ADZPCTKO (No, I didn't mash on the keyboard)

By the time you read this, I'll be at the Annual Day Zero Pacific Crest Trail Kick Off (ADZPCTKO), "Kick Off" for short and the subject of this post. I like that they went with the most unpronouncable acronym of all time. It somehow appeals to me.

Okay, great, you're thinking, but what the hell is it? Keep your panties on. The Kick Off is a big get-together at the start of the trail (actually, at mile 20, at Lake Morena Campground, see the placemark on the map), where hikers can, according to their website,

shed those butterflies that inevitably precede a life-altering experience like hiking the PCT by showing you the broad spectrum of strategies that have been successful in the past and those of your fellow 2011 PCTers. Additionally, it provides a low-key gathering in which you can begin the friendships that inevitably evolve from such a journey.

There will be gear vendors, presentations, food, and a lot of socializing. So in a way it's a bit like Trail Days, the big hiker festival on the Appalachian Trail. I hear the Kick Off is more laid back than the frenzied, drug and alcohol fueled shenanigans of Trail Days, but I can't say for sure.

The Plan: along with K-Bomb, my hiking partner, start at the border on Thursday, and take it easy on the way to the Kick Off. We could probably do it in one day, but are planning on taking those 20 miles easy, camp around mile 16 or so, then mosey in early on Friday. Neither of us have trained much, and with the incredible, near-record snow year in the Sierras, we have plenty of time to kill those first 700 miles. Let that snow melt a bit.

Then, Friday and Saturday we will enjoy the festivities, then Sunday hike out once and for all. We're both pretty damn excited. I for one have been thinking about doing this hike since, well, there was talk of it on the AT in 2008. Of course, I was waffling over whether or not to hike until last August, when I decided to face my fears and just do it. It's never as bad as you think it will be.

Here's hoping, anyways.

Pictures and Updates

Dear devoted readers (?),

I've mentioned this before, but I'll say it again. I can't guarantee a ton of updates here. I don't have any way to do so from the trail, no PocketMail or fancy iPhone, and will be depending on town stops, hostel stays, and whatever random internet access I might come across. I enjoy writing, and enjoy sharing my adventures with "the folks back home," and will make an effort.

But the PCT is much more of a wilderness trail than the AT was. There are fewer towns, and many of them are much farther away from the trail than AT trail-towns, making it a much more serious thing to decide to hop into town for this or that. Still, a man needs to eat, and I'll likely be in a resupply area once a week or so. If there's internet to be had, I'll try to do so, though many such resupply locations aren't really in towns, but are camp stores, country stores, and the like. Oregon and Washington particularly are farther in the back-country, with resupply at mountain resorts and such, rather than towns.

I'll try, but not at the expense of the flow of the hike.

Lastly, don't count on tons of photos. I don't know that I'll be able to add any at all, unless I decide to take my USB cable/card reader. It's extra weight (every bit counts) and I don't know if it's worth it. It'd be fun to entertain you with photos of what I know will be stunning scenery and awesome people, but I just don't know. May stop by Best Buy to see if I can find one with less cable (thus less weight). The one I have has a 4 ft or so cable, which is ridiculous. And I'm already carrying a phone, phone charger, camera charger, and an MP3 player, which is already excessive in my mind.

I may be able to load photos onto a CD at drugstores, and thus provide occasional photo posts, which at the moment seems a better option to me, though I'm not sure how feasible it actually will be. But know that I have you all in mind, and will try to provide the eye candy I know you so greatly desire.

Respectfully yours,

Moccasin

EDIT: I ended up buying a cordless USB adapter, so that's one step closer to you getting pictures to look at. Another issue might be time limits at the library. But, we'll see.

Maildrops Done!

Ah. So, I believe I have my maildrops set up. Thank the Lord. It's been so stressful thinking about this; how to plan for situations I've never been in, when half the variables are unknown (how fast will I be hiking? Will this or that store be open yet? How willing will I be to take extra time off in towns?). I hate planning, especially on a thru-hike, which is so much about freedom, being in the moment, and living simply, day to day.

