A Range of Lightning

By Tyler Socash

IG: @tylerhikes

I began counting instantly. "One one thousand, two one thousand..."  BOOOOOOOOM!!!!

A bedraggled stranger looked upon my approach in disbelief.  "Are you seriously heading up there now?!" he asked with his hood cinched tightly around his damp brow.  A mixture of rain and hail was falling, and a downpour seemed imminent. 

"Yeah, I think so," I responded uncertainly. 

"Then run.  As fast as you can."  That sounded cool to me.  I felt like I was in a movie.  

Donohue Pass is at 11,073 feet.  With a long approach up Lyell Canyon from Tuolumne Meadows, you are finally in the High Sierra.  Ordinary dayhikers aren't found meandering here, not this far away from the comforts of Yosemite Valley.  Donohue Pass is deep in Yosemite's backcountry.  You are exposed.  You can see glaciers.  You hear a disquieting ringing sound in your ears.  Your hair is standing up.  You get a metallic taste in your mouth.  You are in a lightning storm.  Classic!

"It seemed not to be clothed with light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city."

When John Muir gazed upon the Sierra Nevada he was moved spiritually.  Among the bolts of lightning and claps of thunder I felt like I was having an out of body experience there too. 

The poncho-clad man who I encountered before Donohue was distraught himself.  His hiking partner was somewhere above us in the chaos.  With only 500 feet of ascent to go, I felt caught in-between safe zones.  I could descend back into the trees, or climb over the pass and descend into the trees on the opposite side.  It was akin to being amidst the action sequences of the blockbuster Twister, but without having Bill Paxton there telling you when to duck. 

Lyell Canyon, looking up towards Donohue Pass

I hurried my ascent.  The flashes of lightning were closely followed by thunder.  The storm was approximately two miles away.  I passed by a few more backpackers before commencing my own all-out sprint to the top of the pass. 

The look of terror on Donohue Pass.

Cresting the pass doubled as the height of my exposure whilst also signifying my entrance into the Ansel Adams Wilderness.  I guess this is why I felt the need to take a picture?...

All photography jokes aside, I was scared.  I actually saw another southbounder ahead of me running downhill.  "That person is really smart," I shared openly as I quickened my pace.  You can see this moment yourself in my most-recent video in the YouTube Hike of Ice and Fire series.  I was running with a fully-loaded pack to lower elevations!  Look out below!

This was a frightening moment.  The thunder was rolling and echoing in the deep granite valley.  I didn't feel safe until reaching treeline, and I probably wasn't actually safe until the storm seemed to finally move away.  This was my first lightning-related scare on the PCT.  It probably won't be the last time I experience this type of threat.  Be on the lookout for dark clouds.  They roll in fast!

The payoff on the south side of Donohue was substantial.  When the rains cleared I had a beautiful view of Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake....

My sixth experience with precipitation on the PCT came the next day.  I walked into the café at Reds Meadow sopping wet.  I was hoping to take the bus into Mammoth Lakes, but it had stopped running for the season!  

Not to be deterred, I bushwhacked to the nearest-and-only road (there isn't another road for 200 miles, this is the longest roadless stretch in the Lower 48 States).  As I emerged from the woods, a taxi magically appeared and took me into town.  The trail (read: road?) provides!

My time in Mammoth Lakes would encompass many happenings...  My second "zero" while hiking the PCT, an amazing story of being trail angeled by an attractive group of ladies at a supermarket (they frisked me to ensure that I wasn't armed), a fortuitous encounter with a JMT Hiker (John Muir Trail - coincides with the PCT from approximately Tuolumne Meadows until Mount Whitney), and ultimately my introduction to The Wrong Way Gang. 

This town re-charged me.  The trail angels graciously cooked dinner and breakfast for me, we shared stories, I was given a complimentary tour of the actual Mammoth Lakes themselves, AND they even joined me for a 3-mile section on the Pacific Crest Trail.  Their kindness was absolutely appreciated.  I can't believe that a simple conversation at the grocery store resulted in such great acts of kindness.  (They noticed that my shopping cart only consisted of junk food, which required an explanation of how a human could have such an unhealthy diet.)  They endured my scent (no deodorant since June 24th) and my unkempt appearance (well I did wash my socks in a South Lake Tahoe bathroom about a week earlier).  I am in their debt. 

Meeting new friends re-charged me.  The Wrong Way Gang is legendary.  I've been reading their names in trail registers since Stehekin, WA.  Harpo and Groucho are a long-distance couple who hiked the AT in 2013.  Their entries in registers are always entertaining, and their company more so.  Groucho is the only man I know to complete the 24-24-24 Challenge (24 beers in 24 miles in 24 hours).  Harpo maintains a daily blog called "Songs Out of the City" and she sings with me on the trail.  She is the only person to successfully complete the "1.Poo" challenge, which is of course when you are able to use the outdoor restroom, hike 1.2 miles, all in under 20 minutes.  Incredible.  I've failed every time I try!  Huck is from the great country of Denmark and has the ability to communicate with animals.  He is the most amicable man on earth, and his method of hiking without pants has created the new verb, "Huck-ing." Twinless has unparalleled spunk and already encourages us to think about the Continental Divide Trail.  She also accidentally triggered her SPOT GPS while hiking naked, a verb that we now know as, "Twinless-ing."  Bug has a food blog called "nourishingjourneypct.com" and she has an adorable puppy dog named Sprout who joins us occasionally on our southbound trek.  Bug, who completed a SOBO PCT thru-hike in 2014, continues to section hike with us, a verb we now know as, "Bugging Out."

