Author: Andrew Carter

c) Andrew Carter, 2022

I have 850 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail left to hike in 2022. 200 of that is in the Sierra and 650 is in Oregon and Washington. I won’t start hiking those miles until this summer. Before that, I plan to hike in the East.

First, I’ll hike the Benton MacKaye Trail (BMT) in Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina. This trail is 293 miles long.

Then I’ll hop north to hike the Tuscarora Trail (TT) which passes through parts of Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. This trail is 254 miles long.

I start this adventure in a few days.

I will be posting to my blog during this Eastern trek. I’m sure you’ll quickly see the difference between the Appalachian Mountains of the East and the mountain ranges of the West.

I’ll never get above 4500 feet on my Eastern hike, but that doesn’t mean the mountains there aren’t rugged.

I’ll also never get above treeline. Instead, most of my hike will be through thick deciduous forests. At least in the beginning, these forests will be leafless. These forests are the result of all the rain the East gets year-round. I’m sure I’ll be hiking through quite a bit of rain myself.

In many places I’ll be walking along country roads instead of on a trail. I’ll see far fewer hikers because both the BMT and the TT are lightly traveled, but I will see many local residents.

I’m looking forward to this trip. I grew up in the East, so I did a lot of hiking there as a teenager and young man.

I moved to California in 1996. In the 26 years since, I’ve only gone on one Eastern hike. That was a weeklong hike with my son William in 2017 when he was thru hiking the Appalachian Trail.

The Appalachian Mountains of the Southeast are the mountains of my youth. I grew up in the nearby rural countryside. I’m sure I’ll experience a lot of nostalgia on this trip.

That’s it for now. I’ll catch you from the trail.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

I have 838 miles of the PCT still to hike in 2022. 161 miles of that is between Walker Pass east of Bakersfield and Woods Creek in Kings Canyon National Park. I had planned to hike those miles in September, but terrible smoke from wildfires kicked me off the trail. 16 miles are near Lake Tahoe. I skipped those miles in August to get away from the Caldor Fire. The remaining 661 miles are from Santiam Pass, Oregon to the Canadian border. I simply didn’t have time to hike those miles in 2021.

My plan is to hike the California miles in July 2022 and the Oregon and Washington miles in August and the first half of September. I have to allow time for the snow to melt in the Sierra and for the mosquitos to dissipate in the Pacific Northwest.

That leaves me plenty of time to hike in 2022 before I tackle the rest of the PCT. So I’m planning to fly East in early 2022 to hike a figure-8 from Springer Mountain, Georgia to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina and Tennessee and then back to Springer Mountain. That’s a total of 539 miles. The first 297 are on the Benton MacKaye Trail. The remaining 242 are on the Appalachian Trail. I’ll do that from mid-March to late April. In May, I need to help my wife close out the estate of her father. In June, I’ll probably be twiddling my thumbs and completing projects at home.

Once my wife retires (date TBD), my long distance hiking will come to an end. I plan to hike the 272-mile Long Trail in Vermont before she does. And, if possible, the 485-mile Colorado Trail.

Once my wife retires, I’ll transition from hiking alone to traveling with her. We have so much of the United States and the world we want to see. Some of that will include walking. My wife would like to complete one of the Camino trails in Spain or Portugal. She’d also like to day hike from B-and-B to B-and-B in Great Britain.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my hiking blog this year. I’ll start blogging again once I start hiking again next year. Happy trails.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

In 1977 when I was 20 years old, I hiked the 2100-mile Appalachian Trail (AT).  In 2020, at the age of 64, I hiked 1800 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).  The PCT is 2650 miles long.  I plan to hike the remaining 850 miles in 2022.

There are differences between the AT and the PCT.  There are differences between hiking a long-distance trail when you are 20 vs. 64.  There are differences between hiking in 1977 vs. 2020.  I’ll explore these differences in this blog post.

Two Trails – the PCT vs. the AT

The PCT and the AT were the first two designated “national scenic trails” in the United States.  They achieved that designation in 1968 with the passing of the National Trails System Act.  Today, there are 11 national scenic trails.

The AT was completed earlier than the PCT.  The AT was completed in 1937.  The PCT wasn’t formally completed until 1993, although most of the trail was in place by the early 1950’s with several long road-walks joining completed sections.  The first thru hike of the AT took place in 1948.  The first thru hike of the PCT took place in 1952.

