Ego, Injury and Success

Despite my most effective methods of denial and distraction, I was unable to ignore or rationally justify the excruciating pain pulsing in my ankle. By the time I hiked down the final hill to highway 2 I was unable to put weight on the ankle without welling up with tears. Shit.

I spent 3 days, then 5 hours in Urgent Care, before getting the diagnosis: joint arthritis. Arthritis at 32?! was all I kept thinking. The doc told me that arthritis can hit at any age and all it technically means is joint inflammation. I relaxed a bit and made the soonest appointment I could for the treatment: a cortisone shot into my ankle on Wednesday, 6 days away. In a small town there aren't many options so I committed to this plan and we headed back to my cabin to settle in for the long week of doing absolutely nothing.

WebMD is not your friend. I was convinced I had every ankle affliction I researched, sure they would have to amputate. The diagnosis of arthritis hadn't even been on my radar so I was skeptical. I had never felt such an intense pain and I was sure that I had fractured my ankle. Before heading out on this trip I did a lot of research on overuse injuries and stress fractures are one of the most common ailments that take hikers off of the trail. Unfortunately with overuse injuries you can't really prevent them you can only deal with them as best you can, or stop your hike. In the case of a stress fracture it can take months to recover and it would surely end the hike. Furthermore with stress fractures they don't show up initially on an xray, and only can be diagnosed once they start to heal and show up. So I was confused and concerned, and with 6 days til my shot I had plenty of time to fall into the depths of my inactive brain and contemplate every possible scenario that could potentially play out.

Before setting out on this hike I was very vague about my expectations, intentions and plans mainly because I wasn't too sure of them myself. In loose summary, my main goal was to be inspired, accomplish something big and see something difficult through to completion. Beyond these basic goals I was hoping to let the trip play out like most of my long-term trips, with a beautifully serendipitous, unpredictable course.

Then I started hiking. Like most hikers I pushed too hard the first day, mainly trying to keep up with the folks around me. I immediately got a lot of blisters and realised I had overdone it. I felt like I had gotten my ass kicked and I could barely walk, but I had been able to keep up with the pack. Was this winning? Was this the goal? Was it worth it?

Over the next few weeks I watched as some grew faster, some fell behind me in pace and others (like me) took frequent breaks for blisters and other injuries. This year, more than any other year, there's this defense hikers seem to be armed with; the movie WILD seemed to trigger a lot of doubts in this year's class of hikers and since day one we've been battling the stereotype of 'careless, unprepared and unfit hiker.' There's also the need to prove yourself to other hikers. No, there shouldn't be a need, but like with any sport you want to show you belong on the field. Perhaps more so with me as I don't look the part of the svelt hiker, the need to show my physical fitness has pushed me harder than ever.

There's a very basic (maybe even Freudian?) view of success out here: Faster days with bigger miles, quicker climbs, etc. are all looked at as signs of success. And I'm guilty of this as well, as proven by how many people I told about my first 26 mile day- a day that might have triggered this injury- with a proud smile and boastful demeanor. It felt good to accomplish something physically tough. But the morning after this accomplishment was the first time I distinctly remember my ankle having a dull pain. So I had achieved success in one sense but failed in another.. The lines between the two were beginning to blur. And there was another aspect to it all.. This is a 2,650 mile journey and the sacrifices you make for achieving success one day (by oh say pushing 26 miles) could be an immediate success that ruins your joint/foot health and chance of completing the rest of the trail. The risks and pain you might allow during a marathon are absurd to allow when you are going to be doing back-to-back marathons for almost 6 months!

There are several options concerning continuing on that have been bouncing around in my mind. It is still pretty early in the season and I would still be able to complete a thru hike of the trail if I start back within a couple days. Another option is to skip ahead by a couple hundred miles and start closer to the Sierras. And another option still, would be to continue on at my slow pace from here and if it looks like I am running out of time towards the end I can flip-flop the hike by flying to Canada and hiking southbound to avoid the snow. My reasons for all the different plans include a number of uncertainties. I'm still not sure whether or not this shot will work, or how long it will work. Even if the shot works, the mileage I am used to will likely not be possible for a while and I will be hiking very slow at first. After this injury I am also unsure of the future of my long distance hiking career... Who knows how long I will be able to keep hiking and if I only can hike another 500 miles this trip don't I want those to be the prettiest 500 miles of the trail? This has been a constant struggle with my pride, sensibilities and ego that I've had to confront. And this is just in my mind... you better believe every hiker on the trail has an opinion on things...

