ADZPTC-What?

Lake Morena

ADZPCTKO.  The Annual Day Zero Pacific Crest Trail Kickoff.  Often just called "Kickoff".  It's a hiker Woodstock and a conference all wrapped into one.  750 hikers, current, present, and wannabe, all get together to meet, greet, eat, and talk trail.  It happens the last weekend of April near the Mexico border and is the "kickoff" to the PCT season.  I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I figured if they were cramming 750 people in a campground AND staying in the rangers' good graces, it must be a well organized, worthwhile event.  And so it was.

Here's what I'm walking away with:

A little last minute PCT 201.  I attended classes on topics ranging from trail yoga, injury prevention, and snow skills to bear safety and rules, trail flora and flauna, and the latest trail and water reports.  Most of it wasn't anything new, but that puts me more at ease, knowing I've already done my homework.  The most exciting (in more than one sense) came with the water report.  This year the snow level in the Sierras is about 34% of normal.  Last year was record snow and over 130% of normal.  So, hooray!  We landed a good snow year!  The flip side is that days of winds over 100 mph hit near Reds Meadow this past November and devastated segments of the trail.  No one knows how much or how long it'll take to clear.  Or if it will be cleared at all this season.  We might be facing detours or long slogs up and over and under the grand Sierra trees.  Each year has its own trials, and this may be ours.  One day at a time.

Campground host at Lake Morena who was also a host as Silver Falls! Small world!

 

A few friends.  I am not the best at making new friends or approaching groups of strangers, but I certainly tried while I was here.  And I made four friends!  This has got to be a record for me!  Oooh, maybe it's even five.  Josh, Clarence, Moira (sp?), Mello Yellow, and Maddog Murphy.  (Why do I feel like one of my little nieces or nephews telling me about all of their little preschool friends?  Counting every person whose name s/he remembers as a "friend"?  Sigh.  We are all still kids in some ways, and it seems that new experiences put us right back there.)  We are starting a day more behind all of these people, but I find comfort in both knowing they are ahead of us and in knowing I am bound to meet more like them.  Mellow and Maddog in particular remind me of my two EMT friends who got me through that grueling course. ... Our instructor had told us on day one that we would need to make a few good friends to make it through the class.  I remember looking around the room and thinking, "Not with anyone here."  Three weeks in I considered dropping ... and the same night I thought that, I met Eddy and Jake.  We were fast friends and quickly a regular trio.  (Jake made us matching bracelets for Christmas -- THOSE kinds of friends.)  I would not have made it through with so much support and laughter without them.  I know I'll need the same on the PCT; none of us does this alone.

California Poppy

Excitement and confidence.  This is what comes from hanging out with other trail hardened and hardening hikers.  The enthusiasm in shared stories is contagious.  We watched the Class of 2011's film -- it brought me to near tears watching their hardships and celebrations.  I don't know how anyone could watch it and not feel the pull of the trail.  Just hanging out with other current thru hikers builds confidence.  You can hear our anxieties in our voices, see our mixed fear and eagerness in our faces ... We all have it.  And it's comforting to see how human everyone is.  Even the guys with the best and lightest gear and other trans-country trails behind them have it.  Phew!  We really are all just people, afterall.  And the experience with this was that we know this and are out to help and comfort each other. 

In all, ADZPCTKO has been just the thing.  It's been the review I needed, the comradery I was looking for, and the real, from the gut excitement all of you had been waiting to take over.  I cannot even tell you how thrilled I am to be FINALLY STARTING.  I'm grinning ear to ear.  And Melissa's flight has just arrived.  I cannot believe this is actually happening.  PCT, here we come!

And I'm Off!

(This my first post from my phone.  All apologies if it's disjointed.  I am terribly slow!)
Well, the trip has begun.  I am somewhere between Chico and Sacramento, looking out at a sliver of moon as total strangers talk like childhood friends to pass the time.  Me, I'm pretty quiet.  It hasn't quite set in, what I'm about to attempt.  Perhaps that's why I've kept to myself ... not ready to talk about it.  And why I've found myself the perfect silent riding partner.  He has not said one word, yet it's that pleasant silent you want when you're in your own head and riding the Greyhound.  Oh yes, the Greyhound.