The PCT is longer than the AT.  The PCT is 2653 miles long.  The AT is 2193 miles long.  The length of each trail has changed over time due to “re-routes.”  That’s when a new section of trail replaces an old section.  The AT is about 100 miles longer today than when I hiked it in 1977.

The AT stretches from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine. The PCT stretches from the Mexican border near Campo, California to the Canadian border near Manning Provincial Park, British Columbia.

The highest point on the AT is 6,653 feet at Clingman’s Dome on the Tennessee/North Carolina line in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  The highest point on the PCT is 13,153 feet at Forester Pass on the border between Sequoia National Park and Kings Canyon National Park in California.  The lowest point on the AT is 124 feet when it crosses the Hudson River 35 miles north of New York City.  The lowest point on the PCT is 140 feet at Cascade Locks on the Columbia River near Portland.

Here are the principal differences between the two trails as I see them. 

As noted above, the PCT is significantly longer than the AT.  That extra 460 miles means another three to four weeks of hiking. 

The PCT is significantly higher, and it passes through more rugged territory.  That’s a function of geological age and erosion over time.  The Appalachian Mountains are geologically younger than every mountain chain in the West.  They’ve had a longer time to erode.  Even the most rugged part of the AT, the White Mountains in New Hampshire, pales in comparison to the Sierra, the most rugged part of the PCT.

There is a greater diversity of landscape on the PCT.  You pass through no deserts on the AT.  If you hike northbound on the PCT, the first 650 miles is desert interspersed with mountainous “sky islands.”

The PCT is nonetheless easier to hike than the AT.  That’s because the PCT is graded for equestrian use.  The AT is not.  The PCT tends to follow geographic contours near a ridge instead of tracking the ridge itself.  The AT tends to stay on the ridge, going up and down and climbing to the top of every mountain it meets.  The PCT rarely summits any mountain.

The PCT is more remote.  That’s particularly the case in the Sierra and in northern Washington.  There are fewer roads to cross and fewer trail towns along the way.  PCT trail towns are more likely to be further away from the trail, and they are often less “substantial” than AT trail towns – meaning less likely to have even a small grocery.  That means resupply is more of a challenge on the PCT than the AT.  On the AT, I never once mailed myself a package with food in it.  On the PCT, I often did.  On the AT, you can usually look off the ridge you are hiking to see civilization down below.  I remember hiking on a ridge in Virginia in the early morning and watching a school bus making it way down a country road, stopping to pick up farm children.

The climate on the PCT is much different than the climate on the AT.  This has mainly to do with precipitation or lack thereof.  On the PCT, it rarely rains or snows during the hiking season, except in Washington.  On the AT, it rains all the time everywhere.  When I hiked the AT, there was an 8-day stretch when it rained at least part of each day.  In five months on the PCT this year, it rained on me once and snowed on me once.

Thanks to the rain, most of the AT passes through dense deciduous forests.  That’s why the AT is often called “the long green tunnel.”  There are only a few places on the AT where you are above treeline.  So, except in winter when the trees have lost their leaves, there are fewer views.  On the PCT, you are out in the open most of the time.  There are fewer trees or none at all, and you’re more likely to be above treeline.  When there are trees, they are almost always evergreen.

The greater amount of rain on the AT means finding water to drink is rarely an issue.  On the PCT, there are long stretches in Southern California and Oregon without any water at all.  When I hiked the AT, I called myself the “Phantom Dipper.”  That’s because I’d stop throughout the day to dip my cup into every spring or stream I passed.  I rarely had to get out my “canteen.”  On the PCT, you may need to carry two, four, even six liters of water to make sure you have enough to get to the next water source.  Also, you often rely on water caches maintained by trail volunteers.

It’s hotter and colder on the PCT than on the AT.  The heat is a function of the desert, lack of shade, and brutal sun.  The cold is a function of higher altitudes.  On the PCT, heat stroke and heat exhaustion are a threat.  Not so on the AT.  Hyperthermia is also a greater risk.  On the AT, except in the far north, you can hike in the winter without snowshoes and the nighttime low temperature might be in the 20’s.  On the PCT, other than Southern California, winter use of snowshoes is required.  The lows are more likely to be in the teens, single digits, or below zero.  This more intense winter means the PCT has a shorter hiking season than the AT.  Snow in the Sierra can remain on the trail into July, and snow in upper Washington often starts in September.

