I have PMS, which gives me a special combo of lonely when I’m by myself and irritated at the smallest perceived slight in a crowd. I decide maybe I’ll hike somewhere close to 25 miles today, not to try to shake it, exactly. Just to try to at least get somewhere with my bad mood.

Today, Carrot wants to do her own thing. She has PMS too, probably her own unique combo of irritations and emotions. We know from experience that when we spend every waking second with one another, we end up fighting. We know space will do us good. It’s still hard though, just deciding we’ll walk separate for some time. We do it anyway, because it is the right thing to do.

The terrain is merciful and my body feels good. I listen to a podcast about multi level marketing companies, how much of a scam they are, and how much they fuck people over. While I do think MLMs take advantage of folks, I also see so many parallels with starting my own non MLM business. Capitalism is such a fucking sham, no matter how you slice it! I broke the part of myself that was a workaholic by driving myself into the ground and I feel a little judgmental of my past self. Why did I spend so much money that I didn’t have trying to make a business? Why did I think that working so much would make me more valuable?

I eat bars as I walk through the forest, I eat potato chips for lunch. Tomorrow we’re getting to town. I have enough food, but as usual my last day of eating is going to be strange. Dried chickpeas. Candied ginger. Peanut butter cups. That’s kind of it. Oh well I think, remembering how I ate all of my favorite stuff first, just like I always do. Guess that’s how it goes.

I am roasted by the sun, a crispy tator tot flying down the trail. I do hike 25 ish miles, a little more actually. But at the end of the day I still feel lonely, useless, restless, sad. Sometimes you really can’t outhike your heart. That’s just how it is.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Yakama land

I wake up groggy. I sip my coffee silently, I eat my breakfast noodles silently. We discuss summiting Old Snowy, try to decide if it’s worth it to take the steep alternate. We’re not sure now, so agree to decide when we get there. There’s positives and negatives to both options.

I have the best pooping spot I’ve had on trail so far I think, it’s private and sandy, easy to dig a cat hole in. I can tell the day is going to be hot because at seven AM, I am warm. I want to motivate to walk as far as I can before it’s actually hot.

First, there is sun dappled forest. It’s gentle climb on gentle tread and I feel happy there in the shade of pine trees. With time, the climb goes rocky and exposed, and then it goes steep. There’s beautiful fresh snow melt water everywhere, and I greedily drink as I go to try to regulate my temperature and even out my breath as I ascend. I lose morale, I go really slow. Bogwitch and Carrot are far ahead and I try to be gentle with myself. It’s hot, exposed and steep. It’s ok if it’s hard.

At the junction for the alternate, Carrot says she surveyed at least five shell shocked north bounders who described the snow fields past the knife’s edge as dangerous ice, a single misstep offering the potential to really injure a hiker. Old snowy may be steep, but is snow free. We decide to climb.

Bogwitch and Carrot get ahead, and I climb slowly, put on a podcast and try to pretend I’m not suffering as much as I am. At the top there is the option to go up to the eroded summit, but there’s also the option to go back down to the PCT without climbing further. Carrot and Bogwitch are headed toward the summit. They left me a note and when I get to it, they are just ahead. Carrot said that they were going to the top, I could come if I wanted and suddenly I feel very very alone. It’s okay with me if I need to go slow, but I hate feeling like I’m chasing people who don’t want to wait for me. I feel abandoned and salty, the most petulant child version of myself. I follow them toward the summit for a little while, and when they say they’re coming back down, I turn on my heels and descend before I even make it to the top. I’m telling myself that my pace is a drag on everyone else. I’m telling myself my friends don’t care if I’m around.

Bogwitch and Carrot stop for lunch at the junction and I am too upset to join. I hike down the hill, leaving the alternate and rejoining the traditional PCT. I am so mad at myself today, so frustrated that I’m not as fast as the people around me.

Carrot finds me and we talk. I tell her my feelings and she hears me out, we hug in a moss patch next to a stream. I’m disappointed that I couldn’t enjoy Goat Rocks as much as I wanted to. Some say this is their favorite stretch of the whole PCT, and here I am sulking. I guess our brains don’t always do what we want them to, though. (Do they ever do what we want them to?!) What can you do?

Eventually, the terrain chills. There are still some exposed patches but there is also shady forest, incredible wild flowers and Mt. Adams in the distance. I go back to my podcast and try to pick up the pace – we have seven more miles and now that it’s cooling off, I’m getting a second wind.

Four miles later, I run into Carrot going Northbound and am momentarily confused. She says she’s looking for a campsite, Bogwitch’s foot hurts, we should probably camp early. Not a single one of us is bummed. It’s been so hot, we’re all exhausted. We find a nice flat alcove in the forest, cram all three of us into one little site. We eat as much as we can, again I get to finish Carrot’s dinner, and at last- we sleep.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Yakama land.

