The Range of Light

The last couple weeks have easily been some of the most challenging and exhausting days of my life, as I have traversed into the High Sierra Nevada mountains. I've pushed my body in ways that I didn't know I was capable of, challenged fears, and saw some of the most spectacular landscapes California has to offer.

It all started when I returned back to Lone Pine, CA, from a super fun and restful trail vacation to Los Angeles with my hiking buddy, Mibs. At that point Mibs decided to skip ahead to Oregon, and I was lucky enough to have my return coincide with the arrival of a crew of friends I have hiked on and off with for hundreds of miles, so I wouldn't have to hike into the Sierras alone. The downside? That crew had decided that for the next stretch of trail, they were going to skip one of the middle resupply towns, Bishop, and push straight to a resupply called Vermillion Valley Resort (VVR) - a trek that would require carrying 10 days of food at once, and following a fairly strict hiking schedule. A lot of people decide to skip Bishop, as it requires an extra 16 miles of off-PCT hiking, a rather steep mountain pass, and a long hitch to town, so I was easily convinced into following suit (plus I didn't want to be alone in the Sierras at any point). I don't think at this point, any of us realized what a challenging section we were about to embark on, made worse by our requirement to make pretty consistent mileage each day and our quickly dwindling food which required portioning calories right in the time that we needed to be eating WAY more.

Lone Pine, CA - The cutest Western-style town with a stunning view of the snowy Sierra Nevadas and Mount Whitney

On the Road to Whitney

Upon leaving Lone Pine, we had to drive up out of the desert back into the mountains, and then hike a pass back to the PCT - within hours we had jumped up 6700 ft in elevation. 

The first  two days out of Lone Pine were spent doing some significant climbs to the highest elevations we'd been at so far, while getting acclimated to the altitude and insanely heavy packs (10 days of food + ice axe + microspikes + bear cannister + extra midlayer = HEAVY). For the next couple weeks, our elevation would rarely be below 9000 ft, which for some people meant a spectrum of altitude sickness symptoms (headaches, nausea, dizziness, fatigue...). For me, I experienced occasional headaches and, most annoyingly, being frequently short of breath after very little exertion. (So if you add a TON of exertion, you can imagine I was getting the cardio workout of a lifetime).

We pushed for two days until we made it to the junction in which an off-PCT trail leads to the base of Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the continental United States (in fact the highest in all of the states excepting Alaska). It was pretty surreal the first time I spotted Mount Whitney in the distance, and knew that I would be on that peak the very next day. We camped that night in the beautiful and green Crabtree Meadows, and tried to get to bed as early as possible, so we could continue the hiker tradition of summiting Whitney in time to watch the sunrise.

Beautiful terrain and twisty trees on the way to Whitney

I was so excited to officially enter these famous, and incredibly beautiful National Parks

Three members of my crew after completing our first official river crossing (via log)

View of Mount Whitney, the afternoon before summit day!

Mr. Giggles arriving at Crabtree Meadows

Mount Whitney

This "morning" I set my alarm for 11:50pm and was ready to hike at 12:30 am with the "slow and steady" crew, while the faster members of our groups kept sleeping for another hour. We left our tents set up with our belongings inside, armed ourselves with headlamps, and started hiking, wearing our packs containing only some essential gear (warmer layers, water, snacks, ice axe, and microspikes). 

Even with the lighter packs, it was an arduous hike. We had to gain almost 4000 ft of elevation, while also dealing with the ever increasing altitude. It was the longest I've hiked so far in the dark and it was a super cool experience. The stars were unbelievable and it was otherworldly to see the massive shadows of rocks and mountains slowly come into our vision - we all agreed it was a super special experience to hike it in the dark, but that we were also very excited to see what the landscape would look like on our way down.

Thankfully we didn't encounter too much snow, although there were some tricky sections in which a chute of snow covered the trail and required careful footing due to the steep, rocky slopes below. Still, the snow all had footsteps already packed in, and therefore did not require the use of my ice axe or spikes.