The AT has shelters to sleep in every 8 to 10 miles.  These shelters are usually three-sided sheds with an open front.  There are at most a half dozen shelters on the PCT, generally four-sided ski huts.  The existence of shelters greatly changes the dynamics of a hike.  Shelters tend to concentrate night-time use, making a thru hike of the AT more of a social experience than a thru hike of the PCT.  Almost every night you have the chance to talk to other hikers.  As many as a dozen of you may be staying in the same structure, using the same picnic table and privy.  On the PCT, even if you are camping in the same place with others – near a creek, near a lake – you are more spread out and sleeping in your own tent.  There’s rarely a picnic table or privy to use.  I didn’t think I would miss the social interactions of the AT when I hiked the PCT, but I did.

Adding to the social nature of the AT is the existence of many more hiker hostels, not only in trail towns but near many road crossings in between towns.  Some PCT trail towns have a hostel, but not all.  There are fewer road crossings and much less of a chance there might be a hostel near that crossing.

An interesting sidelight to the AT shelters and hostels is that each one has a trail register.  Hikers enter not only their names and hometowns, but also whatever thoughts are on their mind.  When you get to a hostel, you grab the register to write down your thoughts and then read what other hikers have written before you.  When I hiked the AT and came to a shelter with a register during the day, I would nonetheless stop to go through this ritual of writing and reading.  On the PCT, there are very few trail registers and hikers tend to write only their names and hometowns with no commentary at all.  I sorely missed the AT register experience when I was hiking the PCT.

Two Ages

Oh, to be 20 again.  You have greater stamina and recover much quicker when you are tired.  At 64, you don’t have the same energy.  If you get tired, you tend to stay that way.  Your body tends to hurt more.  If you don’t “listen to your body,” hike fewer miles, and take more rests, your body tends to wear down and you may experience an injury which forces you off the trail.  I went through a stretch in Northern California when something new seemed to ache every day – my back, my shoulders, my knees, my feet, my butt.  That was my body telling me to slow down.  My back and butt aches made me realize I needed to stretch in the morning and the evening and at every major rest stop during the day.  I wore knee braces on both knees all the time.  I had custom orthotics in my hiking shoes.

At 64, I found myself less hopeful than I was at 20.  Perhaps that was because my life is largely behind me instead of ahead of me.  At 20, when I did worry, I worried about myself, my safety, and about being able to finish my hike.  At 64, I tended to worry about others, those I love, particularly my children.  I also found myself worrying about the fate of the world and this nation.

At 64, I found myself missing my wife and kids all the time.  At 20, I didn’t miss anyone.  Some of that had to do with the fact that I was usually alone on the PCT, particularly at night, but was usually with someone in a shelter on the AT.  I missed the comradery of other hikers.

The reason why I was hiking was different.  Hiking the AT at 20 was more of an adventure.  It was something new.  I was trying to prove myself.  I was also glad to not be in college.  I took a semester off from college to hike the AT because I desperately needed a mental health break. 

At 64, my hike wasn’t new because I have thru hiked before.  It was much less of an adventure.  I had nothing to prove.  I wasn’t needing the same sort of mental break.

A thru hike was more “special” in 1977 than today because there were far fewer people who had done one.  On my 1977 AT hike, I met only four other thru hikers.  This year on the PCT, I met hundreds.

As a consequence of all of this, hiking the PCT at 64 was not as fun as hiking the AT at 20.  It was more work.  There was more drudgery.  I often found myself wondering why I was doing it.  I even thought about quitting.  I never thought about quitting when I was hiking the AT.

Two Eras

Even accounting for age, hiking was different in 1977 vs. 2021.  There were fewer hikers, and most thru hikers were young white males plus a few white male retirees.  There were very few women hiking at all, let alone thru hiking.  There were even fewer people of color.  Today, there are many more hikers and a wider diversity of hikers – more women; more people of color, although there still aren’t many; a wider range of ages; even foreigners.

Hiking gear was very different in 1977.  Mainly it was heavier.  Hikers bragged about how much weight they were carrying, not how little.  The external frame backpack was king, not the internal frame backpack.  There were no water bladders and thin plastic water bottles.  Most people carried canteens – usually thick plastic, but you would still see metal ones.  There were no water filters.  Only a few hikers used a wooden hiking staff.  Today, most hikers use aluminum or carbon hiking “sticks” (poles).  “Lightweight” hiking camp stoves were brand new, and “white” gasoline (Coleman fuel) was used to power them.  Today, most hikers use a truly lightweight stove, consisting of a small burner head powered by a small disposable isobutane/propane fuel cannister.  Some hikers use no stove at all, choosing instead to “cold soak” their food.  Back then, hikers wore heavy leather boots.  Today, they wear lightweight low-cut “trail runners” made of synthetic materials.  Gore-tex didn’t exist.  Rain gear was a rubberized poncho.  People hiked in blue jeans or chinos with some sort of cotton shirt.  Today, most hikers wear synthetic shorts and moisture-wicking shirts.

