64 days later, I emerge from the Sierras; bloody, bruised, and sore. The 300 miles were filled with high elevation, river crossings,  snowy passes, breath taking views, and self-discovery. Imagine stepping into a world where fresh, snow-melt water is around every corner, every day is a hike through a valley filled with lakes and rushing rivers up to another stunning view of the next valley below: that was my life for the last 22 days. Even though in Kennedy Meadows I added the weight of bear canisters, ice axes, and micro spikes, I only had to carry 1 liter of water at any given time. AMAZING compared to the average of 4 liters I had to carry in the desert.
Right out of Kennedy Meadows begins the 5,000 foot elevation gain to the junction for Mount Whitney. One would think after hiking 700 miles through the desert, I would have developed my hiking legs and lungs. Wrong. Wheezing up the mountains, legs shaking, I could only hike a couple hundred yards at a time before a break proved necessary. Furthermore, one would think I would get used to this throughout the Sierras. SPOILER ALERT: I did not. Although, after summiting Mount Whitney, the elevation did not affect my body as it had before. 
The day I climbed to the highest peak of the contiguous United States, we woke up at 3:00 am. Hiking in the dark below the peak was one of the most amazing experiences so far on the trail. Lakes lit by moonlight (almost a full moon), stars shining bright above us, I could not help but feel like I was about to hike Everest (I know, laugh all you want, but it is true). These views could not be captured with a camera, so we took a minute to turn off our headlamps, take in the view, and commit it to memory. Hiking the 13 switchbacks to the top, the sunrise was a beautiful sight to see as I took a break to drink water and let the nausea and headache pass due to the elevation. Arriving at the top after the 4 hour ascent, I was freezing my butt off! Wearing all the clothes I had with me, I was still so cold. But the view of the High Sierras from the top was absolutely incredible. 
The very next day turned out to be one of, if not the, best day on the trail so far. That was the day I went over Forrester Pass. I had been told to go over the pass before 10 am in order to avoid post-holing. Knowing I had 10 miles to get to the top of Forrester Pass from camp that morning, I was racing to get to the base of the pass by 9 am. I arrived at the base around 9:30 am and realized that it was a straight climb up, in the snow, to the switchbacks. Never really having experienced snow, I was a bit intimidated. Following suit with fellow, newly acquainted, hikers, I donned my microspikes for the first time. Climbing the straight ascent up in the snow was easier than I thought it would be-and way more fun! 3 switchbacks later, I was facing the narrow, snowy pass whose image haunted me in the months leading up to this point. Carefully placing my feet and trekking poles, it took only 30 steps to cross to safety. It was exhilarating. It was exciting. It was scary. It was an adventure.
Forrester Pass is the highest point on the Pacific Crest Trail, and therefore, a major milestone for me. I was surprised that only 4 days out of Kennedy Meadows I had achieved that milestone. I was expecting a more gradual work up to the pass and less of a BAM! Do or do not, there is no try. Not only that, I did not realize that Forrester Pass was only the beginning of the passes. After Forrester, I hiked Kersarge Pass (not on the official PCT, but was the only way to get to Independence), Glen Pass, Pinchot Pass, Mathers Pass, Muir Pass, Seldon Pass, Silver Pass, and Donohue Pass. This series of passes held a LOT of hiking straight up, to hike straight down, to hike straight back up again. Exhausting but invigorating, leaving you with the feeling of invincibility-like the trail can throw anything at you and it would not affect you.
Which is probably what gave me the brilliant idea to hike 30 miles, in the Sierras, from the hardest pass (Muir Pass) to the easiest pass (Seldon Pass). The high I was riding from the incredible views and feelings the passes gave me, I was ready to accept the challenge. It was no easy feat. Taking it mile by mile, and breaking when necessary, I was able to make it to the top of Seldon Pass before the sunset. Being exhausted from the 30 miles, I cowboy camped at the top of the pass. The 30 mile day did not stop me from hiking 25 the next day, and then 20 the day after into Mammoth Lakes, where a double zero was necessary.
After Mammoth Lakes, the passes were fewer and far between, allowing more time to hang out at lakes. Washing, relaxing, and eating lunch beside lakes was the highlight of the day. Two days after Mammoth, I had arrived in the backcountry of Yosemite. Taking a zero the following day, I bussed into Yosemite Valley with some new hiker friends: Mystery, Sockeye, and TK. On Fourth of July weekend. Call me crazy, but I am so so happy we made the detour. Having only visited Yosemite once, and being a native of California, I felt a visit was necessary. Most of the day I spent in El Capitan Meadow, watching the climbers and swimming in the river. It was a day well spent. After bussing back up to Tuolumne Meadows, I decided to go to a star talk with a Yosemite ranger. The stars have always been my favorite thing about the Sierras and I was surprised to find that I did not know much more than where the Big Dipper, Little Dipper, and North Star were. She showed us all sorts of constellations, major stars, and planets. It was absolutely fascinating. 
