Today, on July 11th, we arrived at the gorgeous Crater Lake for our first zero day accompanied with well deserved beers and a gorgeous view. 

It's been almost 90 miles on the trail so far from our start point at Highway 66 near the Oregon/California border and it's been a wild couple of days.

July 4

Our first day was a half day of hiking after my amazing wonderful parents and Uncle Russell and Aunty Sharon dropped us off on the trailhead with full bellies and fully packed and watered bags weighing in at just under 30 lbs each. The first few miles were hard with a heavy pack full of (too much) food, but with a half day to our use we were able to crank out just over 10 miles. 

We even ran into some older ladies on a Fourth of July day hike (we were by a boating reservoir) who were so excited to meet us "PCT hikers" she took a photo for her Facebook page. I definitely don't feel like we deserve this title so early in, but it was a cool feeling to basically say, yes, we are walking to Canada.

As the sun was starting to set over our last few miles, first-night jitters began to set in. What didn't help was running into a mountain man walking two giant mastiffs and then running into a deer carcass a few minutes later. Finding a tent spot was overwhelming, especially as we realized we packed too much food to fit into our bear bags. Thankfully we had everything in smell-proof LOKSAK Opsaks and after we attempted to hang the one bear bag, I tried to get to sleep as I fitfully imagined being mauled to death by a rogue brown bear, only one night into the trail.

July 5

To my surprise, I woke up safe and sound to another day on the trail. We packed up and hit the trail again with sore legs, and ended up crushing a 20-mile day including a 6-mile stretch of lava rock, which wrecked havoc on our shoes and feet. Today, it finally hit me that on trail, I'm literally living my dream. I've sacrificed so much for the opportunity to hike the Pacific Crest Trail and with that realization, a wave of gratitude washed over me accompanied by some happy tears. I'll soon realize that crying on the trail - due to either exhaustion, misery, happiness, relief or gratitude will become a common occurrence, sometimes on the same day for all of the above reasons.

July 6

We woke up about four miles south of Hwy 140 and reached it at around 10am. My parents had dropped off some trail magic in a cooler for us - cold Gatorade and beers, and a baggie of cold fresh strawberries from Aunty Sharon that I gobbled down in approximately 5 seconds - it was a fun surprise. We saw a few other hikers had set up tents near the highway and had enjoyed some of the beer as well. 

The third day brought us some dry stretches, blow downs obstructing the trail, and the onset of the dreaded mosquitos. We ended our day at Christi Springs, and ran into four other PCT hikers and approximately four million skeeters. At this point, I still pretty much feel like a PCT-fraud, so I'm shy around the other hikers who look worn down, toughened by hundreds of miles. I just look pink, sweaty, and with food for three other people in my pack. 

After 18 miles we tucked into a bug ridden camp cramped in with all of our supplies as last night some critter started to gnaw through the straps of Vinny's trekking poles. We realize now it could have been a deer looking to lick the salt off the handles. The night was hot and sweaty as we worked our tired muscles with the spiky massage ball - best impulse purchase ever. We are starting to really smell and the tent feels a little bit smaller each night...

July 7

Today was the toughest and scariest day on the trail yet. We started the day plotting out our next two days - and easy 18 and 20 mile day running into our first resupply at Mazama Village. A town was within reach, and even with the bugs and trees, and starting to really stink, we knew we could easily push through. There were a couple dry sections coming up - notably 16 miles without water, but we could handle it. I remember waking up this day with a clear goal and an end in sight.

That didn't happen. Snow started to appear on the trail, even though it was 80 degrees out. Mostly it was little puddles we could easily hop over, but one section required us to start kicking in our steps across a mountain pass. I was a little nervous but followed Vinny's footsteps, used my trekking poles and remembered our snow skills class from a few months ago and we crossed easily.

