On May 7, 2015, Ceili Brennan of East Chop and her friend Chloe Lalonde began their quest to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, from San Diego to British Columbia. On Monday, Oct. 5, they will complete their journey of nearly 3,000 miles. Following are excerpts from Ceili’s blog posts along the way.
May 31
In the past five days we have done 95 miles, which we are proud of. But also at the end of each day we endure what we call “desperation miles.” This is the kind of pace we will want to keep from here on out, but ideally with less desperation at the end.
Desperation miles might include Chloe sprinting with a backpack for the last mile, or breathing aggressively through our noses to avoid dehydrating after running out of water with six miles to go. Desperation miles make things more fun, we get to switch into the next gear and up the suffer score. We’re all about that.
Something else we tried to make a long hot stretch more fun is simply removing our pants. It worked! Words from the wise: if you need to spice things up, hike in underwear.
June 12
The thing about time and miles is that they just keep passing. That is what we realized in our tent in a windy little valley, after 24 miles of following the L.A. Aqueduct, the windiest climb, and a dinner with all of the friends huddled behind a bush for shelter.
We would be in Tehachapi the next day, and were talking about what errands would have to happen there. Suddenly we realized that this was the last resupply until Kennedy Meadows, the last real town until we get through the Sierras. We might be on top of Mt. Whitney in the next 10 days. We never really thought we’d be here.
So our 20 hours in Tehachapi has been different than other town stops. We spent lots of time studying the water report, as the next 150 miles will be close to waterless. We stayed in a hotel room with a pool split between many friends, because it would be our last chance to sleep in a bed for at least a month probably. We have to start being more strategic, conserving our resources, staying aware of weather. We might dehydrate and be really hungry, but this is when it really starts getting exciting.
Also in the past week, we hesitantly exclaimed that we actually feel strong. It’s another thing we expected eventually but never really thought would happen. We can do 18 to 24 miles a day without any desperation miles at the end. We’ve started to wake up at 5ish and can usually get 17 miles in by noon. Cool. It allows for a lot more flexibility in our days — naps, longer breaks, straight chillin’. Thank you, bodies, for calming down and allowing all this to happen.
August 14
Two alarms go off in our tent, one at 5:45 a.m. and another at 6:12 a.m.. My third alarm is Chloe starting to eat oatmeal. By then I know it’s real, the day is here. I sit up and grab my food bag from under my feet, and add the mixin’s to my overnight soaked oats. Breakfast is our best meal of the day.
The rule is that we have to be out of the tent by 6:30 a.m., and that’s actually been happening lately. After oatmeal we start stuffing things in our packs and changing into crusty hiking clothes. It’s important to keep in mind that anything that happens in the tent happens right next to each other, with at least one of our arms touching and legs stretched out in front of us. It’s a dance.
Once changed, we evacuate our belongings and ourselves from the tent and disassemble it. Fifteen minutes later we are walking. In the morning my walking thoughts are effortless and airy, and the light is usually beautiful. The miles go fast.
Between 9:15 and 9:45 a.m. I feel my first pang of hunger, and I try to tough it out until at least 10 a.m. At that point though, whoever is in front makes the call to stop, drop the packs and have a sit right on the trail. I eat a cliff bar. We use this time to pick out a water source up ahead to stop at for lunch. Then we keep walking.
About three hours later we reach the lunch spot. Hopefully we have done about 13 miles by now. We rip off our shoes and sit on a log. We eat Ritz crackers and PB and jam out of a squeeze tube. Sometimes it’s too sticky to handle. Sometimes Chloe will have been listening to Al Gore’s The Future so we will discuss the fate of humanity, or our personal fates. Sometimes we pose questions like, “What is your biggest concern regarding the future of healthcare?” and talk about that for a while. If anyone passes as we sit, they get the same question.
Sometimes conversation is repetitive; Chloe will muse about where every one of our trail friends are in relation to where we are. I talk to her about Ahab and boats. Then we fill up the platypi, and we walk.
Usually after lunch is tune time. That means some kind of external stimuli/brain food becomes necessary. Podcasts, audiobooks and music. I cry and laugh and walk and think. So much thinking. My brain soaks up stories like it never has before, and seems to process information more completely than ever.