By going slow and steady, I found the ascent was fairly comfortable and manageable, but by the last mile or so, I was starting to feel the altitude and the minimal sleep. I felt like a zombie or robot just plowing one foot in front of the other, as the air got windier and significantly colder. All of it was worth it, though, for the first glimpse of the summit. We arrived just in time to sit down with our fellow hikers, drink a gulp of summit whiskey, and watch the sun rise above the mountains in one of the most beautiful displays I have ever seen. Paired with the knowledge that I had just climbed to the highest peak in the lower 48 states on my own two feet... I felt pretty good.

A blurry shot showing one of the steeper snow chutes on the climb up

First Glimpse of the summit, just minutes before the sun rose above the mountains.

Cozmo, Chill Bill, Bits, Gnarwal, and me, with our faces lit by the sun :)

Most of my Sierra hiking crew, minus a few who had already started their descent.

Snack break after finishing the majority of the descent - at this point I was TIRED.

By the time we all got back to the campsite, we were all tired and a bit grumpy. Half the group felt strongly that we did NOT want to hike anymore that day, while other members reminded us that if we didn't, we would be behind for our 10 day schedule, which would require stopping in Bishop, and mean we had been carrying all that extra weight for nothing. We all got into a fairly heated debate until someone suggested we should probably nap prior to making any decisions. Following a short, hot, and not at all satisfying nap, I felt like a total sack of poop, but had realized that we really needed to keep moving if we were going to stick to our plan. Thus began my first experience of what it feels like to keep walking when my body feels like it has absolutely nothing left to give. (I would be having many more of those in the next week). We hiked an additional 5 miles that evening, and camped in a meadow by a big river, again setting our alarms super early so that we could begin our ascent of Forester Pass the next morning.

A Pass a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

The next several days of our hike comprises the section I like to call "A Pass a Day"... because that is what we did. The PCT in the Sierras traverses over several mountain passes, which are essentially high saddles between two mountain peaks, that allow hikers to pass from one side of a large mountain to the other. These passes were all covered in at least some level of snow, meaning the trail is often hidden from view, requiring climbing steep snow and rock scrambles without exactly knowing where you're going, hoping that the ridge line you can see cutting the rocks high above you is in fact a trail switchback. 

Because of the presence of snow, the most effective way to traverse the passes is starting extremely early, while the snow is still frozen from the night before. Once the sun comes up, the snow immediately becomes softer by the minute, putting you at risk for postholing, which is when your foot goes through the crusty surface of the snow and sinks into the soft snow below, anywhere from ankle to waist deep. Postholing is not only extremely tiring and frustrating, but can also be somewhat dangerous, as there are often rocks below, which makes it easy to jam a toe or even break a foot or ankle. Furthermore, the hard layer of snow around the hole often scrapes your legs as you slip in, which either results in minor scratches and redness, or can even result in large, severe gashes in your shins or calves.

The passes were some of the most intense physical challenges I've ever encountered - miles of steep climbing at a time, which usually ended in 1-2 miles of trail finding, rock scrambling, and steep snow climbing. Miles that usually would have taken 20 minutes to hike took an hour or more. Despite this, these passes also had incredible views of a strange landscape full of snow and rocks and icy alpine lakes. 

Forester Pass

The first pass was Forester Pass - which is the highest point on the PCT, at 13,153 ft. We woke up at 4am to start hiking towards the pass, which was full of unique frozen-tundra-like views, and our first shot at trail finding around snow.

This pass is oft talked about by PCT hikers, and the whole way up I felt so in awe of the fact that I was actually about to go over Forester Pass. As we approached the pass, I could see the tiny chute high above us that we were heading towards, and I couldn't imagine how it was possible that we would get up there. Slowly but surely, however, we navigated around the snow and rocks until we found some cleared switchbacks high above the valley, which wound their way up to our destination.

The view behind me on the way towards the pass

Arrow pointing to the pass high above us (the picture doesn't do justice to the immensity of these cliffs).