This group is awesome.  Trail Angels are awesome.  Drinking wine all night with Trail Angels did, however, cause me to sleep in as the Wrong Way Gang departed from our hostel in Mammoth Lakes, CA. 

Whoops. 

A blurry photo that will leave you wondering, "Who is this 'Wrong Way Gang?'" "Will Future Dad catch them?" "Will 'Future Dad-ing' become a verb?"

Blogging is fun.

Trail Life Transcendentalism

By Tyler Socash

IG: @tylerhikes

"Trail Life, what's it all about?!  How is it different from life in the Real World?!"

First thought: nature is actually the real world.  Nowadays, we humans mainly exist in a modernized world.  This is completely fine, as I also love the comforts of the Internet and other ancillary services the Internet brings our civilization.  Lexical semantics aside, how is my thru-hike different from the life I left behind?  Surely, it is different.  "How so?"  I'll tell you! 

Hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail, any long-distance trail, requires work and dedication.  Much like a classic job, I feel like I'm at work all day!  It begins exactly the same in each world...  I wake up, and the sun rises in the east.  

Suddenly I'm reminded of subtle differences.  I automatically orient myself.  Birds are chirping.  Muscles and blisters ache (especially during the first month).  The sky is beautiful.  It's time to fill my pot with water.  Ignite the pocket rocket.  I really hope that I'm awake before my hiking companions so I don't have to rush.  Keep eyes closed while the water comes to a boil.  Consume oatmeal (100 days of oatmeal - not tired of it yet).  Remain in sleeping bag while the sun heats the part of the world that I happen to exist on.  Conclude oatmeal consumption (which also included bits of chocolate and crushed Pop-Tarts – I cannot withold such details). 

Deflate air out of Thermarest NeoAir sleeping pad.  Once the insulation is gone, you hit the point of no return.  You must get up.  Sometimes I can still see my breath.  Sometimes I'm too hot.  Either way, you can't hike in a 20-degree sleeping bag (read: any sleeping bag).  Begrudgingly remove clammy feet from sleeping bag.  Stuff sleeping bag into its proper sack.  Repeat with Thermarest pad.  Don we now our gay apparel.  By that I mean two things: socks and boots. 

Really quick... The Pacific Crest Trail, and possibly everything west of the Continental Divide, is so unbelievably dry.  Even arid.  I will one day (on the Appalachian Trail) pine for these mornings.  My feet never get wet out here. 

Clothing adjustments are made, and all sleeping materials are stored in their respective places in and on my Osprey backpack.  Cooking items and food are neatly crammed into their spots.  And I venture off having failed yet again to brush my teeth.  

This is probably when you expect me to talk about the views.  I can't do that yet because it's the morning and I'm in desperate need of locating my outdoor restroom.  Extract poop trowel (which I have named "Bette Midler") and toilet paper from pack.  Be discreet.  Find a spot far from trails and water sources.  Dig a 6-8 inch cathole.  What?... This is what you're reading this blog for, right?!  This is educational.  Also, you quickly realize that your bathroom view is phenomenal.  Crap, I wasn't supposed to mention the views yet!

Jumping back into the modernized world...  Wake up in a dark apartment.  Rub eyes and curse mildly.  You shouldn't have gone to Dragonfly last night.  Turn on shower.  Water magically appears. There's no need to step all the way in.  Just lean in, getting your hair damp enough so that the co-workers will think you actually took a proper shower, though we all know there's no time for that.  Utilize toilet that flushes excessive amounts of clean water down the drain.  You notice the views: floor tiles cracking, someone's hair collecting in lumps on the wall somehow, how many dead ladybugs are going to collect in the storm window prison? These views are sub-optimal.  Feign washing your hands because who's watching anyway?  Venture off downstairs after clumsily putting on dress clothes, having failed yet again to brush your teeth. 

Downstairs is a kitchen.  It can have anything you want in it.  You just have to buy it from Wegmans sometime that week.  Despite unlimited options, breakfast doesn't change too much over the course of your life.  Although you keep forgetting to buy Fruity Pebbles and there is a pang of regret as you throw last night's leftovers in a bag and sulk towards the door, understanding that breakfast will again consist of coffee at work anyway. 

