Word on the PCT is that Oregon is a moving sidewalk. Compared to the terrain of the Sierras and Northern California, Oregon is practically flat and many challenge themselves to complete the state in two weeks. After weeks of repeating the mantra, “just get to Oregon,” I had come to believe that everything would be better once I entered Oregon. I hoped Oregon would be the refresher I desperately needed after California dragged on; that after I crossed that border, things would change and I could power through the state, putting in miles like it was no one’s business. After weeks of putting in 26 miles a day consistently, 30 miles seemed like nothing. I may even be able to do a 40 mile day, why not? How terribly wrong I was.

My first day in Oregon was a little underwelming. With 24 miles to go to Ashland, where I would take my first zero since Burney, my feet were completely dead. Energized with the promise of town and the gradual incline that I would soon learn was most of Oregon’s uphill, I was able to push through the pain and tried to enjoy the new scenery Oregon had to offer: rolling hills, blue skies, and Mount Shasta. The same freaking volcano I had been circling for the last two weeks. I smiled at this frustrating fact and hiked on. Four miles before Callahan’s Lodge, where new shoes and an all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner awaited me, I ran into Copppertone, a trail angel who provides root beer floats to us hungry and fatigued hikers. After a gut-busting dinner of pasta at Callahan’s, we got a ride from the bartender into Ashland where we did nothing but eat and sleep for a whole day-heaven.

Hiking out of Ashland, it was decided that a 40-mile day was perfectly manageable. Bravo and I decided at some point in Oregon we would challenge ourselves to reach that goal. The first night out of Ashland, Bravo was tired from all the hoopla towns tend to provide and camped early as I continued on for a couple more miles. Camping alone is not my favorite, but that night I did not mind at all. I went to bed early and woke up early with a renewed energy. While packing up I thought to myself, “maybe today I’ll hike 40 miles. Can I hike 40 miles? Probably not. If I can make it to 20 miles by lunch, then I’ll hike 40.” Blasting music, I was cruising along the trail. I had reception, so I gave my parents a quick call. For the past week, there had been a fire burning near Crater Lake, causing both the PCT and the West Rim Trail (which a lot of hikers took instead of the PCT in order to have a view of the lake) to be closed. This was a huge bummer for me since the one thing in Oregon I was most looking forward to was seeing Crater Lake. Waking my parents up on a Sunday morning at 6 am, I let them know I was going to attempt a 40 mile day.  They informed me that the fire had been contained and both trails were now open again. Filled with excitement, I practically skipped down the trail and by lunchtime I had 19 miles under my belt. Close enough; a 40 mile day it would be. I arrived into camp at 8:30 pm sore and tired yet invigorated.

The next day, another hiker named Dingo wanted to try for his 40-mile day. I thought, “two 40-mile days in a row?? I can’t do that. But what if I did two 40-mile days in a row? How awesome would that be?” With a determination that only a psychotic person has, I decided I would try for another 40-mile day. Even though I was tired from the day before, I was not dead. I still had energy and the thought of being able to say that I hiked two 40-mile days in a row provided me with strength that I did not realize I had. The morning was wonderful; I hiked along with Dingo and we discussed everything that hikers usually discuss: our motivation for the PCT, what we hoped to get out of it, and what we hoped to do after we completed it. In the afternoon, everything changed. The conversation had died down and we both were in our own hiker world. Dingo had hiked ahead because, with my short legs, it is almost impossible to keep the same speed as another hiker for an extended period of time. Once alone, I entered the part of the trail with a TON of blow downs. At least 50 trees in 10 miles. Crawling under trees, climbing over trees, walking around trunks through bushes, it was exhausting. A couple of times, I would jump down from a trunk and fall on my face. Bruises, scrapes, dried blood, and dirt covered my legs. After the blow downs, I took a break to eat some food and decided maybe another 40-mile day was not in the cards for me. Right after my break, I ran into two other hikers who let me know that Dingo had told them he was not doing 40 either and was going to stop at a camp that was 35 miles from where we camped the night before. Deciding I had enough energy, I changed my goal to that campsite. Going into hiker-zombie mode, I put on my music and began to hike. After a couple of miles I realized I had been going downhill for awhile. If my memory served correctly, the maps showed that we do indeed go down but not this much. I checked my maps and realized I was no longer on the trail. Groaning in frustration, I turned around and began to hike back up. Once on the PCT again, I tried not to let my detour bring my energy level down. I made it to the last water source for the night and was feeling good. From there it was mostly downhill and flat and only 6 miles from where I was planning on camping. Hiking along, I came upon the 1800 mile marker, took a photo, and kept going. Now there was no stopping me. I was tired but it was only a couple more miles to camp and the next day I would be in Mazama Village where I would have a nice meal in their restaurant. I walked up to a fork in the trail, checked my maps, and went right. Since I had already gotten lost, I was checking my maps every minute. I did not get far on the trail before I realized the right fork was not the PCT but it was far enough that I was angry. Once back on the PCT, my phone quickly died. All the energy I had been trying to gather to get to camp quickly drained from me. I threw my trekking poles to the ground and cried out in anger. I sat down, pulled out my battery pack, plugged in my phone, and began to cry. Why was I pushing myself so hard? Bravo was behind me, if I slowed down he would catch up and I would have someone to hike with. Instead I was pushing myself and risking injury all so I could brag about it at a later date. But I had already put 35-miles as my goal and did not want to do less. One of the hikers from earlier came upon me and asked if I was ok. I explained my day to him and he offered to hike to camp with me since he was going to the same one. I accepted and welcomed the conversation as a happy distraction to my crappy day. Before I knew it, I was crawling into my tent, leaving this day behind forever.

