keeping the tip in mind, we elected to continue along the road as opposed to the trail, which crisscrossed the highway and was covered by unbroken snow. Additionally, there was something about the trail being closed for a species of endangered frog, making our choice a bit easier. We did question the validity of this closure, as the several feet of snow could not have been all that great for frog survival. Walking along the car free road felt quite post-apocalyptic in the most fun way possible.

I had a great time talking to my new hiking group, learning of their trials and tribulations that they experienced out on the trail. Since they were a few days ahead of the initial group I was in, this new group managed to be at the top of a mountain whenever a storm rolled in whereas my group had been lucky to take refuge for each storm.

As the day wound on Pierre, Ali, and I began to grow tired since we had woken up at 3 and trudged through snow all day. Charlie and Lily had a friend from the UK that was visiting LA on a business trip, and we’re supposed to meet him the next day at a particular road crossing. So just as quickly as the group had reformed, it had to be broken up again as they pushed on. We said our goodbyes as they left to walk for a few more hours alongside the empty highway. The rest of us set up camp right in the middle of the road.

Day 30

Doing math in my tent the previous night, the daily mileage I had to maintain got to me. Pierre, Ali, and Donaat were taking a while to pack up in the morning, so I made the decision to go on ahead without them.

Hiking alone for the first time since my first day was actually refreshing! I was able to put on my big headphones and blast out a few miles. The highway remained closed even until it reconvened with the trail.

At around noon, I was stopping for lunch when I saw two familiar figures among the bushes. Somehow I had managed to catch up to Charlie and Lily! They were equally as surprised to see me. Since the highway continued to be closed, they had to push on to the next highway crossing in order to meet their friend, a meager 23 miles ahead. Eager to put in some quality miles, I went along with them.

Thankfully the snow subsided not soon after the trail diverged from the highway. Familiar desert terrain and flora were a sight for sore eyes. But as always, the environment was ever changing down here in Southern California - as soon as we created a hill, more snow and unpleasant weather greeted us. Fantasizing about the last time we would have to step foot in snow, we trudged along through knee-deep snow for what seemed like most of the day. When we finally crested over a hill that seemed like the last, there was another white one just behind it.

The slog continued into the night when we met Charlie and Lily’s friend Dom, who was a photographer for the BBC. Parked at a nondescript parking lot atop a canyon pass, my friends were able to meet their friend. We were quite peckish, so they inquired to see if Dom was feeling up to drive into town to get some hot food. They were polite enough to invite me along to go to an all-you-can-eat buffet in Palmdale.

The sterile and desolate parking lot felt uncomfortable to gaze upon after being among trees for so long. Embarrassment washed over me as I thought of what my European friends must be thinking of the urban hellscape we found ourselves in. I found no escape within the buffet, with its unadorned walls holding the fluorescent light in an impressively unflattering appearance. That being said, my mood lifted immediately at the sight of mediocre food and the premise that I could eat as much as I could. We stuffed ourselves with low grade sushi and nondescript fried food until we were the last ones in the restaurant.

Absolutely stuffed, Dom drove us back and he joined us at camp that night, which happened to be right next to the parking lot. He would be joining us the next day for a few miles!

Day 31

With our stomachs full and no snow in sight, the day ahead of us was looking optimistic. We were treated to an impromptu car show as we set off, seeing as the canyon road was perfect for cruising in a fancy car.

Our hike quickly became slow going as we encountered blowdown after blowdown, with patches of slushy snow between them. Dom really picked a nasty section to hike with us! At lunchtime he bid us farewell since he had to return to his car. He would be joining us in a few days when we reached the next campsite accessible by car.

Our pace continued to be impaired by the unrelenting blowdowns and snow. Lacking trail maintenance continued as now the path became insured by thick thorny thickets every hundred feet or so. Once again we dreamed of the moment where we would encounter our last patch of snow.

After a few final hills buried in thicket, our dreams came true as the landscape opened before us, obstacle-free! We descended above the clouds to a ranger station set upon a saddle between mountains.

