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After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.

Nelson Mandela (via purplebuddhaproject)

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Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.

Thích Nhất Hạnh (via purplebuddhaproject)

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Do not hold on to thoughts. Expel them up towards the highest dimension. Talk to God/Goddess/Jah/Allah/Buddha, who is there to receive what we should not hold on to.

Me

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person: hey those are some nice hiking boots

me: thank you ive accidentally peed on them before

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PCT Mi774 Forester Pass, California WHERE THE MOUNTAIN MAKES A V

We woke up in a story book meadow surrounded by granite Gods that blasted holy energy sang glory be thy name. The warm summer sun did not take hint that we were at 9,000ft, the rays kissed our skin. It was Helen Keller’s birthday. (Helen got his trail name after telling the fainting story about not being able to see or hear under I-10...) I unwrapped our last pop tart and pinned a twig through it to make a candle. I sang happy birthday to him in the middle of the Sierra Nevada. It seems like a dream. It couldn’t have been more perfect except that this was some of the last of our snacks before we could reach a town late the next day. We had plenty of dinner foods, but it was impractical to stop multiple times during the day to cook dinner. 

This day we would climb our first big pass reaching over 13,100ft. Our maps warned us that this was the most dangerous pass on the trail and that we would be able to see it as we approached, sighting a V in the top of the mountain. We began hiking around 8am. We didn’t want to get up there too late or too early, because it was supposedly unsafe. We had never done shit like this, we really had no idea. The first 4 miles were flat and then gently gained elevation. Mosquitos everywhere. We wore bug nets. They bit through my pants. I had at least 30 bites already. The sweat made them itch more. They loved my blood. Nothing was ever comfortable on the PCT, you were always giving up some sort of comfort in order to gain the mind strength you would need to finish. The trail knew, it must break you to make you. 

As we started up to the shelf that met the bottom of the pass hanger started to over come my mind. Every step I took I could feel my stomach becoming more empty. I need a snack I told Helen. He pushed forward, knowing we couldn’t afford to eat our snacks this early. We would finish them off and have none left for the rest of the day and tomorrow before we could get to town. I was sure that if I went any further I would collapse and die of starvation. My mind reeled, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE WE ARE SO HUNGRY. I looked around, where is this “V” anyway. They were everywhere. All of the mountains had a V at some point. I couldn’t tell where the trail was leading us, none of the mountains in the distance looked passable. WTF.

When we reached the shelf we finally sat down to eat. Both inhaling a packet of tuna, and a protein bar. With stomachs not satisfied at all, and for that matter possibly even more hungry than before we continued on, snackless. This was the first time since being on trail that we were going to run out of food completely. I continued to point out the Vs in each wall of granite, “I bet that is where we pass over,” Yet we continued towards a wall that looked the least likely to be the one and there I saw an ant sized human pass across a sliver of snow at the very top of the vertical wall of granite before me. How the fuck do we get up there? I tried to put expectations on Forester Pass just like everything else on the trail. But those expectations would float to heaven and hell aka reality would come before me.

If you can see in the photo the whole grant wall comes into a V and a small patch of snow flows out of it. That is where we crossed the pass. We approached walking over snowfield covered lakes and through the life saving tracks of other hikers. Then we headed up a trail that had been carved into the side of this wall. We crossed the snow field at the top, with wobbling legs and trekking poles posted far down into the snow for safety. We looked down to our left, staring death in the face then climbed the last steps up and over the pass. To try and explain what it looks like on the other side of Forester Pass, is simple. When I reached the top and saw what we would be hiking through for the next few weeks, I nearly had a heart attack. MOUNTAINS further than the eye could see. HUGE DEATHLY SNOWY MOUNTAINS. There was no fucking way I would make it out of them. They were too big. I had underestimated everything on this trip so far, and I had to say sorry to my mom under my voice. 

Suds and Ultra Lite sat at the top of Forester with us. A huge glissading slide led down the other side towards what looked liked the trail miles below. There were two choices, you could either glissade down or take the longer walking route to stay safe. Ultra Lite would not let up, “Glissade, yolo, we have to yolo!” This was our first time meeting Ultra Lite. He went first, none of us had ever done it before. He hooted and hollered the whole way down, it was as if a five year old was hitting the play ground for the first time in his life. Helen went second, same thing. I saw the glow of his ora burst out of him ten fold. His laughter bounced off of the ancient rock and then into my heart. I hesitated, almost taking the long route as I watched a girl come over the pass eyes filled with the sting of fear and tears dripping down her cheeks. Fuck it, I sat down and let life take me. I went much faster than the boys, howling with a happiness and joy that hadn’t been touched for years. I could not stop laughing, and we all three laughed together uncontrollably when I reached the bottom. We watched Suds and the crying girl take the long safe walking route, post holing every 10ft. Happy with our choice we moved on. 