I am anxious to leave town. I wake up at 5:30, then 6, then 7 and still no one else is awake. I decide to get coffee.

At the coffee shop I stare out the window. I feel like I’ve been laying in bed for days and I am bored of myself. I am irritable today, tired of town and resting and spending money. It is very stressful to hike with limited finances, but it is a stress I chose. I try not to beat myself up.

Back at the Inn, I shower. I try to rinse my bad attitude away, use my little bottle of Doctor Bronner’s and shave my legs. At least I’m not hungry anymore? After two and a half days of eating as much as I possibly can and moving very little, I no longer feel ravenous and feral. I grab onto that positive thought and cling to it like a raft boat.

After the shower, I am cleansed. Bogwitch and Carrot are awake, eating and scrolling and packing up their bags. We finish our morning chores and find a hitch within ten minutes, a nice lady who says their family moved to Packwood because there aren’t any cops. She’s a baker and is making rice crispy treats en masse for a high school kid’s cross country running camp. She says they eat so many it borders on disgusting, but she looks really proud when she says it.

White pass is a frenzy of resupply unboxing, fries, and other hikers. On trail, it’s easy to feel like their aren’t many others out here, but at the white pass Chevron Station, the truth comes out. There are a LOT of us, and we’re all here, marveling at the food we’ve sent ourselves and the discarded food we rescue from the hiker box.

Finally, we hike. It’s noon already, usually a recipe for a hard hiking day for me, but I’m so happy to be back on trail that I feel gloriously lighthearted. The terrain is gentle sun dappled forest, then a gorgeous exposed ridge with golden sun but hardly any heat. We go up six miles, we go down six miles. I feel happy and chatty and above all my muscles feel FULL of glycogen. God bless carbs! and bless the vegan and gluten free burgers and pizza available at white pass. I honestly believe having a giant influx of calories over my rest days is saving my ass right now and I am grateful, grateful, grateful.

My tendon doesn’t hurt at all. Carrot is too full to finish her dinner and I get to eat the cast offs, which pleases me greatly.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Yakama land.

Throughout the night, my foot touches things. It touches my sleeping pad, it touches my sack of clothes, it touches my water bottle, it touches my other foot. Each time my foot touches something, it is a hot knife of pain.

For weeks it was very wet, and now, just like that, Washington is very dry. My shriveled prune feet have turned to dry hard little leathers, leathers with deep cracks that spurt blood. The cracks wake me up again and again, and when I wake, I hear the deer and the mice playing out their deer and mice dramas outside. This land is their land, and I am but a guest. The deer and mice quiet for no one.

I slept like shit. Carrot slept like shit. Bogwitch slept like shit. Our Swiss friend says he slept amazing and we all quietly resent him. Stupid kind Swiss man being so nice and well slept. What a monster.

We’re ready to go by 6:45AM and it’s already warming up. We plan to go 21 miles today and I am slow as frozen molasses, limping up the trail, suspended in time. My body is usually stiff in the morning, but today my ankles and tendons all around them feel hot and inflamed. I think they’ll warm up and smooth out, and on the left side they do but the right sustains a persistent dull of pain. I hike slower, it hurts. I try to hike faster, I can’t, it hurts more. I get angry at the pain and the pain doesn’t give a fuck.

By mid morning my world is all exposed climb through deep burn and lupine field. This time last year this area looked like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and this year it is an explosion of purple wildflowers. For some reason, I cry thinking about my grandparents, two people whom have been dead for years. I think about how I don’t really have a home, my dad is dead and my mom is mean and no one lives where I grew up anymore besides. My grandparents were kind of my home because they actually liked me, they thought I was funny and smart instead of just in the way. The burnt forest and the lupine field feels like their love.

I leap frog with Carrot and try not to get my grump on her. She doesn’t feel great either. It’s hot, our stomachs hurt, the water is sparse, our packs our too heavy. I find reception and I google my specific outer ankle pain and it says I have Peroneal Tendonitis. I find a way to KT tape it. I feel bad for my legs and my feet and I am angry at them in equal measure. I haven’t had tendonitis before and I don’t understand why it’d appear now.

At lunch I tell Carrot and Bogwitch about my new tendonitis and they wonder if it’s because I ran down all of the hills yesterday. Probably the answer is yes, and I’m feeling like a petulant child. Other people can push, why can’t I push?! I am sullen, I tape the ankle, I eat refried bean soup and we pack up. Seven miles to Chinook Pass and we hear there’s trail magic. Four more miles to camp after that.