A group of SOBOs slid into camp not soon after us and we had a great time swapping tales of what was to come. They were particularly curious about the snowy section ahead of them, seeing as they had yet to encounter snow. It dawned upon Charlie, Lily, and I that they had a rough few weeks ahead of them. Heading NOBO, we had a nice warmup before we encountered any serious snow. Additionally the pacing of our snow encounters ended up allowing for brief snow-free respites between the sections of the trail that were blanketed. These guys were headed into Mt. Baden-Powell right off the bat! We also had a bit of a chuckle as we were eating dinner; having descended to a lower elevation, we found the night to be quite warm donning shorts and t-shirt. However this group were not used to the cold and were shivering while wearing all of their layers. Oh they had no idea what was ahead of them!

Day 32

The terrain ahead of us looked promising, namely snow free. We caught the sunrise as we made our drop into the desert valley that held the small town of Acton. The bloom was in full swing and was a breath of fresh air from the terrain we had just come from.

After a short hour we reached the campground/RV park that Dom had stayed at for the night. We indulged in a few pints of ice cream at the little store on site before we took a short drive to the nearby town for a resupply.

Upon returning to the campground fully restocked for our next leg, Dom bid us farewell as he had to head off to do actual business stuff. I was extremely thankful that a stranger would welcome me during their limited time with their friends abroad.

We loitered a bit longer at the campground while we washed our clothes in the bathroom sink and also washed ourselves for the first time since Wrightwood. This time, Donaat managed to catch up with us! Ali and Pierre were still tuckered out from our big day so they were taking their time.

The four of us set off in the late afternoon at a leisurely pace - the town of Agua Dulce was only 10 miles ahead but we did not want to pay for a hotel in town. Instead we elected to camp out on the grassy knoll that separated the two towns.

Day 33

What an amazing campsite! We were treated to both an incredible sunrise and sunset. The short stretch of trail to Agua Dulce was fairly interesting - just after crossing under a busy highway, we trekked through an area known as Vasquez Rocks. Unique rock formations lined the side of a shallow canyon. We learned from some tourists that scenes from old westerns and episodes of Star Trek were filmed here. Further on we took a small break for tea amongst a field of small yellow wildflowers.

After a pleasant break with tea and a chance encounter with two domesticated pigs, we made our way into town. Consisting of only a handful of establishments, we decided upon the local pizza parlor as our choice of a town meal. Each of us ordered a large pizza and each of us ate the whole thing. Hiker hunger was real and in full force.

The four of us waddled over to the far side of town to Serenity’s Oasis, a new hiker haven in Agua Dulce. Here a hiker could set up their tent, take an outdoor shower, use a flush toilet, and shop basic hiker food at an impromptu store. The whole place was a bit of a junkyard, but the kind owners only asked for a modest donation of $5 per night. The other three paid their way and set up their tents. They would be waiting for Pierre and Ali to arrive the next day. Since I was in a time crunch to catch my train, I said goodbye to my friends and I went on my way. I had also coordinated with my friend Jonny to meet me in the next town of Tehachapi, and the timing worked out that I needed to put on a hustle to catch him on the next weekend.

Temperatures had risen by the early afternoon and to compound the heat, a five mile road walk stood in front of me until the trail resumed. Once again I found myself alone, this time I was more certain it would remain this way for atleast a few days.

A large, several mile long climb out of the desert valley stood in my way and provided a great distraction to my impending feeling of loneliness. Over the crest of the hill, more verdant rolling hills greeted me. I hiked for just a few more miles before I broke for camp just before the trail sloped into the valley. Not a single sound interrupted the stillness of my campsite and what seemed like the whole valley. Occasionally a soft breeze would blow through the brush, but that was the only noise to intrude upon my isolation.

Days 34 (editor’s note: resuming writing in 2025)

I remember the following days being particularly difficult for several reasons: that morning marked my first time camping alone on the trail. I do not recall much about this day; likely I was deep in thought as I hiked solo for the first time. Camp that night was across the river from a quest country road that ran through the valley. Some sobo flip-floppers had made camp as I came down the hill and they let me join them. They made the grave mistake of cowboy camping near a river: all that remained of them in the morning were their footprints in the wet and sandy embankment.

Day 35

Waking up cold and wet is a misery I would not wish upon even my mortal enemy. Thanking myself from yesterday for setting up my rain fly, I set off up a steep climb out of the canyon where I had a brief conversation with a group heading down. They warned of a significant burn zone ahead.