Anyway, Here's the list:

• Agua Dulce (maps only)
• Kennedy Meadows
• South Lake Tahoe (maps only)
• Belden (maps only)
• Ashland (maps only)
• Crater Lake at Mazama Village
• Cascade Locks (maps only)

I had planned a drop at Vermillion Valley Resort, but figure I'll hope the store and hiker boxes are stocked enough for a couple days, at which point I will be able to get into Mammoth Lakes for full resupply. When I scrapped that idea, I had all this food sitting in my room, and figured I'd box it up and send it to Crater Lake, where I planned a drop anyways, but one to be sent from the trail.

I was also going to send a drop to Tuolumne Meadows, at least maps, but with the crazy heavy snow year (near record) it may not be open in time, at least not in enough time to get a package sent there. I hope it will be open and I can grab some food from their store. If it opens early and I hear about it, it's likely I will send a small drop there from the trail

And that's exactly my plan for the rest of my maildrops. Much of the Trail in Oregon, and Washington for that matter, doesn't go by towns much. Instead "resupply" points are at ski resorts and the like, and the resupply is pretty iffy. So I'll probably send a big batch of drops from Ashland, OR to the Oregon resorts, and do the same from Cascade Locks, OR for the Washington section. No sense mailing it all the way across the country, and anyways I don't really have a resupply person as such. My sister said she or my bro-in-law would send out the few drops I do have. But I don't want to leave a ton of stuff for them to do.

The boxes for Kennedy Meadows (the 2 on the right) are rather funny. I may or may not be oversupplied for it, but I do know those boxes feel heavy. Two large Flat Rate Priority Mail boxes stuffed with food and warm clothing. Those, plus my ice axe, which is a mess of cardboard and tape. Looks kinda scary, I hope the PO will ship it!

Gear List

For all you gearheads, here's what I'm taking. I don't have all the brand names, and this isn't quite finalized, especially the clothing. There's probably some odds and ends I'm forgetting, but this gives the gist of it.

Big Three:

• ULA Catalyst internal frame pack
• Etowah standard 8 x 10 nylon tarp, camo print
• Marmot Helium 15 degree down sleeping bag

Kitchen:

• Snowpeak titanium mini solo cookset
• hobo stove
• pop can alcohol stove
• fuel bottle (aquafina 16.7 oz bottle)
• spoon
• bandana
• lighters (2)
• REI stuff sack for food bag

Water:

• two 1L Gatorade bottles, and a gallon milk jug (may substitute a 2L pop bottle)
• Aquamira

Clothing:

• polypro long johns, top and bottom
• convertable pants
• swimming shorts (may get some running shorts instead)
• short sleeve shirt from REI (nylon?)
• Colombia long sleeve button down shirt
• fleece sweater
• rain jacket (may replace with a lighter one)
• Dri Clime windshirt (maybe)
• socks: 2 pair wool ankle socks, 2 pair liner type socks (not for use as liners,  though) and one pair heavy wool sleeping socks. Probably too many socks.
• floppy wide brim hat from Target
• $20 sunglasses from Walmart (polarized)
• warm knit hat
• La Sportiva trail runners
• homemade sandals for camp

Other:

• Opinel knife
• cheap blue sleeping pad
• Black Diamond headlamp
• Photon II mini-light
• MP3 player
• Phone and charger
• Nikon Coolpix s500 digital camera (mine is stylish, in black)
• camera battery charger
• Leki Malaku Tour trekking poles
• journal and pen
• rope
• toiletries
• first aid kit (minimal)

For the Sierras:

• Black Diamond ice axe
• bear canister
• REI down vest
• mosquito head net
• gloves (with the mitten covers that pull on and off)
• even heavier wool sleep socks

Half of this stuff I either found (headlamp, foam pad, warm hat), made (stoves, sandals), or already had, which explains why the swimming shorts. I'm pretty good at getting by with what I've got, making do, and am not afraid. Compared to what heavy, clunky gear I hiked with on the Appalachian Trail, like my 5 or 6 pound $50 external frame pack, I think this time around is going to be better no matter what.