One mile after we leave our lunch ridge I start thinking about hitching to Packwood from Chinook Pass instead of hiking 30 more miles into town. The tape has done nothing for my tendon at all, the pain is intensifying with each step. I text Carrot and Bogwitch. Carrot says she’ll come with, Bogwitch says they’ll consider their options. I hike furious and in pain. Mt. Ranier is gorgeous in the distance. I try to focus.

Eventually, the pass comes. The trail angel is still there and he has Cokes and chips and salsa and as I shovel food into my mouth, my rage subsides. I’m going to hitch to town now. It’s going to be okay.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Yakama land.

The deer and the mice join hands, forming a circle around our tent. As night commences, they dance, a great raucous circle surrounding us. Do they aim to keep us safe, or keep us awake?

In the morning, I am tired. I woke many times in the night to quietly observe the meeting of the deer and the mice and I am groggy in the glow of the sunrise. I drink my coffee. I eat my oats. I want to go back to bed.

But I don’t! Instead I gather two liters of water, and prepare for an 1800 foot climb. I am too cold to de-layer, and then within five minutes I am too hot to think of anything else. Guthook says there might be a toilet two miles in and I plan to use it and change there too.

The climb is slow and my calf is bothering me. I haven’t rolled my ankle this section, but it’s still tight and I can feel it affecting my whole left side. I’m slow to the toilet and when I arrive there’s actually no toilet at all, just a dusty road with no place to shit. It turns out holding it made the urge disappear anyway, so I change my clothes and put on my headphones. I can go later.

Carrot and I discuss foods we have eaten and foods we will eat again. We discuss salads and pasta with homemade marinara and crispy tempeh and homemade sauerkraut. We talk about how we’re going to go to Alaska in a few weeks, maybe to hike in the arctic, but in between we can eat some of these delicacies. I’m hungry on a cellular level.

The climb and my calf are making me mad, so I let Carrot surge ahead and I fade to a slow crawl. I find her taking a break nearly at the top and I kiss her and keep going. I’m tired of being so slow, I want to get a move on.

Eventually the downhill comes and I decide to try to be fast. It’s been weeks since I pushed myself and I can really get down to a snail’s pace if I allow myself to. On this downhill, I use my poles as much as possible and I try to run. I make it downhill in record time and I am winded and happy to feel like I GOT somewhere. Finally.

Our first water source of the day is 12 miles in and so that is where we take lunch. I arrive first and happily eat vegan cheez-its in the sun while lazily swatting away the aggressive flies. I have fond memories of this water source last year, even have a picture of Carrot gathering water as the sun glows all around her. The PCT is a very special place and I love being here. It reminds me of falling in love.

Carrot shows up and Bogwitch does too. We all have terrible gas on account of the instant refried beans we’re all eating and our laughter is peppered with brrrraps straight from our buttholes. We eat a lot of caffeinated shot blocks and drink electrolytes. We’re going to go ten more miles, which makes a longer hiking day than our usual. The sun is shining. the terrain is so much gentler than it has been. We’re excited.

We all hike together for the next five miles. We talk about testosterone and call out culture and Beyoncé. I supply the insight that Beyoncé is nature’s caffeine. We’re going fast and our time flies. I almost never actually hike with people, but today it feels easy and wonderful to laugh with friends. We make it to the Ulrich cabin in just a couple of hours.

The Ulrich cabin is a nice cabin in the woods. It’s maintained by the local snow mobile club, it has two shitters, and reportedly a lot of mice. We break at the cabin and I finally poop, Carrot and Bogwitch taste test an MRE given to them by a local. It’s BBQ beef and black beans, and they say it’s actually pretty good. I’m kind of freaked out by weird shelf stable food, but I appreciate their ability to just go for it.

We have five miles to camp from here and I book it, again wanting to push my body just a little bit. I rediscover Kesha and I hike listening to songs about partying and hot dudes. I like Kesha. That gal really knows what she wants.

We camp in a burn next to a babbeling brook. We meet a nice Swiss man who’s very close to finishing and we make jokes about hiking things: food and speed and gear and hikers who see this whole thing as a competition. The bugs eat us alive and our farting intensifies. With that, it’s time to go to sleep.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Yakama land.

Here are just a few things about today :

1) Carrot and I wake up to mouse turds on the lids of our pots. There’s one turd on her pot and three turds on mine. I….want to die at the sight of the mouse turds. Why. Just….why.