Being surrounded by reminders of death and wholesale destruction of nature was mentally straining. Also it was hot! The lack of greenery definitely contributed to an increase of temperature. There were wicked winds that blew up from the valley, bringing the scorching air with it. However, the most grim element of these burn zones was the infestation of poodle-dog bush. The fun stops with its seemingly silly name: this bush is one of the first species of plant to move in after a fire had ravaged a region like the one I was hiking through. Not only did it look evil, if you even so managed a light brush with this plant, you would be met with blisters and rashes akin to that of poison oak, except that these would develop hours to days after coming in contact with the bush. The blisters last for several weeks, which is when they are likely to become infected. On the trail where sanitation comes at a premium, poodle-dog bush is one of the worst things to encounter. And they are literally everywhere, fields of them at a time.

At this time I began to develop shin splints; one of the worst physical maladies that I have ever experienced in my life. The trail was not easy at this point. Mile 500 was coming up and I was looking forward to seeing a marker of my progress. I never saw it. Missed it. I really thought that it would be a big one but it never came.

My heart sank as I looked at the elevation profile for the last section before I reached the next town: a truly massive descent into one of the arms of the Mojave Desert. For those who don’t know, shin splints result from an overuse of your front muscle that runs along the shin bone, a symptom of overuse from increasing my mileage too quickly. In my hubris thinking I could make my train deadline I pushed my body too hard too fast. The funny thing is that shin splints only make your shin muscles scream out in pain when you are stepping downhill. When one goes up an incline, the pain vanishes.

Making it to camp that night made me feel a relief that I am not sure was matched until that point. The only water source for miles was at this camp (down a steep embankment a half mile from camp), which is why I pushed myself so hard under bleak conditions. Compounding my pain with dehydration was not something I wanted to subject myself to.

Flip-floppers from the north began to filter in, exclaiming of their results in the race they had up the mountain that I would have to crawl down in the morning. My spirits were lifted as we began talking about our experiences of the trail and giving advice for what was to come. A hiker named Tumbleweed was amongst the group, and I learned she was also from Seattle.

Day 36

“Hikertown” in the middle of this arm of the Mojave Desert, could be seen as the morning sun swept through the valley. A beautiful sight, but I was distracted by immense pain as I took one step at a time down the hillside. Luck was on my side, as it seemed as though I had finally entered the prophesized superbloom: flowers of orange, yellow, blue, and white saturated the hills. The wind at my back and encouraging words of more flip-floppers assisted me tremendously to make it to civilization.

Said civilization was hardly that; “Hikertown” was an eerie yet tacky collection of wild-west themed shacks by the side of a dusty desert road. The high winds had picked up over the past days and crescendoed as I pushed open the gate. Not a soul could be seen in the midday sun. I knocked on the office door and was greeted by a woman who explained the rates in broken english. My shins told me that I deserved a “nearo”, so I caved and got a shack and a shower token for the night, essentially admitting defeat to any plans to make it to Kennedy Meadows and back to Bakersfield in time. Howling wind and the agonizing pain from my shins made for an unrestful night.

Day 37

Many hikers attempt the upcoming section - the viaduct - in the middle of the night due to the stretch being flat and through true desert terrain. Usually too hot to hike in the day, I was blessed with milder temperatures and wind gusts of over 30 mph. My shins were also still in pain but I decided to set off into the desert regardless.

Initially paralleling an engorged viaduct headed straight to LA, the trail then turns sharply towards the imposing mountains to the north. Flat miles equaled a better time for my aching shins, although the range in the distance loomed menacingly. Fields of small yellow wildflowers swaying in unison in the desert wind helped distract me from the monotony of the sand. Soon I began to enter an endless sea of wind turbines - this must have been the source of the wind! Approaching the foothills of the mountains meant a gradual change in grade, my shins thankful. The sunset illuminated the rolling fields of whirring turbines amidst wildflowers of all the colors of the rainbow. Camp that night was next to the only water source for the entire section between roads, a gushing stream erupting from a mountain valley. Plunging my legs into the icy tributary provided an amazing relief to my pain and allowed me to sleep soundly. However, not everything was going my way as I seemed to have left my spoon at Hikertown, cathartically forcing me to eat my ramen dinner with my hands.