I've explained before about how different people define their hike in different ways. The loose definition of a thru-hike is one end-to-end hike of a trail within one season. Purist hikers tend to insist on hiking every step of the actual trail whereas others are content with common sense detours and side trails so long as a continuous foot-path is taken between the start and end of the trail. Well, here's my thought: I missed about 1.75 miles at Idyllwild of walkable road (walkable yet dangerous and ill-advised by locals), so technically I'm not going to be 100% able to hike every mile. And now, per my hiker doctor's instruction, I'm going to miss another couple miles since it would be detrimental to my healing ankle to summit Mt. Baden-Powell (a steep 4 mile ascent that would over-extend my ankle). So that's another 6 missed miles. So in some people's minds I'm already not a true thru-hiker. But honestly, I couldn't give a shit less! I will hike 99.9% of available miles, and then another hundred between side trips and town walking. I refuse to miss the most beautiful waterfall near the trail simply because it's not on the exact route, nor will I succumb to blinding pride and do something detrimental to my health like trying to ignore and push through pain. So at the end of the day I will still call myself a thru-hiker even though I will have technically skipped 15 or so PCT miles. HYOH means Hike Your Own Hike. Do what you're comfortable with and hike your hike to your own specifications.

So aside from mine, who else's opinion of my hike matters? My parents. Regardless of how far I go after this I know they are already proud of me, but I want them to see me finish this as far as I can. We're on the same page that health is more important than this hike but so long as I can be out here, I'm going to be.

So who's opinion doesn't count? Everyone else's! I had a friend who was overwhelmingly negative about my attempt at this hike and actually said (a few beers in) "Even my friend Sarah couldn't do it, and she's a badass." I was floored at the implications of that and several other things he said and at first they motivated me, and now I just realise that his opinions don't matter, and they were likely made from a place of envy and bitterness. Every other person I talked to about the trip had great things to say and wished me well. I've thought a lot about what this hike will mean to individual people in my life, and I've thought about my reputation based on this hike, and I've had to deal with letting go of thoughts on that. I can't worry or care what other people think, it's me and what I think that matters.

And what if I have to stop hiking this season? Well, I would be pretty bummed, but after a week of pondering it the shock of the finality of that fate has worn off and I'm coming to grips with it, if it were to come to that. It might happen, this injury has shown me how quickly and unpredictably my luck and health can change. No hike in the world is worth risking my future health on and if hiking at this rate is going to cause permanent damage to my joints then I'll stop. I've hiked 370 miles, and at this point I am a "section hiker" and the PCT will always be something I plug away at until I finish, even if it's not a one-season push. I think for a lot of people this is the one or first big adventure of their lives which would make not finishing a bigger deal. To me, this is amazing, but it's just one more trip in a very long line of bucket list-worthy adventures I've been fortunate enough to go on. The proof is in my ankle- this injury is the culmination of stomping my way around the world and doing masive amounts of exploring by foot, dancing, and chasing dreams my whole life. If I had to stop it would only be a matter of months before I embark on another journey.

So who knows what this injury will do to my hike! I start back this weekend at small miles and I will continue as long as I can. It has already been an amazing adventure full of more beauty and incredible people than I could have imagined. Lets hope I can keep going and make it to Canada but there's no rush... as they say, "Last one to Canada wins!"

Sitting and waiting to hit the road again, finally smiling and optimistic!

Will Hike 4 Burgers

I woke up to a rustling sound in the bushes by my tent. It startled me but it was too sloppy and noisy to be a predator, and when I saw a little tongue licking the moisture off my tent I relaxed a bit. A couple seconds later a voice called out for the pup and off he ran. Too fast to get a pic but an interesting shot all the same!

I rolled around a bit and packed up shop and took off. I was at mile 329 and the goal for the day was 342. The first few miles were a steady uphill and I aced it. I walked quickly and evenly, paying very close attention to my gait and trying not to stomp or place undue stress and jolting impact on my ankle which had developed a dull pain. I made it to the summit of the first ridge and stood relaxing for a minute, looking back at the beautiful landscape behind me.