The hike into Mazama Village the next day was a rough one. Only 12 miles away, it took me most of the morning to get there. I was tired and sore. Once I got to Mazama, I ran into lots of hikers I knew. The two who walked with me to camp the night before, Dingo who had decided to hike further than the camp I stayed at, and Slingshot who I had not seen since Old Station. They were all hiking out within the hour but I knew if I wanted to make it all the way to Canada, I needed to take the day and allow my feet to recover. I hoped Bravo would be doing a big day and willing to stay the night in Mazama. He arrived shortly after I did and agreed to hike out the next morning. We also convinced Slingshot to delay his hike out of Mazama for some lunch in a sort of Mount Lassen hiker reunion. Relaxing for the rest of the day with the cheapest priced beer known to man ($1.75 for a bottle of Oregon craft beer!), my feet were still sore, but oh so thankful they did not have to hike for the rest of the day. We decided after the day’s rest, we would be ready for 30 mile days to make it to Bend in 6 days, where we would zero at my friend Kevin’s house.

The next morning, we were invited to a family’s campsite where they insisted they make us breakfast. We sat down to pancakes, turkey sausage, and coffee. We told them about our hike and they told us about their niece who had hiked both the PCT and the AT. Thanking them profusely for the meal, we gathered our things and made our way up to the West Rim Trail. Once we reached the lake I took my time along the trail. It was a weird experience. The lake was stunning to look at, but that was all you could do: look at it. With no way down to the water, you could not swim in it or enjoy its beaches. It was like a piece of artwork in a museum: you can look, but you cannot touch. Add to that the fact that one can just drive up to the rim, it took away some of the pride I felt to make it to that point. 

The next day, we were determined to hike 31 miles but by lunch time were exhausted. I was still so tired and sore from the day I lost my mind, I had no energy and no motivation. I just wanted to quit the trail. I wanted to go home, curl up in my bed, and not wake up for a year. I wanted to ride in a car, I wanted to ride a bike, I wanted to do anything but walk. But walking was all I could do. So I walked and walked and walked. If I walked long enough, I would eventually make it to camp where I could sleep only to get up and walk all day the next. Then Bravo came up to me and said the four words I love to hear from him, “so, I’ve been thinking…” Usually what follows these words is he is either willing to go into a town, willing to stay in a town, or willing to do less miles. In this case, he was willing to do low 20-mile days and get picked up Monday from Mackenzie Pass instead of Santiam Pass (20 miles closer). We both felt we were pushing ourselves unnecessarily and wanted to enjoy the trail more than we had. We both were aiming to finish September 15, but if we happened to finish the 16, that would be okay too. It was time to stop pushing and start enjoying what the trail has to offer. Before we know it, it would be over so might as well start soaking in the glory and freedom of the PCT.

The following day, we decided to take the Oregon Skyline Trail: an alternate that was the original PCT, more flat, and a detour most hikers took. It cuts off about 6 miles of trail, which gave us the opportunity to stop at Shelter Cove Resort, a place many families come to in their RVs to camp beside Odell Lake. Although there is no restaurant there, they have a small store that has microwaveable burritos, pizzas, and hot dogs. Nothing fancy but for a hiker, heaven all the same. I arrived in the early evening and spent the rest of the night drinking beer and laughing with fellow hiker trash. It is the small places like these along the trail that are my favorite. Sierra City, Drakesbad, Seiad Valley, Mazama Village are all places like this: small stops right off the trail that hikers congregate around and just talk. We talk about the trail, about life back at home, about funny stories that have happened to us on the trail, about scary stories on the trail, about crazy stories on the trail.  It is that small sense of community that I love. It is where you realize you are not alone out there. You are not the only one who has sore feet or is exhausted or is tired of the trail or wishes they could be home. Everyone feels this way and it is extremely comforting.