Hiking world: The commute begins!  Crisp air.  More birds now, the chirping escalates.  Friends are ahead of you and behind you.  The path traveled is different than yesterday.  The commute is ever-changing, ever-stimulating.  Still heading towards an unfathomable goal far, far away.  The light overtakes the darkness.  You see it in canyon walls, on treetops, on distant mountains.  The sun, the big yellow celestial object that creates enough energy to power all chlorophyll-based plants on Earth and which will one day power the needs of our fossil fuel-dependent world, rises ever higher.  Stars seem to vanish.  You try to pick out a last constellation before daylight steals them away.  You notice Polaris getting lower in the sky as you progress southward.  Allow your mind to be blown as your realize you've walked more than 10 degrees of latitude towards the Equator.   You see animal tracks on the trail.  You see little mammals and plants beneath the old growth.  Everything is alive.  A mother grouse protects its chicks as you approach.  A mother doe teaches it's fawn how to hop away as you draw near.  You realize that animals have feelings.  You realize that your struggle to survive out here is like theirs, only you're wearing synthetics purchased from REI or from the Internet.  

"You're alive, the trees are living too!" - a hand-painted sign reads outside of Quincy, CA.  A 6th grader.  Smart kid. 

You're out of water.  You come to a spring.  It's a spring so you can probably drink it without filtering.  Sweet.  Little flowers that you've been seeing throughout this section of trail grow near the source.  It's always cold.  Tastes great. 

Back to the "Real World":  The commute sucks.  It sucks and it consumes your life.  Most Americans spend as much time in traffic per year as they spend time on vacation.  Surprise!  I walk to the bus stop and make it just in time.  We meander surface streets, seeming to miss every green light on the way.  You have no friends in front of you nor behind you.  Every human in their own box of steel is a hindrance to your free coffee at work. The freeway traffic doesn't look any better as we go cross the overpass.  You see a hundred cars during those 8 seconds, and that's just one view of one highway at one time of day on one part of the planet.  The gas companies really don't want biking to catch on in America.  The 4-mile route to work takes nearly an hour in morning traffic.  Time is money.  Take a swig of water from your Smart Water bottle, which literally belittles people who drink water that comes from the ground (read the fine print).  You arrive at work just in time to get on the Internet.

Nature: If you're on Washington's PCT, you might find yourself at a lake or looking out at endless jagged mountains.  Maybe you take off the 30-pound pack and swim (always better than the lean-in shower back home).  "You'll never regret a lake swim!" a John Muir Trail hiker once told me.  Half Jesus and Mantis lived by that principle. 

If you're in Oregon, no doubt you're eyeing up the next great sentinel on the horizon.  Will you make it to Three Fingered Jack today?  Will you summit Mount Thielsen?  Will you scream when you jump into Crater Lake?

If you're in California in the Sierras your mind is blown and you already know that your life has reached a pinnacle of happiness.  Maybe you're also glad to be in the backcountry of a National Park.  Also, it's lunchtime and you get to eat all the Nutella you want because you burn 5,000 calories a day easy and you're going to walk 40,000 steps or more. 

Your Job: Thank goodness it's lunchtime because that email train took a lot out of you.  Lunch at work was always super fun for me.  I can't be cynical here.  I miss my colleagues.  I miss many aspects of my old life.  It's just hard to compete with the wilderness.  You'll see why in about two seconds. 

Trail:  Maybe today you'll hike naked?  My new trail friend named Huck hiked without pants once. Now my southbound crew, affectionately known as the "Wrong Way Gang," will go pants-less for a stretch.  We call this "Hucking." 

Maybe today you'll swim nude?  Why not?  You're on the Pacific Crest Trail and it's a liberating feeling!  The trail is more Wild than you thought...  (See what I did there?)

Maybe you'll try to break the "1.Poo Challenge?"  In this challenge, you have to follow Leave No Trace Princples and take a proper restroom break while also hiking 1.2 miles — all in under 20 minutes.

Silly stuff, but all a part of trail life. 

To be fair, sometimes I'm cold, nervous, and frequently bedraggled out here.  Netflix and a night in can sound tempting when the conditions worsen.  The trail can surely tax you physically, emotionally, and mentally.  Luckily the good times greatly outnumber the tough. 

Work: 5pm finally arrives.  Return home in the same hellacious traffic.  Your friends are too tired to do anything except go to Dragonfly for a few drinks.  Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll have a Kickball League of Rochester game before you end up a Dragonfly.  Maybe you'll go to the gym, which seems rather silly once you know how much of a workout walking in nature can be.  But you at least have to workout for 30 minutes... You ate that Nutella, after all. 

Trail: The darkness takes back the sky.  The sunsets are sensational.  You never tire of a summer of sunsets.  Your bedroom is different – and approximately 22 miles further away than where you started the day.  Sometimes you sleep on a mountain pass, other times along a serene lakeshore.  The constellations return.  You think about the cycle of the moon.  There are so many stars.  The universe is huge.  You didn't go on the Internet today.  You didn't see your reflection in a mirror.  You didn't drink tap water.  You have no idea when water will be available again.  Your bed is the ground.  Your friends are camping nearby.  Or maybe you had a day of solitude, which is tough to get in a world with nearly 8 billion people and projecting towards 11 billion in 30 years.  

