Mile 2,650: The Desert and The Monument

When I walked south out of the Sierra, sequoias and white granite immediately dissolved into cacti, shrubbery, and undulating mountains that were more akin to sand dunes. I was headed into the final section of the PCT: The Desert. A rambling 700 miles that crosses the Mojave, the Los Angeles Aqueduct, and some of SoCal’s most notable peaks such as Baden-Powell and San Jacinto. Additionally, the desert is home to several legendary trail angels and trail towns that aren’t actually towns at all but rather makeshift hiker establishments that are as lawless as the backcountry. While the newness of this funky landscape was arresting with its bizarre brand of desolate beauty, a more dramatic change had taken place–a change in the very goals of my thru-hike.

The monument at the Mexican border loomed large in my imagination. The terminus demarcated the end of all these blissful months of outdoor living, profound presence and simplicity, and relationships more impactful than I’d dare to recount. Instead of dreading the inevitable end, my approach to the completion of my hike became one of deliberate slowness, of savoring the contents of each day with a spiritual zeal.

Rather than testing my body’s abilities and my mental fortitude in order to cover the largest swaths of trail in the shortest possible time frames, I elevated the tasks that punctuated trail life to rituals resembling forms of art. My breaks became longer and more leisurely with music, incense, and occasionally afternoon siestas. My skin aged and weathered gorgeously in the face of the ever-present sun, a guiding light set low in the southern sky, along with the desert windstorms and silty sand that penetrated my every pore. When I wasn’t hiking by moonlight, I committed to stop and relish the particulars of each sunset and then set up camp early enough to stretch my sore muscles and eat the freshest dinners I could manage now that towns were clustered more closely together. As my funds dwindled, I rose to the occasion of getting creative with lodging options and relying heavily upon the generosity of strangers. Months into my hike, my well conditioned muscles contended with worn out joints thereby making the many hours of walking easier and more difficult all at once. Though beyond a shadow of a doubt, my ability to sustain prolonged periods of solitude exploring my own mind had become steady and strong. I had the energy, the focus, and the space to ask myself certain questions that had previously remained unaddressed. Questions concerning my deepest held values. Questions of desire and how my desires would influence impending decisions about where to go, what to do, how to live. To proudly proclaim my ambitions: to live simply & sustainably, to seek out individuals who inspire me, and to do work that aligns with my ethics.

It’s a rare and privileged opportunity that one should be able to slip out of society and scrutinize their lives from a distance. To have the space and freedom to re-imagine themselves. To leave the familiar scripts behind and try on new modes of inhabiting this strange and strangely enchanting planet. To lean into delight and devote months to cultivating a sense of strength, power, and pleasure by mastering the most primitive tasks: survival, solitude, trekking.

Though I would be unforgivably remiss not to mention that the invaluable ingredient to all my insights and self revelations was countless hours of conversation with others, namely my close friend Pavlov.

Pavlov and I met in the High Sierra and gratefully discovered that we enjoyed each other’s company enough to continue walking together, sharing in both the indescribable joys and the incredible perils of daily life on the PCT. Pavlov, who is naturally inclined toward planning and preparation, challenged me to forfeit some of my unreserved independence in order to create a harmonious partnership and an overall more cohesive thru-hiking experience. Because I typically tend toward spontaneity and prioritizing the FKT (funnest known time) at all costs, my style challenged Pavlov to abandon well-laid plans in favor of pursuing unique opportunities and taking risks. Instead of hiking in a way that got us the farthest the fastest, we asked ourselves what felt best and followed where our respective intuitions led. In the same vein, we cultivated the sort of relationship that inspired introspection, that encouraged self-exploration, and mutual vulnerability.

Imagine–we slept beside each other every night on our distressed ground sheets, staring into the same swath of glittering stars, suffering under the same elemental obstacles, rising in tandem and breaking down camp like clockwork, routinely forming a plan of action and simultaneously preparing to deviate from that same plan at a moments notice, delegating chores and gear and food, walking together for hours in silence or sometimes speaking about anything & eveything: mental health, religion, aspirations, politics, personal failures, sexuality, secret hopes, the future.

We watched each cry countless times and made each other cry more than once. We became each other’s fiercest advocates and most considerate critics. We navigated conflicts large and small and achieved a comprise time after time. We learned how to love one another and perhaps more importantly, how to become better lovers of ourselves.

With the end in sight and Pavlov by my side, I finally allowed myself to consider the question I’d avoided addressing for so long, “What’s next?” And instead of feeling terror or uncertainty, I was excited to answer that question. Confident in my choices and in my own capabilities, I finally felt prepared in a way I had not previously. In part, this is because I now understood that I wasn’t alone on that journey into the future, into the unknown. In An Altar in the World Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “It is hard to be a lone revolutionary, yet that is what you become when you start saying ‘No.’ You rise up against your history, your ego, your culture and its ravenous economy…My advice is to find yourself a partner revolutionary. Find a whole community of revolutionaries if you can. They will help you hang on to your vision, the one that helps you remember who you were created to be. They may even supply you with some missing details, along with the support to realize them.”

Throughout my hike, I had set my eyes upon more beauty than I had thought possible. Though by far, the most beautiful thing I witnessed was in those individuals that were bold and brave enough to open themselves up to me. To all my partner revolutionaries, thank you. I love you.

On November 13th, a little over four months after I’d tagged the Canadian border, Pavlov and I marched hand and hand to touch the monument on the Mexican border in El Campo. That final day was gratifying and funny, anticlimactic and sad. Though we both wholeheartedly believed the ending of our respective thru-hikes was the beginning of an even grander adventure. One we had grown to welcome.

So many are wondering, “WHAT’S NEXT?” And to them I say–you’ll just have to wait and see. My sincerest thanks to everyone who joined me on this journey. I truly could not have accomplished what I did without the support, encouragement, and generosity of many loved ones at home and countless kind strangers who I encountered along the way.

Love,

Isabella the Snap Pea