Another big change on the trail is technology.  In 1977, there were no cellphones, no computers, no internet, no GPS, no satellite communicators, no Kindles, no iPods. People carried point-and-shoot cameras, paper maps, and a compass.  Technology was a landline phone call home when you reached a trail town.  My calls were always “collect.”  Remember pay phones?  Remember having to pay for “long distance”?

There were very few “trail angels” in 1977.  The term didn’t exist.  These are people who, in an organized manner, help hikers out – who feed them at trailheads, who give them rides into town, who list their phone number in trail apps so hikers can call them for assistance, who sometimes put hikers up for the night or let them camp on their property.  That doesn’t mean there weren’t friendly people in the small towns you passed through, but they didn’t go out of their way in an organized manner to help you.

My only experience with a trail angel in 1977 was in Hanover, New Hampshire, home of Dartmouth University.  The AT passes through the center of town.  I had expected to spend the night with a friend of my father, but I couldn’t reach him on the pay phone.  I was sitting on the sidewalk outside a grocery store, looking dejected and forlorn.  A female Dartmouth student, not much older than me, stopped and asked me how she could help.  Her apartment was across the street.  She let me come inside and take a shower.  Before I was done, she left for class and told me to lock the door behind me when I finished.  I never saw her again.

I’m sure there are other things I have missed, but I think you can see the difference between the two trails, between hiking at two different ages, and in two different eras.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

You’ll find below a list of the gear I was carrying at the end of my hike. That gear weighed slightly less than 21 pounds. That weight does not include food and water.

In the Sierra, I usually carried 2 liters of water, which weighs slightly more than 4 pounds. The amount of food I carried depended on how far it was between resupply points. At the end of my hike, I was going through close to 2.5 pounds of food every day. If it was 5 days between resupplies, I left the first resupply with 37 pounds on my back (too much) and arrived at the next resupply with 25 pounds (okay).

Unfortunately, the amount of weight I was carrying increased as my hike went on. That’s because I started off with a lighter backpack and I didn’t have to carry a bear canister until I reached the Sierra. (Items highlighted in blue below.) I moved to a heavier pack during my hike due to body aches and pains.

I began my hike with a little more than 17 pounds of gear on my back. I was also eating less food, about 2 pounds per day, but I often had to carry more water. (It’s hot and dry in Southern California.) At the start, with 3 liters of water and 10 pounds of food for 5 days, my pack weight was 34 pounds.

My goal next year is to get my pack weight down to 15 pounds of gear if no bear canister. The way to accomplish this will be to get a single-wall tent. That will save about 1 pound. Then I’ll need to find another pound of savings with the rest of my gear. (Of course, I will need to use my lighter backpack.)

If I’m able to do this, I would leave a resupply with 32 pounds on my back, assuming 2 liters of water and 12 pounds of food.

15 pounds of gear is nothing to brag about. Many ultralight backpackers carry only 10 pounds of gear. One of the ways they accomplish this is to use a lighter backpack and tent, not use a sleeping bag liner, use a lighter sleeping pad (often a half-length one), not carry a stove and fuel, use a smaller battery pack, not carry camp shoes or rain pants, and eliminate or lighten other odds and ends.

Another way ultralight hikers save weight is by carrying less food and water. On the food side, they try to resupply every 3 to 4 days, simply by hiking more miles per day. That means they’ll reach a resupply sooner than I will. The lower your pack weight, the easier it is to hike farther. They might also use freeze dried food, which is lighter than the store bought food I use.

Ultralight hikers are able to get by with less water in their pack by hiking faster (less time between water sources) and by cutting things closer to the bone than I do. I like a water cushion.

What this all means is that an ultralight hiker will rarely have more than 25 pounds on their back. That’s 9 pounds less than where I’m at right now (assuming no bear cannister and my lighter pack) and 7 pounds less than where I hope to be.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

How Many People Did You See?

The number varied by time of year, where I was hiking, and whether it was during the week or on a weekend.  There was only one day out of 119 days hiking that I didn’t see anyone and only a few days when that number was as low as one or two.  This surprised me.  Based on my AT thru-hike in 1977, I thought there would be many days when I would see no one.  That shows how many more people are hiking today.