Then the next snow covered section we ran into with two of the more intimidating hikers - not only were they fully tatted from neck to palm, but they had the latest and greatest ultra light gear and a pace that put us to shame. They seemed nervous to cross this section without micro spikes, so of course I did as well. After researching the topo and looking around the terrain, we decided to do a combination of mountain scrambling on shale and bush whacking through snow covered mountain sides, at some points on all fours. This was scary and I had to really push to keep up with them, and I couldn't shake the feeling that they felt annoyed they now had to babysit us green hikers. After some navigating, we reconnected with the dry trail, marching forward proudly with probably only a mile or two lost. Of course the two hikers sped ahead and we worked on gaining back our pace until we ran into them not two miles later, again stumped by an impassible snow covered mountain pass. At the aptly named Devils Peak, the trail was supposed to switch back for a 600-foot drop in elevation to a water source below, but all we could see was a snow covered ski slope. One of the hikers we were with wanted to turn back. This was unsafe, he said, none of us had micro spikes or much snow experience, and there was no clear way to scramble over this and reconnect with the trail without going deeply off track and into the back country. Vinny and the other hiker debated the option to glissade (i.e., sit on your bottom and slide down the hill) down to the patch of trees 500 feet below. What we were unsure of was the terrain going forward, but the topo showed that the elevation would not get nearly as high as we were currently. After the two hikers had their lunch and we poured over the maps and our options, we decided to go for the glissade. One, the next town was less than 20 miles ahead and almost a thousand feet lower in elevation, the hikers only had one more day of food and turning back to Hwy 140 would probably be a hungry stretch, and two, we had a SOS button that we could press if any of us got in trouble. I checked in with my dad to let him know we were in a sketchy spot and the decision we made, with a promise to check in once we made it down. 

 With a deep breath the first two hikers started down. With elated whoops we found we were able to easily glissade down and we worked through some easy snow to the water source. Now these two hikers were our friends and the "Tatted Twins" really helped us with the decision making and confidence we needed. After filling up and resting at the creek, we pushed on for a few more miles before making camp, knowing we had 20 miles to go until Mazama. We wanted to get there before the lodge closed to get a shower in. We desperately needed it. I can't even begin to describe our smell, but I feel like I have proof of that that saying that fear makes your sweat more pungent.

July 7

We tried to get an early start knowing we had to get through 20 miles today before the glorious Hwy 62 and Mazama Lodge near Crater Lake where a shower and resupply box awaited us. This was a tough day with patchy snow covering the trail and a lot of ups and downs. We actually followed the wrong trail for about a mile - the patchy snow and tons of blow downs made it really hard to find a trail, so if I saw footprints and dirt I trusted it. It wasn't until we checked Guthooks (our amazing PCT GPS app) that we realized we were 900 yards from the trail that we started bush whacking back. This was a real mood killer as it not only slowed us down, but also was a humbling experience. The snow only got worse from here and at times it fully covered the trail, and we looked out into a snow covered wonderland, tentatively trudging on with our compasses pointing north, checking every once in a while that we were near the actual trail. Honestly this section would have been nearly impossible with paper maps, and we learned that two older women were lost in this section for a day or two before turning up at Mazama. 

 What was really frustrating about this day was how close we were to our destination, and how slow the snow was making us go in terms of both navigation struggles and physical effort - it was like hiking on sand. The previous days had loose mileage goals but none of the clear "be here by X time" constraints that civilization has, which made these last four or so miles of complete snow that much more unbearable.

However, we made it to Mazama around 5 and had enough time to take a cold, 4-minute timed shower for 75 cents, paid $5 to set up our tents in the "PCT Campground", and ordered burgers at the lodge. It was bizarre to see the national park full of tourists and we easily forgot it was already Saturday.

Most of the other hikers at Mazama were waiting around to see how the snow would melt. Many people we talked to planned to drop off to the Oregon Coast Trail or Oregon Skyline Trail. Our hiker friends (the tattooed twins) were waiting for their resupply box with microspikes before deciding what to do next. We ultimately decided to take tomorrow as a zero-day, check out Crater Lake, and nail down how we were going to safely avoid snow going North.

I'm writing this at Crater Lake Lodge, where we hitched from Mazama to the lake to check it out, grab beers on the patio in rocking chairs, sleep in a real bed(!) and otherwise live the life while we stress about the best way to move forward safely avoiding snow.