I was nibbling on dry ramen noodles and reading a wildlife sign when a woman quietly walked up behind me and said "Hi!" I jumped and ramen noodles went flying like confetti and my heart skipped a beat. Hiking alone you constantly wonder in the back of your mind if you're being stalked by a big cat or approached by something scary and perhaps the crunch of the ramen had muffled the sound of her footsteps but she very nearly literally scared the shit out of me! And I scared her, too. We both laughed (at me) and started down the hill. She was a 5th grade teacher who ran ultramarathons, and as we walked she got quicker and quicker. I kept up, not wanting to stop the pleasant conversation we were having but soon it became clear she was going far too fast. I saw a creek and had an out, telling her I needed to stop for water. Like every day hiker or trail user I've encountered she was very happy and supportive of us hikers and sincerely wished me well. I crawled into the woods and sat by the spring, purifying another few liters for the final stretch.

I had been texting KC and she was waiting for me at McDonald's. I had 4 miles to go. These last 4 miles were downhill, like really downhill. The view was incredible from the top and the trail was exciting with sections of trail winding along narrow ridges on what all of California looks like to me: a fragile, loosely held-together pile of rocks and sand.

My pace fell to almost one mile every 40 minutes as my intensely painful steps with swollen feet required constant breaks. patient KC cheered me on via text and a couple more hikers cruised past me on the descent. I've said it before, but this was one of the longest stretches of the trail yet. I couldn't shake the pain in my feet and as I entered the final canyon approaching the hwy I could feel myself transitioning into a full-on Mac attack. I went through what felt like 45 curves before finally laying my eyes on the parking lot at mile 342. The sign pointed the way and soon I was walking like a zombie up the hill to the fabled Mickey D's.

It was good to catch up with other hikers I hadn't seen in a while. Between shoving nuggets in our mouths and chugging milkshakes we all swapped stories of the last week, including snow storms which had swept through...and a group of hikers who bailed on the storm and went to LA to wait it out!

KC and I shared a room and lounged around all night dining on Del Taco and catching up over terrible tv and beer. She left early the following morning and I decided to stay and let my ankle calm down since it was a bit sore.

The following day, fresh off a zero (and a McMuffin at the trailside McDonald's) in Cajon Pass I headed off uphill with 7 liters of water and what I thought was a well-rested, sore-yet-healthy ankle. There was a patch of poodle dog bush (a nettle, very poisonous) and the scenery was again, gorgeous. There was even a water cache, with water!

I had just taken the zero and bummed (or rather paid way too much for) a ride to the San Bernardino REI with some fellow hikers where I paid a chunk of REI's mortgage in exchange for new shoes and insoles which were meant to do great things for my achey feet and tender ankle. Back to the trusty Keen boots, the same boots that carried me through New Zealand and the French Alps, I was back in business!

Before this hike I had a short list of old soccer injuries that I thought might come out of hiding somewhere along the trail. It took 350 miles (and a stroke of bad luck) for this to happen, but happen it did, and it happened hard.

My blind confidence in my new kicks lasted most of the day. I was happy with my progress and took a serious of photos showing how far I had hiked that day..

My hike was going fine until at about mile 350, when a tiny disaster struck. As I climbed up a switchback on what looked like a normal flat trail my left foot collapsed 6 inches into the trail. I had sunk into a gopher hole! And of course it was my sore ankle and, unprepared for this strange occurrance, down I crashed onto the ankle, with all the weight of me and my water, a full weight of....let's just say it was heavy. Don't panic. Don't panic.. I sat down in the middle of the trail and did a little exam of my ankle. I wiggled it, pressed on it, looked real hard at it and basically came to the conclusion I had no idea what anything meant or what I was doing. I stood up and hiked on, slowly.

Six miles later at the top of a small saddle I came up to a couple tents and decided it was a good time to call it a day. I pitched my tent and cooked and ate a pleasant dinner with a new friend, Rick. I crawled into my tent and spent the rest of the night trying to ignore both my ankle pain and my suddenly leaking air mattress. I finally fell asleep around 4am.