Ultra Lite sped ahead, it was late afternoon now and Helen and I decided to stop and make “dinner” after another short glissade down to a shelf of granite slabs. We made 3 dinners. John Muir hikers coming south on trail warned us of the dangerous river crossings and snow fields over the next 200 miles. PCT hikers coming north had either just almost died crossing Forester, or had the time of their lives. There was no in between 

We finished our dinners and had two packs of instant potatoes left before we reached town late afternoon the next day. I accepted that I would not eat for the rest of the day and night. We were in Kings Canyon, one of the most beautiful places on the planet. We were there. We often took moments to breathe in the now, because right now as I write this, I can close my eyes and remember being there. I can feel the same gratitude in my gut as I felt then. And I cry often. I cry as if I am missing someone who had given everything to me, without ever asking for anything in return. I cry as if I had been to heaven and spoke with God, been cradled in the peace that God is, then put back on Earth because I was not ready to stay there. I so dearly want to go back, and it is hard not to be bitter at the world for not letting that be a reality for us wild ones. The truest most real thing that a person can do is somewhat withheld from them. 

Later that evening with 2 miles before we wanted to make camp an array of flags hung across the trail. A fire was lit and was surrounded by hikers. An angel dressed in a civil war uniform greeted us, “thou hath pass do carry cheeses or fruits of any sort?” In the middle of no where in the canyons of the Sierra Nevada, a group of angels made us magic. They were staying for two nights and had used pack mules to bring in the goods. We ate spaghetti, Helen got another birthday cake made of tortillas, marshmallows, chocolate, and candy bars. We sang him happy birthday and his eyes filled with the glow of fire. We did not go to bed hungry that night. The trail provides, and GOD is always with us. 

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Clear your mind. Your heart is trying to tell you something.

(via deeplifequotes)

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PCT Mi210-ish I-10 California DEATH BY SPLIFF

The first 19 mi water carry without a cache put there by angels. We had been warned by Whitney Shoeston a few days prior to the 10,833ft decent from Mt. San Jacinto, that most hikers would underestimate this death trap. We woke in a dry river bed, so soft and cool, flies buzzing all around. The sand was an extra padding to our thin foam sleeping pads which helped to ease the numbing that occurred as I slept on my side each night. We each had around 3 liters of water to continue the rest of the decent, 12 miles to water. This should have been more than enough. We estimate 1 liter/ 5 miles.

As we set out that morning we remembered that we needed to look out for a plant called Poodle Dog Bush, it would have purple flowers and smell like chronic weed. If you touched the bush, an irritation worse than that of poison oak would break out on our skin. Sure enough a plant with purple flowers covered the mountain side as we breached the trees. We spent the first 2 hours of climbing deathly afraid of this bush, there were even side trails formed around the bushes from previous hikers. This was a death trap. (We later learned that this was not poodle dog bush hahah). 

We continued down with extreme caution, and the extremes just kept on coming. The sun started to rise higher in the sky and mother nature began to laugh at us beaming down an energy hotter than anything we had felt on the trail so far. 103 degrees by 12:00pm. I scanned down the mountain, nothing more than poodle dog bush in site aside from the large rocks that formed small cool pockets for rattlers. We had separated at this point, my partner being a few switchbacks ahead of me. A scream. I hurry down the trail jumping over rocks, twisting to avoid poodle, and stirring up the desert dust. As I reached my partner he yells “stop!” “Rattle Snake!” He points to the right hand side of the trail near a huge boulder, I move as far to the left of the trail as I can and inch forward. A rattler sleeps, nestled in the shade of the boulder, not making a sound. This is the worst a rattler can do, to not warn you of itself.