You saw stuff like this today:

Work Life... Thru-hikers or not we all work!  Raising families or raising hell.  Jobs.  Vocations.  In Latin "vocation" means calling. It just so happens that my job right now is staying alive on a thru-hike, which also begins to feel more and more like a calling.  Perhaps you think of it more of a big naked journey now?  That's OK, Cheryl Strayed gets that too.  Thru-hiking is hard.  It takes sacrifice.  So does having a job.  They are both valid.

The day ends exactly the same in each world... the sun sets in the west, and I go to bed exhausted. 

Do we work to live or live to work?  I don't know, this is just a blog!  

If you like moving pictures more, here's my quest into the top part of the High Sierra: http://youtu.be/YK1bamw2iCk

The Two Towers

By: Tyler Socash

IG: @tylerhikes

"Every day on trail has been the best day of my life."  That's what I've been telling everyone I meet.  Day-hikers, people who give me hitches, store clerks, the guy who just interrupted my blog post on the porch of the Sierra City General Store, they all get the same message.  (Delivered with genuine enthusiasm!). It's true, thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail has been the most beautiful and singularly the most arduous undertaking of my life.  I wake up everyday excited to still be on trail.  The views just keep on coming...

Yesterday was no exception.  It was the next greatest day of my life.  I'll always remember yesterday as The Day of the Two Towers.  

August ended in a memorable way.  I woke up at Lookout Rock and hiked past a National Scenic River - the Middle Branch of the Feather River.  I finished memorizing The Lorax, which took me 2 weeks to perfect.  Finally, I hiked around the base of Pilot Peak.  I intended to go another 6 miles that day, but I noticed an intriguing structure at the summit...

The old firetower atop Pilot Peak. 

A firetower!  As I rounded the base of Pilot Peak, I wondered if I could bushwhack up to the summit.  "That would be an awesome place to spend my last night in August," I thought.  Here are a few views from the ascent...

Cool rock formations.  Erosion is neat. 

This part was a bunch of rock-hopping. 

The route up became exceptionally steep.  I found an old cable that was intentionally stretched up a scree field to assist hikers approaching from the Pacific Crest Trail.  By the looks of it, the cable was decades old.  It reminded me of the cable route up Gothics in the Adirondack High Peaks, which made me think of my friend Joe and my hiking friends back home.  

Topping out on the summit took a lot of effort.  I thought that I might have pulled my hamstring as I surged uphill.  Gingerly, I crested to discover that the watch tower was in bad shape.  Decrepit.  Almost menacing-looking, like the two towers from The Lord of the Rings. 

The interior was gutted.  Glass was strewn about the base of the tower.  Precarious steps led me to the overlook. Banisters were missing, as were some of the floorboards!  I could think of no better place to spend the night. 

On the stable portion of the tower. 

Nighttime came with its surprises.  This was the first time I remember seeing city lights from the trail.  To the SSW I thought I was viewing the endless sprawl of Greater Sacramento.  It was an interesting sight. 

And then came the mice.  I truly hope that I did not contract hantavirus.  They got into my shoes, they ruined my water bladder, and one of them ate my trekking pole handles.

It was fun, Pilot Peak, but as dawn struck it was time to walk towards Mexico.  The trail led to the southeast.  On the horizon I spied a sharp peak.  I imagined that it was the Sierra Buttes, and in 30 miles I would be there!

Today was the first day that I felt like I was in the Sierras.  Technically I am in the transition zone between the Cascade Range and the Sierra Nevadas.  It's a transition zone because geologists can't seem to delineate where one range ends and the other begins!  As I marched into the Sierra Buttes, I saw stuff like this:

Ooo, Ahhh!  Neat!

This looks Sierra-ish to me!

I have a strong opinions regarding wilderness.  

1) There's not enough of it.  Once again, only 2.7% of the contiguous United States is preserved as Federal wilderness.  That means over 97% of our country can be paved, and a lot of it already is!

2) Nature's inimitable beauty is unsurpassable. 

3) The Sierra Buttes should be re-classified as wilderness.  

As of right now, the Sierra Buttes region is within the Tahoe National Forest.  "National Forest" is basically a code name for "where we will log and build lots of roads."

I was thoroughly enjoying the Sierra Buttes, I was having the greatest day of my life!  The only thing that tarnished my experience were the dirt bikes.  Lots of dirt bikes.  Lots of roads and dirt bikes. 

This reminded me of a Lewis C.K. bit that my friend Patrick played for me.  God comes back to Earth to discover that oil is spilled everywhere...

...That if you believe that God gave you the Earth and God created the Earth for you, why would you not be – have to look after it? Why the f@#% – why would you not think that when he came back he would go ‘What the f@#% did you do? I gave this to you motherf@#%er are you crazy? The polar bears are brown! What did you – what did you do to the polar bears??? Did you shit all over every polar bear? What did you – Who did this? Who spilled this shit? Who spilled this? Come over – did you f@#%ing spill this? What is that?’

'...it's oil... it's just some oil... I didn't mean to spill it...'

'Well why did you take it out of the f@#%ing ground???’

'...Cuz I wanted to go faster?...'