Of course, at 6am (as per usual- no matter how unfair or unwanted) I was wide awake. I rolled around a bit on my deflated air mattress and peeked outside. 2 guys were gone, 1 remained. I packed slowly waiting on the 1 guy to pack up and go. We had briefly talked and he appeared to be stalling, perhaps waiting for me to get up, maybe wanting to hike out together, but I was ready for another solo day....and digging and using a homemade toilet is so much more peaceful when no one's around ;)

Eventually I heard him leave and I finished packing inside the tent. I took my daily ibuprofen and crawled outside. My ankle was all kinds of hurt. Standing up I realized this was a pretty ugly injury and as I packed up my tent and took off I was already thinking this was going to be a problem..

I hobbled on with the distinctive waddle of a hiker who is trying to redirect weight, change their gait and avoid pain. I was quickly passed by a couple hikers who seemed unconcerned with my pronounced limp as they said excuse me and walked past without small talk. I took frequent breaks and elevated my ankle (again with no idea of why other than having seen another hiker do it). Even when injured its nearly impossible to be in a bad mood when faced with views like these:

(Happy Mother's Day!)

I hobbled almost 13 miles before flagging down the first vehicle I had seen that day and getting a ride from a forest service ranger. His name was Spiritwolf and he was so interesting I forgot the pain in my ankle and listened as he drove me down hwy 2 telling me stories of his life and goals for Native Americans. He also told me he thought I was like his wife who was descended from warriors, and who was stubborn when injured and determined to keep going against better judgement. Guilty..

I arrived at the Mountain Hardware (not Mountain Hardwear) store and went to the hiker section to look through their resources and find some lodging. I didn't know it at the time but I was about to spend a considerable amount of time in the town of Wrightwood, CA, and I was about to luck into the perfect place and perfect people to make my time away from the trail as interesting as I could have hoped for. But I think they deserve their own post, posted soon :)

Canyons, Prisoners and Camping in the Lions Den..

After a hectic morning of breakfast, post-officing, shoe swapping and negotiating a ride I was on my way. The sun was shining and the vibe at the trailhead was drastically different than when I was rescued from a potential lion attack a few days prior. I laced up my new-to-me sneakers and took off.

Three guys who had ridden along also took off...almost running. This is when I learned about "slackpacking." So slackpacking is basically when you keep your full pack in a town and make day trips out with the bare necessities, like a bottle of water, and you hike during the day without any weight on your back before returning to the comfort of your prearranged lodging that evening. I was pretty skeptical and my immediate thought was FUCK these guys! Why not just hire a sherpa? This is totally cheating, and if it's not cheating it's just dick-ish.. How dare they just prance past all the other hikers and call themselves the same! So as they scurried off into the distance there I stood with 30 pounds on my back, fuming. Possibly jealous, definitely feeling like a chump with my full bag on I thought about this for a long time and contemplated the ethics of all the different types of hikers who at the end of the day will all call themselves the same thing: thru-hikers. Is an assisted hike any less valid than unassisted? Would anyone argue that slackpacking was not considered assisted? Is it just smarter? But the most important question was: Should I care? And the answer was no. No I shouldn't care, and after a few more miles I decided to try really hard not to care.

I hiked up the hill, feeling heavier than ever with 5 days worth of food and 3 liters of water. I could look down and see what used to be a lake and it threw the drought into sharper perspective.

I hiked the rest of the day without seeing any other hikers, though I did come across two exotic girls in bikinis who were asking directions in broken English to Bertha peak (sincere apologies, I did not get pictures). I had to giggle thinking how unlucky the guys hiking that day were to have not had the fortune to see these half-naked girls, and instead their looks were wasted on me! Maybe if they had carried their shit with them they'd have been there... ;)

Perhaps it was my cynical mood from earlier in the day but I started to think after 10 miles, this is the first day I haven't been blown away by the scenery, the first day I feel like I am really just hiking to get somewhere else and not to see my surroundings. And of course, as only the PCT can do so well, I walked around a bend and was met by an intensely pretty view of Big Bear Lake. You win, PCT, you win!

The other hikers I assumed were camping at the water source ahead and I rounded out 19 miles before stopping at the inexplicably empty campsite. I set up camp, fixed dinner and settled in to snore the bears away.

