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First Things First
I’ve received a trail name that should surprise no one: “Gospel.” Since my rechristening, I’ve had the following conversation several times:
“So do you like to sing?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure other people like it when I do.”
(And I have the karaoke footage from open mic night in Julian to prove it)
I have in fact been a choir boy in the past, but only because of a lack of tenors and the begging of the congregation’s choir director—not due to any musical skill of my own.
I’ve been itching to get this first update out. I almost posted in Julian, in Warner Springs, in Idyllwild, but it didn’t feel right. The first real challenge of the trail, the San Jacinto mountains, lay ahead. Traversing this range is what turned the journey from a glorified walk into a real adventure.
Expectations
Before starting, I heard three main pieces of advice:
First, “Hike your own hike.” I’m a pretty independent-minded person, so I was always going to do this my way. But I’m also incredibly competitive by nature, so I’m working at being at peace with being passed by those who are faster (but don’t worry, I don’t let that happen too often).
Second, “Don’t quit on a bad day.” Easy enough. Haven’t had too many of those yet. Besides, who quits on a good day?
Finally, “Don’t start too fast. The easiest way to get an overuse injury is to push too many miles before your body is ready for it.” Oops. 20 miles into the trail is Morena Village—meaning that if you’re willing to walk that far, day one can end with a burger. Eating a trail dinner on my first day was never an option.
I did slow down a bit after that, hiking between 15 and 18 miles for the next several days. But after staying an extra day in Julian to catch up with an old friend, I had some ground to make up if I wanted to catch the group I’d been hiking with. Before a zero day in Idyllwild, I did five straight days of 20+ miles, including a brutal 22 mile traverse of the San Jacinto range—more on that below.
Reality
I began the trail during a spell of unseasonably warm weather. The desert sun scorched more than should be allowed in March, and I was constantly wiping the sweat from my brow (and pack and clothes). Taking a cue from the temperature, I cowboy camped my first night—only to find the outside of my quilt covered in ice the next morning. Sometimes you just can’t win.
About a week in, things turned on a dime. While sleeping on the back patio of the American Legion in Julian, we watched a layer of clouds and fog roll in. The next week was cold and windy. And I mean WINDY.
On the desert floor, it was a constant breeze with gusts into the mid 30s mph. But as we climbed into the San Jacinto Mountains, there was nothing to shield us from its full force. I wish I could post a video to this article, because it’s really the only way to explain how forceful the wind was. Suffice it to say that I’ve lived through hurricanes and they didn’t hold a candle to this.
We were fortunate enough to find a campsite about a mile downhill from the trail and the exposed ridge among some old-growth cedars that provided some shelter. But even though we were shielded from the worst of the gale, I could hear it thundering through the treetops above us. I didn’t sleep much that night, spending most of it praying that one of the ancient giants wouldn’t take the occasion to come crashing down on one of our tents.
The trees remained intact, and in the morning we climbed back up to the trailhead, knowing full well that we’d be dealing with blizzard conditions for most of the day. Wind blew, snow came and went, and clouds concentrated and parted. Weeks’ worth of weather passed in an hour.
The left, windward side of my face froze stiff (the right side being mostly sheltered) and the water in my bottles turned slushy. But there was nothing to do but walk. 22 blustery miles later, we arrived at a trailhead in Idyllwild for a much earned dinner and hotel stay.
Most of the other PCT hikers had bailed previously and skipped ahead to town. When they found out we’d gone through the mountains, they were shocked. We briefly felt like celebrities.
Back on trail, we were greeted by a fresh snowfall and stunning conditions. Though it was cold, it was probably my favorite day to date. After tagging San Jacinto Peak, the trail descended gradually but dramatically back down to the desert floor, losing 9,000 feet of elevation in the process.
Impressions
It took me a while to get fully settled into the routine of thru-hiking, but I’m finally starting to feel at home. While the scenery has been good—and occasionally great—it’s been the community that has really made the difference so far. Whether it’s the group that I’ve had the luck of falling in with, the family friends who’ve invited us into their homes, or the total strangers that have gone miles out of their way to offer us a cold drink on a hot day, there’s something special about the PCT community.
Outside of a regrettable incident involving a cactus spine and my kneecap, I’ve also remained remarkably healthy through the first 200 miles. That’s a blessing I can’t fully claim credit for, but I hope it lasts a bit longer—2450 miles longer, to be exact.
Until next time,
—switchbackjack
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