How it began
The Pacific Crest Trail goes along the West coast of the United States from Mexico to Canada. Or from Canada to Mexico. A few crazy people have walked the whole thing – I am quite proud to be one of them.
It’s May 2023, I have arrived in San Diego with a backpack of potentially important gear and no idea what I am doing. After doing my grocery shopping for the first week on trail, my main wondering is: is it normal to need an extra pair of hands when lifting up your backpack?
I make my way to Scout and Frodo, the PCT’s most famous trail angels. Every year, until 2024, they hosted hikers coming from everywhere in the world on their night before the start of the trail, feeding them information and food, helping with questions and logistics and taking the nervousness away, at least partially. Their work is immense and so highly appreciated. I meet Bianca, “the other” German girl, who I become friends with instantly. She will be my main source of motivation during the first days on trail. I am impressed and a bit intimidated by her. She is fun, has everything under control and seems to know what she is doing. I also meet Honza, from the Czech Republic, who later becomes my hiking buddy and still is. And Max, my favorite Australian person and meditation initiator. The day after, Daisy from the UK, and Sofie, from Denmark, join.
My start date is the 13th of May. My original plan was to stay one night at the campground at the trailhead, but Bianca is starting on the 12th in the afternoon and I decide to join her. We take a few pictures at the southern monument and I cannot believe that I am actually standing here. The summer before, I read a book about a long-distance trail in a cozy hostel in Guatemala and now I am standing here, ready or not, to make my way 4,265 km to Canada? What the heck was I thinking? Not much to do about it now, so I start the journey with Bianca, Harry and Constantin. Approximately 100 meters after the starting point, a huge rattlesnake makes her way through the dry grass. Great. Guess we are not losing time with the “facing your biggest fears” point.
My backpack is heavy and the desert is hot. The boys are already kilometers away, Bianca and I are walking slowly. Soon, I am last. But not alone – I have unwelcome company: another rattlesnake is taking a nap on the trail and I almost step on her. I have no other choice but to wait until she stops rattling at me, calms down and disappears. And wait a bit more. And more. I really hate snakes. I am so relieved to meet the rest of the group at our camp spot for the night. And so grateful for Bianca, whom I will walk the next days with, mutually reinforcing our courage, while the boys run ahead.
The Desert
The desert is hot but not as dry as I had imagined, mostly due to the intense snow year the West Coast had experienced. Instead, it’s green and full of colors. After a few days with Bianca, Honza – who had started the day after with Daisy and Sophie and had “motivated” them to hike fast – catches up with us. Our little group travels slowly. We celebrate little milestones together, spend our town days together, climb Mount Jacinto and Mount Baden-Powell and have fun. The kilometers go slow, the legs are heavy, but I am feeling full of energy and better than ever before. Every shower that we get to have is a luxury; each burger we eat is the most delicious food we have ever tasted. Everything is amplified. Tears will be as well, as I will learn.
A part of the trail is closed due to frog crossing, and as we do not like the alternative over the road, Honza and I decide to take an alternative trail that turns out to be barely a trail. One of the many times in the future that I get lured into a “Honza alternative.” We lose the group for a few days, but catch them right on time for the Los Angeles Aqueduct crossing. This big stretch in the unshaded desert is too exposed to walk during the day. After a few hours of rest in hiker town, where the rest of the group was already hanging around, we start hiking in the early evening. We hike through the night. The flat gravel road hurts the feet, but our mood is high. We have little glow lights, and Honza and I giggle the whole time. A few days later, Honza and I join Willy and Steppi from the Czech Republic on a trip to Sequoia National Park, home to some of the biggest trees in the world. The rest of the group hikes on.
Once Honza and I make it to Kennedy Meadows, most of the group has already left, skipping the Sierras to hike on further north. Only Willy and Steppi are there, each with a beer in their hand. It is a record snow year and everyone is unsure about the conditions in the mountains. We had walked in the heat for 51 days and 1,131 kilometers. Honza, Willy, Steppi, German Max, and I decide to give the Sierra Nevada a try. But first, we celebrate the 3 Bs: Beer, Burger, and Ben & Jerry’s.