Even though I was seeing people every day, I usually camped alone.  This was the opposite of my AT experience.  The AT has shelters every 10 to 15 miles.  These shelters concentrate overnight use.  There are no shelters on the PCT, so hikers spread out along the trail when they camp.  This camping-alone was also due to my flip-flop-flip itinerary.  NOBO’s and SOBO’s often camp together because they’ve built up camaraderie after crossing paths with the same people over days, weeks, and months.  Even when I did camp with others, I was usually the odd man out.

Except on weekends and during July and August, almost all hikers I saw were thru-hikers.  From mid-March to mid-May, as many as 50 NOBO’s start at Campo each day.  On weekends, particularly when I was near Los Angeles, I would see day hikers as well as trail runners.  Trail runners didn’t exist in 1977.  In July and August, I saw lots of section hikers out for several days, a week, or a month.  Who I didn’t see were Boy Scouts.  That was a change from my AT hike.  Scouting is less popular today than it was back then.

During the first section of my hike, southbound from Walker Pass to Campo, I was passing northbound thru-hikers every day.  At first, just a trickle in early April.  Then a stampede by early May.  Then a trickle again by late May.  This has to do with when most thru-hikers leave Campo.  April is the prime departure month.  On May 5^th, I passed 70 NOBO’s.  These hikers left Campo in mid-April.

During the second section of my hike, northbound from Sierra City to Santiam Pass, the number of NOBO’s started out low in early June but reached a crescendo by late July.  This was again a function of when hikers left Campo.  Many of those starting in Campo in April were in Oregon by July.  The crescendo, however, was 10 to 15 hikers a day.  That was due to hiker attrition and because I was hiking northbound.  The NOBO’s I saw were passing me.  In principle, if two hikers hiking in the same direction at the same pace start just a half hour apart, they will never see each other.  Two hikers hiking in opposite directions on the same section of trail, will always see each other.

In the third section of my hike, southbound from Sierra City to Sequoia National Park, August to late-September, I continued to run into section hikers, but also SOBO’s and folks hiking the John Muir Trail (JMT).  The only reason I ran into so many SOBO’s was due to the Dixie Fire in Northern California, the Caldor Fire near Lake Tahoe, and the August closure of all National Forests in Northern California.  Many of these SOBO’s had to skip from Ashland, OR down to Carson Pass (15 miles south of Tahoe) or Sonora Pass (20 miles north of Yosemite National Park).  That’s 650 to 700 miles of trail they missed.

On this third section, I was booted off the trail on August 30^th for 17 days when all the National Forests in Central and Southern California were closed.  When I got back on the trail, there were very few hikers.  Many SOBO’s and JMT hikers simply gave up their hikes and headed home.  In part, this was because the original National Forest closure was scheduled for three weeks and during a similar closure last year, the Forest Service extended the closure instead of shortening it.

What Type of People Did You See?

It was a wider cross-section of America than in the 1977, but still not a true cross-section.  I saw more people in their 50’s, 60’s, and even 70’s.  Yet, as in the past, most thru-hikers are in their 20’s.  I saw more women.  I saw people of color.  I only saw a few women on the AT in 1977 and no people of color.  Nonetheless, the male/female split isn’t 50/50.  It’s more like 75/25.  And I saw only a half dozen people of color.  What people I did see, with only a few exceptions, were the privileged.  In other words, those of above average income and above average education.  Most had grown up in the suburbs, not the cities or rural areas. 

I did see more couples hiking together as well as families.  In the past, dad would go hiking alone, leaving the wife at home.  If he did take any kids with him, it was usually the sons, not the daughters.  I also saw foreigners.  This was particularly the case on the JMT.  Of course, none of those foreigners were from the Third World.  Most were White or Asian, not Latinx or Black.

Do I have pictures of the people I saw?  No.  I don’t feel comfortable taking pictures of people I don’t know.  (Sorry, sister Virginia.)

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

Not enough.  The typical thru-hiker burns 3000 to 4000 calories a day.  I had trouble getting those calories.  As a consequence, my weight dropped from 159 pounds at the start of my hike to 142 pounds after two months.  I ended my hike at 144 pounds.  At 142, I was wiped out at the end of the day.  At 144, I was able to get by.  My preference would have been to keep my weight at 148 or 149 pounds.

As mentioned above, I started my hike at 159 pounds.  At the end of my first segment (two months – Walker Pass to Campo), I weighed 142 pounds.  I needed to increase the amount of food I was eating. 