From Shelter Cove, it was only 78 miles to Mackenzie Pass. The day we left Shelter Cove we had two instances of trail magic. The first was almost immediately after the resort, so we skipped it as we felt it was too soon after a town to fully appreciate it. The second one was about 6 miles before our camp. Two thru-hikers from last year’s class set up camp next to a lake and were cooking burgers and hot dogs for hikers. We took off our packs and enjoyed some soda and burgers. We talked to the Trail Angels about their PCT experience and discovered that after they completed the trail, they loved the Pacific Northwest so much that they moved to Walla Walla. Missing the trail, they decided to spend a weekend on it providing goodies to the thru-hikers. With a belly full of sugar, carbs, and protein we hiked to camp and were able to do 30 miles the next day leaving only 22 miles into Mackenzie Pass.

The hike to Mackenzie Pass was a bit of a challenge. With 22 miles to the pass and the promise of a town, I was determined to book it there in order to get the maximum amount of time in Bend with Kevin, whom I had not seen in 8 years. The first couple of miles were not bad. In fact, the entire morning of hiking was beautiful. Finally escaping the green tunnel that I had been hiking through for the past week, I was finally getting mountain views of the valleys around me. The previous day I entered Three Sisters Wilderness, which I had heard was beautiful. These rumors proved to be true. On my way to Mackenzie Pass, I hiked past the Obsidian Falls, a beautiful waterfall right beneath the shadow of the Middle Sister. It felt like forever since I had seen a waterfall, so I took a couple minutes to photograph the falls and admire them. The trail then went to the top where it followed the creek that fed the falls. The creek sat in a meadow at the base of Middle Sister and started from an underground spring. I filled up my water at this spring and hiked on. From here it was only 10 miles to the pass. In these next ten miles, I discover the new challenge this section holds: lava fields. Switchbacks up hill through lava rock only to go back down through it. Not quite 10 miles straight, but enough of it that by the time I get to Mackenzie Pass, I am exuberant. When I walk into the parking lot, I am immediately greeted with an Auggie and a beer. I can finally relax and stop walking, even if only for a day.

I spent my time in Bend doing regular hiker chores such as laundry, shower, and resupply but with a tour guide, we spend a lot of time checking out the various breweries and eateries bend has to offer. On our zero day, Kevin has class and kindly leaves his truck in the hands of Bravo and I. It is a manual transmission: Bravo has never driven one and I just learned in February. At one point while driving around town (the feeling of finally driving a car!) I stall out. I turn the car off then back on and stall out again. This happens three more times. The entire time I am struggling to get the truck into first, not a single person honks at me. No one flips me off, or slows down to give me a nasty look. In fact, one person offered to help me pull to the side of the road (thinking the car was dead). Finally, I was able to put the truck into first and drive away, amazed with Oregon drivers’ patience. Had I been in San Jose, it would be a completely different story. I spent a good 40 mins each night in bend soaking my feet in Epsom salt. By the time we got back to the trail in the early morning, my feet were finally healed from my long, crazy days.

The morning we got back on the trail, we ran into Coppertone again. Despite the early hour, we welcomed root beer floats and donuts into our bellies. Hiking on through lava rocks, Oregon views proved to be breathtaking. Unlike Californian views, the landscape of Oregon was flat, with a solitary mountain breaking through sporadically. After a couple of miles, we stopped at Big Lake Youth Camp so Bravo could pick up his resupply box. It turns out at Big Lake Youth Camp, they offer free meals and camping for thru-hikers. Even though it is only 3 pm, we decide to stay for dinner. This gives me plenty of time to write my blog and relax. After dinner, we hike three miles out to a pond and camp for the night.

When we wake up the next morning, we pack up with excitement. It is only 2 miles to the 2,000 mile marker. As I hike towards it, I reflect on what this trip has been so far. It is crazy that I have gone 2,000 miles. It is even crazier that I now only have 650 miles left until the border. That is less miles than the desert section! When I reach the mile marker, Bravo is there waiting for me. We celebrate together, take each other’s photos, then hike on. One more milestone down, next one: the Bridge of the Gods.