The Sierra Nevada
In retrospect, I should have known that starting something as ambitious as a snowy Sierra Nevada with people like Steppi, Willy, and Honza wasn’t the best idea. All three are Czech machines—never getting tired, never needing a break, never crying. As someone who is always tired, always needs a break, and is often crying, the match wasn’t made in heaven. The first days are great; we are so excited, and a big milestone awaits us. Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the continental U.S., is waiting for us to climb it. At midnight, we start our ascent. It is such an adventure! We carry ice axes and crampons, slide over ice fields, scramble up rocks, and finally watch the sun rise and the mountain range emerge all around us. It’s a moment to remember.
On the stretch after Mount Whitney, a few river crossings are supposedly quite dangerous. I am smaller and weaker than the boys and unsure about being able to resist the water pressure like they can. I decide to turn back with two other girls from another group. We will be waiting for the boys in Bishop, in the best hostel on trail. I do not feel good about the decision, and I realize that I might not be able to keep up with the boys. I get up earlier than them and arrive later at camp, but the water levels scare me. What if I can’t pass and someone has to turn back with me? I decide to skip and try to rejoin with the rest of the group further north. Honza and the boys get to the hostel, and he convinces me to stay with him. The two of us skip a few kilometers of risky stretch with high water levels and slowly cross the Sierra from there on—we have it to ourselves. Later, we will come back for the small stretch I missed. We end up crossing higher waters than what Honza had experienced with the boys, reinforcing my belief to see things for yourself before making a judgment. I could have done it.
The Sierras are so beautiful, so wild, and so devoid of humans. The snow is slowing us down, but the sun is hot, and we jump in icy, crystal-clear lakes and enjoy the dramatic views. Never have I felt so far from ‘normal’ life. We take a detour into Yosemite National Park and climb Half Dome for one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever experienced. It’s beautiful, and I am happy. The climb is deliriously steep, and we had not expected it—none of us having looked up Half Dome before. So after a 40-kilometer hike, we pull ourselves up along a steel rope, no room for errors, as the stone underneath is slippery and too steep to slow you down in case of a fall. We are happy to only have four other people on top. I wouldn’t like the idea of inexperienced people above me, risking taking me down with them.
The days are getting long, and it’s just the start of the drill. We lost quite some time, and we have to beat the winter to Canada.
Northern California
From the high peaks of the Sierra, we descend to the hills of Northern California. We are faster now that the snow is gone, and the landscape is blooming with wildflowers. We are starting to walk from early morning to late at night, regulating our break time and pushing on. It is getting harder for me to enjoy it, but I am also much stronger, and for now, my legs are walking by themselves. Later, there will be a time when I will have to consciously focus on ordering them to walk.
And so the kilometers fly by—over 40 each day. We hike a few days behind Willy and Steppi. Every time we catch a glimpse of them, they decide to pull a 24-hour hike, or 100 km at once, or some other crazy challenge. But it is nice to have them ahead, texting us about fire closures, how and whether to get around them, and where to get the best and largest food portions. While walking along a ridge, we see a few burning spots. We alert the local fire department to let them know. Fires are a major problem for PCT hikers, as lots of parts have burned down already, and lots are burning down each year. Again, we are very lucky. We always arrive after a fire is under control and are able to walk through the whole trail without skipping anything.
I enjoy some parts of the hike in Northern California tremendously and despise other parts. It’s a constant high and low. My mood is good, but I spend my lows in silence, just walking along. At night, I am too tired to cook, I switch my warm dinners to crackers and salami—no cooking, no cleaning. Some nights, I fall asleep with food in my mouth. Nonetheless, we are getting closer to the Oregon border, a huge milestone, and we even catch up with Willy and Steppi soon after, although just briefly. Honza went ahead and actually met with them. I came a few hours later, when they were on their way back to the trail. But still, I was more or less keeping up!
2,131 kilometers after the start at the southern terminus in Campo, we reach the halfway marker. The last mile of the first half, we hike naked. Just for the fun of it and because we pass a junction to Butt Mountain. I don’t think there would have been a better place to start this challenge. The halfway point is exhilarating and depressing at the same time. We made it! We have to walk the same distance again?!
