Hike Yours
I’ll tell you how I hiked my hike, but you should hike yours.
As the next thru-hiking season approaches, I’m not going to provide women with a list of tips and tricks for the trail. You can Google that: use a Diva Cup and a pee rag, avoid camping within a mile of roads, and so on. Instead, I want to emphasize some of the things I’ve learned on the trail that make my hikes that much better: the importance of having a mindset open to “learning your hike,” and how to effectively respond to fear-mongering and unsolicited advice.
“Learning My Hike”
I started the Pacific Crest Trail from Campo with nine liters of water, thinking I would camp between water sources. The basics of camping and backpacking that I learned growing up did not entirely translate to thru-hiking. I had spent months dehydrating meals, accumulating gear, and organizing maps, but my real preparation occurred once I was actually out there on the trail, accumulating miles.
I had my first real “shakedown” 450 miles into the trail, at the iconic trail angel residence known as “Hiker Heaven” in Agua Dulce, California. I sat down with a group I had hiked with for a few days, including some hikers I had known since my second day on trail. Having my pack scrutinized was embarrassing at first because all of the previous interactions I’d had around it made me self-conscious -- “your pack is too big!” and “your pack is too heavy!” But I realized at Hiker Heaven that not taking well-meant advice personally enabled me to benefit from others’ experiences. I tried to laugh at myself and learn. Can this piece of gear serve multiple purposes? Can I go for five days without it if necessary? That shakedown left me with a base weight I felt was light enough to warrant getting a smaller pack and switching from hiking boots to trail runners.
After heading to Bishop to resupply, I decided not to immediately return to the trail due to an unrelenting pain that had developed in my left foot. A visit to urgent care revealed a metatarsal stress fracture and led to my departure back home to heal. I was fortunate enough that my healing process was complete by the beginning of the southbound hiking season, and I eagerly returned to the trail. I switched out my entire sleep system for a NeoAir and a quilt. While I continued to modify my kit with the knowledge I had gained while going north, I knew I wasn’t going to be a copy of the most experienced ultra-light hikers -- and that was fine. I was going to do this my way. I was going to hike my own hike.
I returned to the trail in my 12 mm drop Gore-Tex hiking boots, with some added weight in physical therapy tools. I carried a book and calcium supplements. I started from Hart’s Pass on July 15th and tagged the northern terminus on July 17th, at the back of the SOBO pack. But I had approached my return to the trail with a caution that led to a gradual and systematic increase in daily mileage. By Northern Oregon, I was hiking 33-35 miles a day. I paid closer attention to my body and truly hiking my hike, which led to my trek ending without injury at the southern terminus on November 3rd.
Fear-Mongering and Unsolicited Advice
I spent most of my time alone as a SOBO, but I would cross paths with other hikers now and then -- SOBOs and NOBOs alike. I received both helpful and unhelpful advice, with some of the latter belonging in the category of “fear-mongering,” or unproductive, unhelpful exaggeration of potential problems and dangers. I have often found that fear-mongering comes from people who are seeking comfort from their own fears by trying to make others afraid about the same things.
I was warned about the smoke in Northern California before I even reached Oregon. I was reminded of the timeline to make it through the Sierra safely before the snow hit. I was cautioned about the unreliability of water sources in the desert. Once I had found my thru-hiking stride, I was pretty comfortable with my physical ability. I’m also not stupid. I listen to advice, but I don’t blindly follow. Just south of Cascade Locks, I ran into someone I had met going north, and I asked about the smoke and whether or not I would be able to hike through or should skip ahead. His advice was something I’ve remembered ever since: “See for yourself.”
I will say this: if you don’t feel prepared, don’t risk it. But thru-hiking and wilderness adventures involve inherent risk. It’s important to calculate the degree of risk you are willing to accept and to consider whether what you stand to gain is worth what you could potentially lose. Understand the factors that influence your decision. How are you being affected by the people in your group? What risks are you willing to take on with someone else versus alone? Do you have the skills necessary to make it out of the worst-case scenario? Empower yourself.
Evade and Deflect
“Are you bringing a gun?”
“Be careful. There are perverts out there. Weirdos patrolling the roads.”
But I feel safer on the trail than I do in any town. I hitch-hiked around 80 miles of the trail in Northern California to avoid being too close to a growing fire while solo. I checked the weather forecast and planned my resupply to make it from Mammoth Lakes to Kennedy Meadows in 7 days. I passed up a hitch and lied that I was waiting for a partner. I hiked extra miles to put a comfortable distance between myself and smoke or a questionable character. In the interest of safety as a solo female hiker, I try to avoid uncomfortable situations altogether or remove myself as quickly as possible. I listen to my gut early and often, but I deserve to be out there, and so do you.
I received unsolicited advice and condescending remarks, but I also learned a lot from other people on the trail. There are so many pieces of useful information out there. Use them. Prepare with the necessary equipment and tools, and know your limits. I have never felt safer than when I was on the trail. I have the physical capability, and I know the risks I’m willing to take. I hiked my own hike, and you should hike yours.
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