It's been a couple of years since I've taken the bus, but it hasn't taken long to settle back into the rhythm.  See, the thing is, I kind of like this long, slow, sometimes stinky, always colorful mode of transportation.   Everyone sounded appalled when I said I was taking the Greyhound down to the border.  And so I explained that I could keep my pack, unsearched by airport security, under the bus where I would know exactly where it was at all times.  Isn't that nice?   And the train?  Well, it arrives at San Diego at 1 AM.  And I'm not much of a city girl let alone a city girl at the wee hours.  Makes sense, right?  What I don't really mention is my secret affection for the bus.  Yes, I love knowing where my pack is.  But I was also looking forward to being trapped with mostly my own mind for 26 hours on the same system of travel I used for years when I was first trying to figure myself out.  Life has been chaotic.  I might not know what I'm doing.  Sitting and thinking as my PCT miles tick away in reverse is just the thing for me right now.  Plus, nowadays, Greyhound has Wifi!  And more leg room!   But the same old half crazies.  Gotta go.  We're at the station, and there is some people-watching to cram in before the trail!  Night.

Last-Minute Panic

Do I know how to set this up?  In the desert?  In the snow?
For a storm?  Did I pick the right shelter?!

I am fighting it off the best I can (or blocking it out, rather), but the last-minute panic is finally creeping in.  So, I thought I'd try the "light of day" tactic.  See, I am, by nature, a bit of worrier.  (It's a Kwaiser thing.)  But I'm also aware of this tendency, and so over the years, I've come up with a couple of ways to deal with it.  One is to prepare.  You've probably seen my spreadsheets.  There are just as many spreadsheets that you haven't seen and five times as many lists.  I started planning this two years ago.  I made a list then of the "big rocks" I would like to have in place before I go.  I started saving with a goal of $10,000.  I decided to add an EMT onto my Wilderness First Responder certification.  I wanted to add a "Certified Interpretive Trainer" to my credentials before I left my job (just in case I needed to look for a new one when I returned.)  I had a "Top 11 of 2011" project list to finish at work before I handed off my position.  I reasoned that I should take a mountaineering course and learn how to use an ice axe and crampons before I tackled the Sierras -- once I completed that, I threw in a few snowy mountain summits to make sure I really knew what I was getting into.  I followed PCT thru-hikers last year (one of the snowiest on record) telling myself to expect the same.  Combating worry with preparedness really does help.  It also helps my fellow worriers to know that I've considered all of the scenarios and am ready for the worst.

Another method I use is to keep busy.  It may not be a worry-fighting tactic for my mom, but the constant busyness is something I get from her.  (It's a Brown thing.)  I go to Jazzercise 2 to 3 times a week.  I run, hike, and lift weights.  The EMT course and all of the extra practical skills that go with it nearly killed me on top of my regular job.  Before that, I was working on an independent study naturalist course.  I volunteer with the fire department.  I'm one of those people who tend to say Yes! to assisting with trainings, giving presentations, and organizing and attending get-togethers.  And because I am a perfectionist, I feel like I have to do all of these things well.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I am not one of those people.  There are people who do much more than I do.  And have kids on top of it.  My friend, Melanie, is pregnant and has a child, a husband, and a cat.  She juggles them and her full-time job with church, church activities, workouts, her knitting club, a regular blogging assignment, and mentoring.  AND, she's the person who not only sends you Christmas cards, Valentines presents, Halloween gifts, and a thank you card for everything; she'll also send you your birthday present one month early so that you get it before you leave for the Trail.  That the little I do keeps me busy is pathetic.  But it does, and it keeps me from worrying.

