Wildfires are real. Trail magic is too.

Imagine traversing the slender, exposed spine of an angry red peak with clouds coalescing overhead in dark, threatening plumes. Imagine hearing thunder cracking overhead with a quickness and immediacy that halts your steps. Imagine the oppressive Oregon heat which penetrates every energetic molecule and living cell—scorching the soil and stealing the sweat off your skin.

I had been warned by other hikers about the impending thunderstorms and the likelihood of wildfires in Oregon. Last year, extensive hundred-plus mile sections of the PCT were closed due to wildfires. I remember this fact as I walk through burn areas which are characterized by stark black trees, broken off at odd angles like toothpicks and surrounded by the most extraordinary array of wildflowers which explode out of the smooth, ash-covered surface of the forest floor. I also remember the looming hazard of wildfire when I find myself hurrying down the trail as storm clouds stretch out like a scroll overhead and heat lightning begins to jump between the parched earth and black sky.

As my then hiking partner and I hasten over the highest point of elevation and begin our descent, we spot a pillar of smoke rising from the trees just a bit down the trail. We hear voices shouting to one another and my companion—who just so happens to be a hotshot firefighter—prepares to call in the newly forming fire. By the time we reach the source of the smoke, other thru-hikers are jogging from the trees after attempting to contain the fire with their limited supply of drinking water and makeshift trench-building tools in the form of trekking poles. A helicopter begins circling overhead and though my feet are screaming under the strain of 27 miles of walking, adrenaline floods my system and I find myself moving at a near run amid a pack of hikers.

Some aspects of thru-hiking are monotonous and others are outright monstrous—like encountering my first wildfire, getting caught in a hailstorm, rerouting due to “unusually high mountain lion activity” or getting rained on at 3am after opting to cowboy camp without a tent. Moments such as these are integral to the experience of a thru-hike. The trail—for all her majesty and splendor—is dangerous and demands to be respected.

Paradoxically, the wilderness holds countless moments of trail magic where strangers turn up to offer a cold beer, a piece of fruit, or an impromptu Hiker Trash Vogue photo shoot (Seriously, this is worth your time. Go google Hiker Trash Vogue. All credit and praise be to Twerk.).

The trail, like life, is a mixture of both blessings and blunders. Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror. I revisit Rilke’s words and hold them dearly as my mantra. I am learning to appreciate both the beauty and the terror in equal measure. I am learning to accept each day on its own terms. I am unlearning the voice of my inner critic who has instructed me by being harsh and judgmental, and in turn, instructed me to be harsh and judgmental. I am unlearning how it feels to view myself through the eyes of others. Away from mirrors and stripped down to my barest, dirt-stained essence—I feel more confident than I ever have and more at home in my body than I thought possible. Though body hair and body odor abound, I feel unapologetically beautiful.

Sincerely,

Snap Pea

P.S. Where the hell am I? Crater Lake!