Having chowed down at home for a week, I started my second segment (Sierra City to Santiam Pass) at 148 pounds.  But once again, I weighed 142 pounds at the end of this segment (two months) even though I was eating more.  I needed to add weight gain supplement to my diet. 

I chowed down at home once again and started my third segment (Santiam Pass to Taboose Pass) at 148 pounds.  I finished that segment at 144.  I don’t know if that was because the third segment was so short (one month) or because I had truly solved my nutrition quandary.  Next year, I’ll find out.

From a practical standpoint, there’s only so much food you can eat each day and only so much food you want to carry.  Food is heavy. You eat about two to two-and-a-half pounds per day.  The goal is to make that weight as calorie dense as possible.  Thus, lots of sugar (carbohydrates) and lots of fat.

Breakfast

I typically ate instant oatmeal or instant grits for breakfast — two packets per day.  I grew up in the southeast which means I grew up eating grits. I like them.  To be flavorful, instant grits need to have butter in them or whatever substitutes for butter in processed food.  My favorite oatmeal flavor is maple brown sugar.  After eating the oatmeal or grits, I’d eat a candy bar.

To drink, I would make a coffee mocha every morning out of instant coffee and instant hot chocolate.  I’d use two hot chocolate packets with one coffee packet.  I often fortified this drink with milk powder or weight gain supplement.  My favorite milk powder is Nido.  It’s a fortified milk beverage made by Nestle, primarily intended for children.

Snacks

I would stop for a snack, two or three times a day.  I’d eat some combination of candy bars (usually Milky Way or Baby Ruth), snack bars (either granola bar or protein bar), and dried fruit (usually raisins or apricots).  During the third segment of my hike, I added weight gain supplement mixed into water.

Lunch

Lunch included the same things I ate for snacks, but I would add cheese and dried meat (jerky, sausage sticks, or salami) to get the fat (calories) I needed.

Dinner

Dinner usually included a meat or fish and a starch.  Meat or fish meant two foil packets a night of either tuna, salmon, chicken, or BBQ.  (Wal-Mart sells pulled pork BBQ in a foil packet.  It’s delicious.)  Starch tended to be instant mashed potatoes, instant rice, or cous cous.  Once or twice a week, I substituted instant ramen for the meat and starch.  I’d fortify whatever I was eating with olive oil, since it is so calorie dense.

After eating, I’d enjoy a cup of hot chocolate supplemented with milk powder or weight gain supplement.

Hydration

Having experienced heat exhaustion on an day hike several years ago (dizziness, nausea, incapacitation), I now add electrolyte powder to the water I drink each day.  If I’m slumming it, I add Gatorade’s Propel powder in single serve packets.  Otherwise, it’s Liquid IV powder packets purchased at Costco.  I use these electrolyte powders at half strength instead of full strength.

Resupply

I began my hike relying entirely on in-town food purchases.  I would stop every four to six days and walk or hitch into a nearby town to buy groceries. 

At the end of the hike, however, I was relying mostly on food packages I’d sent ahead, either to a post office near the trail or a business that would hold packages for hikers.  Most trail towns have at least one business that will do this for a fee – usually a motel, restaurant, outdoors store, RV campground, general store, or small grocery.  Small groceries do this because hikers almost always buy additional food when they pick up their package, particularly snacks and drinks (sodas and beer).

I made the switch from in-town buying to mailed packages because the towns near the trail were getting smaller with more limited grocery options.  By mailing a package ahead, I didn’t have to worry about what was available and how much it would cost.

In-Town Meals

Hikers often fantasize about what they plan to eat when they get into town.  I’m big on ice cream, milkshakes, steak, baked potatoes, lasagna, and fresh fruits and vegetables.

Hikers tend to chow down when they’re in town.  That’s because they’re hungry and they want to build up calorie reserves before heading back to the trail.  Pre-Covid, a hiker’s favorite food trough was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Other Information

I don’t eat freeze dried meals like those made by Mountain House.  That’s because they cost so much.  In addition, they are often unavailable in the small towns you rely on for resupply. 

I tried to stick to food readily available in even a small grocery.  The food has to be light.  That’s the reason for instant this and instant that.  It’s also the reason for buying meat in foil packets instead of cans.  And of course, I don’t buy food that needs refrigeration.  That can be an issue when it comes to cheese.