The dirt bikes kicked dirt up everywhere.  Imagine that!  The ringing of their engines could be heard around every corner.  Mechanized vehicles aren't permitted on the PCT, yet I saw their tracks in the dirt throughout the section.  It was less than ideal, but I still got to see stuff like this:

The Sierra Buttes!

These rock!

Our country doesn't need more roads.  We have 4 million miles of those.  We don't need to drill the Arctic Ocean for oil — seems kind of desperate, doesn't it?

We need more wilderness areas, especially with global human population projecting to grow to 11 billion by 2100.  I select the Sierra Buttes as an exceptional candidate to preserve!  It was one of my favorite places on the entire Pacific Crest Trail! 

Upon closer inspection, the Sierra Buttes had a lookout tower on the summit pinnacle.  There was a road (of course) to the summit, and I thought, "Why not spend back-to-back nights at two towers!?!"

The summit of the Sierra Buttes

After hiking 30 miles, why not add an additional 1,300ft climb to get atop the 8,587ft. pinnacle?!  The view from the top made me shake at the knees...

"Is this safe?!?"

Would you climb this?

Don't look down!  It was a vertical drop that would make you queasy.

Two Towers, One Day!  America!

Just another day on the PCT!  It was another great one.  This will be on my list of places to return to someday.  

Seeing the dirt bikes, the endless Sacremento light pollution, and rickety summit towers made me appreciate the 24 wilderness areas that I've seen thus far even more.  I've been spoiled out here!  So much beauty!  This blog has been a platform for me to share this natural beauty, but I also see it as an opptunity to suggest that more wild and open spaces would benefit our nation – and the globe. 

The Once-ler said it best.  

"Unless someone like you 

cares a whole awful lot,

nothing is going to get better.

It's not."

When the next opportunity presents itself to support wilderness protection near you, vote for the wilderness! 

The two towers were cool, but I'm eagerly awaiting the pristine Sierra wilderness regions ahead!  Wish me luck!

Also, I'm starting a video series on YouTube called, "A Hike of Ice and Fire." Search for my second installment of the series, A Cascade of Kings, via a simple google search.  Yes, these are Game of Thrones references, as I'm reading more than just Dr. Seuss on trail for inspiration. Just about to start A Clash of Kings, and I know I'm late to the game but I'm a little shocked about Lord Eddard.  What gives, Joffrey!?!

- "Future Dad"

The Long White Tunnel

By Tyler Socash

IG: @tylerhikes

You can see Mount Shasta for hundreds upon hundreds of miles along the PCT.  Allegedly, at least.  I saw Shasta for the first time in the Soda Mountain Wilderness of southern Oregon.  That was the first time I knew I was looking at California from the trail!

Standing at 14,179ft., Mount Shasta is the second-tallest mountain in the Cascade Range (behind Mount Rainier), and it's the fifth-tallest mountain in California.  Despite its formidable size, I couldn't see the volcano half of the time...

The culprit?  Northern California's forest fires!  Lightning strikes in late-July ignited most of the wildfires across Humboldt and Trinity Counties.  Without much rain in the forecast, combined with severe drought conditions, these fires continued to spread.  By early August, 6-million acres of forest — a size equivalent to the entire Adirondack Park — already burned across the United States... and the fire season isn't over. 

Smoke fills the valleys as I march southbound in California. 

The right-center peak is Mount Shasta, as seen from Oregon. 

The Appalachian Trail is nicknamed The Long Green Tunnel.  Everything is so lush back east.  We typically don't worry about forest fires, and there never seems to be a shortage of water (or snow).  Coping with intense and long-lasting wildfires is the new normal out west.  The Pacific Crest Trail suddenly transformed into a Long White Tunnel. 

The smoke-smuggered sunset. 

A shrouded Marble Mountain, namesake of the Marble Mountain Wilderness. 

The Russian Wilderness. 

Terrible air quality in the Trinity Alps Wilderness. 

Nearing the end of the smoke-filled skies as I hike east in the Castle Crags Wilderness. 

On the day that I hitched into the small village of Etna, CA, things were getting pretty bad.  As I waited for a ride on top of Etna Summit, I looked west at the spreading white veil.  "Who on earth would travel in that direction?" I thought.  I wasn't sure if anyone would be driving through such thick smoke.  Surprisingly, some weekenders were passing through and graciously took me downhill and eastward into Etna.  

While I was in town I met up with other hikers who were intending to hitch out of the smoke.  They were willingly bypassing huge sections of trail just to get back into the clear skies with unobstructed views!  I want my thru-hike to be a journey of continuous footsteps from Canada to Mexico, so the next day I hitched back uphill to Etna Summit.  Back into the Long White Tunnel.  

The Russian Wilderness, Trinity Alps Wilderness, Castle Crags Wilderness... they were all beautiful.  I know the smoke robbed me of vistas, but I guess I can say I had an authentic PCT wildfire experience!  One day in the Trinity Alps was so bad that I could actually taste the fire with every inhale.  What a strange sensation!

I increased my daily mileage as the trail headed east.  I was told by a few northbound hikers that there wasn't any smoke in Burney, CA.  That propelled me forward.  