The view below after finally climbing up to the snow-free switchbacks

Even in the most barren landscapes, there are wildflowers 

The final switchback before getting to the top of Forester consists of the infamous snow chute - a cornice that is almost always full of snow, with a steep slope that goes straight back down too the rocky valley below. Although it is not a big distance, this spot always inspires some fear in hikers, as one wrong step could have you sliding down the very steep chute in which self-arrest would be very difficult. I arrived at the chute with a solid amount of adrenaline flowing through me, as I was feeling pretty scared. I got there just in time to see Mr. Giggles barrelling across the chute with abandon, however, and after that he was able to shout across and let me know that the conditions were ideal and the cross was not bad at all. I went next, and thanks to previous hikers packed in foot steps, I was able to ensure each food was solidly in the snow and pass quickly and easily (while repeating "don't look down... don't look down" over and over to myself inside my head). The relief was instant - I was immediately in the best of moods... I DID IT!

I waited with my fellow hikers on the other side of the chute until every member of our group had made it across, and then we all headed the last few steps around the corner to the top of the pass.

Mr. Giggles just finishing the chute - you can also see a hiker on the top of the pass above him.

Me crossing the chute!

Everyone was all smiles after this. In this picture you can see how steep the fall would be.

All of us on the other side, being good cheerleaders 

The crew on top of Forester Pass

ME on top of the pass! This picture also happens to be the one and only time I used that ice axe...

As we've since learned, it turns out the North side of almost all the passes contain quite a bit more snow than the first. The descent down from Forester consisted of long walks through snowy footsteps, a good deal of trail finding, and for some of us, accidentally losing the trail and descending a very steep and questionable rock slide in order to find it again. WHOOPS!

It was hard work, but also incredibly fun - the most fun I've had on trail so far. The challenges meant that I barely noticed how hard my body was working, and we all had fun navigating the snow, trying to avoid postholing, and cheering every time we found the trail again.

What the trail looked like on the other side.

A view of Nutella and the pass behind me as we headed down the North side. 

The rock scramble that turned out to NOT be the trail... 

When the snow finally stopped, the landscape opened up into the valley below, where we would be hiking towards the next pass. I hiked the remaining miles of the day alone in the valley, surrounded by massive, craggy mountains on either side, with the sound of rushing water all around me, and the views of tall trees and colourful wildflowers in every direction. It was perfectly beautiful, wild, and serene, and I was full of so much joy and gratitude. The mix of the morning's adrenaline leaving my body and the overwhelming beauty and majesty of the land around me had me in tears for some time as I walked.

The day ended in a tree-filled campsite with a stunning view, a couple of beautiful and very not-shy deer, and some delicious roasted marshmallows, which Nutella had carried all the way out for all of us to enjoy. I can honestly say that when I crawled into my tent that night, I felt I had just had one of the best days of my life.

A view of the canyon in which we would shortly be hiking, following the pass

The deer are NOT shy around here

Campsite view, complete with another deer buddy

Me and some members of my crew enjoying a well-deserved dessert

Glen Pass

The next day we again got up early (though allowed ourselves a bit of a sleep in, getting up around 5am) to tackle Glen Pass. Because of our location several miles from the top of Glen, this was one of the longest ascents we had all at once during this stretch. The uphill seemed to go on forever, finally ending with a series of rocky switchbacks that rose above a turquoise frozen lake. It was beautiful, but man was I tired!

Glen Pass is known for having a fairly steep and often very snow North side. Lucky for us, this has been a fairly average snow year, so it wasn't quite as scary as I was led to believe it would be. Nevertheless, we did have to traverse quite a bit of snow, and because the switchbacks kept getting hidden by the snow, we did a lot of steep rock scrambles as well. I also got to try my first hand at glissading (sliding down the snow on your butt), which was super fun. (Hint though... glissading in slippery rain pants makes you go way too fast). 