On Living the Dream

Just got back from a quick trip down to Austin, to visit K-Bomb (Kevin, that is), one of my AT hiking buddies and my partner for the PCT. Had to put my few belongings in storage, and he was kind enough to share his storage unit with me. I already feel lighter. It was good to see him again.

It's so much easier to plan face to face. We decided against a maildrop we'd planned, which simplifies things, made some general plans for further down the trail, where we might need maildrops there, and various other resupply options, discussed gear, clothing, etc. I don't know about him, but I feel pretty well satisfied and settled on those issues. Not that we set anything in stone (far from it), but somehow this visit clarified things.

We also watched Wizards of the PCT, which I recommend to anyone interested in a window into thru-hiking (I'm talkin' to you, family!). It's a film made by a thru-hiker as he made his way to Canada, and it has me now very geeked to get hiking. Though actually, I know it won't really hit home until I'm out there. I tend to live in the moment, and right now, fact is I'm still in Texas, breathing Texas air, sneezing on Texas pollen. Right now, I'm just riding the momentum towards the trail, but am still pretty calm over it. I'm just not the giddy, excitable type. I know I'll be deeply happy to be out there, though.

Only six more days to go before I fly to San Diego, and get this all in motion. That's the key, here. It's the waiting that's hard. Not just the excitement, the anticipation, but the anxiety. It's sometimes hard to live such an unconventional life. No one around me really understands this need to be out there. My coworkers sure didn't; they were interested, asked about it, but in the end, I was mostly just the butt of jokes, the local oddball. And even most of my friends and family look at all this askance; some, like my father (or so I imagine), understand a bit better than others, but I know none of them really get why I need to be walking in mountains for months at a time.

So really, besides my hiking friends, with whom I keep in marginal touch via Facebook, I'm sort of alone on this. I find I keep questioning myself and what I'm doing, fighting with myself over it. Which is ridiculous!

I look at it this way. I hear music constantly about following one's dreams, living life to the fullest, those high-rising anthems that you just have to sing along to. Country music is famous for them, but you hear them everywhere. Then, religions and spiritual systems of all sorts are full of passages and maxims about trusting God, not chasing wealth, living for what really counts (the lilies of the field, follow your bliss, all that jazz). Our own country was founded on the notions of liberty, persuit of happiness, and the like.

It's like the highest ideals of the world say that it's good to get out there and follow your bliss. I'm surrounded by the messages; is it any wonder I believe it? Yet I can feel a lot of static over all this. True, mainly from my own mind, which only shows how corrupted I've become, how effective the indoctrination of the advertizers and fear-mongers preaching security.

I prefer freedom. This may be a weird way to get after it, but it's my way, and I'm being true to it. Anyways, I'll be dead in 50 or so years, and I'm sure at that point I won't be wishing I'd spent more time doing things I didn't want to do in order to live the way I didn't want to live. The Appalachian Trail was an eye opener for me. Things clicked. I was truly happy. And now, I'm not really alive unless I'm "out there," which is, admittedly, troubling for my future, but at this point it's where I'm at. So, it'll be good to be done with the thinking about this, and get on with the living of it.

Which begins in less than 6 days.

California Dreamin'

Every day when I go to work, it is with this strange smile on my face and in my heart. Not because I love my job. I'm a temp worker at a large document storage warehouse. Row after row, shelf after shelf, floor after floor full of boxes of files, reciepts, and other such information that banks, businesses, lawyers and the like must save but have no space to store themselves. The sheer number of boxes boggles the mind.

One begins to see the use of computers, and to wonder why, this far into the computer age, we still have to have a whole forest dead and boxed in this building. Still, when the destruction date for a file box comes around, at least it's going to the recycling plant rather than the incinerator. That's something. Speaking of which, walking down the aisles, one thought strikes the onlooker: how terrible, yet at the same time fascinating in the way all catastrophes are, a fire would be on the loose in such a place. It would burn for days, or else hot enough to melt the metal shelving.

