I sleep poorly and wake up with a pounding headache. Next to me is a gently resting Carrot, soft shirt draped over her eyes. She’s awake too, and she’s trying not to be.

Eventually, Carrot springs into action. She makes me coffee and heats me leftovers from the night before, both of which she serves me in bed. I eat cookies while she cooks. I’m so hungry, I can’t wait.

Carrot and I talk about miles and speed. She reminds me that this time last year, I took my very first backpacking trip. When I attempted to hike Washington, I’d roll into camp at eight PM, exhausted and weeping. I’m a much stronger hiker now, and I feel good about that fact.

Bogwitch, Carrot and I move slow, lazily driving ourselves 1.7 miles down the road, because it gives us a shorter day and because it’s good to keep ego about mileage right sized. Once we get there, we walk two miles with the chihuahuas, passing group after group of young teens on a trip with leaders in their mid 20s. Their packs are huge and one of the smallest ones falls over with the weight.

Carrot turns back, we’ll see her at Steven’s Pass, in just about a week. Bogwitch and I forge on, our plan to go about 13 miles today, to camp at the last listed campsite before Stehekin, to shuttle in the following morning for a nero, AKA a day where one hikes hardly at all. We could go to Stehekin tonight, but it’s the Fourth of July, we don’t know if the shuttle is running at all, if there will be enough campsites, if we’d even make it considering our late start and how generally shitty I feel today.

We walk. We walk and we feel bad, Bogwitch with a sore tendon and a tender ankle, me with whatever weird sinus thing I have going on. Is it an infection? Allergies? I’ve had a consistent headache, a face stuffed full of cotton, a throat that just feels weird. I don’t have a runny nose or a cough or itchy eyes. I’ve felt just 10-45% not good since I started hiking, never bad enough to stop but never great enough to feel awesome.

Bogwitch gets ahead of me and I’m hiking at a snail’s pace. I put on an audiobook, check my GPS track, put on some music, check again. Each time I check it feels like I’ve been hiking for eleventy billion years and it turns out I’ve gone less than a mile. I’m mad at my slowness today, but I think again about that whole right sized ego thing. Maybe this is fine I think. Don’t want to get too big for my britches.

By 3:00PM I’ve see a bear, a growse, and a snake, but almost no PCT hikers. The small bubble of hikers around us is mostly middle aged men, dudes I’ve seen mansplain and take up too much space and tell woman after woman to “be careful” as if we’re not hiking the same fucking trail, as if the PCT were truly dangerous. I am not interested in them, but in their absence I feel lonely. It’s a holiday. People are with their families. All the hikers have probably hitched to Winthrop or booked it to Stehekin. And here Bogwitch and I are, hiking grumpy and alone.

We hit camp at 4:00 PM and I feel such a sense of profound emptiness I could cry. We check our Guthook app, just for fun. We toy with the idea of busting our asses to get to Stehekin tonight. We’re not sure we’ll make the last shuttle at 6:15, if it’s running at all. We worry the campsite will be full, crowded with tourists or fireworks. We consider that we’re both tired, exhausted really.

And yet….

We want to go anyway, and so we do.

Bogwitch and I hike those five miles as fast as we possibly can. They fly up the hills and I fly on the descents. I shovel chips into my mouth as I walk, letting the dust of the crumbs give me a gentle yellow beard. I pant. We race. And somehow…we make it.

At 6:15 we’re on the shuttle. At 7:30 we’re in Stehekin. by 8:00 we’ve picked our campsites on the lawn in front of the ranger station. By 10:00 we’re ready to be asleep.

—

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

It rains steadily all night, but somehow this morning is the only one so far without condensation. Sunkist’s new working theory is that it’s because there was a breeze, which seems as plausible as anything else. We’ll crack this condensation code yet!

21 miles from where I stand, Carrot is waiting in her van. She says she’ll cook us rice noodles with cabbage and beans and olive oil and sea salt, that I can sleep in her van bed with her. I haven’t hiked 21 miles in a while, certainly not on this trip yet, but I am MOTIVATED and so by 6:45AM I am completely packed and ready to go. Let’s do this.

First we finish the steep descent we started yesterday. The descent is full of lush greenery that wants to gently moisten us to death. Two miles in, I am completely soaked from the waist down, though the sun is shining bright. My shoes squeak as I walk, and I try not to let it touch me. Carrot. Van. Dogs. Cabbage. Noodles. Beans. What’s a little water?