Day 38

Cold morning dew clung to the desert wildflowers as I slept in, the mountains delaying the sunrise. I could tell my shins still had not recovered as I began my trek upwards. My heart sank as I reached the top of the climb - before me stood a long winding, gradual descent til the next road crossing. The following hours were some of the most excruciating in my entire life. Hobbling from shade to shade, I loathed my decision to push my miles and questioned why I was doing this whole thing in the first place. Weeping lightly, I eventually made it to the road crossing and hitchhiked into the nearby town of Tehachapi. After loitering in the air-conditioned library for several hours, I met my friend Jonny for an Italian dinner. Unknowingly the only “fancy” restaurant in town, we were uncomfortably seated at the only table in the middle of the room. Catching the stray looks of the locals, we probably looked like an odd pair on display. That being said, seeing a friendly face out here in the middle-of-nowhere California raised my spirits. After we said our goodbyes, I treated myself to a night at the local Holiday Inn.

Day 39

A hot shower, crisp bed sheets, and the promise of a continental breakfast allowed me to have a great night’s sleep. Despite my shins still not recovered, I ventured out into the car-centric hell that is Tehachapi, CA to complete errands regardless. I managed to hit all of the usual spots including Wal-Mart, Dollar Tree, and the post office before retreating in mild pain to my hotel room. Donaat messaged me that night saying that he, Charlie and Lily had arrived in town. We ate dinner at a surprisingly good Thai restaurant and made a plan to hike a small section between road crossings the next day. The trail angel they were staying with graciously offered to drive us to the start and to meet us at the end of the 8 mile section.

Day 40

Still not at 100%, the four of us strolled through the rolling hills flush with patches of purple wildflowers and even more wind turbines. A long and winding descent down to interstate 58 felt a bit better on my shins, but I still had to take it slow. Their trail angel graciously allowed me to also stay for free at their home in the suburbs just outside of town.

Day 41

The following day the four of us took off to tackle the final segment of the trail before I had to bid them farewell, as the next road crossing was Walker Pass. After several days of rest, my shins finally had reached a point that felt manageable though I still took my steps carefully and kept my pace in check. The long hot climb out from the valley that the interstate crept through was promising, as at the top we were met with cooler temperatures thanks to some tree cover. Camp that night was the first water that we encountered, a meager trickle from a PVC pipe.

Day 42

Our day started out hot and exposed but was made easier by a collection of fresh snowmelt streams running through the parched and recently burned forest. However this was a brief respite as after we broke for lunch, we were met with true desert: exposed and sandy with little to no vegetation to provide any shade. Joshua trees tempted us with some shade, but often the ground beneath them was prickly and uncomfortable. Yet despite the seemingly uncomfortable nature of the area, it was stunning - I had never been in an area like this before in my life. Our camp featured a luxury feature: a table with seats!

Day 43

The following day was more of the same: exposed sandy hillsides for miles. However we were able to catch the first glimpses of the Sierra in the distance. Icy mountains beckoned to me, but I knew that I sadly had to take my exit the following day. My European friends began to talk about their Sierra plans, further making my leave even more bittersweet. I did not envy them, as the snow levels remained where they were just a month ago with no sign of melting anytime soon. We spent the night in a little cabin next to a little stream, the perfect way to spend the evening with my friends for the last time.

Day 44

A short day. Not soon after we set off in the morning, we began our final descent to Walker Pass. I made a phone call to the Kern County Transit authority to make sure that the bus that went over the pass would stop and pick me up. That being said, it would come at 3pm and it was only 10:30am by the time we made it to the pass. My friends took a brief break with me before the trail angel they phoned on the way down came and scooped them up.

A few moments were spent missing them before I came up with the idea to hitchhike into Bakersfield instead of taking the bus. I did manage to string three hitches together with some interesting people, as the drive took several hours. Bakersfield was the armpit of society that I did not miss: 20 degrees hotter, with flat concrete roads for miles. Unhoused folk wandered up the street, as did I to find some civilized food: an extra large bowl of hot pho and a coke. Waiting at the intersection to cross six lanes of traffic, I nearly threw up the immense amount of food I had just eaten.