But the job isn't great. The days go by quickly enough, reboxing files from their old crushed boxes into new ones, or out among the aisles, finding needed files to ship back to the owners, or unloading pallets of boxes to the shelves... in the end, nothing short of boring. Actualy about as exciting as the legal documents we store.

Yet there between the metal grating of the floors and the thin fluorescent lights over my head, breathing the claustrophobic dust and slicing my hands open on the paper and cardboard I handle all day, back bent in labor and curses under my breath when the box I need is in the back, on the bottom, and wedged in tight; I find myself smiling. I smile because I am dreaming of California deserts, the rocky bones of dry mountain ranges, skies so blue as to almost stop the heart in wonder. I smile because there are pine forests in my future (as Aldo Leopold said, I love all trees, but I am in love with pines). I smile because there are high snowy passes, mountain springs gurgling even now, at this very moment, singing the song of the mountains as they dream their own dreams, of the sea far below. I smile because the Milky Way will soon be showing her lacy self to me again, because my days will be back to bare essentials (wake, eat, walk north, sleep), because though I'll be cold, or hot, or thirsty or hungry or tired, I'll be happy all the same. I smile because I will again be among people who understand.

Two and a half weeks....

Map Drops

Well, the days are slowly grinding by, moving me relentlessly towards the trail and this beautiful thing I'm about to do. Slowly, I say, but really I have only 5 weeks left before I fly out, and I'm now starting to finally feel the necessity of planning. I work better under pressure, I find; it's hard for me to get organized 4 months in advance, but 4 weeks? Maybe.

Right now I'm trying to get my map drops in order. That is, places where I'm going to send myself sections of the map set I had printed, they're really great maps, and you can download them for free and print them yourself, courtesy of a fellow named Half Mile. He does it as a service to PCT hikers, great guy.

This sort of planning would be easy if it were just me doing the hike, but since I'm not starting out solo, instead hiking with my AT buddy K-Bomb, it's more complicated. We're trying to make it so we resupply and pick up whatever mail drops we have in the same places, so as to streamline our hike by not going into more towns than we need to. Unfortunately he's out on the road, a long haul truck driver, and we won't be able to actually meet up in Austin until probably one or two days before we fly out.

There are a few easy ones. There's a hiker hostel called Hiker Heaven which I know I'll be at, since it's almost on the trail and the people are awesome, I hear; besides, I pick up my bear canister there. And Kennedy Meadows, also along the trail almost, the kicking off point for the High Sierras, probably take a zero day there (zero miles hiked, that is).

For myself, I hate mail drops. Hate hate HATE them. I'm out there for the freedom of the trail, more or less, and hate having to even think about some government schedule, about whether I'll make it to the post office before it closes, hoping I don't end up in town on a Saturday afternoon meaning I have to wait until Monday... virtual slavery. I'm not really all that into planning anyways; better to just wing it. It's just how I live my life; to spend all this time planning for a future that is utterly uncertain and full of curve balls seems a waste of energy. I prefer to just get a framework in my mind and leave it at that.

Plus there's the cost, I don't want to overdo it on the postage. So I'm trying to do a balancing act, weighing the cost and inconvenience of more maildrops against the benefit of a lighter pack. A lighter pack is certainly a worthwhile investment, not to be trifled with. If it were just the money I'd probably grit my teeth and spend it, but the inconvenience tips me the other way.

So I guess what I'm saying in this post is that though I have maps and Yogi's Planning Guide and myself all spread out on my floor, I'm still not much closer to decisions. Meanwhile, the excitement grows.

Running

Well, turns out I am doing some training.

Today I rode my bike up to the local track, where I did a short run. Easing into training for the PCT, I only ran about a mile, with some walking interspersed. I admit I'm far out of shape. I'm also running barefoot, so I have to take it easy till my feet adapt to the rough surfaces after about 2 years in shoes. I do this because it cured my knee pain and horrible shin splints that always accompanied running for me.