Even after our zero in Bend, we still plan on doing small days. The day after Big Lake Youth Camp, we hike 26 miles and the next day we do 22 miles into Ollalie Lake. There is a small resort at Ollalie that has an overpriced convenience store, no electricity, no restaurant, and free camping. We stay the night there and enjoy the view of the lake with Mount Jefferson as the backdrop. Even though there is no restaurant at Ollalie, a big group of people renting out cabins invites us over for dinner. We eat salads and chili and drink wine. We talk to them about our journey so far and how much further we have to go. From Ollalie it is only 50 miles to Timberline Lodge, where the best breakfast on the trail is. We thank them for their generosity and head back to our tents. 

The next morning we wake late and I discover my sleeping pad has a hole in it.  We head to the store for coffee and around 9 am we leave. Normally, we are out of camp by 7 am. We only plan on doing 22-25 miles that day. 3 miles from the camp we plan on staying at there is a creek. I fill up my water there and try to find the hole in my pad. To do this, you fill your pad up with air and submerge it underwater. Bubbles will appear where the air is escaping and reveals the location of the hole. I do this and find…. Nothing. I cannot find the hole anywhere. But now my pad is nice and wet. I try to dry it off as best as I can and pack it back away. Hopefully I can make it through the next couple of days with the hole and in Cascade Locks find a store that sells the foam pad. At the creek Bravo says he wants to hike 9 more miles and camp at the next water. I agree to this and suddenly our short day becomes a 30-mile day. But my feet have had enough rest that they do not hurt at all. 

With 30 miles down, I realize that we can get to Timberline Lodge a day earlier. We would not make the legendary breakfast buffet but we would be able to make the lunch buffet. The next day, I book it to Timberline Lodge and make it there by 1:30. With plenty of time for lunch, I stuff my face silly. Full from the massive amount of food I just consumed,  I hang out in their common area and charge my phone and battery pack. At the lodge, I call my dad and ask him to order a foam sleeping pad to be delivered in Washington. I was worried Cascade Locks would not have a store and figured I could go a couple of more nights with the hole. After a couple hours of catching up on social media, Bravo and I decide to hike 5 more miles and camp for the night. From there, it is 25 miles to the Eagle Creek Trailhead, an alternate trail that many hikers take. As I try to fall asleep that night, my pad felt like it was losing air quicker than the previous nights. Fed up with the hole, I got up and decided to listen for the air escaping. With just my ears, I was able to locate the hole, excitedly patch it up, and sleep gloriously through the night. The next morning, we fly downhill and power through the uphill. So close to the Bridge of the Gods, my excitement propels me forward. So much so that everyone misses the 2100 mile marker. We do not realize this until our lunch break. I am bummed and make a vow to not miss anymore until the northern terminus. 

The Eagle Creek Trail is a popular alternate due to the many beautiful waterfalls along the trail. It weaves and follows Eagle Creek passing through the Tunnel falls: a spectacularly big waterfall with a tunnel behind it in which hikers pass through from one side of the falls to the other. A popular trail not just for PCT hikers but also weekend backpackers and day hikers. It can also be fairly dangerous if one is not careful. Many times the trail narrows down to fit only one person, with one side against the mountain with a railing, and the other side dropping straight down to the river below. Many are injured from leaning over the drop off to try and take photos. As we descend down this trail I am blown away by the beauty of it all. Until we hit the day hikers. By this point, I have seen the beautiful falls and the river rushing below and just want to get to Cascade Locks, where a new backpack and the promise of food awaits. Grumpy and tired, I follow these day hikers as they mosey along in their own world. Finally reaching the parking lot I can side step them and continue on my merry way. We make it to Cascade Locks around 1 pm and we immediately inhale burgers. We then go to the post office to pick up our resupply and my new backpack. Outside of the post office, I organize my food and other belongings to fit the slightly smaller new pack. In the process, I do a shake down, getting rid of things like mosquito nets, bug spray, sunscreen, and various other things I will no longer need for Washington. After I finally get everything to fit comfortably, I mail home my old pack with the things I choose not to bring to Washington. After dinner and a couple drinks, we make our way to Shrek’s Swamp, a trail angel who provides a shower, washer and dryer, and a flat spot to set up a tent. We take a shower, start our laundry, and hang out with other hikers who are staying the night. Some are north bounders, some are south, some are injured, some are choosing to flip flop, but all are just trying to survive this crazy dirt road that is the Pacific Crest Trail. And in the morning, I take on Washington.