View of the lake from the switchbacks, about a half mile from the top of the pass

The top of the pass - almost there!

Rafiki perching on the top of Glen Pass - He has done the entire trail in sandals, including all the snowy bits. Hardcore.

The trail continuing on the other side of the pass

Wheezer about to glissade with Cozmo taking a video below

After leaving the snow of Glen Pass, we descending into Rae Lakes, a couple gorgeous blue lakes surrounded by snowy mountains. We took a long lunch by one lake, and then about 20 minutes after heading back on trail, decided we should probably take a dip, and ended up taking a second lunch in which everyone jumped into the ice cold water. (Instant brain freeze). It was so refreshing! Afterwards we hung around, relaxing and fishing. This extended break meant we didn't get into camp until pretty late that night, but it was definitely worth it.

One of my favourite things about the Sierras is the water, which is everywhere. After hundreds of miles of desert, it took awhile to get used to the bountiful creeks, streams, rivers, waterfalls, puddles, and lakes. Since leaving Mount Whitney, I have slept almost every single night with the sound of a roaring river lulling me to sleep. As the snow melts rapidly in the hot sun, the trail frequently crosses either large, rushing rivers (which require careful crossing), or gets flooded by small creeks and water run off (which usually involve finding creative ways to get across with minimal foot wetting). In the end, there are times that for safety or convenience, we just have to go across the water in our shoes, which is not my favourite feeling for the next 5 miles, but turns out to not be as horrible as I expected. Wet shoes have just become another part of my reality - much like cold mornings, hot sun, snow, exhaustion, mosquitoes, sore muscles, sore feet, sore everything... I would say I'm becoming a lot more comfortable with feeling uncomfortable.

Me crossing a fairly tame river

This one seemed scary at first, but thanks to some well placed rocks I found my way across with relative ease!

Water, Water, Everywhere!

What feet look like after walking in shoe puddles for 5 miles.

That night I was greeting at our campsite by some familiar faces - friends I had hiked with previously who I didn't think I would see again, since they started hiking the same time I left for LA. Because they resupplied in Bishop, I was able to catch up!

Campsite welcoming committee

Pinchot Pass

Next up - Pinchot Pass. This and the next pass, Mather Pass, are fairly close together, so we had the plan of doing both passes in one day. Once again, it was a slow, snowy climb up, and a slow, snowy climb down. When we stopped for a break at around 10am, there was still talk of attempting Mather pass, but we all felt some concern about the time and the fact that the snow on Mather would be getting softer by the minute.

At break time I felt totally prepared to make it the 20 mile day we had planned and do the next pass, but as soon as I started walking again, I experienced a total drain of energy. My body felt heavy, and so tired I could have closed my eyes and fallen asleep standing up. I pushed the next 5 miles slowly, realizing very quickly that there was NO way I would be attempting another pass today. After we crossed a fairly large river crossing, we had lunch and all agreed that we would make today a shorter day, and do Mather and then a long canyon hike tomorrow. Everyone sat around resting, and I decided to keep plugging the last two miles to our agreed upon campsite, because I knew my pace was going to be sloooowwwww.

Thanks to the others staying behind for awhile, I had a nice, long rest on a comfy rock seat (I swear it was made for me), all by myself, in front of the most stunning view. After everyone caught up, we found a place to camp, ate dinner, and went straight to bed.

On the way to the top of Pinchot Pass

Coach enjoying the view near the top

Annnnnd more snow on the other side

Stopped and had a 5 minute photoshoot with a marmot. These hilarious, fat, curious rodents are all over the place out here.

My evening view... 

Mather Pass

Thanks to rumours that Mather Pass is a pretty gnarly one, we set our alarms quite early and got started before the sun was above the trees. This was one of our coldest mornings so far - all the snow melt on the way up the pass was frozen, making slippery crunchy steps. There wasn't much snow on the way up the pass, but there was enough to once again obscure the switchbacks. By reading the landscape we can usually find where the trail picks up again, but this time it involved a steep and exhausting rock climb.