I'll explain that a bit. Shoes, it turns out, are bad for the feet and body. They change the biomechanics of walking and running, what with their raised, cushioned heels, motion control, and arch support. Firstly, arches support themselves, that's the beauty of them. The more you load them the stronger they get, which goes for feet as well, or would if people ever exercised their feet naturally. Also, the cushioned heel allows us to land on the heel, rather than the midfoot as is natural (don't believe me? Run barefoot on a hard surface and your body will prove that to you: heel strikes HURT). Landing on the balls of the feet allow you to use a shorter stride and a spring motion, rather than slamming on the brakes with every step, your straight leg out in front of you the perfect conduit for shock and trauma. Barefoot, you run softly, not jarringly. Impact is far less. As for motion control, I'll control my own motion as needed, thank you very much.

Here's a couple cool videos about the benefits of barefoot running, for those who appreciate science over the emotional knee jerk reaction against being shoeless:

http://physicalliving.com/the-barefoot-professor-putting-his-money-where-his-mouth-is/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnwIKZhrdt4&feature=related

This shouldn't be a big surprise to people who know me: my trail name on the AT was "Moccasin" for walking a couple weeks in moccasins, due to my poor choice in hiking shoes. They didn't fit right, and tore my feet up (about a dozen big blisters and the (slow) loss of a toenail). I've long been a barefooter and shoe-iconoclast. On my first real backpacking trip, in the Porcupine Mountains with my dad, I went barefoot.

Anyways, this isn't meant to be a post about barefooting, but about running. I'm pretty out of shape, and though I don't know where the motivation came from, I'm glad it came. I'd forgotten how much I need physical activity to be happy. If I don't work hard enough to sweat several times a week, something is wrong in my life. This may explain why I've felt rather depressed and non-vital this winter.

It will take a while before I can say this is a truly enjoyable thing, because I've been lazy as hell the last 5 months, and had gotten really soft, especially cardiovascularly. But already on this my second run, I feel better than the first. My body is rejoicing at the blood flow, muscle burn and sweating out of poisons, thrilled at this remembering of the iron of my life.

Training

Training. Well I'll tell you right now I'm not doing any. The only way to prepare for hiking in the mountains is... to hike in the mountains. Not many of those here in the Dallas area, same problem I had in Detroit before the AT. I plan to do the same thing I did then: go to the trailhead, and hike.

My job is somewhat physical, which is good, but it isn't cardio. I am riding my bike a little more, just around town, and walking a bit, doing some stretching. These things aren't training, they're guilt-alleviation strategies. Truth is, I'm lazy. And, I hate exercising. Running is painful, and though I like bicycling, I like it mainly as a means of transportation; I need a destination, not just to ride in circles, especially in the city.

My main preperation is mental. One must psych oneself up. Not how you think, though. Before the AT I had a sort of mantra-- that what I was about to do is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done, that it's going to hurt, my body is going to complain, and I'm going to be uncomfortable most of the time. Expecting this, I can then deal with it when it happens (less than I thought, actually. The body adapts quickly).

However, there is one thing I'm doing: eating as much as I can. Lots of fat, carbs, calories. I'm naturally skinny, and on the AT I was on the borderline of actual starvation, crossing over it now and then. I was eating of course, but the calorie burn is so high you just can't get enough, and stray into calorie deficit often. Most Americans have plenty of fat, for reserves in these cases. I don't, and my reserves were pretty well spent by the time I hit Virginia. I was very often exhausted, sometimes sick and vomiting, and frighteningly thin. But knowing that I can keep going even under such crazy physical stress (not to mention pushing through an injured Achiles early on) convinces me training is for suckers.

Lastly, I admit I'm not a physical or athletic person. I'm not doing this hike because I particularly like endurance sports or the cardio challenge. Hiking is alright in itself, but it's not my main love. I put up with the hiking because it puts me in the excellent places I want to be. As a friend of mine once said of herself: I'm not a thru-hiker, I'm a thru-camper.

So what's important is not training, really, but figuring out a better system for food on the trail, and packing away a few extra calories beforehand.

Hobo Stove

Ready for use

I thought I would add some pictures of my stove set up, or part of it. I have a penny stove that burns denatured alcohol, but plan to build a new one that's slightly more complex to make but easier to use. I have the hobo stove here because I like the idea of not having to carry fuel, though I plan to use a hybrid approach on the trail. (click photos for full size).