Leaving Tuolumne Meadows, I spent the days hiking, swimming, then hiking some more. It took 4 days from Tuolumne Meadows to hit 1,000 miles and 5 days to arrive at Sonora Pass. By this time, my feet were in extreme pain. Worried I had done damage to my feet, I resigned to have my parents, who were meeting me at Sonora Pass to pick up my bear canister and microspikes, take me to the doctor. I mean, every step I took was a shooting pain in one foot or the other. And because of that pain, I would compensate and walk differently, causing strain on my IT band. It was all sorts of bad. With only two miles left to the pass, we had only one more snow field to cross. Carefully I inched my way across, the trail being very narrow and still pretty icy, as it was early morning and the snow was not yet soft from the sun.
Suddenly I hear a scream, and I see Mystery sliding uncontrollably down the mountainside. My heart stopped. I felt completely helpless watching her try to stop and being unsuccessful as I listened to her screaming in panic. Finally, she comes to a stop at a pile of rocks, stands up, and lets us all know that she is okay. Relief sweeps through me, but I soon realize the gravity (no pun intended) of the situation I was in. Walking over to where Sockeye was picking up her abandoned trekking poles, I lean down to grab them from him. As I take a step, my foot slips and I begin to slide down. Sockeye was quick to react and shot his trekking poles out to stop me from sliding down too far. Now, off trail in the snow with shoe tread that is long gone thanks to the rocks of the High Sierras, I have to cut steps into the snow to push myself back up. With my pack on my back, the weight offsets me just enough that I cannot get a good angle on the snow. I slip again. This time, I catch myself with my own trekking pole, sliding right into it crotch first. In an even worse position to get back to the trail, I try cutting steps in again. Panicking at this point, with the now very real possibility of falling down like Mystery, I cut a step into the snow only to feel it fall beneath my foot. Before I know it, I am sliding uncontrollably downhill, trying to use my trekking poles as breaks to no avail. I can hear Sockeye yelling instructions on how to self-arrest but my body cannot be controlled. My brain cannot send the signals it needs to coordinate properly and my body spins out of control. I hit a bank of rocks and stop. Relief floods through my body, until I can feel the weight of my pack drag me back down; only this time, I am backwards. Not entirely sure how it happens, I flip onto my stomach and slide down, feet first. Finally I come to a full and complete stop at the same bank of rocks Mystery landed on. Rushing over to see if I am ok, I let her know I am but need a minute as I sob into the rocks. 
Realizing I lost my cellphone somewhere during the fall, despair fills me. All of my photos from the Sierras are on there. I have not uploaded them to social media and I realize if I do not find my phone, I will only have photos of the desert so far. I could not let that happen. But unable to locate my phone, which is pink and should be easy to find in snow, I have to assume the worse and accept that it is gone. Walking down that hill without it was hard to do. I left a note at the trailhead and met up with my parents in Kennedy Meadows North. At this point, I am ready to go home. I have been beaten by this trail, lost any physical evidence of all that I had achieved, including the 1,000 mile marker, and was ready to throw in the towel. Sockeye then says to me, “you can’t quit on your toughest day” and I realize he is right. But decided I deserved a couple days off at home to get my feet checked out and heal.
As my parents drive back to the pass to drop off some hikers, I run into my friend Clean Sweep. He asks if I fell down the mountain and I said that I had. He said he did too and I inform him I lost my phone. He then tells me that he saw it! It was just below the first bank of rocks I hit. Realizing I could recover my phone, I am determined to go back and get it, despite my sore feet and bruised body. Rushing back to the place where I fell, this time with microspikes in hand and no backpack, I realize I have to face my fear of falling all over again. This time, with no one around to help. Resolved, I take a deep breath and carefully glissade down to the spot. It takes me a minute to locate it, but I finally find it. A big smile on my face, I slide down the rest of the way-this time in total and complete control.
After spending four nights in my bed, eating my weight in sushi, and spending a day with my sister, nephew, and new niece, I begin the trail again. This time, without a group. All on my own. I have avoided it for 64 days, but I could no longer avoid it. Just like my fear of falling down again, I had to face this one head on. I survived sliding down a snowy mountainside, after all. Even with people around me, I was the only one who could help myself. It was up to me and only me. And I had come out with only a scratch and some bruises. I can do this. Just me.
Until next time. ➡️&⬆️