Fourth Day Southern California. 10 May 2018
/I never thought that on day 3 of my hike I would be taking a Nero. But the Mount Laguna Lodge became a beacon of hope for me yesterday as I faltered on the trail. Thoughts of a shower, quilt covered bed, clear cold water, real food, and safety swam in my hot mind. And when I awoke this morning at 6:30am, I knew instinctively that I had to find a way to recover quickly or move on. I could not hike today. The thought of packing up and going out into the heat again to hike another 15 miles filled me with silent apprehension - so very quiet and yet so weighted and tight. The man who provided me with the room yesterday afternoon told me I would need at least 2 days to recover. But I didn’t want to stay at the lodge. I thought about going into Julian 22 miles away to pick up the Big Agnes tent Julie had sent me. I called the local shuttle service to find out how much it would cost and when I could arrange a pick up. But I was told that the distance wasn’t long enough so they would not be able to drive me. Which of course this meant I would have to hitch the 22 miles or find a Trail Angel who would be willing to drive. I decided to wait till I could get some coffee from the store which opened at 9am. My plan would be to go to Julian, pick up the tent, spend the night at the Julian Hotel and then come back to Mount Laguna to resume the hike where I left off. I would have to forgo the 1.7 miles I missed when I called for assitance yesterday at the dirt road. I had at least an additional 2 miles of non PCT paths yesterday so in my mind that would make up for the missed 1.7 miles.
When I purchased my coffee I was told check out was at noon and that I would have till 10am to decide if I was going to stay another night.
I went back to my room and thought about my options. I was still not feeling well. I did manage to eat a small dinner last night and some breakfast this morning. But I still felt highly thirsty and my legs felt shaky. I knew that if I hiked today, I would experience the same complications from yesterday. And I just couldn’t put myself through that again. The PCT was not the experience I wanted. I knew that I was only 4 days into the hike. I knew I needed to give myself time to adjust to the climate and heat. But then and there I realized that I did not want to hike in the heat with very little water. I knew the next section was a 28 mile waterless stretch. And I knew that that meant carrying 6-7 liters of water and being desperately thirsty. I wanted to enjoy this hike. I didn’t want to hike with an umbrella each day to combat the sun’s rays. I thought about changing the hike and starting from the north and hiking south. I thought about leaving the PCT. I read over my lists of why I was hiking the PCT, what I wanted to get out of the experience and what I would feel if I quit. But in my mind, I kept seeing myself with my head in my hands, sitting on the side of the trail wondering if I would make it to the next water source or the next landmark or the next campsite. I saw myself heaving on the side of the trail unable to keep water in my system. I saw myself struggling, fighting for each step. All images that left me clinging to the idea of hiking. And it was almost 10am. And it was time to make a decision. And I acted fast, responding to everything I was feeling. Swirling emotions mixed with desperate uncertainties. Where was the initial joy? Where was the dream of hiking this trail and being strong and brave and stubborn? I simply could not find those once plentiful qualities. They were left on the side of the trail yesterday in blurry, hot streams of exhaustion and heaves of disappointment. I wasn’t disappointed in myself. I was disappointed that I was not loving the PCT. I so wanted to love this trail.
Within minutes I had booked my train trip back to Ohio. Within another set of minutes I had booked the shuttle to take me back to San Diego. And within the spaces that hover between those minutes, I was suddenly calm and at peace and so very very accepting of everything in those fast moments - the delicate, complex and path altering moments that would take me away from the Pacific Crest Trail.
Before I emabarked on this hike, my father told me that when he was a very young man, he left Ohio to pursue his dream of playing professional baseball. It was something he felt compelled to pursue. It was his dream to swing that bat and field those baseline hits. My father loves baseball. But after three days, he had come to the conclusion that playing at the professional level was not going to be his ultimate life’s pursuit. He went back home. And he had peace knowing that he had tried. He could now live the rest of his life with the assurance that he had reached the conclusion of that singular dream. My father told me that if at any point I felt it was not working for me, that leaving was not failure or quitting but moving on and understanding that I had tried and maybe that would be enough.
I don’t regret leaving my job, my apartment, New York City to attempt this hike. I would do it again even knowing everything I learned about the PCT in Southern California. I don’t see myself as a quitter or someone who racks up one failure after another. I see myself as a courageous, strong and brave person who fell in love with the idea of hiking across the country along a path filled with wonder. But the path wasn’t for me. At least not the path in Southern California. I am truly proud of my experience. I will keep it with me for the rest of my life.
And I am already hard at work on Plan B for this summer. I will hike along the Colorado Trail with my sister and brother in law. I love hiking. And I don’t want my love for hiking to diminish because of the past 4 days. I want to take everything I have learned and use that knowledge on the immediate future. So this writing is not yet done. And this summer of hiking is not yet done. And the PCT will be there. Waiting. And maybe one day, I will find my feet along that pathway again. But not like 2018. And not any time soon.
So that’s that. I am heading home via Seattle with no real answers to any questions I had in my mind before the trail. No answers. Only a belief that life is an adventure. All of it. And sometimes you go off and find a new path. And sometimes that path leads you far and farther still. And then other times it barely goes anywhere. But it’s still a part of you. Forever.
Maybe we're still lost
Maybe we'll never learn
But as the dust settles down and I'm glad you're here
I feel I'm finally headed home