The descent ends and we start to climb. We climb 2500 feet in four miles which at times has felt like not too much, but today feels brutal. I stop frequently, on account of not being able to breathe. Each time I rest I grow discouraged, but then I look up and see I am held in the belly of the bowl that is the Cascades. It’s so beautiful here, there aren’t even words. I try to take pictures and they pale in comparison. It’s sad, the human need to capture immensity, how we’ll fail over and over again.

At time top of the climb it is cold with socked in fog. Bogwitch and I set our shelters up to dry and I sit inside of mine, merrily eating vegan cheez-it’s and cough drops, on account of my weird throat. I drink hot emergency and eat a bar. I pack up my shelter, noting that it’s all downhill from here and I decide to crush.

Downhill turns out to be rolling hills. On the upswings my energy peters out, but on the downhills I jog. I listen to Beyoncé’s Homecoming and I cry thinking about black excellence and Beyoncé’s dedication to highlighting it. I feel fucking great.

Three and a half miles from camp, I have to shit. This hiking experience is weird, there are too many people to poop and I often end up holding it. I set out to find a private place, try to dig cat hole after cat hole and am continuously greeted with other people’s turds. There is just no glamorizing this situation and I am grossed out that humans have to shit at all. Damnit I think, finally finding a turd free zone to dig a hole. Why do people have to be so fucking gross?

My last miles are the gentlest of forest and I am running. A dude tries to keep my pace and cannot, which pleases me greatly, not for ego’s sake, but because I’m not trying to chat. At Rainy Pass I pee in the pit toilet and throw away my trash and at last, I see Carrot’s van in the distance.

“Carrrrottttt!” I yell. “Hi!!!!”

—

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

I wake at 5:30 and I listen to Carrot and Bogwitch sleep. The dogs stir in their little beds. Carrot sighs a small sigh and rises to take them out.

With this, the wheels of the day are set in motion. I open the curtains and we start to pack our bags. I have a meticulous system: sleeping bag in its own trash compactor bag, in case it rains. Another trash compactor bag with my food bag, which contains my pot, stove, and spork, then my shelter and neoair, my bag of clothes, my ditty bag full of electronic things and toiletries. I stuff one hip belt pocket with sunscreen, SPF chapstick, my ziplock wallet and my headphones. I stuff the other with bars and a small baggie full of Wavy Lays. I drink a lot of cold brew and eat a vast bowl of Chex and almond milk and banana. We all do a lot of this and that, and then we are ready to go.

I feel strange on the drive back to Hart’s Pass. Do I want to hike the whole PCT? I’m still not committed to anything past Washington but I feel a lot of pressure to make a plan, figure it out, shit or get off the pot. I’ve never once played anything by ear and I don’t love the process, but what can you do? I have no idea what plan will guarantee the best combo of fun and personal growth! But who does really?!

Carrot drives us to the bottom of the road to Hart’s Pass and we try to hitch our way up. The road is sketchy and also crowded so why NOT avoid putting Carrot’s van through the ringer again? Not too much time passes and some old climber guys let us in. They’re going to Hart’s Pass too, going to bag a peak.

The men ask too many questions and I start to feel tired. The drop us at our ridge, where we see a huge group of hikers around a roaring fire, all talking and drinking tea. Broken Toe, a PCT hiker of yesteryear is set up there, with a van he built out and firewood and an entire custom made drawer full of tea. He tries to convince to stay, but I know if I sit down we’ll never hike. We wave goodbye and I feel a little wistful. He’s making roasted vegetables for dinner tonight. Hiking is sometimes all about denying myself things.

We climb up and up and up into the misty cascades. I am stunned and I am also thirsty, because I forgot to check guthook and there’s very little water in the first ten miles after Hart’s Pass. Bogwitch and I hit an actually large and slippery snow patch and I use my microspikes for the first time. I listen to the news, hear stories of Customs and Border Patrol running a Facebook group that hosts memes that depict Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez sucking President fuck face’s stupid dick. The Fourth of July is just around the corner and I couldn’t feel less patriotic.

6.4 miles in, we finally gather water and I eat vegan cheese it’s on the bank of the river. I am sad while I clean my chafe, a well of grump while I try to ground into the Earth, feel myself strong and solid like a tree, like a rock, like a forest creature, all welcomed and warmed in the late afternoon summer light.