I took off the next morning well after the sun had come up and flowed over the easy grade at a quick pace, stopping only to of course photograph all the little things along the way that caught my eye such as this intensely textured fruit casing...

I still hadn't seen the other hikers, I started late so this was normal for me. I made up miles quickly in the mornings and then casually rounded out my days in the afternoons. As I crossed over Deep Creek I started descending. As I followed Deep Creek I stayed about 100 feet up the gorge wall, always able to look down at all the perfect little beaches and swimming holes but far too exhausted to justify scrambling down and back up. I was comforted a bit in my inability to reach the perfect pools by the weather turning and clouding up, getting colder.

I collapsed, exhausted and inspired at the 300 mile mark. When I'm really worn out I tend to sit down like an old man; A long grimacing crouching down followed by a little crash landing and a sigh. There was a pile of little rocks in disarray on the trail and I assumed a local (frequent visitors to the creek) had messed up the 300 sign, so I used the opportunity to take a break and sit and reconstruct it.

My goal had been a campsite at 306, where I was assuming the hikers I knew would be (Sigrid and a Washingtonian named Russ). But alas, the weather was getting ugly and when I passed a flat spot in a little nook at mile 304 on the otherwise inhospitable stretch of trail I jumped on it. About the time I set up the tent it started to rain. I had moved about 50 feet away to cook and eat and as I sat there in the light rain eating my mashed potatoes I watched as the wind whipped at my tent. I was too tired to go restake it, I just watched until I finished eating. Its tough to successfully stake a tent in sandy spots like these. I had placed my pack in the tent so all the wind could do was make it bounce around as if possessed. I finished eating, carried 6 large rocks over to place over the repositioned stakes and crawled inside. The sky opened and the rain didn't stop all night. It was one of the most peaceful nights I've ever had, all alone in the middle of the wilderness, snuggled up warm in my down bag with a full belly as the rain tapped on my tent.

Waking up the next morning I could see where it had snowed just a couple miles back and I was glad I had made it past that.

I followed the trail down to a bend in the river where there was a hot spring. Everyone had talked about this hot spring and had encouraged me to spend a little time there but the only two people there were two older naked men leaned up against a stone ledge waving slowly at me with blank faces. I waved politely and hiked on..

The second half of the hike along the creek was clearly through a section frequented by the local idiots as proven by the spray paint and beer bottles strewn about. Such a shame to have such a beautiful place tagged with shitty graffiti and littered by people who go there because of its beauty and uniqueness, and then trash it.

The canyon widened and when I had almost reached the end I came across a prison work group that passed me on a very narrow stretch of trail. Its strange to be greeted by 30 apparently sex-starved men who made eyes and even whispered comments at someone like me- a hiker covered in dirt, sweat and smelling terrible... I must've been upwind.

After that encounter I came to the end of the canyon and the view opened up. I scanned the horizon for the famous trailside McDonald's, but I was still too far away... The view was pretty incredible, even without the double arches.

I ran into the Lion Tamer (Sigrid) at the water source around the next bend and we sat for a minute to catch up. I was right, she had camped only one mile ahead of me each night! I knew she couldn't be much further. We loosely decided to hike together and set off with the goal of making it from where we were at 314 to a campsite at a lake at 326. The weather was spotty but we pushed on.

Sigrid is a quick-stepping hiker and she took off and I tried to keep up. We walked for a couple miles until it switched to uphill, at which point we swapped back and forth between leading and resting. My ankle was starting to bother me, but nothing serious. The biggest pain was in my feet. There's a pressure that builds in your feet that doesn't clear up, and I hear it won't ease up until I'm done with the hike. 20 miles of pounding on your feet with so much weight- you're really just not going to get used to that.

We made it to mile 322 and a conversation with another hiker lit the fire under us. He said the camp at 326 would be very packed since there were 20 or so hikers behind us with the same idea for a camp spot. We took off, we needed to get there first and stake our claim!

We wound our way through the hills and when we hit 324.5 I hit a wall. There was a steep, brief climb that zapped my energy. I was too tired to freak out when I crested the hill and saw one of the most stunning views on the trail yet, the lake. I stood there silently taking it in before forcing my feet to carry on.