When you're hiking, you spend a majority of your time staring at the trail itself (I often trip when gazing upon the views while walking).  This is especially true when your views are shrouded by smoke.   You'll notice lots of little lizards in Northern California.  I saw plenty of northern fickers near the trail, too.  They always fly away quickly, revealing their signature white rumps as they go.  But on this day I saw a track that I did not expect...

"What was that?!" I questioned aloud.  I actually stopped and retraced my steps.  I looked at the impression in the sandy trail.  One huge front footpad, five soft dimples representing toes.  I studied it intently for a few seconds, and moved on to find another one.  And another...

It sprinted faster than my own adrenaline could signal my fright.  In a flash, the black bear around the very next corner took off!  I was totally caught off-guard.  I never dreamed that I would be tracking a bear that was only 50 feet in front of me!  

Well, it only took 1,200 miles, but I finally saw my first bear on trail.  I'm still eagerly awaiting my first mountain lion sighting. 

The bear now a few miles behind me, I came to an open ridge with another immaculate view that I wasn't expecting to see — Mount Shasta!  I had escaped the 400-mile Long White Tunnel!  I decided to eat dinner at that very spot so I could watch the sunset.  It was stunning.  A top-5 sunset while on the PCT!  Shasta, you were worth the wait. 

Freshly out of water after cooking, I reasoned that I should hike downhill and camp near the next water source... Or!  I could stay and enjoy the views of the mountain that had eluded me since August 13th.  

My cowboy campsite, with Mount Shasta to my northwest. 

I stayed put for the night. 

The big bend in the Pacific Crest Trail around Mount Shasta had been completed.  Now I'm heading in a predominantly southerly course towards Mexico, with clear skies overhead!  

Every now and again I turn around to appreciate the views behind me.  I could spot Shasta from the notoriously dry Hat Creek Rim, potentially for the last time...

My sights were set on the PCT mid-point, which I reached on August 27th, exactly two months to the day of leaving the Canadian border. 

The PCT midpoint.  I made it half-way!

Wow!  What a journey so far!  I couldn't believe that only two months have elapsed on trail.  The days are so packed, that it has felt more like half a year!  

As I crested a hill at the end of the day, I looked back.  I could see the ridge where the PCT midpoint marker was located.  I could see the lakes near Chester, CA where I rested for a day.  I could even see Lassen Volcanic National Park that I cruised through the day before that...

...and in the fading light I caught a glimpse of an old friend.  Towering amongst the clouds was the snow-capped summit of Mount Shasta.  It looked so far away.  I'm sure this speck on the horizon would go unnoticed by 99% of northbound hikers. 

I think the long white tunnel made me cherish this view a bit more.

The Double Marathon

By Tyler Socash

IG: @tylerhikes

The eyes were staring back at me, unmoving.  It was 10 o'clock PM and I was off-trail desperately searching for a spring to replenish my empty water bladder.  I felt the burn of the gaze before turning to see it.  My stomach dropped.   "Just a deer..." I hoped.  Exhausted and parched, I clicked my trekking poles together and called out to my shadowy friend.  "Don't mind me, just a human looking for the watering hole," I assured the woodland creature. 

Pressing on I came to a pipe gate with a few tents nearby.  "This must be the way to the spring," I thought.  Opening the rusty gate created an ear-splitting creak that awoke my hiking kin.  "Sorry about that gang, I'm the worst."  It wasn't my goal to wake sleepy thru-hikers, but I felt safer with a gate now between me and the unknown megafauna in the woods behind me.  I was also too thirsty to care. 

Water!  It's an afterthought at home or at work.  Simply turn on the faucet and magically it appears.  Do we ever think where it's even coming from?  What a luxury!  On a thru-hike water is absolutely vital.  The elixir of life!  Your options on-trail are to filter or treat water from lakes/ponds/streams, or to find natural springs.  The west coast is enduring a historic five-year drought, so sometimes water is hard to come by. 

My thirst now quenched, I returned to the trail to find my mysterious creature — just a deer.  She scampered off into the new moon night and I looked down at my map.  "Nine miles to go," I muttered.  I was in the midst of my first double marathon, and I wasn't going to quit now. 

You'll hear about hiker challenges while on-trail.  The AT has the 4 State Challenge, hiking from Virginia through West Virginia, Maryland, and into Pennsylvania in a single day.  There's the Desert Challenge in Southern California, walking for 24 hours straight through the Mojave.  I was attempting a double marathon, 52.4 miles in a single go. 

Jumping on the summit of Devils Peak in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. 

Over the previous week I walked over lava fields, walked around the Three Sisters, summited Mount Thielsen, and jumped into the pristine blue waters of Crater Lake.  I was feeling very alive when I arrived at Devils Peak in the evening of August 9th.  

This would be my first night alone on trail since leaving Hart's Pass in northern Washington.  I wasn't sure if camping on "Devils Peak" would be a good omen.  Plus, I heard some conspicuous rockfall on the trail below the summit.  I strapped on my backpack and walked a few minutes down the scree field when I remembered a quote from Billygoat... "Drink it all in.... You might not find yourself here again."

