The First 100 Miles

I have officially hiked over 100 miles, completing Section A of the Pacific Crest Trail! Although this trail is 2653 miles long, I won't down play those first 100 miles - it's pretty far!

Over the first ten days, I had an elevation gain/loss of 32,000 feet - the equivalent of walking up and down the Empire State Building over 25 times. I've hiked for 12 hours a day, every day, under the Southern California desert sun, with 35 lbs. on my back - 10 of water, 10 of food, and 15 of gear. It has been such a challenging and rewarding experience so far.

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The Pacific Crest Trail is a study in contrast. It is a rollercoaster.

The trail will bring you from the lowest of lows, to the highest of highs and back in one afternoon - both emotionally, and physically. Your soul will feel as though it's in the drivers seat, and your mind and body's capability will surpass your expectations. But the trail will also try to kill you:

The trail is beautiful - there are endless views of vast mountains layered in the distance. The desert is full of vegetation and wildlife - of birds, animals and plants I've never seen before. The sunrises, sunsets, and night skies are the prettiest I've ever seen - and I get to experience it daily as I hike. I feel as free as a bird out here, almost limitless. After climbing one mountain, and then climbing the next, I feel strong, and like I can climb all day. Days in, I already see my mind and body changing.

The people here have been some of the kindest people I've ever met. Hikers will look out for you, express concern for you, and share with you after a very brief interaction. Hikers have offered me spare water, helped me set up my tent in the wind, and were relieved to reunite with me after days apart in the desert. There is a vulnerability that exists among thru-hikers that fosters a very real comradeship and friendship almost instantly. Reuniting, after only an introduction, is like seeing a long lost friend. The trail angels and hiking community will drive you wherever you need to go, pick up your packages for you, give you water, beer, and fruit, without ever asking for anything in return, all to support the hiker.

But the trail is also the scariest I've ever hiked. The trail is narrow and cliff side, so my footing needs to be very calculated and secure. One wrong step, I may trip, slip, or fall.

The sun also tries to get me off trail. The desert UV is strong, and the constant exposure has burned me, left me dehydrated, and had me hiding under bushes for hours midday to avoid the heat on multiple occasions. The lack of water means planning my day and miles around water sources, and rationing the water I do have to get there. Running low on water, and knowing I'm hours away from the next water source has been some of the most stressful moments to date. Knowing I have to ascend 900 feet over two miles and then set up camp, with less than an hour of daylight left has nearly brought me to tears.

If the environment doesn't spit you out, the silence might. Miles upon miles of solo hiking gets quiet. Since my phone battery is saved for GPS use, I am without music or audiobooks to break up the sounds of the rocks below my feet. Being days away from an outlet and barely-there service means I am also limited to quick "alive-and-well" texts to my family. Although I have met amazing people on the trail, we all have our own pace, so I have mostly hiked alone so far. I've always been A-OK alone, but the combination of dehydration, malnutrition from lack of appetite, and 85 degree heat kind of makes you want to carve a "Wilson" friend on the tree you're hiding under during the mid-day siesta.

But on the same day, I smile every time I pass a trail marker, I enjoy the terrain so much I forget to check what mile I'm at, I leapfrog with other hikers which gives me confidence since I'm not falling behind, and when I do get to camp, I proudly hobble around to set up my tent, exchange stories with the other hikers, laugh as I force the ramen down, use every centimeter of my cleansing wipe, and plan my next day with excitement.

It is difficult, but gratifying. I feel strong, but so sore. I am exhausted, but anxious to hike the next mile. I am burnt but freezing at night. I climb up to go right back down. It's the challenge that I knew it would be, but has taught me more than I expected so far, taught me what I thought would take me months to learn. It has surprised me and surpassed my expectations, and it has brought me so much joy. I've always said that getting to the southern terminus was the goal, and every mile after that is bonus, and it is. It's been amazing to ride out the joy after the goal was accomplished. Only 100 miles in, I can't imagine and can't wait to see what the next 4.5 months will bring.

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A New Name:

Every thru-hiker earns a Trail Name, usually in the first several weeks of trail, and usually based off something embarrassing they did.

It took me to day 2.

For the last two weeks before trail, I kept reminding myself to put Velcro on the back of my trail shoes (Altras) for my gaiters (prevents rocks and dirt from getting into your shoes/feet) to attach to.

I didn't.

I remembered I didn't while my parents were driving me to the southern terminus. I told them of my mishap, but agreed that if anything were to be forgotten, that could be it.

I still wore my gaiters on day 1, but they didn't stay in place very well and kept riding up above my ankles. Plenty of rocks made it into my shoes on that first day.

On Day 2, I didn't bother wearing them, and continued to get rocks in my shoes, while all the others hikers around me wore their gaiters and were rock-free.

I hiked three miles with Mio and Pumpkin that day. When we got to Hauser Creek, Mile 15, we decided to take a siesta to rest our feet and wait out the heat. I told Pumpkin earlier the reason I wasn't wearing gaiters, but while we were resting, she noticed I was wearing Altras.

"Amanda, don't Altras come with Velcro already on the back of the shoes?"

I didn't want to look. But I put my foot in front of me, saw a tab on the back of the shoe, and pulled. It was the LOUDEST Velcro sound I've ever heard.

The girls continued on that day and I stayed in Hauser, but they left this note for me 5 miles ahead with my new name on it:

It was embarrassing, but trail names are always something to be proud of. I'm now known as Velcro amongst the thru-hiking community.