I eat a lot of sugar because I need all the calories I can get.  Unfortunately, you do get tired of eating candy bars.  I also eat a lot of fat because it has lots of calories – olive oil, dried meat, and dairy products (cheese, instant milk, hot chocolate).  Finally, I eat meat, fish, and dairy products for protein.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

What’s Your Trail Name?

I don’t have one.  Why?  Because most people didn’t use trail names when I started hiking decades ago.  That was the case when I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail (AT) in 1977.  79 hikers say they completed the AT in 1977.  Only four were known to have trail names.  I figured if I didn’t need a trail name then, I didn’t need one now. 

I am an anomaly, however.  Everyone else seems to have a trail name today.  In 2019 for instance, 1023 hikers say they completed the AT.  Only 21 were reported not to have had a trail name.

Thru-Hikers Aren’t Special

Most thru-hikers think they are special, but they aren’t.  Me included.  That’s because so many people complete a thru-hike every year. 

There are three major north-south long-distance trails in the US – the Appalachian Trail (AT), the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), and the Continental Divide Trail (CDT).  In 2019, 1023 people say they completed the AT, 985 say they completed the PCT, and 163 say they completed the CDT.  That’s almost 2200 people.

All told, over 20,000 people say they have completed the AT since the first recorded completion in 1936, over 8000 say they have completed the PCT since the first recorded completion in 1952, and almost 700 say they have completed the CDT since the first recorded completion in 1972. That’s almost 30,000 people.

These numbers represent thru-hikers (trail completed in one year) and section hikers (trail completed over multiple years).  I use the word, “say,” since completions are recorded on the honor system.  There is nothing to stop one from lying, but there is also no requirement to report one’s completion.  In 1977 for instance, I know of one AT thru-hiker who is not shown on the list of completers.

The first segment of my hike this year was from Walker Pass to the Mexican border.  I was hiking southbound, so I passed most of the PCT hikers hiking northbound.  On several days, I counted how many NOBO’s I passed.  On the highest day, that number was 70.  Not special at all.

What Was Your Daily Routine?

I got up with the sun and went to bed with the sun.  Usually, I would get up at dawn and go to bed at dusk.  The actual times varied as the days grew longer and then shorter.

In general, it took me about an hour and a half to get going in the morning.  That meant if I got up at 6:15 am, I’d be on the trail by 7:45 am. 

I would usually stop hiking when there was about an hour and a half of usable light left in the day.  If dusk was at 8:00 pm, I’d try to stop by 6:30 pm.  If dusk was at 7:00 pm, I tried to stop by 5:30 pm.  That “hour and a half before dusk” was a guideline, however, since I almost always tried to camp near water.  So sometimes I stopped earlier and sometimes later.  If need be, I could set up my tent, get water, cook dinner, and get ready for bed in less than an hour.

I spent 9 to 11 hours hiking every day, depending on the length of the day.  Shorter in the spring and fall, longer in the summer.  That doesn’t mean I was actually walking all that time.  I’d usually stop for at least a half hour at lunch, and I would take at least one 10-to-15-minute snack break in the morning and one in the afternoon.  On my longer days, I often took two snack breaks in the afternoon.  Usually, there were other short breaks in the day to catch my breath, to take a picture, to enjoy a view, to get water, to go to the bathroom, to look at my map, to talk to another hiker, etc.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

For someone who once considered himself a writer, I have studiously avoided writing almost anything about my hike other than within the context of the photos and videos I have posted.  To be honest, I don’t know why that is the case.  Laziness?  Perhaps, but I feel it is something more.  Maybe a feeling that my words will fall short of the thoughts I’ve been experiencing along the way, but here goes.

Gratitude

Hiking helps me experience and acknowledge gratitude.  There is the incredible beauty along the way for which I’m profoundly grateful, but it’s more that that.  Something about the exertion and exhaustion makes me grateful when that exertion and exhaustion is diminished. 

When it’s hot, I’m grateful for the shade and wind.  When it’s cold, I’m grateful for the sun and shelter from the wind.  When I’ve been climbing, I’m grateful for when the trail levels off and starts to go down.  When I’m thirsty, I’m grateful for a spring or stream.  When I’m in town, for an ice-cold beer or juice or a milkshake.  When I’m hungry, I’m grateful for the next meal and grateful to go into a town to get some restaurant food.  When I’m tired, I’m grateful for a nice place to sit and rest during the day – the perfect log, the perfect rock.  At the end of the day, I’m grateful for a nice place to camp – for flat ground, no rocks, and soft soil.  When I’m dirty, I’m grateful for a lake or stream in which to get clean.  When I’m in town, for the joy of a hot shower and of clean clothes. 