I used a juice can, pineapple if I remember right (mmm...), with holes punched around one side of the bottom with a church key (visible in the pics if you look closely), and four at the top with a hole punch or drill. To cut the large hole, I just scored it repeatedly with a box cutter and pressed until it split. I cut up a coat hanger for the pot supports (though will probably switch to tent stakes).

I cut a piece of 1/2" hardware cloth into a square, folded the corners down, and rammed it into the can (using another, smaller can to push). This supports the fire, allowing air to come in from underneath for a chimney effect.

My pot (Snowpeak 700) nests inside of the can. I specifically purchaced this pot for its dimensions for just this purpose.

Thanks to my uncle Gordie's love of fine liquor, I have a nice carrying sack to contain the soot (a minor issue anyways).

Well, here I go again...

Livin' the dream

I've said before that I'd never hike a long trail again; the AT, wonderful as it was, was also very painful and exhausting physically. I also felt like I was passing a lot of things by in the rush northward. But I cannot deny it-- I've been bitten by the long distance hiking bug. The mountains, the people, the simplicity, the views, the hiker-trash culture, I love it all. So, I thought I'd try to do a blog for my PCT hike, as I did for my AT hike. Not sure how updatable it will be from the trail, but same as on the AT, I'll do my best.

Now, the Pacific Crest Trail, running from Mexico to Canada, is a bit more intense than the Appalachian Trail, in some ways at least. Actually the hiking is easier, as it is graded for pack animals; the AT would kill a horse, it's so rugged, rocky, and steep. Actually, your horse would probably look at you, then look at the trail, then look at you, and laugh. The PCT does have switchbacks and easier grades, but the elevations are considerably higher, especially in the Sierra Nevada. The PCT is a good step longer, at 2663 miles, compared to the AT's 2176-- but generally takes less time to hike (those easier grades really count!). It's much more remote, resupply is more difficult, towns are farther away, there's major water availability concerns (the southern portion is in the Mojave), there are massive snow fields on steep slopes to be negotiated, little shade (none of the AT's "long green tunnel") more rattlesnakes, and the bears are meaner.

The PCT is far less popular as far as thru-hiking goes. On a given year, some 1500 or more people attempt to thru-hike the AT; for the PCT that number is about 300. Completion rates are higher, though; 60% for the PCT vs 25% for the AT. These numbers are all estimates, mind you. But if you're hiking solo, there's a real chance you can go days without seeing anyone. Or you can if you want to. To put it in a more exaggerated way, the AT is a social trail, the PCT is a wilderness trail.

I've doing things differently this time around. I've decided not to be a cheap-skate and to buy quality gear this time. No more punishing myself with heavy junk. I'm actually very focused on going lighter: my pack, sleeping bag, and tent together weight about 6 pounds, which is what my pack itself weighed last time around. In fact I've replaced all three with lighter gear.

I have a ULA Catalyst for my new pack (new since the AT, anyways), and a Marmot Helium sleeping bag. I will be tarp tenting again, but now I know how to use it, with different set-up configurations, so I shouldn't get wet on rainy nights. There probably won't be many rainy nights, it's much drier out there until you hit Washington, and even then it's hit or miss. I've also switched to an alcohol stove, weighs ounces and won't break (no moving parts), and a hobo stove as well. Keep it simple, stupid!



K-Bomb in the Whites



I'll be hiking with Kevin (aka K-Bomb), with whom I hiked much of the AT, so I won't starting solo this time. Though you never know what can happen out there, we plan to do the whole thing together.

Worried about: the high elevations, due to my heart condition. The physical exhaustion. The lack of fresh food. Long water carries. Being frisked by my friendly neighborhood TSA agent at the airport on the way to the trail.

Looking forward to: meeting this year's "class" of hikers. Outrageous views, all day. Silence, peace, and simplicity. Yosemite. The desert. Mountain springs. Being back where I belong.

Click for full size