A third approach I use when these two haven't already squashed the worry is that "light of day" tactic.  I had some dark years in my late teens and early twenties.  And, being an introvert, I pretty much closed into myself.  It was extremely lonely and painful (I can't even imagine what it must have been like for those around me).  Thankfully, I made it out.  And I now rest easy knowing that I'll never go back there.  How?  I eventually learned that if I actually told someone about my worries, insecurities, and dark, lonely thoughts, they lost a little bit of their power over me.  I think it's a combination of sharing the burden and the fact that simply saying something aloud to another gives you a broader perspective.  And so nowadays, I make a point of sharing my concerns, frustrations, and fears.  I try not to run around repeating them to everyone, but to get everything out to at least one other person.  It seems to work.  And so, since I am still panicking about the PCT, I thought I'd put all of my fears and worries out there.  Ready?  Here goes:

I am worried/afraid:

• That I will not finish the trail.
• That I messed up my lower legs by temporarily selecting the wrong shoes.
• That I will not want to take the time to make the hot breakfasts I packed.
• That my pack will be too heavy.
• That my rain gear won't be waterproof.
• That I'm going to forget to pack toilet paper.
• That I'm going to end up with a trail name like "Creamsicle."  (It's taken, thank goodness.)
• That I picked the wrong place to ship our resupply packages.
• That I'm going to always arrive at the post office on a Sunday.
• That I'm going to freeze on Forester Pass.
• That my camera is going to fail.
• That I didn't save enough money.
• That I won't be approved for health insurance.
• That I'll lose my pack before the trip even begins.
• That I haven't practiced setting up my TarpTent enough.
• That I haven't trained enough.
• That we won't make it to Canada before the snow.
• That my dad won't read my blog because he's upset that medical issues are preventing him from joining me.
• That I'm going to step on a rattlesnake.
• That my skin is going to breakout.
• That I'm forgetting some MAJOR detail.  (Am I?)
• That I'll forget my Jazzercise moves just when I need them.
• That I'll never find the right trail clothes.  (The missing piece!)
• That my down bag is going to get wet.
• That I should have gone with the NeoAir instead of the Z-Rest.
• That I won't bring the right socks.
• That my pack isn't big enough for a bear canister.
• That I'll forget how to self-arrest with my ice axe.
• That my shyness is going to hold me back.
• That my mate and I might lose some of our powerful connection during the five months apart.
• That I'm going to miss out on everything while I'm gone.
• That the Maintenance/Operations Team might beat my Interpretive Team in the park wildflower ID competition.  (I'm seriously having dreams about this one.)
• That I'll blank out on my medical skills during an emergency.  And forget to put on gloves.
• That I'm going to give my Trail Angel volunteers bad/wrong information.
• That I'll get explosive diarrhea. 
• That my jerky is going to give me cancer. 
• That I won't get over my fear of the dark.

Phew!  That might be helping.  And, just to make it a little better; let's try my fourth tactic.  Which is to remind myself of the things I know and that I am not worried about.  

I am happy/sure:

• That I found the right shoes.
• That I picked the perfect underwear (Under Armour Mesh Boy Shorts.)
• That I have the perfect package person.
• That between the rangers at Oregon State Parks and the fire fighters/medics at Drakes Crossing, a small army will come to my aid in an emergency.
• That I will enjoy my food.  (It's way more of a variety than I eat at home.  AND I'm allowing myself sweets, wheat, cheese, and jerky!  Hooray!)
• That I have an amazing stove.
• That I will never lack physical or emotional support on this trip.
• That I have a job upon my return.
• That I will be a better person upon my return.
• That I'm mentally (if not physically!) tough enough for this journey.
• That the "Buff" is going to be the perfect bad hair solution, cold neck solution, and pretty much every other solution for the shoulders and up.
• That my cousin is going to be the perfect travel companion.
• That Jazzercise tunes will save the day repeatedly.
• That I am going to love all of the sunshine, views, and alpine lakes.
• That I know what I'm getting into -- which includes accepting that I can't know exactly what I'm getting into.
• That I will not let my worries and fears get the best of me.

Thanks for listening. 

Trail Love

Thank YOU.

