Pacific Crest Trail

Five-dollar water, the Vasquez Rocks in the dark, and a picnic table as a bed.

Two days reading in the rain, four miles without water, and a surprisingly good cheese sauce.

A cool day, a road instead of the trail, and dinner on the tent floor.

A driver with no idea about the PCT, a detour around endangered frogs, and abandoned mac and cheese.

A wrong way thanks to a misread map, a wind-sheltered ridge camp, and thoughts on ramen bombs.

Names that don’t exist in Switzerland, a four-litre iced tea, and a tent pitched wrong all along.

A rest day, solar panels put to the test, and the invention — or reinvention — of Hobo Camping.

A day at the creek, a carabiner deciding the next move, 33 miles through the night, a mountain lion, and breakfast at McDonald’s.

A slow morning, solar panels that work, a river crossing, and a last mile walked in the dark — a good day, all things considered.

Four days in Big Bear: a package that arrived late, pants that were never found, Mac and Cheese that was not really cheese, and a water filter that actually worked.

A bus, a new headlamp, a retired geologist, and a brief passport panic — Big Bear delivered on all fronts.

Up at 2am, a fall in the dark, a beautiful sunrise, and sixteen miles to a campfire — not necessarily in that order of importance.

Over ten litres of water, a first river crossing, and a night experiment that collected valuable data.

A Walmart run on camping chairs, trail magic with spareribs, and a pack weighing 30kg. About a month in the US.

No food, almost no water, nine miles to the next source, a filtered puddle, and a moon so bright it kept me awake.

Stayed an extra day in the mountains, it started snowing, and the gas ran out mid-cook. Lukewarm mashed potato for dinner.

The usual midday start, the usual two women I keep overtaking, strong wind, and more or less the last stretch in the mountains.

Still in the wildfire zone, thorns all day, a Star Wars festival I skipped, and a perfect dinner spot on a boulder with a view.

A long day out late, a forgotten hat returned, and something with eyes in the dark on the way to water.

A spontaneous ride from three strangers, sourdough buns from a family, and a choice between sulphur water and a longer walk.

Sandals for once, a burger at Paradise Valley Cafe, and the permit situation still unresolved. Night at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse.

Left Little Bear, walked until the talking ran out, and found the last campspot near a cliff.

An hour of sleep, a tent nearly blown away, and a man trying to figure out why he was out there. Made it to Little Bear.

Late sandwiches, an eagle, and a man who knew exactly what I was trying to do. 18 miles to Mike’s Place.

Wet gear, a hot shower, and tent stakes lost somewhere on the trail. First post written live.

Woke up with a headache again. Walked anyway. Cowboy camping did not improve the situation.

A rattlesnake on the trail, rice at camp, and a day of rest that was less optional than planned.

Hot from the start, steep, and a knee that had other ideas. 14 miles and a freeze-dried meal later, I had thoughts.

Two days in Julian. Trail Angel into town, gaiters traded, knee brace bought, giant tortillas acquired. Ten dollars a night at the American Legion.

No moisture in tent or sleeping bag. First time since day one. A rattlesnake, trail mix, Summer Sausages, and 16 miles. Best day so far.

Moisture in the sleeping bag again. Ditched some gear. Got a trail name I didn’t expect — and apparently I’m already famous for it.

Everything still wet. Got lost twice. Found trees, a mediocre burger, and some very good company.

Up at 6am, Tabasco oats, and rain for half the day. Mile 32 by afternoon.

It begins. Half a mile from the Mexican border, at the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail. Day one.