We were hot, hearts beating from our snake encounter and the fact that we still had at least 7 miles to go. We rounded a corner to the first sight of water below. From here on we watched the water with dehydrated pupils, was it getting further away? 2.5 liters seemed to be more than enough but our sweat to intake ratio was disabling. We could not replenish. My partner sped forward, in times like this (fucking hard ass times) we usually hiked apart. It was easier for our minds to overcome the situation if we could stay concentrated without any interruption.

I sipped my luke warm water. Keeping a steady pace. My partner was out of site. He had less water than me, I tried not to wonder about him. I looked around at the scenery, bland. A scab of earth that looked like a topo map, was it even real? How did people choose to live here? I couldn’t believe I was hiking in this shit. 500 more miles of desert to go I thought. Finally I saw a group of sweat drenched hikers cowering in the shade of a boulder near the water fountain. Wow the watering hole. The water trickled out of the fountain, filling a liter every five minutes. I didn’t want to move. I sat, shoes and socks off, eating crackers and slim jims. Ahead was another 5 miles to the hostel, across an open field of sand and sage brush. This was death valley if I didn’t know better.

My partner was eager to leave. I hadn’t been sitting for longer than 15 minutes and the sun was scorching down midday. We should wait I thought, I should wait. I should just wait and let him go. I want to wait. It’s so hot, I will die. I am already dying. I could feel his anxiety penetrating my thoughts and I shushed my mind. “Okay, lets go”, I said with a tone that expressed how much I didn’t want to leave. We began down the asphalt that would lead us to the open desert. It was 5 degrees hotter on the road, I could feel the heat soaking through my feet. We trudged on, I walked silent behind my partner. Angry that we didn’t stay longer as chills started to creep down my body. Am I going to faint? I think I am having a heat stroke. I continued to walk, now being pulled down by sand. This is unsafe. I am risking my life right now and I could feel my body screaming at me.

We finally reached I-10. Two overpasses stood granting us large amounts of shade for the first time that day. It was 330pm. Under the first pass was an apple and some water bottles. I sat down abruptly feeling dizzy and full of anger from not listening to my own gut feeling. My partner moved on to the next pass where there was a group of people. Eventually I made my way down to them. Two trail angels sat with a cooler full of beer, soda, and sandwich fixings. I sat down again glancing at a syringe that lay on the dirty underpass floor. Not caring I drank a soda in peace, and let the group tell me how to console my heat exhaustion. My partner chugged two beers and ate a cheese sandwich not knowing there was meat in the cooler. The two angels that provided for us “Cope” and “Trail Bride” had hiked the PCT the year before. They had met on the trail and fell in love. They couldn’t stop telling us to keep going, and that when it was over, it would be like we have lost the most true lover in all of existence. I couldn’t grasp this. I was at mile 200. I couldn’t imagine finishing. I didn’t think I would finish.

They began rolling up a spliff, packed with that cali bud and a little bit of tobacco to help get the heart pumping. We sat and dragged it, I hadn’t smoked much so I began talking my face off. I looked over and noticed my partner turning pale sitting beside me. “Are you okay?” “I think I am going to pass out, I can’t see or hear, I can’t see or hear anything,” he said as his head started to fall gently to the side. I got up and let the angels know that my lover was passing out as they didn’t realize it from him sitting so calmly. I made him a sandwich and brought him a soda to spike his blood sugar. He came back slowly, feeling as if he had just died and come back to life. Everyone left a while after that. I sat with my partner for 3 hours 1 mile away from the hostel helping him and waiting for him to gain strength. Finally at 630 we walked on. Slowly but surely we reached the hostel, “Ziggy and the Bears” and LEGEND just happened to be there as well. “You’re right on time” he yelled. He was the only person my partner wanted to see at the moment. He made everything alright. 

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If someone used mules to pack out your wedding attire for a day trip would you get married in wilderness areas like this? Waterfalls, snow peaks, alpine lakes. 

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PCT Mi26 Boulder Oaks Campground California. LEGEND

The second morning on the trail I woke to the voice of a sacred soul. It danced around the eye sore of a campground chanting, “pancakes and coffee, I got pancakes and coffee”. It was early, the desert was showing a side of itself that I hadn’t expected on day two. It drizzled, clouds covered the sky and fog distilled the smell of sage that bordered the campground. I looked out my tent door to see a human replica of the one eyed weasel from Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs. His ice blue eyes locked with mine and we smiled as if we had just seen an old friend. His grin cast to me a quick vision life, a chipped tooth revealing a hard working yet child like heart. “Pancakes and coffee!!” 