2) I come up with a very good idea for a meme account. The account will be queer thru hiking memes. Here is an example of one meme: imagine a silhouetted figure, on top of a mountain during a very bodacious sunset. The figure (let’s be honest, me) looks pensive and beneath it says “TFW you’re thinking of having the cock sent to White Pass” (White Pass is our next town and I’m honestly sorry to make the joke less funny by explaining the punchline but I know that won’t make sense to most so I HAD TO.) There’s this idea in thru hiking that if you’re wearing something it doesn’t count as a part of your base weight, so Bogwitch, Carrot and I also kick around some meme ideas having to do with the cock and wearing it while hiking etc etc and we’re laughing so hard I could cry. The last meme we think of is a shot of a hand, very dirty except the two gay sexy fingers, which are very clean. The meme says: my hand looks like this so that her’s can look like this (here there will be a shot of a hiker hand clutching a sleeping pad in ecstasy). ANYWAY these are all fucking hilarious, but if I had to make a Venn diagram of thru hikers and queers, I think the overlap would be woefully small.

3) It did not rain yesterday, and it did not rain today. The defining characteristic of this hike has been rain (there’s never been two days without it) and I am so ecstatic I can hardly speak.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Puget Sound Salish and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

I drink an iced coffee. I drink a green smoothie. I drink a kombucha. I eat a banana with peanut butter. I eat two sides of hash browns. I cover them with hot sauce and ketchup. I salt everything now, lots of salt, there’s never enough salt. I eat many bites of Carrot’s pancake. It’s not vegan or gluten free, I’m sure and for that I will suffer. I download more music. I download Beyoncé’s Homecoming from Netflix to watch in the tent. I check and recheck social media, my email. There’s no reason not to hike now, I did all of the things. It’s almost 2 PM and it’s time to go.

Bogwitch, Carrot and I head up under ski gondolas, back to the PCT. I am hiking heavy (all the food) and tired (Carrot and I stayed up very late touching and kissing and whatnot) and I am S L O W slow. It’s not raining though. The trail isn’t too steep. I’m not too cold and I’m not too hot. I zone out in my slow world, think about what makes a good book vs. a bad book, thinking about my hands on Carrot’s skin, thinking about my childhood. Everything is muddy or rocky, but god it could be so much worse. It’s hard to be mad, and so I don’t bother.

8.8 miles in there’s a sparkling blue jewel of a lake. Bogwitch, Carrot and I pitch our tents here, cook our meals around a log and an extinguished fire pit. I make macaroni and cheese and I’m surprised to see the white flavor instead of the orange. I mix it with peas and eat chips while my noodles boil, contentedly chewing as I wait.

It’s cold here, too cold for much socializing and we’re all tired besides. We blow our neoairs and we pull out our quilts. We lay our heads down at seven PM, and with that— we’re out.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Puget Sound Salish and Columbia-Wenatchi land.

Snoqualmie is my favorite trail town.

You can walk right into Snoqualmie straight from the PCT. There are two convenience stores, with MANY a flavor of chip, bar, and kombucha. The diner gives HUGE plates of fried potato sides. You can have your resupply box sent straight to the motel. The motel has laundry right in it, the convenience stores sell detergent, it’s easy to get quarters at the front desk. The coffee shop has cold brew and green smoothies. The food cart has a jackfruit curry.

Every single thing you need to do happens within a one block radius.

Nothing could be more beautiful.

—

📍 This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Puget Sound Salishand Columbia-Wenatchi land.

My shirt feels thick. It’s thick with sweat and grime and condensation, and still I put it on. This is the story of a thru hike.

I did not sleep well. Deer and mice danced around our tent all night and I had nightmares that woke me in a cold sweat. I’ve been damp for so many days, I’ll never stop being damp now. It’s four AM and I’m dreading putting on my wet shoes.

But I do. I put them on and I hike nine rocky miles in the pouring rain up a hill. Sometimes the rain lessens and I am happy, sometimes the rain intensifies and I am furious. It is July, on the Washington section of the PCT. It’s really not supposed to be doing this, but here we are.

The rocks are medium sized, not the kind you can crunch over without noticing, not large ones, which you can hop to stone to stone. These are ankle twisters, and I try to be very careful. I’ve had intrusive thoughts lately, I’m honestly worried the next time I twist my ankle, it’ll snap in half. I keep having visions of it, they won’t go away.

We set up our shelter halfway through. Both of us are almost out of food, but we cobble together a nice buffet of brick a brack and crumbs. Once we’re done eating we’re too cold to rest more and so we go. Just ten more miles to town we say. Gotta get to town.

The climb ends, and the descent can we summed up in one word: muddy. I slide down, mud caking my poles, my shoes, my ankles, my calves. I’m still as careful as possible with my ankles, trying to stay upright but more than anything, I am participating in a controlled fall down this mountain. Ferns frame the muddy path, they brush water uponst me. I turn on an audiobook. I do the only thing that makes any sense so close to town: I try to just go.

—

📍
This section of the Pacific Crest Trail is on unceded Puget Sound Salish and Columbia-Wenatchi land.