Between 4 and 6 p.m., someone will stop to pee or look at a lake for a second, but it usually morphs into what we call Happy Hour. It’s when a quick break turns into a small snack which turns into binging on trail mix and talking about our dreams and purpose and life partners. We make lists of things to look forward to, things we are looking for in our future homes and in people. I think we are trying to distill all of our thoughts about what is important. After Happy Hour we feel more settled about our lives at least for the moment. At this point we are usually at about 20 miles for the day and decide to just go as far as we feel like until we see the perfect tent site.
When we find it, we drop everything. Put the tent up, wet-wipe bathe, and put comfy clothes on. We stretch in the tent and eat beans while jamming out to Honey I’m Good and Cheerleader. We try to stay in touch with the top 40 while we’re away from humans. I eat one square of dark chocolate and decide whether or not I will boycott dental hygiene that day. Every night the sleeping bags are cozier than the previous night, and sleep comes quickly after some reading, writing and laughing.
The thing about this trail is that the routine almost never happens the same way every day. Sometimes we find ourselves on old bikes cruising down Main street of a tiny town, surrounded by mountains and forest fire smoke, squealing with glee. Or we end up in the parking lot of an In-N-Out burger asking for rides to the trail. This morning we were trying on old dirty hiking shoes without socks because they were in the wash in an old couple’s backyard at 6:30 a.m. One minute I’ll be hating the downhills, my feet hurt, it’s too long, I’m anxious about the future. An hour later I love it all, I feel strong and confident about my decisions. Weird. It’s all about flexibility.
Sept. 15
I’ve never done a marathon, but I’ve heard that the last six miles are the most difficult. We have around 370 miles out of 2,668 to go, and they may indeed prove to be the hardest to get through.
Even though it’s getting cold and rainy and I am feeling more and more anxious to begin the next chunk of my life, Washington is my favorite state, I think. In the past six days we did 148 miles out of cascade locks, passing Mt. Adams, going through Goat Rocks and over Knifes Edge and passing Rainier. It’s as amazing as the Sierras but with less people. It’s a secret! The clouds were low and we only saw about 30 per cent of what we should have, so I want to come back next summer.
Last night we careened down the ski slopes of White Pass, expecting to find a closed store. Instead we found all of our friends we’ve been hiking with for the past weeks, a ski lodge condo to split, and the store open for 15 more minutes, just enough time to get some frozen burritos and chocolate milk. After being cold and moist for days and days, showering and sitting around on couches and beige wall to wall carpeting was all I could have asked for. The heat was turned up as high as it could go as we fell asleep in multiple sets of bunk beds. It’s so cool to travel in a mobile community, but it’s getting to be the time when we all just want to get to Canada asap. Only about 19 more days of walking for 10 hours each day.
In closing, we’ve determined the 3 S’s of adventuring: Safety, Solidarity and Suffering. Gotta have all three or it’s not an adventure.
Sept. 26
I love starting each morning with a 2500 foot climb. I love three full days of glorious sunshine when this state promised to dump cold rain on us constantly.
I love the dark dramatic cascades, the “librarian in glasses” compared with the “hot blonde” which is the Sierras, according to our friend Andy. I love going days without seeing any humans besides the dozen or so guys who’ve been hiking together every day for months and are constantly laughing at each other. I love the bright red maples among the deep green conifers.
I love seeing buildings in the distance from the trail and dropping down a black diamond ski run to get to them. I love lying in a room of hiker-filled bunk beds in Baring, Wa., population 220, giggling until we fall asleep.
I love wearing clean clothes after not doing laundry for a month.
When else will these things be a normal part of daily life? There are a lot of things I like about civilized life too, like texting and hot tea and mattresses and shelters with climate control, so it might be okay when that stuff becomes normal again, but it might not. Today we will get back on trail for the second to last time before we see our dad and moms in Manning Park, British Columbia. Our last resupply stop, the town of Stehekin, offers the use of their single satellite phone to hikers, which makes me think the 4G might be nonexistant.
Among hikers, there is a collective nostalgia. While two weeks ago almost everyone was dying to be in Canada, now we are taking more time for lunch, and everything that everyone does becomes hilarious and then kind of sad. Regular events feel poignant, like when Kett got locked in a bathroom last night.
Off now to walk what is said to be the most beautiful part of the whole Pacific Coast Trail. Weather forecast is promising. See you in Canada!
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