We descend over 1000 feet in 1.5 miles to our campsite ten miles in. I make a pot of bean and noodle soup, explore my Guthook app, see that tomorrow we’ll need to go 21 miles. I feel dismayed. I remind myself that though it’s early in the journey, I can totally hike 21 miles, that Carrot has graciously agreed to make us dinner at rainy pass just as soon as we arrive.

I hunker down into my shelter, blow up my neoair and burrow into my quilt just as it starts to rain. Myself and my gear are 100% dry, and I am grateful for our timing, so happy we didn’t push longer today to make tomorrow shorter.

21 miles will be just fine I think. 21 miles will be just fine.

—

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

Bogwitch, Carrot and I wake up well rested and it feels fucking incredible. We eat cereal and almond milk and berries and tasty bites and fresh greens and cookies and jalapeño potato chips and brown rice pasta with marinara and kale and baked tofu. I drink kombucha and limeade and ginger beer and iced coffee and massive bottles of sparking water. We go to the weed store and I use weed salve samples on all of my aches and pains and they….disappear. But I am a lightweight, and so suddenly I am very, very high.

We talk about trauma but on account of the weed, the trauma feels funny instead of nightmarish, which is all one can hope for, really. Behind our motel there is a river and we meander down, find a hammock and some chairs and stick our feet in the water. It’s too cold to swim, but I content myself watching the tiny rapids, a hummingbird, a deer. I am happy, so happy with my snacks and my people and the dogs and the drugs. I know happiness is often clouded by anxiety for me, but this one is pure, complete and absolute.

I let it wash over me again and again and I am grateful.

—

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

Picture by Bogwitch!

I wake up early and I’ve slept so well I can hardly believe it. Nine straight hours smiling in my sleeping bag, what a gift.

I put on my raincoat first thing. The condensation in my tent is so bad that with each slight movement, plump drops rain down on me. My quilt is soaked, my pack is soaked and the outside of my shelter is…dry. Cruel tricks of the universe! I’m a mouth breather.

Except Laurie’s tent is soaked inside too, and Sunkist’s, a nice lady we camped with. We each have different shelters with different materials, shapes, and floor situations. Condensation has us all in it’s grip.

We christen Laurie as bogwitch in honor of their particularly wet tent scenario. We all agree the name is perfect because it’s kind of scary and will freak out the squares.

I feel ready to hike today, the sun is out at last!!!! I tape my feet and notice some of the sore spots are not blisters. The pads of my feet are just a little bit purple. Actual bruises?! What a world.

Bogwitch hasn’t slept well and I try to keep my enthusiasm at a tolerable pitch. We hike out early, winding down and up and down and up, as Washington is wont to do. I sit and eat a bar. I wonder when I’ll get to pitch my tent to dry it out. I think about nothing, letting the sun warm my back.

We are a mile from Hart’s Pass, where we plan to grab our next stretch of food from the outhouse, drink a cup of tea by the ranger station, and take our respective shits. A man in florescent swirly gaitors stops us, asking if one of us is Muffy. I say Muffy is me and he lets me know that Carrot is at the trailhead, she’s heard about the weather, she has her warm van and the dogs and a cooler full of food.

I cry. Bogwitch cries. We all cry. My steps are faster now, more focused until I see Carrot in the distance. I half jog to Carrot’s arms, smell her nice smells, go into her warm van. I haven’t seen her in nearly a month. Things have been so hard. I can’t believe it.

We’d thought we’d hike 20.7 miles today, but instead we all drive to Winthrop. I’m dirty and chafey and my throat feels weird but I don’t even care anymore!!!!

We eat overpriced Mexican food, shower, change into loaner clothes from Carrot’s van. I kiss each dog and I curl in the arms of my love, falling asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

—

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

Laurie and I wake up on Madeline’s futon in Bellingham. I never sleep before a thru hike and this time I did. I’m almost shocked at my seven hours.

I drink coffee and Laurie figures out how to work Madeline’s espresso machine, so I pour an extra shot in. I take a few bites of my breakfast burrito, but I can’t really stomach it. I wash my face. I eat a bar. I use a toilet and I shit around on the internet. These are small luxuries that I will miss.

Our trail angel, Erika, arrives exactly at seven AM. Laurie and I load into the car and we’re sharing our ride with a 21 year old named Daniel and a 22 year old named Inge. They’ve both just graduated from college and their faces are so shiny and new!!! I feel old and young at the same time. Are we really that different, me and the young people? The answer is yes, but in this moment it feels like no.