From our vantage point on the ridge above the lake we could see the open shelters comprising the proposed camping spot. It looked 20 miles away! I sucked it up and tried to follow Sigrid. I was limping but she was at full stride and every corner I turned I could see her getting further and further ahead. Although I was tired I was not so confident stopping along any of the beaches along the shore of the lake. There was evidence of locals, trashy locals, and I didn't feel safe alone there at night. Rednecks and assholes are far scarier than bears and mountain lions..

As I finally limped around the corner at mile 326.5 I saw the arrow drawn in the sand that pointed down to the picnic shelter campground where I knew Sigrid had gone. I had been eyeing the lake and I couldn't see any other tents there, and I was skeptical of wether this was a place that allowed camping. It was about a 200 foot climb down and I decided to push on and look for another spot. After another steep climb I crested a ridge and saw, yet again, an amazing view that could have made the cover of any number of travel magazines.

As beautiful as it was I was also looking at a trail on the side of a steep slope that offered no camping. I had already hiked 22 miles and my feet were swollen and painful, despite my ibuprofen (or as hikers call it: vitamin I) intake. I had heard from KC that she had camped the previous night near 329 so I hiked on. The fact that her text was actually to the effect that she had seen a mountain lion freely roaming at a campsite at mile 329 didn't matter...all that mattered to me and my feet was that there was camping there. I was tired enough to sleep with lions if I had to..

I could see the snow starting to fall on the tops of the mountains across the lake but the sun managed to stay in a small opening in the clouds, lighting my way in beautiful golden light. 

I briefly forgot the pain in my feet and pushed on another few miles to the base of the hill at the Silverwood Lake Rec Area where I pitched my tent in a hidden clearing. A 24 mile day and I was ready to snooze. I slept well in anticipation of the following day's hike, the final push in the trek toward the mythical burgers and fries...

Marathon Day! (Gear Update at End)

Waking up at mile 239.9 I was surprised to see that I was the last one in camp. I was less surprised when I looked at my phone and saw it was 8:30am. That's the latest I had slept in weeks! I stopped setting an alarm in campgrounds since it seemed inevitable I'd wake up to the noise of other hikers at the crack of dawn. I crawled out of my tent and stumbled into the empty campground like the lone survivor of the apocolypse. I stretched and yawned loudly. I felt great!

By 9am I was packed and ready to go. There was one mile of uphill followed by a day of ups and downs. There was rain forecast so I scurried along at a quick pace and before I knew it I had gone 5 miles and caught up to 7 of the other hikers from the campground. I dashed past them as politely as possible, by this point aware of heavy rain clouds forming nearby. My fear of lightning and getting caught on a ridge in a storm propelled me to hike fast.

I hiked the rest of the day alone, not seeing a single person on the trail. The miles passed easily despite the heat, and eventually I climbed out of a canyon and onto a ridge. I could see houses in the distance and the sad puddle of what used to be a lake. I had thought about making it to Big Bear but ran out of steam around mile 261, five miles shy of the hwy to Big Bear. There was an intersection with a wide dirt road and several nearby spots for tents and I figured it would be a great spot to stop. I set my pack down just as a woman on horseback rode up to me and informed me she had just seen two mountain lions. Two mountain lions. Hmm.. I thanked her for the info and tried to appear confident and tough. I waited til she was out of sight and walked up the trail where she had just come from to take a look around, scope out the scene. Looking down, there on top of the horse shoe print she had just made was a fresh, giant paw print..

All of a sudden my feet felt fine and my bag was light as a feather as I took off down the trail with new motivation to get to town.

Realistically I know mountain lions aren't a big concern to adults. In CA there have been only a few big cat attacks on humans and virtually none of those were on adults. Yes, I knew this. But it didn't matter, camping alone just seemed like it wasn't an option. I couldn't stop thinking about that movie, The Ghost and the Darkness where the lions stalk/kill/eat humans for fun. So off I hiked at my quickest pace of the day.