I turned around.  I set my pack down.  Unrolled my ground tarp, inflated my sleeping pad, and zipped myself into my sleeping bag.  The summit of Devils Peak would be my resting place tonight.  

Not sure if these selfies are as flattering as I imagined them to be. 

Smoke filled the sky around me.  Before I left Crater Lake, a west rim fire was developing.  To the south, Northern California was burning.  Views would be shrouded tonight.  I turned to my maps.  If there would ever be a chance to pull off the elusive double marathon, tomorrow would be my day.  Callahan's Lodge was 80 miles away.  The Oregon/California border was over 100 miles away.  My birthday was coming up...

"What if I hiked four marathons in three days and jumped over the border at midnight on my birthday?"

A fun fact about me is that since the age of 20 I have spent part of each birthday in free fall.  Instead of going to the bars at 21, I convinced my whole family to jump off the Green Bridge with me into the welcoming waters of the mighty Moose River back home.  I usually jump at 11:59.59 so that I'm free fall at the moment I earn another lap around our sun.  Jumping over the Oregon/California border on the Pacific Crest Trail seemed to be a romantic enough way to spend my 29th!

In free fall a few days earlier at Crater Lake National Park - The Awesome Principle prevails!

The morning had come.  August 10th.  A Home Alone quote flashed in my head, "We slept in!   Ahhhhh!!!!"

I cruised through the Sky Lakes Wilderness.  I actually ran downhill when the tread was favorable to make up time lost in the morning light.  I stopped to talk to NOBO's, but I was still traveling over 4 miles per hours downhill.  Mount McLoughlin, which last night looked so far away in the southern sky, was behind me in the late-afternoon.  One marathon down. One to go. 

As I contoured around Brown Mountain I walked tediously over lava rock.  It was tough on the soles of my feet, but too amazing to complain about.  Walking on lava is amazing when you compare it to sitting at a desk. 

I've completed two running marathons in my life.  Those are physically and mentally exhausting.  After walking from Canada to Mount McLoughlin in southern Oregon, a hiking marathon doesn't hurt that badly.  It's the 2nd marathon that hurts.  

Legs and lava rock. 

My conversations with NOBOs became curt.  I apologized to some of them and mentioned that I was attempting a double marathon, 52.4 miles.  They let me go with their well wishes.  I needed their encouragement.  As I walked by I shouted my recommendations for camping sites, water sources, and free Wi-fi passwords at rest stops ahead.  This was my way of saying, "thank you" for a premature southbound departure.  

Darkness fell when I ate my Mountain House dehydrated meal.  I added in a packet of Chicken Ramen for good measure.  Headlamp on, I walked uphill. Stepping over fallen trees became a struggle.  I could feel muscle fibers tearing as I stretched over the obstacles. Now this felt like the Rochester Marathon!  

"Callouses be damned!" the blisters shouted.  My feet ached and my legs quaked when I stopped to search for the piped spring at the top of the hill.  Out of water, I hoped that the spring would be running.  That's when encountered the deer and the squeaky fence.  9 miles to go... I'd be hiking past 1am to finish. 

This was already my longest hike on the PCT when I made my descent.  Any long-distance runner will say how important your mental state is during an endurance race.  Good thing I never quit!

Onward I went, shuffling my feet at times, taking brief rests on logs and rocks near the trail.  When I reached my final climb, I was nearly defeated. 

My double marathon victory had one final hurdle before arriving at mile 915. 

The last ascent was the worst, but the thought of actually completing a double marathon propelled me forward.  I turned on my music and selected, "Shuffle."  In amazement, when I needed laughter the most, one of my friend's songs played loud and clear in the forest near Hyatt Lake.  "New Girl in Town."  Before leaving Rochester for the Pacific Crest Trail, my best buddy handed me a CD with all of his amazingly goofy music on it.  "Just in case you need some inspiration," he half-jokingly quipped.  If you watched my YouTube video, "A Hike of Ice and Fire," you've already heard his music if you played the video through the outro.  

In my time of need, New Girl in Town brought a smile to my face.  I made it over that last hill.  I made it past mile 915 and crash landed on the side of the trail after surpassing the 52.4 mile mark.  

I set a seemingly impossible goal, and I achieved it!

The morning after a double marathon

I hiked another marathon the next day.  I wasn't sure if I could do it, but it happened.  You can push your body to do incredible things if you really want something.  I wanted the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner at Callahan's Lodge off of I-5.  

On my birthday I woke up and hiked one more marathon to the Oregon/California border.  Before my birthday expired, I jumped...

The jump at 11:59.59

... I landed in California. 

A Story About A Horse

By Tyler Socash 

IG: @tylerhikes

"Do you want to know the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?"  I was enthralled. The legendary Billygoat, a 76-year old man who has hiked the Pacific Crest Trail 9.5 times, was about to unveil a masterpiece.  I was honored to sit adjacent to him at Timberline Lodge.   With a twinkle in his eye he summoned a memory that had our entire breakfast table riveted... 

