Houston We Have a Problem

I’m on the trail at 8:15am a full hour before my standard

Did not eat enough breakfast though.

Right out the gate we had our first water crossing and there were three slap dash gnarled log bridges over the murky rushing water.  And I had shakey morning legs and coffee for breakfast.  Caiti made it across all three but I opted to just ford across the second.  A trekking pole test told me the last one would be hip deep and after shaking off my nerves I got over alright, heart pumping.

The next two miles to water were easy and pleasant and my body definitely could have done them yesterday but my relationship with my body couldn’t have.  I made the opposite choice a lot last time and felt like my priorities were on track this time.

As we walked up to the little falls and meadow two people were sitting on a rock and I gave a little hello maybe and headed for water.

At our next stop some five miles onward Caiti asked if that had been our friend Muffy.  Muffy who’s room I subletted in Tucson.  Muffy who let us test drive her strength building program for free Muffy.  Muffy who I just fully Oh Fuck People-dissociated and trotted past to fill my water bottle Muffy.

Maybe some of my I’m Not Here To Make Friends attitude is just me not fucking being present enough to be good at making friends and feeling bad about it.  Something to chew on the next few days.

Fucking ouch.

(Once on town I checked in with Muffy and due to the whole only ever having seen each other on the internet thing … neither of us had recognized the other. Hah!)

At Lava Spring we had already made 7.4 miles from camp before noon and it felt good.  It was mostly a descent and I thought about my body and what it was feeling and how I was holding it and took it slow.  Slow down to gain speed, I told myself.  Let your body get there.  You got this.

I felt some hot spots creeping on as I got to the spring and after a mad dash to get my fortress up and hide from the mosquitoes, I settled in to inspect my feet.  A little blistering on my heel.  Easy fix.  A fold of skin on the webbing between my toes… not such an easy fix but also not my first rodeo.

Caiti arrived right after I did and we washed our feet in the shockingly cold water then I retreated to my tent to further address my aches.

I lounged a while scooping chip crumbs from the bag and made ramen for lunch, another thing I hate eating now.

I was feeling confident in my foot tape and the miles ahead, even at an incline.  Slow down to gain speed.  There was plenty of time left in the day and another six miles felt easy.

As people started to filter in around 2:30 I made a break for it.  Through a tunnel of forest the sun struck down on the trail anyway.  It was sandy.  I was immediatly sure something wasn’t working with my tape job.  I slowed down.  I slowed down further.  I stopped to untape.

I bought my sandles in quarantine after a lot of research, I anticipated wearing them for the Hayduke Route – part of my reasoning for moving to Arizona was to train in the right terrain especially for the cross country navigation required for the remote, rugged and alluring route.  The PCT had felt so easy, so doable, that back then I was ready and eager for a challenge.  I had cut my teeth and I wanted back in but I wanted to dial in, work hard and do something else entirely.  After this year I wasn’t anymore.  It was a hard year.  I wanted a treat.  I wanted rest.  I wanted to come back to myself.  Another helping of PCT?  Yes please. 

What I failed to consider in this plan was that I haven’t done the Sierras and I haven’t done Washington.  They vie for the spot of the most difficult terrain to tackle for a variety of reasons.

Technicality, fewer access points/longer carries and harsh weather being some.

So what the everliving fuck am I doing in Washington?!  I thought as I pulled off the tattered remains of a callous I’d spent a year building while breaking in my ideal shoe.  Gone in a measly 26 miles…

The red skin weeped and stung beneath.  I hobbled on to a small stream where I sat and breathed and cleaned it out.

Hindsight is 20/20 doesn’t hold true if you have a terrible memory and gotta fill in gaps that get bigger over time so you write your own narrative.

But here’s mine, and if you’re just tuning in here’s a partial recap of my 2019 PCT experience.

I didn’t get a blister for the first 200 miles of the PCT and then things went sideways and it was a learning curve and I almost bailed but I had those 200 miles of unhinged, unbridled joy where it felt hard but it felt good to do something hard, for only myself, for the first time in my life.  I know I got through a lot of physical pain last time I was out here.  I know that pushing past it always required rest and always slowed me down and I was always behind.  It worked out alright, I’d come limping into town half a day or more after Caiti.  Sometimes I’d be able to catch a hitch at an earlier road crossing than planned and shave off a few miles.  We’d get a hotel or camp out in town somewhere, run errands and I’d baby my feet until we got back to it.  I bailed on our last California miles from Walker Pass to South Kennedy Meadows.  I was hungover, desert weary and everyone we’d been leap frogging the desert with were headed out with Caiti.  She’d get to Kennedy expecting me to be behind and I’d already be there.  I thought it was funny but I was also slowing down and I’d been feeling self conscious.  Our miles in Oregon were hard at first, the season was getting on and any hope of reaching Canada would slip away if we didn’t keep our miles up.  I had blisters on blisters, calluses on calluses and blisters under calluses that I drained and cleaned nightly.  I strapped my feet down tight to numb the pain.  Two layers of socks cleaned daily.  But it started to hurt more than it felt good and eventually, I got off trail, I got drunk, and I hitched a ride into Bend to regroup and figure out if I could meet my needs alone.  Slowing down and finishing whatever the season still had to offer me was the plan.

Caiti unbeknownst to me had bailed out just beyond there with her injury and we were able to touch bases from different safe landings and my hike went on.  I took a several day break with the Wambaughs and got back on trail to finish out the summer lounging by lakes and sometimes making an entire day of a six mile hike.  My weary body took a lot of convincing to finish Oregon when the lakes were left behind and while Alan got me to see it to the end after a long break waiting on a resupply, at the end of the last few miles I still opted out of the climb down and back to officially touch the OR/CA border and make it official because I didn’t want to climb anymore.  I had hiked my hike and I was broke, my body was broken down and I needed to rest before working harvest. 

So three days into this Washington endeavor I was looking at my feet beginning to break all over again with much harder terrain ahead and asking if it was worth doing again. 

I hobbled on another mile, sat down and slid my sandle on sideways and hobbled another mile before pulling off both sandals and walking bare footed on the well trod strip of forest earth the last half mile to camp.

“Houston, we have a problem” I declared.  But I threw up my tent, and licked my wounds checking that I knew that I wasn’t only overwhelmed and that my concern was deep and genuine and mournful …if also confused.  I spoke from a place of knowing I’m so very tired and sick of pain in life, I just came here to work for rest but to Rest and to feel joy and this just might not be it for me. I said I still wanted to try but I needed to say that this might be the moment that stops me from going on, even just to Packwood.  We chatted briefly, agreed that resting up and seeing what felt doable in the morning was best and settled in.

I flipped through my last personal journal entries from trail last time around and saw a satisfied and hopeful light fading at the prospect of returning to the world.

I pulled up my last notes from therapy

“I am uncertain that there is space in the world for me to survive AND be present in my body”

I spent the last year and half in therapy working so hard to learn how to feel alright and it still usually managed to slipped away.  PCT 19 was a lot of hard physical work to feel good.

I have always had to work so hard to feel good.  And I’m fucking tired ya’ll.

Blake x Boomhauer