As I walked I began to sing and occasionally bang my trekking poles together to make sure anything in the vicinity knew I was a big, scary (tone deaf) human and not food. The terrain changed from shrubs to shadowy forest then back to shrubs and every rock that was higher than me looked like a perfect perch for a cougar. It was 6pm and the sun was going to be setting at 7:22. So I had just over an hour to go 5 miles... I scurried on. Of course, I didn't pass a soul. Even in my haste I stopped to admire the view as shadows began falling in the valleys.

I kept expecting the road to become visible but instead I just kept switching back and forth through forests and shrubs. The setting sun made my hiking more desperate. I had talked with a friend who was snuggled in a hotel in Big Bear already and I called her to loudly explain the situation as I walked. With 3/4 of a mile left to hike the sun sunk further down and left the sky a brilliant mix of pinks and blues. I snapped a few shots and continued on.

I made it to the road with just enough light to make out the trail. I called Papa Smurf, a trail angel who left his number trailside and he headed my way. I was saved.

In my frantic scramble down the mountain  I had failed to realize how cold I had become and as I sat down in my shorts I realized I was shaking uncontrollably. In my whole life I've never had to try so hard to make my fingers do something simple like unzip my backpack. After a minute of tugging awkwardly on my pack I managed to put more clothes on and start to feel human again.

Papa Smurf, a true angel, drove me to McDonald's en route to the Best Western. I walked up to the hotel room with a bag of stinky baby burgers and I was greeted with a warm room, a fireplace and a pbr on ice for the shower (thank you KC for making this my new standard hiker shower tradition).

All said and done I hiked exactly 26.2 miles, the length of a marathon, and I had done it with my pack on and scary animals and snakes all around me. Some days it's hard to not feel like a total badass ;)

Aquanot, KC and Little Bear left early the next day to head to the trail and I stayed in bed with the intent to zero in Big Bear. I ran some errands, choked down a sloppy Subway sandwich and took a bus to the hostel, which was more in my price range.

I was thrilled to see Sigrid right as I walked in. Sigrid is an older German woman with a can-do attitude and a big smile every time I see her. I first met her at Scout and Frodo's place in San Diego and have since crossed paths with her, and shared a couple burgers and many stories with her, on several random occasions. She's one of my favorite people I've met! After a strict check-in with Sarge and a visit from a poodle-mop dog (pictured) I was ready to sit and catch up.

So turns out Sigrid had left Ziggy and the Bear an hour before us to night hike a few nights before. About an hour into her hike she heard two loud roaring mountain lions, one on each side of the canyon she was walking through. She said "I hear the lions...but I am not in Africa?!" and then she calmly took out her headlamp, made a little noise and carried on hiking. The mountain lions went quiet and she walked on in peace. This is why I gave her the trail name Lion Tamer! She loved and laughed very hard in agreement, pleased with her new name, and that made me very happy. Til next time Sigrid, prost!

As for gear...

My Brooks Cascadias had lasted about 150 miles before two big holes had ripped in them allowing sand in, so I had ordered 2 pairs of new shoes to the hostel...and neither of them fit. As fate would have it, a girl I met (who's name I can't remember) was there at the hostel with a hurt ankle, and after we had a nice breakfast together at the Teddy Bear restaurant and I explained my shoe woes, she offered to give me hers. She was leaving them in the hiker box anyways and had 4 pairs in the mail headed her way. Wouldn't you know it, they fit! So with bags packed and new La Sportiva Wildcats on my feet I headed to the trail :)

My Dirty Girl gaiters lasted about 1.5 days before the Velcro popped off the shoes. So I rigged a strap underneath with some paracord. Then the paracord came close to wearing through and I replaced them with an odd fix: the band of a (clean and folded) pair of men's underwear from a hiker box. :)

The straps I sewed on the backpack are working well, I use them everyday to hold the tent outside the pack.

My Thermarest Neo air x-lite is leaking so I'm switching it out with the Insul-mat one I had in my backup gear box at my parents. Its heavier but it will do until the Neo air can be replaced.

I bought a loksak Opsack to keep the bears away, so far so good but the closer I get to the Sierras the more aggressive the bears will get so at Kennedy Meadows I'm switching to a bear cannister (and it is required through the Sierras). No trouble with mice/bugs so far.

I've shipped home a combined pound of gear including my pack towel and a few other lightweight but unnecessary things.

No big changes, we'll see how the next gear update changes things!