On the way to Hart’s pass I am blissfully pacified by my phone, my excitement, my bag chips, the idea of resting my eyes. Our trail angel hiked great chunks of the PCT last year and she tells us about her favorite and least favorite days. I wonder which days I will like, if anything will feel hard after finishing the Mogollon Rim Trail a little more than a month ago. That route took every single thing I had right out of me both physically and emotionally. Anything’s gotta be better than that.

I miss Carrot. Things have been really hard lately, we have a difficult time communicating and hearing one another’s needs and we’ve thought maybe we’d give up a handful of times. I can’t give up on the idea of my relationship with Carrot, though. Because in the moments when I am on the precipice of great possibility, she is the one that I long for. We have so much trauma, our negligent and mean parents, our horror show circumstances in the formative years. I don’t care, though. I want to walk through our trauma together. I want to make it work.

Do you know about attachment styles? In queer world, we love astrology. Astrology is a system to codify our actions and behaviors, a rubric of explanations for why we are the way we are, why some of us are great to one another and intolerable to someone else. Attachment styles are kind of like that, except for that instead of being based on magic and planets and stars it is based on history and cultivated behavior. From what I understand, I am an anxious attacher. This means that I feel abandoned easily and when I do it feels like I am dying. Carrot tends toward avoidant attachment, which means that when I’m hurt and I cling, she feels like I am trying to steal her soul. These ways of being are because of neglect and abuse and we learned them from beliefs we cultivated when we were very small. I feel sad for us when I think of our attachment styles, wish she was in the car with me right this moment so we could brainstorm some strategies to keep the tiny flame of our love going, even in the emotional storms.

At Hart’s pass we hang half of our food in the outhouse. First we’ll go 30 miles North, up toward Canada so that we can get pictures of our smiling faces with the border monument. Then, we’ll turn around and come back to our hung food, praise the ripe stink of the outhouse for keeping our bags safe, and continue South toward Mexico. It is illegal to get to the Northern terminus from Canada, so even though this adds sixty miles of walking to the 2,650 mile journey, it’s kind of the only way.

Laurie is a therapist. We chat about attachment styles while we walk, and I am careful not to give too much personal information away. Carrots story is public, but the details aren’t mine to share (and besides, it’ll all be in her second book— which you should definitely read.) Laurie soothes me with her compassion and then we lapse into silence. The PCT Is so beautiful, just hanging out in Washington’s mist. The mountains occasionally have mild snow patches but nothing too bad. It’s lightly drizzling but nothing severe. Today, I think the PCT is perfect and I try to zone out.

At the 9.8 mile mark I wait for Laurie and we check in. We feel okay, we want to go further! It’s only 3:00 PM besides, there’s plenty of light left in the day.

Laurie and I separate and it starts to rain harder. Fat thick drops are cascading down the sleeves of my rain jacket, but the temperature is warm so I try to stay in my gratitude. I weave in and out of a burn, and I feel tired for the forest, sorry about all the humans. I climb over downed trees and I roll my ankle hard, falling to my knees. I am tired of rolling my ankles on long distance hikes, frustrated to note that though I haven’t done much in the way of training since the MRT, I’m still a little bit hurt. The rain intensifies. The temperature drops. I am officially grumpy.

I hike as fast as I can, and my pace surprises me.

I NEVER hike faster than when I’m cold and wet and today is no exception. I climb over rocks and snow patches and wild flowers and pass under thick tree cover. The rain turns to slushy snow flakes and I start to shiver. Snow?! On a long distance hike?! Again?! (I’ve hiked four trails or sections of trail this year, it’s snowed on all of them, how can I still be surprised ?!) I push as hard as I can, right up to the campsite at 14.6 miles. There are already a handful of hikers set up there and the snow is dumping. It is in this moment that I know I’m going to have to set up my shelter, lay down my plastic ground sheet, blow up my neoair, change my clothes, and cook my food as fast as I can. I am drenched and confused on the order of things, but shivering- I eventually do get it done. The pitch of my tent is laughable and much of my gear is very wet but in my quilt I am medium warm.

I heat lentils for dinner, toss a giant glug of oil in the mix to give it more sustenance. I wonder what I’m doing, if my ankle will be ok, how long it’ll take me to get back down to rainy pass where I hope to see Carrot. The wind whips but the rain subsides and I start to dry out, even with my shelter’s shitty pitch. Eventually, I sleep.

📍This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Nlaka’pamux, Syilx/Okanagan, and Columbia-Wenatchi land.