I have had a few conversations this past week about love.  (Oh, yes, this is going to be about love.)  About all of our preferred ways to be shown love.  I'm sure there are hundreds of models and theories on this, but a friend referred to one in which there are four general methods people like to receive love.  (I won't even attempt to tell you who said these things because I am certain that I am butchering it -- better to save both author and myself the embarrassment.)  (And these are according to my friend and me, because he couldn't remember the fourth way, so we might have made something up.)  Here it is.  People like:  1) Gifts, 2) Quality Time, 3) Favors, or 4) Affection.  

Try it.  Think about yourself.  How do you like to be shown love?  I don't know about you, but as soon as I heard this, one of them made me light up and another one or two made me cringe.  I think most people who know me know that I love quality time.  I'm an introvert.  One-on-one quality time is like a drug for me.  I'm glowing as I write just thinking about it.  The cringers?  Those would be gifts.  And favors.  Again, anyone who has tried to give me things has probably seen it.  (I'm sorry!)  I am a terrible receiver.  Which I know, and I realize when I am given gifts and favors -- and this makes me an even worse receiver.  

So, in addition to being an introvert, I'm an analyzer.  As you can imagine, this guttural aversion to being a Gift/Favor-Lover made me wonder . . . why?  And I think I've figured it out.  It is, of course, . . . my parents' fault.  Well, at least partly.  (Isn't it always?)  I am, both by nature and by nurture, fairly independent.  Okay, maybe wildly independent.  I am one of six kids.  As a child, a certain independence was required for survival.  You can be sick and stay home from school, but you're on your own, kiddo.  Perfect.  I'll make myself scrambled eggs in the microwave and lounge around with my Snoopy dog.  I can remember that my elementary school report cards always had the "Works Independently" box marked with a S+.  I must have known what that meant, because I still feel proud of it.  As an adult, (fear of the dark aside) I like living alone.  I don't mind going to the movies, coffee shop, or brew pub alone.  I still don't like to be taken care of when I'm sick.  I don't do well with surprises.  I don't know what want for Christmas.  I drive those gift-giving and favor folks crazy.  And now they are getting their sweet, sweet revenge.

See, the independence, coupled with my ingrained sense of duty and Catholic guilt (ahem, Mom and Papa), makes it difficult for me to accept gifts.  And favors.  I am not graceful about either because I feel like I need to give a gift or a favor back.  It really isn't that I don't like gifts and favors.  I actually love small, thoughtful gifts and thoughtful favors.  I just don't know what to do with them.  I flounder, stammer, give a quick hug, and want run for my life.  It's awful.  And I had been meaning to work on it.  Now, I am being forced.

People talk about "trail angels" and "trail magic" on the Pacific Crest Trail.  All of the people who help you along the trail -- giving you rides, taking you into their homes, feeding you, washing your nasty sausage-smelling clothes. . .  The people who do this are "trail angels."  When something unexpectedly wonderful happens like an icy cold Coke in the middle of the desert on the worst day ever, it's "trail magic."  

What people don't talk about is that all of this magic actually begins waaaaay before you hit the trail.  No less than six people have definitively offered to "trail angel" me along the way.  Most, at places that they live close to on the trail.  But one couple, whose daughter was an intern with me a few years ago, emailed me to say they'd like to buy and bring my food to me anywhere on the trail.  I thought they meant Oregon, since that's where we all live.  Oh, no.  They have a Prius.  And they're retired.  They really mean anywhere.  Just say where and when.  My mate volunteered to by my shipper back when he was just the punk ranger who gave me a hard time.  My friend from four colleges and sixteen years ago also volunteered to send my packages.  So did my surrogate Silverton "parents."  And my past mate.  It's 5 months and 25 boxes of packaging and post-officing we're talking about.  During the vacation and holiday-filled summer.  There is neither fun or nor glory in the task.  Last week, I received a huge box full of to-go-sized peanut butters, jellies, and mayos.  Courtesy of Gwen -- owner of Gwen's Restaurant where, at 16, I learned to get over my inherent shyness and use my big girl voice.  My officemate of only three weeks just gave me a new headlamp and couple of bags of my favorite jerky.  A fellow ranger just stocked me up on Snickers -- one of my 10 essentials.  A high school friend is running my blog while I'm on trail.  My mom has been a dehydrating machine.  Say nothing of the emotional support and cheering on I've gotten from everyone from my chiropractor and my women's doctor, to the ladies at the bank and grocery store cashiers who just have to ask why I'm purchasing 1,200 Ziplocs.  