The view behind me on the way up Mather, with Cozmo catching up to me

Halfway up the rock climb, I could see hikers on the switchbacks above... almost theeeereee 

My welcoming committee on the top of Mather (Daddy, Coach, Chill Bill, Cozmo, and Bits)

Struggling up those last few steps to the top

Coach and Bits enjoying the view

On the way back down, there was a lot of crunchy, icy snow. Thanks to microspikes on my shoes it was pretty easy to cross; however, after taking them off to traverse a rocky section, I made the stupid choice to leave them off for the second half. With the snow so steep and slippery, Bits and I had a time trying to navigate our way down the slope to where we hoped the trail was below. We managed to avoid any major injuries, but one slip on Bits' part was enough to have her unintentionally glissading while her pole stayed behind - the only casualty was the pole. In future, I stopped being lazy about putting my spikes on.

Bits' trekking pole after slipping on the snow

The climb up and down Mather Pass was hard work, and I have learned that while I am able to push myself very effectively (and relatively quickly) up those passes, by using all my energy in the first 5-10 miles of the day, the second half of the day is truly miserable. Today we had to do 20 miles to get ourselves back on schedule, and those last 10 miles were total shit. I was more exhausted than I have ever felt in my life, and the effort of putting one foot in front of the other was gargantuan. I just kept walking, because I had no other choice, but I can tell you some tears definitely fell during those last 5 miles, as I wondering if I could possibly make it to camp.

In the end, I DID make it to camp. And I DID get up the next morning, and I DID hike another pass, and then another after that. It turns out that even with not enough energy, not enough food, and not enough sleep, I can just keep putting one foot in front of the other one.

Although I was too tired to enjoy a lot of the views, this meadow was next level beautiful. The picture doesn't do it justice!

Muir Pass

The next day I got up and got myself ready to go as fast as possible, and started walking a few minutes ahead of everyone else. I figured with my tiredness yesterday, I better be prepared to take it slow today. It turned out that a hot meal and a good nights sleep did wonders, though, and I had a really nice few miles hiking steadily uphill by myself, accompanied by a stunning sunrise.

There's nothing like that moment the sun hits the mountaintop

Within a couple miles, Coach and Gnarwal caught up with me, for which I am very grateful, as before long the snow appeared. Muir Pass, although one of the more gradual ascents, is known for being the snowiest of the passes in this section. Three miles of non-stop snow on either side meant one of the most grueling passes yet. We saw the trail only sparingly over a 5 mile period, trusting our GPS and others' footprints to guide us in the right direction.

Even with microspikes, walking on the snow isn't an easy task. Thanks to the rapid melting, the snow is full of sun cups (holes formed by the heat melting the snow during the day, so they fill with water and then drain and freeze at night) and large crevices and sneaky under-snow rivers. We hiked up some pretty steep snow, across some cold melt-rivers, and then down more snow, only to hike back up again. By the time I reached the pass I was ready to say bye to the snow... which was not going to happen for a good while longer.

Sun cups on the snow heading towards Muir Pass

Gnarwal and I about to head up a steep snow climb

I can't describe the horror I felt at looking out at this landscape and realizing those tiny specks were people, and I was about to climb up there... 

Still, reaching the Muir Pass summit, with the iconic Shelter dedicated to John Muir at the top, was a truly satisfying moment for me. John Muir was a conservationist, naturalist, botanist, and writer in the mid-late 1800's who had a deep love and appreciation for the Sierra Nevada mountains. He was a huge advocate for the protection of wilderness areas in the United States, and is often known as the "Father of the National Parks". While he traveled all over the country, the Sierras were his favourite place, and he produced countless writings about the area, referring to it as "The Range of Light". Over the pass few hundred miles, we have been sharing the trail with the John Muir Trail, which is a much shorter long-distance trail that traverses the Sierras. It was exciting to be at the top of this snowy pass named after the man who so avidly loved and advocated for this land. We didn't have long to sit and enjoy it though... the sun was out and every second the snow on the other side of the pass was getting softer.