Arriving at Timberline Lodge is no easy task for thru-hikers.  Sure, you can easily drive there, or fly your helicopter there as Steven Tyler did a couple hours before I arrived, but hiking there is another matter. Southbounders start in the Columbia River Gorge, scarcely above sea level, and hike up to 6,000ft in a hurry.  From the Lodge you're only 3.6 miles from the top of Oregon — Mount Hood. 

Mount Hood - 11,249ft. - has a ~5% chance of erupting in the next 30 years.  

Before leaving the Cascade Locks Post Office and setting out for Timberline, I met a guy who had been chasing me down for 400 miles.  "What's your trail name?" a stranger asked me.  "Future Dad!" I responded with enthusiasm.  My name is typically met with laughter or an appropriately presumptuous, "Congratulations!"  This time I received a response that I hadn't heard before... 

"So you're 'Future Dad.'  I've been trying to catch you since Stehekin!"  His name was Mantis, and at 6' 5" I just met my tallest hiking partner, new best friend, and newest PCT character.  He looked relieved to meet me, as he hiked throughout much of Washington alone — the typical PCT southbound experience.  

From my perspective, meeting Mantis happened at the right time.  With Wildfire and Half Jesus taking some zeros after reaching Oregon, I was able to venture south with my new hiking partner.  We saw stuff like this:

Behind Tunnel Falls on the Eagle Creek Trail!

Tunnel Falls - Oregon's most popular trail. 

Mantis and Future Dad swimming beneath Tunnel Falls!

Ramona Falls!  This place is awesome!

Mantis and I are compatible hikers.  We both enjoy the views, we hike relatively fast, and we swim a lot.  We seem to make the most out of every trail mile, which is something that I appreciated about my journey thus far with Wildfire and Half Jesus.  We all embrace the awesomeness of nature around us. 

I felt like we arrived at Timberline Lodge exactly when we were supposed to.  While in line for the breakfast buffet (I was first in line, hikers talk about the Timberline buffet all the time) a woman asked me if we'd be interested in forming a PCT table.  The Awesome Principle forced me to say, "Yes!" without hesitation.  She quickly added, "Well you're in luck.  You are about to meet a legend."

I knew who he was.  I had seen that long white beard before.  It was Billygoat.  Only one person has hiked the PCT more times, but no one has spent as much time hiking on trail as him.  Once when asked where he was from, Billygoat famously replied, "Here," referring to the trail. 

I was awestruck at first.  Mantis and I were eating the famous Timberline breakfast (unlimited smoothies and everything for $14.95) next to the guy that the guidebooks mention.  Billygoat has made a lot of lasting memories over the years.  He has done the Appalachian Trail multiple times, walked the Erie Canal, hiked the Colorado Trail four times and climbed most of the 14,000ft. peaks there...  He's on track to hike 50,000 miles by the ripe age of 80!  With all of the time he'd spent outside, I knew he'd have some epic wildlife stories, so I asked about his favorite moment while hiking. 

The room felt heavy, and all other sounds muffled out when Billygoat turned to me and asked, "Do you want to know the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?"  I leaned forward, swallowing a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes, obviously interested in what would come next.  "I was walking the Continental Divide Trail near the Great Basin in Wyoming.  Remote.  Vast.  Endless."  It was as if Billygoat had been transported back. I leaned closer.  "The basin was filled with 200, yes, 200 wild horses!  Wild horses that were galloping and playing as if they didn't have a care in the world!  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Five of them broke off from the herd and decided to get a closer look at this man who was watching them in admiration.  They slowed from a canter to a trot when one of them approached me individually.  The mare flicked his mane while looking right at me.  Do you know what that horse said?  He was saying, not in English, 'Come on, come play with me!'  It was a beautiful thing.  That horse was talking to me!"  Billygoat flicked his head, imitating the horse's beckoning.  We dared not to interrupt.  "And I replied to him, in English, 'I would, but I can't run that fast.'"

It was a powerful story.  It brought a tear to my eye.  I felt lucky to hear it.  I hope to hear more stories like that. 

A lot happened after leaving Timberline, too much to mention here.  I experienced amazing trail magic (ask me about my 2nd Timberline experience in person), I camped on the actual Oregon Trail at Barlow Pass, I even hiked with Billygoat for part of the next day.  These are stories  that I'll treasure forever.  

Mantis and I hiked past the next intimidating Cascade, Mount Jefferson, together.  We heard about a camp site that we couldn't miss, and we even hiked 34 miles one day to get there.  This was our spot...

Mount Jefferson at sunset, Oregon's second-tallest peak.  Sweet volcano!

My last view north of Mount Rainier (far left), Mount Hood, and Olallie Butte at sunrise.  

The trail south to Three Fingered Jack. 

Oregon has been spectacular so far.  This whole journey has been so fun!  I'll update you all again soon.  I apologize in advance if I quote Billygoat for the rest of my life. 

I recently bumped into a woman from Wyoming while on trail.  Before parting ways I asked her, "Does the Great Basin in Wyoming really have hundreds of wild horses roaming around?"

"Yes it does.  And it's the most breathtakingly beautiful thing you would ever see..."