The outpouring is phenomenal.  And, for someone like me, who cringes at gifts and favors because she is so terrible at receiving them, extremely humbling.  I knew from what others had said that people would help me along the way.  I didn't know that I'd be near tears repeatedly as gifts, favors, and encouragement streamed in months and weeks before I even set a foot on the trail.  All of this show of love and at a time where I am so busy with preparation, that I can't give my kind of love (quality time) in return.  Instead, I am forced to say a most sincere thank you, gratefully accept the gift/favor/well-wishes, give a bear hug that, hopefully, expresses some of my appreciation, and resist the urge to run and hide.  

So I would like to take a moment to share my warm and humble thanks for all of the love and support.  I couldn't be doing the Trail without all of you.  ...  Any more of this and you gift-givers and favor friends might just break through my independent little shell.  Thanks.

10 Lessons Learned about Preparing 5 Month's Worth of Food

Food.  In general, there are two ways to do it on the trail:  You can buy your food along the way or shop and package it all before you go.

The Spreadsheet.

In the along-the-way method, you stop in the small towns scattered along the trail, raid the grocery stores for trail-worthy food for the next 5 or so days, divvy out your portions and shed extra packaging, load your pack, and go.  Sounds pretty good, eh?  There, of course, are some downfalls to this system.  Your grocery store may be a gas station . . . . which makes your protein bar option a Twinkie.  You have to spend time grocery shopping and food packing . . . time that you might otherwise spend doing luxurious things like showering, eating steaks and sundaes, and simply resting and thinking about the poor souls who are on their feet shopping.  And little outposts are little outposts -- Mom-and-Pop's supplies inevitably cost more than Costco's.  That's about it for downfalls.  And some weigh these as less than the benefits which, as I see it, are basically two:  One, you have the ability to buy yourself whatever foods your thru-hiking little heart and exhausted body desire (rather than being stuck with that trail mix that you loved on Day 1 but hate on Day 30 and still have over 100 days of.)  And, two, you avoid the logistical nightmare that is planning, purchasing, portioning, packaging, and post-officing 5 months worth of food.  Before you go.  While you're still trying to work the last few weeks of your job.  Still trying to train.  And still panicking about your pack that's too heavy, the maps you don't have, the trail name you're going to be blessed or cursed with, and how you're going to get to the Mexican border.  Among other things.  Like which underwear you want to live in.

Needless to say, I chose the before-you-go method.  Because I decided I would eat better, save a few bucks, and be able to relax on trail and in town knowing that I would have plenty of time for showering, eating steaks and sundaes, and lounging around while shaking my head at the poor souls who were still on their feet, grocery shopping.  Now, I knew the before-you-go method would be a little tedious.  But I decided it would be worth it.  And it still may prove to be.  But I do wish someone would have expanded upon just what I was getting into.  And so, for future distance hikers, I would like to share the following lessons learned about the before-you-go food process.

Working on The Spreadsheet.

1.  You'll spend more time with The Spreadsheet than with your family and friends.  I spent 20 hours creating and editing mine.  20.  And 8 hours filling in the blanks during pre-purchase research at the store -- recording the package size, price, and per-serving Nutrition Facts of every single item on my list.  At Costco.  And then Winco.  In order to spend 8-hours checking items off during The Shopping Trip.  Yes, it's a 40-hour workweek with The Spreadsheet just to buy your food.  Pack-out will be at least another 20 hours.  Just remind yourself of the fudgesicles you'll be eating while those along-the-way folks are on their feet shopping.

