We All Start Somewhere

Let’s play two truths and a lie. One, my eyesight is so bad I can’t see past my outstretched fingertips without my glasses or contacts. Two, prior to hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I never once spent a night alone in the backcountry. Three, I got a killer deal on a pair of Five Ten climbing shoes last Christmas, but they’ve yet to see the light of a climbing gym. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Shall we move onto the lie? I’ll preface it with this: I think it’s going to surprise you that the lie isn’t too far from the truth. Here goes; I only camped in the backcountry once prior to the PCT and it was only for one night. I picked a day in early June of 2017. This was before the summer rush of backpackers flooded all the popular spots. 

It went off without a hitch; the hike itself was pleasant enough with my fully loaded pack, I somehow had the lake all to myself and the weather was perfect for leaving the rain fly off my tent. I sipped whisky from my flask and watched the stars dance across the night sky before falling sound asleep. In the morning, I took my time watching the sun light up the lake basin while I ate breakfast. Shortly after, I packed up camp and began my hike back to the trailhead. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Fast forward to April 3, 2019. It’s just after 3pm and I’m taking a video of my boyfriend and I walking away from the monument at the PCT’s Southern Terminus, but in different directions; he, toward the rental car that would take him back to the San Diego airport, and me, heading North towards Canada. I turn the camera on myself to capture my emotional yet exciting first steps on the PCT. There isn’t another hiker in sight, which is how I planned it.

Rumor has it that the monument can be very busy from sunrise until just after lunch with tourists, hikers, etc. so I wanted to do what I could to avoid the crowds. My pace is slow. I take my time soaking in all my “firsts,” like coming across my first water source and delving into my food bag for my first snack stop. Afternoon turns to evening and every campsite I come across is somehow already full. Finally, only 8.5 miles from the terminus, I find a random, right-along-trail spot that was both flat-ish enough and big enough for me to pitch my Zpacks Duplex tent. I toss my pack inside just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the desert sky with the most beautiful blues and vibrant purples I’ve ever seen. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Here’s one more truth: you don’t NEED any experience to hike the PCT. That one and only overnighter was CUSHY in comparison. I think it’s fair to say that not a single moment of it prepared me in any way for the 135 days I spent walking from Mexico to Canada. Furthermore, I met several people along the trail who had even less experience than I did. They also dreamt of discovering what this trail could provide; what better way to learn how to backpack than to completely immerse yourself in the dirtbag, hiker trash lifestyle.

One of these people belonged to my tramily. He was from Liverpool (i.e. he had zero experience). After a heavy night of drinking, he woke in the morning to find his browser history full of PCT videos on YouTube. He also had an email from Amazon confirming his purchase of a Six Moons Design tent. Just a few months later he found himself at the Southern Terminus, ready to see what the hype was all about. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

So for anyone with dreams of long-distance trails with hesitations regarding their experience level or lack of, remember that we all start somewhere and that somewhere can be humbling and sometimes comical, but also inspiring and admirable. Don’t be afraid to admit you’re new to the game or unfamiliar with something. This also applies to the very gear you brought. Your voice has the power to bring a surge of courage, confidence and also a sense of community to those who feel the same. 

Photo by Becca Bergstrom

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