Pacific Crest Trail Day 3: Finally Figuring it Out, Maybe

PCT Day 3 — April 29, 2025
Pioneer Picnic Area to Scissors Crossing
Old Road Camp to Turkey Beach Camp
PCT miles: 24.3 miles
Total miles: 77.1 miles
Elevation change: 2103ft gain, 5092ft loss

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The night was rough, and when I woke up in the predawn gloom with that same damn headache, I pulled out the big guns and popped a couple ibuprofen. I’d hoped to sleep off my hydration mistake naturally, but I wasn’t screwing around now. What Dr. Pepper couldn’t fix, Dr. Advil would soothe. I creaked to my feet and stumbled to the edge of the old road to pee. A lot worse for wear, but ready for another day out here. Or maybe I was just telling myself that. “Fake it ’til you make it” was another one of those slippery clichés that felt appropriate in the moment, and fortunately, it didn’t let me down this time. With a few bites of last night’s couscous for breakfast, I packed up and got going. Headache? Nada. Drugs are the best.

I gawked at the sunrise haze cast over the desert as the trail brought me along a cliffy section, back to the ridge. For the first time, there was not a cloud in the sky, so I finally got the sunshow I coveted. A cool breeze buffeted me, but the weather had shifted. I was comfortable without a jacket already, and I anticipated a hot one.

Good views continued throughout the morning on consistently beautiful trail. The bushes were lower and poofier with small balls of white flowers, and over them, I could see the snowy summit of San Gorgonio in the far distance. On the far side was Big Bear, which I would reach in how many days? Not worth thinking about. There were a few other hikers around, including one guy whom I met on day 1. Maybe I should introduce myself? Meh. Most were still hanging around camp, languishing in the hot sunshine. I was already working up a lather and wanted to yell at them from below, “Get going! It’s going to be hot, and now’s the best time to hike. You can dry your tent later!” But I held my tongue. Hike your own hike, and all that. They’d figure it out. Or not, and that was quite alright.

Speaking of HYOH, a message from Spice prompted me to reconsider a few things. Why was I killing myself out here? Why wasn’t I seeking more ‘fun’? Reaching Agua Dulce in 19 days demanded an average of 25 miles per day. Theoretically, that sounded like a cool objective to strive for, but now that I was out here, feeling the rush, fatigue, and self-inflicted headaches, a sprint like that was less appealing. I’ve pushed my limits on thru-hikes plenty. I like that. It’s cool. But that’s not why I was out here now. Rather than push relentlessly forward, compelled to achieve a distant and arbitrary mileage goal, I decided to search for the serendipity of that first thru-hike. There were no goals back then, at least in the early stages. Just wonder. I didn’t need to follow in 2015 me’s footsteps exactly, but I could approach this hike with the same freedom as I had. Miles were important, but so were visits to town, or long siestas during the heat of the day. Julian, Idyllwild, and Big Bear are all places that I want to visit again, to wander, and I resolved to do so. In my preconceived notion of how this 2025 version of the PCT might unravel, I was missing the point. It was time to let go of all that anticipatory nonsense and just let it be. I’m ‘good enough’ at hiking now that I can kind of control things, or plan waaaay ahead. Back in 2015, thru-hiking was so new that all I could do was hang on and go with the flow. Time to find that flow again.

With the weight of deadlines and speed obliterated, I cheerfully drank Gatorade and hiked on in the rising heat. Past the spot where Gentle Giant proposed my trail name. Past the point where had I lamented about the girl that had broken my heart, “If I’m not over her after this trip, then damn!” (I wasn’t, but I am.) Way down, past bushes of explosive yellow flowers. Then way back up, using my umbrella to shield me from the sun and sucking on milk tea jelly beans. Finally, another big down to an important water tank.

There had been 15+ hikers scattered in the bushes when I was here in 2015, but now I was alone. It was strange to see such an important source vacant, but I was able to grab the prime shady spot rather than the scraggle that I had before. Slowly, others filtered in while I rested on my sleeping pad, some surprised that there was water here at all. That didn’t make sense to me, but hey, this was 2025. They probably got water somewhere else that hadn’t been an option in 2015.

There were a lot of hikers when I left a couple of hours later. They all seemed to know each other, and I felt obsolete as I walked away without a look back. I would have known each one in 2015. Was the culture different now, or was it me? Could the international flotsam of hikers really have coalesced into exclusive cliques already? I didn’t probe, afraid of what I might find. “I like hiking alone,” I told myself.

The trail rollercoastered down into the true desert. Cactuseses multiplied and inflated, some with shockingly bright flowers. I chugged Arnold Palmer and sweated a lot as the temperature climbed. I felt fatigue in every part of my legs. Which part depended on the grade, but my shins were the achiest, protesting with every step. But I was happy. Eventually, the heat of the day was gone, the sun dipping low, and the hiking was prime.

Even though my feet felt a little bit stumpy as I crossed the wide sandy valley to the highway crossing, I was grateful because I knew that this was exactly what I had been seeking. An evening stroll through a warm desert was hard to beat. When I had imagined this trip, a memory similar to this had always jumped to the top. I was back here now because of an evening just like this one, so the magic wasn’t lost on me. Was I back in the flow, or was this as much a result of gripping tightly to my idealized memory? I guess it didn’t really matter.

I set up camp in the sandy wash of San Felipe Creek, and watched the ombré of dusty hues on the horizon fade to grey while spooning beans from my bottle. I didn’t need a jacket in the residual warmth. I didn’t need to worry or plan. I had it all.