Oregon
Beautiful, flat Oregon. Or so we think. It is true that it’s flatter. But it is not flat. It is truly beautiful, though. Shortly after crossing the border, we pass Crater Lake and start our row of mounts. We pass Mount Thielsen, Mount McLoughlin, the Three Sisters, Mount Washington, Three Fingered Jack, Mount Jefferson, and finally Mount Hood. Mount Hood is especially important to me, as Timberline Lodge, home to a delicious breakfast buffet, is nestled right under it, waiting for me to conquer it.
We manage to hike a few 50 km days, but this is definitely over my capacity and I can’t keep up with it. Around 45 kilometers a day is enough, and we push on. It’s been a while since we had a day off hiking. The next one will be at the Washington border, but I do not know that yet. Until then, we spend a lot of time on all fours, emptying Oregon of its blueberry fields.
Day off at Cascade Locks. Willy and Steppi are waiting for us there. We are planning to tackle Washington together. We stuff ourselves with burgers and milkshakes (yes, both plurals) at the little bistro and sleep in the park, in a designated area for PCT hikers. Of course, laundry and resupplying are on our to-do list, and we ride to the shops in style, hitchhiking in a Tesla. We can see Washington State waiting for us, just on the other side of the river. Only the Bridge of the Gods, Cheryl Strayed’s famous PCT ending, separates us from the last state on the PCT.
Washington
It feels unreal to cross this bridge, and I am so happy to be back with the boys. After a few days, though, I lose them again and it’s back to being Honza and me. But it’s different this time—every few days, we catch up with them at camp, the fire already burning, walk together a bit, and lose them again. I do not mind this time. I made it this far, I will definitely make it to the same place as them—the border.
The first days, it’s pouring cats and dogs. We are wet to the bone, our gear is drenched, and it’s getting cold. We are super lucky to find shelter with another amazing couple of trail angels who make us some pasta and soup. We spend a lovely evening with them, and the six of us cuddle up in their guest room, happy to be warm and dry.
The next day, we are back in the rain. Once the rain stops, we face the snow. Goat Rocks Wilderness is already covered in white. With rocks on the right side and a loooong slide down on the left side, the path follows the ridge for a few hundred meters. What would have been a beautiful hike got very sketchy. One wrong step, one slip on the snow, and the ride down would be long. On the other side of the ridge, there is a road and eventually a warm hotel. After a few days in the rain, nobody wants to turn back. We slowly make our way over it, the wind is blowing, and we take one step after the other. The group gives us courage, but in retrospect, this was probably the most dangerous part of our trail.
A few days later, Washington deploys its terrific beauty. The snow is gone for now, the fall colors are on time—glowing in red, orange, yellow, and pink. It’s stunning, and walking is easy. We still make big days, but with less effort. Our last ‘town day’ in Mazama Village is a day off before the last two-day stretch to the border. A storm is forecast in the mountains, and we prefer to wait for it to pass. We spend the day at a trail angel’s place, in a cozy hut, eating dinner together, riding the bikes to a delicious bakery, and sitting outside around the fire. The next day, our group gets a ride back to the trail—for the last time on the PCT. The euphoria is palpable. When we reach the pass, the landscape is snowy.
The last two days are the most beautiful. The snow in between the fall colors makes everything more special and is a constant reminder that our choice to hurry up and push on was the right one. Winter is not waiting for the last hiker to cross the border. On the last night on trail, Honza and I walk together over a ridge, with a stunning sunset. Later, we stand for a few minutes on the pass, staring at the star-covered sky before descending to our campsite. The border is only a few kilometers away.
We sleep in on our last day—no 5 a.m. wake-up. We have a nice breakfast, chat, and look at pictures of the trail. Half of the remaining trail, we walk together, then Honza lets me go ahead. We are finishing the trail separately. I arrive first, greeted by Willy and Steppi who are already at the monument. Honza arrives a few minutes later. Bubbles are popping and we sit around chatting, laughing at one of the biggest achievements of our lives. Then, we hike out to the next place in Canada, where a massive poutine is waiting for us.
The World for Us to See 
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