His name is LEGEND, and he is the LEGEND. He had arrived at Boulder Oaks Campground on this morning after driving a mere 16 days from Nicaragua. I thought this was the reason for his loony eyes and shaking body but thousands of miles down the trail he still held this look of LIFE. He drove Gypsy, the wandering Chevrolet. Patched with drift wood and bedazzled with the names of every spirit that was honored to hear his stories that may have held no truth at all.  

Six of us gathered around a picnic table, he delegated tasks and gave us professional titles as if we were about to start a business. Distribution manager, clean up coordinator, book keeper. He made pancakes filled with anything edible that rolled around in Gypsy, bacon bits, m&ms, peanuts, you name it. They were made with the truest love I have ever tasted. Even the coffee which was more of a black sludge, was filled with a love so deep that it brings tears to my eyes as I write this. I didn’t understand how someone I had just met could treat me with such divine embrace. Everyday from then on I would learn that this other worldly path I walked was an alternate universe where people consistently gave with love and passion. 

After pancakes Legend tried to get everyone to hang out, reminding them that their gear would stay dry if they just waited another hour. They all packed up and headed out, my mate and I stayed. The energy that Legend gave off was not something we could part from so quickly. We sat and listened to him tell stories he had written in a worn out composition book. He replaced our names in the stories sure that he had written them about us long before we had even met. An hour later the sun was shining. We packed up. He was as grateful for our presence as we were for his. He let us know that we had reminded him to slow down, to take the time to breathe in the present moment. He let us know that even though we were skinny as rails, that we would finish the trail, and that we would see him again soon. GOOD BYE FOR NOW LEGEND. THANK YOU ALWAYS.

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PCT Mi2,500-something Washington. FIREWEED

Kush on the PCT falls from the sky. The second my bag emptied of the sweet plant it was as if Jah had whispered into the ears of hiking stoners and beautiful buds would make their way into my lungs. How was I to quit the devils lettuce when it seemed God had a secret plan of his own? I have since been clean of cannabis, as 5 months of continuous inhalations can truly take a toll on the mind, and the soul. However, a majority of my photos along this path reveal that my one true hiking partner was THC herself. GOD BLESS CANNABIS

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Like the light coming from the warm shelter so carefully known as home, the metal markers hugged tightly within an old tree calmed the feeling of uncertainty. Why does the raw signature speak to me so clearly? Why does the trail beckon my soul and fill it with a purpose so great that not a thing in the world can touch? 

With feet nearly unmarked by blisters for the entirety of my travels, I realize that I have walked thousands of miles in lives beyond this. It came easy. I don’t mean to discredit the severity of the pilgrimage for it takes more than strength of the body to overcome, but my soul had done this more than once before. Though in my past lives this was a way of life, following the growth of food, the sun, and the seasons. In past lives I may have walked alone, or with a tribe, but always with a strong independent soul, I know. 

Today, I cannot get away from the cries I hear from the wilderness. The sound of the dirt awaiting my return, wondering why I have vanished into the warm glow of a shelter. I ask TheOne/Thelight/TheSelf to give me guidance everyday but I already know within. I can feel the mist of Washington on my face even in the warmest and driest of places. I can see the desert sun of California through my eyelids even when there is no light. The sounds at night that stir my fear, and the power raging the morning after realizing once again, there is nothing to be afraid of in the WILD. 

It is out here in society, where people have been taught to fear each other, to fear nature, to fear adventure, where the murder truly occurs. The murder of self, the murder of our true essence. I pray that I do not succumb to the death that the city can bring to a soul. My life was not meant to dwell here. I will return, pounding my feet into that sweet soil.  

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A shot of whiskey, it burns my nose. The musky smell of John Muir, and thousands of other found souls drip off the cold stone. I stare down at my feet, bubbling with snow melt. How did I get here? The sweet voices of those with me fill my heart. I don’t know them, but then again it is as if they had shared many past memories with me. I close my eyes, they must have. Everyone on this trail I have known in lives far behind this one. We meet again, on a 2,660mi long trail. Where else would we meet? This is where you find us. Old souls reaching out for what others cannot grasp. Taking on a venture that is beyond the un-evolved. Find us here, or find us there, but always it will be beyond compare. 

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Mi833 Pacific Crest Trail