Day 45

My train to Seattle didn’t come for another whole day, so I decided to soak up the sights of sunny Bakersfield by walking 18 miles to the nearest In-N-Out (which was just fine and not worth the walk in urban hell). I spent the rest of my day reacquainting myself with all of the media I had missed out on for the past month and a half.

Day 46

After a short walk to the train station, I said farewell to California - for now - as the Amtrak made its way first to Berkeley for a short six hour layover. My uncle Johan came and met me and treated me to a fancy meal, which made the wait significantly shorter. The final train departed at midnight and traveled through the Cascades - what a stunning route! I managed to get a sneak peek of the Oregon section of the PCT, as the train crossed it near a lake resort; there were several feet of snow still! I would like to think that I made the right choice to skip the section that I did.

Trail Reflections and Updates

One of the main contributors of my lack of blogging (besides laziness) was a feeling of emptiness when I completed the trail. When inevitably asked how it felt to do such a crazy feat such as the PCT, the right words were never there. The time I spent hiking up the West Coast was amazing, there’s no denying that, but once you leave that behind, you’re forced to reintegrate into society as if nothing happened. But something did happen. As a disclaimer, while it may be cliche to gesture broadly and exclaim ‘society!’ with disdain, I feel it is somewhat fair to invoke that sentiment here.

Being immersed in gorgeous, pristine nature day after day gets to you quickly. I felt freed of any shackles of responsibility, as my only task was to walk north. Everything I needed was on my back. I drank the most water I have ever drank in my life, most of it being freshly melted snowpack. I was surrounded by awesome like-minded people from all over the world who made it easy to be friends with. I could eat anything I wanted. Life was good!

When on trail, I looked forward to the comforts that civilization held such as hot running water, fresh produce, and the internet. Yet when I made my final return to civilization after reaching the Canadian border, I couldn’t believe that it was all coming to an end. I easily would have forgone those comforts if it meant getting back out there, immersed in natural beauty day after day. The past few months felt like a dream; did they really happen?

Coming back to my “normal life” was harder than I expected. I initially wanted the PCT to be a type of stepping stone into another phase of my life as I moved on from food service to another career path. Luck was not on my side, as not soon after I returned to Seattle, I experienced excruciating tooth pain that was not like anything I had ever felt in my life. During a visit to the UW School of Dentistry, I learned that I had developed several cavities that had gotten out of control. That same day I got 3 root canals that took over 12 hours to complete. My teeth no longer hurt, but my wallet was, as I was not insured at this point. I was extremely lucky in a sense that my former employer agreed to have me back after I finished my hike. While this was not the ideal outcome, it certainly was not the worst. Thank you Krista for having me back at Bake Shop for another year. I'm not sure where I would be without your kindness. That being said, I was not in the best spot upon returning to my old job, as it simply was not where I wanted to be in life. Writing this blog was a painful reminder of a past that was carefree and easy, so I put it off to avoid examining the position I was in.

Eventually I made the leap last year to change careers only after I had recuperated from the blow that the dental bills dealt to me. Last September I became a Forest Preschool Teacher and an Elementary After-School Care Teacher. Working with kids has been an amazing change in my life, as their positivity is infectious. Work related stress is a thing of the past for me, as guiding the kids feels like a trivial task compared to the work I was doing in the food industry. My plan is to one day go back to school to get a Master’s in Teaching, eventually becoming an Environmental Science Teacher.

Now for exciting news (thanks to all who have read to this point): I will be hiking the Sierra Nevada this summer, the section that I skipped in 2023 due to record snow levels. I leave late June and will have a month to complete the approximately 500 mile section. This includes the High Sierra and summiting Mount Whitney in the first week. I’ve made the decision to bring my fancy DSLR camera this time, so hopefully the photo quality will be significantly improved. And with those photos, I hope to document my travels with this very blog. My adventures through NorCal + Oregon and Washington will come once I return*, along with the Sierra. My plan to release the blogs in an even remotely timely manner is to keep the text to a minimum, focusing on the pictures instead.

See you in the next one, whenever that may be!