We managed to make good time on the other side, but still by the time we got to the last mile of snow, we had begun to posthole every now and then. We hiked for about an hour on the soft snow, trying to strategically pick our steps to avoid too much postholing, but my mind was on the remaining members of our group who I knew were behind us on the softening snow. We finally got out of the snow and sat down for a long break/lunch by a lake, to await the rest of our group. They showed up about an hour later, looking tired, but surprisingly perky, given how challenging the last few miles had been!

Coach, Gnarwal, and me on top of the Muir Pass

Gnarwal and Coach heading down the North side of Muir Pass

One posthole, two legs... this one was tricky to get out of...

Muir Pass posthole scratches - definitely not too bad compared to some of the scrapes I've seen on people out here!

Lunchtime views

While everyone settled in for a break, I realized I again had pushed too hard in the morning and was now beyond exhausted. I decided to get a head start on the last 5 miles and slowly plodded away. I have never hiked so slow... over the 5 miles, every hiker in my group passed me (except two who had taken a fishing break)... I took breaks every 5 minutes, leaning on a tree or sitting on a stump, and again feeling unsure that I could make it to camp. But again, I did of course make it to camp.

Because there was an often sketchy river crossing coming up, we took an alternate route that crossed the river in a meadow instead of the forest, meaning it widened and the flow slowed considerably. After that relaxing crossing, we finally settled on a campsite by the river, lit a fire to scare off the mosquitoes, and enjoyed our evening. Tomorrow we were planning a relaxing day, which included sleeping in, so I was feeling pretttty good.

Slingshot, Trainwreck, and Nutella laughing by the fire - Nothing like a warm fire, hot meal, and good friends at the end of  a loooong day.

Selden Pass

The last pass before we finally would make it to our resupply at VVR. Today we actually planned to not do a pass, and just get ourselves about 2 miles from the top and attempt the pass in the morning. We didn't set an alarm, which meant I slept in until the sun was already up, around 7:30 (it is shocking to me that 7:30 feels like sleeping in these days).

I enjoyed hiking by myself most of the day, at a steady pace. Although the morning was fairly easy, we did have to do most of the climb to Selden Pass in the afternoon, which was definitely a challenge. I could feel I had way more energy, though, having not pushed myself so hard in the morning, so I was able to keep myself moving forward feeling pretty good.

We had decided on a nice camp spot by some lakes about 2 miles from the top of Selden Pass. When I arrived there, I knew one member, Coach, was ahead of me and everyone else was behind (thanks to my habit of leaving lunch and breaks before everyone so I don't have to worry about walking super slow). Coach was nowhere to be found, but what I did find was about 30,000 mosquitoes trying to eat my whole body. I'm not exaggerating. One of the comments on our PCT GPS app said the following:

"Imagine yourself stopping to take pictures of a beautiful lake, when all of a sudden you are engulfed in a black swarm of flying piranhas. These vicious mosquitoes attack in mass without warning."

I had hoped since the comment was from 2017 that it would not be true; however, it was true. I immediately put on all my rain gear and my head net. At any time I could look down and see at least 50 mosquitoes covering all my clothing, with an additional 10 on each hand, the only part of me that was uncovered. I decided very quickly to push to the next campsite, which turned out to also be a mosquito breeding ground.

At this point, I had what was very close to a full blown panic attack. I'm going to have to learn how to tolerate those evil creatures out here, as I've heard they are likely to get worse before they get better, but truly I have never seen anything like it, and mosquitoes are enough to turn anyone to madness. Three hikers walked by who were planning to head up to the top of the pass, so despite it being 6pm and me having no idea what the snow conditions were like up there, I decided to follow them. 

At the first campsite, shortly before my mosquito freakout

Thanks to some serious mosquito-fueled adrenaline, I barrelled up the last two miles to the top of the pass like I have never before. I didn't stop once, and barely noticed how exhausted I was, and thankfully this was a smaller pass which remained below the tree line, so there was minimal snow.