(Here's my spreadsheet:  DBK's PCT Food Planner)

2.  You may be accosted at the grocery store while conducting your research.  By a 6-foot-something male who will approach you from behind your left shoulder.  He'll speak in an authoritative tone using grocery store jargon that you don't understand.  You'll jump, toss The Spreadsheet, and haphazardly try to explain that you don't work for his competitor by saying, "I'm planning for a trip!  I'm hiking the Pacific Crest Trail!  Look, my spreadsheet says 'DBK's PCT Food Planner'!"  You'll confuse him enough that he'll leave you alone for the next 3 hours.

3.  On Shopping Day, starting with the relatively easy Costco (or any mega-package-size store) shopping will convince you that this isn't going to be so bad.  Don't worry, bulk-bin time at Winco (or whichever bulk-bin food store you choose) will crush you.

4.  You will develop mad bulk-bin shopping skills.  After 3 or more hours in this small square of the store, you'll be able to feel a rush coming on without raising your head from the dried apple bin.  You'll learn that during a rush, you should either a) plant yourself firmly at a bin close to the scales, not budging no matter how cute the kid is who is helping his mom shop or b) move temporarily to a less-desirable area -- like the black licorice bin.  You'll become friends with the bulk-bin restock employees.

Happily reunited with my cart.

5.  At some point during shopping, you'll feel overwhelmed, crabby, and sorry for yourself.  When this happens, go to the food sample folks and have a snack.  Then look around for what appears to be a mom and 6 kids.  Watch her.  She does this AT LEAST TWICE A MONTH.  With 6 kids.  You're being a sissy.  Eat your sample, stand up tall, and lunge forward with your 150-pound cart.  If she can do this, you can do this.

6.  If separated from your food (because these discount stores require cash, and you met your daily limit on your debit card at Costco, so your cart is now in the holding pen), text your mate immediately with an alarming message like "I NEED $300 AND YOUR HELP!"  I tried it.  It's extremely effective.  You'll be reunited with your food within the hour.

7.  You can never buy enough Ziplocs.  I started with 720.  Child's play.  I'll need closer to 2,000.  Get them in all sizes.

8.  During pack-out, you will develop "Ziploc finger."  Ever zipped a Ziploc?  Heck, yes!  Red and blue make purple.  Fun.  After 100 zips, your zipping finger gets red and sore.  You'll switch to your second string finger.  It will get red and sore, too.  You'll switch to third string.  It's a terrible zipper, and so you will go back to the first.  It smarts.  And you're not even a quarter of the way through.

My fellow perfectionist pack-out mate and
package person, Guy.

9.  Pack-out is better with a friend.  And your favorite beverage.  And a fully belly.  Here's what you do: Enlist the help of your most anal, Type A friend.  Someone who is going to zip Ziplocs tight and with all of the air out, who can scoop a measuring cup to 4.1 ounces every time, and who relishes in order and organization as much or maybe more than you.  (If you're both Type A, perfectionist sorts, you are in business.)  Start pack-out by opening snacks (NOT something you are taking on the trail).  Begin.  Order food out about halfway through packing.  If you do it too early, you'll be hungry and crabby by the halfway point.  Snack though the first wave, and reward yourself midway with take-out.  Trust me.  You don't want to burden yourself with cooking.  Then put on some dancing tunes, and dive into the second wave.  You will finish tired, sore, and a little ticked off by midnight.  Don't talk to anyone.  Especially your pack-out mate.  Just go to bed.  Wait a few days, and let your fingers heal.  Repeat.  That was just breakfast -- you still have to pack out lunch and dinner.

10.  Once you've begun the before-you-go food process, don't ever ask yourself if it is worth it.  You might realize it is not.  And then you'll have 5 months and 321 pounds of dry food that you are already sick of seeing.  Just keep going.  You still have to finish portioning and packing, and your Resupply Spreadsheet needs at least 10 hours of work.


Good luck!