June 27th - 29th, 2021
Getting there:
I met my friend Hannah at the airport, both of us crying because we’d just said goodbye to our husbands. The plan had initially been for us to hike the whole trail together. When Hannah got the opportunity to take one more class to finish her degree, we jumped at the chance for her to cut the trip short to do that. The new plan was for her to start with me. We would start at Cottonwood Pass, and she would fly home when we stopped for our first resupply in Independence. From there, I would finish solo. When people asked if that made me nervous, I always responded that it didn’t. That’s the truth, it didn’t. I had prepared for this trip in every possible way. I made backup plans for my backup plans. I learned this trail and the exit points. I’d been unofficially planning this trip for years. I was ready.
We flew out of Birmingham on a Sunday night, and after a delay in Denver, we made it to Reno. It was after midnight and we were both exhausted. I’d reserved a room at a hotel across the street from the airport, so we walked there. We immediately passed out.
The next morning, we went to REI to grab stove fuel and a few other things, grabbed lunch to go, and walked back to the airport. A shuttle picked us up there and took us to Lone Pine, where we would start. I listened to Mayday Parade on the shuttle and talked to strangers, some of whom had similar plans. I never felt nervous about the trail, but with each passing minute, I felt nervous about being away from my family. I knew I would miss my husband Rob and our pets so deeply, but I had no clue yet how much. I sat in the hot, rickety bus and looked out the window. It started to rain. It’s so wild, in the desert, how sometimes you can see it rain, but you never see it reach the ground.
We stepped off the shuttle, and there was a feather. I’m not religious at all, but I do feel a type of spirituality. I don’t like calling it “God,” so I call it other things, mostly “the universe.” I’d told the universe before I left home, send me some feathers so I know I’m going to be okay. My first feather on my first step off of the shuttle.
We stayed in a hotel in Lone Pine, and from there, we tried to organize our packs. I stuffed eight days of food into my bear canister. Looking back, I laugh. I barely touched that food. I decided in the moment, as I do with a lot of things, to send a few items back home. A midlayer, a teeny tripod (that I wish I’d kept), a collapsible water bottle, and a few other things went to the local post office with me the next morning and were mailed home. On the way back to our room from the post office, I went to the side of the hotel to look at the mountains again. On the ground was a huge, black feather. A raven, a common bird in Yosemite, where my journey would end. I thanked the universe.
We had breakfast, and around noon our ride came to bring us to the trailhead. When we got to the trailhead, we almost immediately noticed signs of altitude. Nothing too bad, but it was there. We walked to the campground and picked our spot. I put my $6 in the envelope and then into the reservation box. We set up camp and took a nap almost immediately.
During the planning for this trip, I chose this route and this campground specifically. It was at 10k feet of elevation. I’d hoped to spend one day and night here to adjust my body to altitude. I already knew how altitude affected me. My first night at a higher altitude, I couldn’t sleep because simply laying down made it hard to breathe. I already knew this about myself, and I prepared for it. I laid in my tent, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, and eventually fell asleep. We woke up from our naps and made dinner. I honestly wasn’t that hungry. A symptom of altitude that I did not know about. I learned quickly though. I ate my ramen and made hot tea, and got back into my tent to sleep until morning. I slept surprisingly soundly considering the excitement of starting the hike in the morning. I had no clue in that moment the journey I would have over the next few weeks.
June 30th, 2021
Horseshoe Meadow to Chicken Spring Lake
I woke up feeling rested and ready to go. I still had no appetite, but I tried to eat breakfast anyway. I filled up my water bladder at the campground, knowing we wouldn’t see water again until we made it to the campsite. We walked to the trailhead. I’d been waiting for this moment for years. I’d expected to feel differently as I walked my first few steps. I don’t know what I felt. Happiness for sure, but also the deep deep sense of longing for Rob to be with me.
Immediately we started the ascent, and we saw a cow pasture to the left. I was already happy, now I was happier. We’d entered the woods, and the incline was slow until it wasn’t. We were, quite suddenly, hit with steep switchbacks. I tell anyone who will listen that “switchbacks are the bane of my existence.” They are. I was still unable to breathe deeply because of the altitude, so this climb up was pretty tough for me. As I was feeling my most despondent, a storm came. It rained on us almost the whole way up. We got drenched and were miserable. We made it to the top of the switchbacks, knowing that we were very close to our first campsite at Chicken Spring Lake. I walked slower, taking it in. The trees smelled so good.
We made it to Chicken Spring Lake and set up camp. We hung our stuff in branches to dry. We cooked dinner, but altitude was hitting us hard and we could barely eat. I gagged through my dinner, but I got it down. I filled up my water at the lake, and decided to take the first photo of myself on the trail. This would end up being the only photo of me on the trail. Should have kept that tripod. I propped my phone on a rock, and set the timer. I went back to camp and felt miserable. Altitude is no joke. I laid in my tent and tried to breathe.
July 1st, 2021
Chicken Spring Lake to Rock Creek
The altitude was hitting hard on this day. I didn’t sleep well, and I couldn’t eat breakfast. Everything was dry. My whole body felt dry. We packed up and started the hike. It was going to be a primarily downhill day, so I was looking forward to that gradual decline over the next nine miles. I still couldn’t breathe though, so every step felt harder than usual. It took longer than it should have, and we took a lot of breaks. We were both feeling the effects of the altitude in different ways, and we both trudged through the forest, unhappy, but together in our misery.
We crossed the border into Sequoia National Park early. We still weren’t hungry but decided we needed to try to eat something. We sat on a rock in the shade and had some snacks. A peanut butter packet, a Clif mini, and a pack of olives. Items I normally enjoy, but had to try hard to get down. I’d felt nauseous all day and the snacks didn’t help. I tried to enjoy the views to take my mind off of my body. The mountains and trees became my guides. I stopped to look at the granite and white marble. I found the most beautiful rocks. I smelled the trees, foxtail pine. Foxtail pine is akin to a monument in the Sierra. A high altitude landmark. It thrives there, and I was trying to thrive there, too.
I tried to focus on my breathing, and then I would laugh and ask myself, “what breathing?” I will never take oxygen for granted again. We both moved slowly, but finally made it to Rock Creek, where we’d camp for the night. There was a ranger station there. I knew enough about altitude sickness to take it seriously. I knew it could be deadly under the right (or wrong) circumstances, and I familiarized myself with symptoms and treatments before the trip. We were both having symptoms of altitude sickness. We were both nauseous and had headaches, and we were both extremely tired. From this point, I knew it could either get better or worse, and we decided to gamble and see which would be us.
That night, we’d decided on a plan. In the morning, If we still felt bad, we would check in with a ranger.
The thought of dinner made me gag, so I went straight to bed after filtering my water. There was a group of PCTers camping nearby, and they were so loud all night. I was unhappy. I missed my family. I never thought about coming home though. I let the sound of the PCT party sing me to sleep.