Upon my arrival at the top, I discovered Coach, who had also pushed to avoid the bloodsuckers. We found places to set up camp right at the top, as it was quite sheltered, and proceeded to enjoy a beautiful sunset with our dinners.

Sometimes out here, the landscape and the wilderness start to become really normal. It just becomes day-to-day life to be outside, to see pine trees, white-capped rivers, and snowy mountains outside the door of my tent. This night, however, I was able to remind myself how truly incredible it is to have been sleeping in such a wild, strange, and beautiful place. Every time I remind myself of this, I am filled with so much gratitude... for the earth in all her unfathomable beauty and power, for the people who made this trail so that I am able to experience the earth in this way, for the opportunities I've had in my life that have led to me to be able to be on this trail right now, and for my own courage to leap in a way I never had and embark on this journey to begin with.

My home for the night, on the top of Selden Pass

Sunset view from Selden

Coach enjoying the view from the other side of Selden, where we had just come from

VVR, Silver Pass, and Mammoth Lakes 

The next day was a nice one, having finished the pass the night before. Our crew caught up with us just as I was packing up my tent, and we hiked a shorter day to a huge lake where we waited for several hours for a little boat to ferry us across the lake to VVR, a tiny "rustic resort" which allows PCT hikers to camp for free, and consisting of a small restaurant and resupply store. Our first resupply in 10 days. That hot meal was the best reward I could think of, at the end of the hardest 10 days of my life. I was so proud of myself and all my friends for having completed those miles. 

We camped for the night, and then lounged around the next day, finally catching the evening ferry and hiking out about 3.2 miles to a campsite nearby. The next day we did Silver Pass - another pass that I had expected to be fairly easy, but ended up being quite a climb! I luckily reminded myself to take it easy on the climb this time, which meant when we had another loooooong climb later in the day, I was able to keep my energy, speed, and morale fairly high.

We camped about 6 miles from another small resort called Reds Meadow, where we were then able to catch 3 buses into the popular ski town of Mammoth Lakes, CA, where we had booked a large air bnb for the whole crew. After 12 full days out in the wilderness, 7 mountain passes, countless river crossings, no roads, no showers, and some serious mental and emotional challenges, I finally got to take a shower and sleep in a bed. Utter bliss.

The ferry pick-up spot to VVR

Another beautiful blue lake on the way to Mammoth

This is a pretty long post, which I can imagine is likely pretty boring for some, but I felt it was important for me to have some sort of written record of the happenings of the last 13 days. In addition to all the physical challenges, these days involved me facing a lot of fears and discovering some surprising courage and perhaps even a touch of recklessness in the mix...(not much though... I'm still pretty cautious, don't worry).

I also found that the types of fears that plague me at home have followed me out here in full force. Having lost my hiking partner Mibs, I rejoined a group who had hiked together for a few days without me, and developed a routine and relationships that I had to insert myself into. Enter: insecurities. While pushing my body to keep going, I have also been pushing my mind to let go of thoughts like, "They don't like me... They wouldn't miss me if I was gone... I'm annoying everybody... I don't fit in...", and remind myself that these beliefs, as well as any feelings of loneliness out here are self-inflicted and not serving me. It's not an easy thing to change... hiking all day alone means hours of time to obsess over one thing someone said or a face someone made, not to mention that I am often disconnected from my family and my friends at home, and my partner who I miss like CRAZY, so I don't always feel I have people to talk to. Instead I have to rely on my own words of comfort, self-motivation, self-love, and gentleness... things that don't always come naturally to me.

I can't say I've conquered any of those insecurities and fears out here, or that it isn't going to continue to be a challenge for me, but I do know it's something I can keep working on out here. I expect I'll run into many more moments on this trail where I have to be okay relying on myself, physically, mentally, and emotionally to keep going. If there's one thing the last two weeks have shown me, though, its that I am capable of way more than I think I am.