When I’m living in the relative comfort of civilization, I don’t notice, let alone remark on, any of these things.  When I’m out in the woods, I do.

Feeling Small

There is something about an expansive view which makes me feel small.  That’s a good thing.  Normally, I’m wrapped up in my own sense of self-importance.  It’s a wonderful thing to escape that.  None of us are all that special.  I think the world would be a better place if we thought less of ourselves.  We might take better care of our environment.  We might take better care of each other.

Infinite Beauty

When I’m out in the woods, I quickly realize that the definition of beauty is infinite.  Yes, the expansive views are beautiful.  And they are infinite in variety.  But the small things are beautiful too, in infinite ways. 

The look of a rock or tree.  The tree can be dead or alive.  The look of a leaf on the trail.  The look of the trail itself – curving, straight, bending up, bending down, disappearing in the distance, reemerging.  Fallen branches, fallen leaves, rocks scattered about.  The shape of boulders.  The cracks in those boulders.  The interplay of sun and shade, particularly if the trees casting that shade are moving in the wind.  Sunset, sunrise, dusk, dawn.  The look of the clouds, particularly when they are moving across the sky.  The look of a storm coming in.  The smell of that storm and of moisture in the air.  How that moisture feels on your skin.  Mist.  The vibrant smell of wet moss and wet dirt.  The sound of rain falling.  The sound of the wind.  The sound of silence, particularly at the beginning and end of the day.  So full of calm and peace.  Colors – bright and vibrant or muted and washed out.  The way those colors disappear as the night comes on, then reemerge at the beginning of a new day. 

So much beauty.  It is infinite.  There is no limit.  There is no boundary.

Soil, slope, altitude, direction

I spent the first 39 years of my life in the East and the last 25 years here in the West.  The climate in the East where there is rain year-round is so profoundly different than the climate in the West, at least here in California where it rains only part of the year and the amount of rain we receive each winter is variable.  That seasonality and variability in rainfall has a tremendous impact on the vegetation one sees while hiking.  What it means is that there is greater variability in vegetation, including no vegetation, as a result of differences in any one place of soil, slope, altitude, and direction. 

In the East on a hill or mountain, whether facing north, south, east, or west, the vegetation is almost always the same.  It’s only as one goes up or down a mountain that the vegetation may change. 

Here in the West, what’s growing on the north side of a hill or mountain is often completely different from what’s growing on the south; simply because the south side gets more sun and is therefore drier.  On the Central Coast, it’s often the case that there is grass on the south-facing slopes and chaparral on the north-facing ones. 

Similarly, the soil type and slope have a more dramatic effect.  Does that soil hold water or not?  Does the slope cause what water there is to run off quickly or slowly?  Is there a fold in the mountain such that the water run-off is focused there? 

What’s more, the impact of altitude change is strengthened with a greater and quicker variety of vegetation as one goes up or down.  And if high enough, no vegetation at all. 

This is one of the things I’m always noticing when hiking.  In Yosemite, for instance, it’s possible to hike in a single day from above treeline to pine, spruce and balsam forests to live oak and poison oak forests at the lower elevations.

I will write more.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

I ended up hiking 119 days in 2021 and completed 1838 miles of the PCT. That’s an average of 15.4 miles per day. (The day count and average includes short days, but not zero days.)

This leaves me 816 miles to hike in 2022 — 163 miles in California and 653 miles in Oregon and Washington. I will probably start the California portion around July 15th and the Oregon/Washington portion around August 1st.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I do other hiking in 2022 in the spring and early summer, most likely in the East.

Here’s my 2021 day-by-day itinerary.

c) Andrew Carter, 2021

It is somehow appropriate that my final visual post for this year’s hike is the sights and sounds of water falling along the trail.

When we go to the mountains, we think of the incredible views we will see. But just as special, perhaps more special, are the little things which catch our eye along the way — a tree, a rock, perhaps a leaf on the trail. Wind blowing through the grass, making cottonwood leaves and aspen leaves dance. Wind blowing through oak trees causing the shadows beneath the trees to dance. The sun setting, the moon rising, clouds crossing the sky.

There are sounds. There’s also silence, particularly silence at the beginning of the day and the end of the day. Sometimes there are smells. It’s all so special.

Thank you for accompanying me on my journey this year. I’ve enjoyed sharing it with you. God willing, I’ll be back on the Pacific Crest Trail next year to complete what I started. Perhaps I’ll begin new adventures as well. Take care.