Fewer Places I’d Rather Be.
I stare at the remnants of an apocalyptic fire rising from volcanic ash. An alpine forest of petrified ghosts—a reminder of my own mortality and internal battle—the battle of destruction versus creation. Destruction, much like wildfire, is necessary for the creation of something new. Even as I stand upon these ghostly remains, I am greeted with signs of a new life for this forest. A new life that will be more robust due to the destruction of what came before it. A cycle as old as time itself and which exists within us all. A cycle I have come to know well and will continue to be a part of on the Pacific Crest Trail.
There was something about Oregon that I'd never experienced before or since. I've always been unexplainably drawn to the Pacific Northwest. I've lived my entire life in rural Pennsylvania, but every time I see an image from the wilds of Oregon or Washington, I feel like that's where I belong. I can say after visiting in September; the sentiment is all but confirmed. It is an otherworldly place made up of prehistoric alpine forests and genuinely remote wilderness. I was so amazed that it was hard to believe I wasn't in a video game or part of some epic fantasy novel.
I'll never forget this day on the vista ridge trail. As a photographer, you couldn't have asked for a better quality of light. Even mid-day, there was a celestial glow to everything around me. I was overwhelmed with photographic opportunities, and to this day, I feel like I didn't take enough photos. But of course, I always feel that way regardless. Around almost every bend was a new breathtaking photographic opportunity. I am still trying to balance the need to reach camp promptly with documenting my hikes adequately. A skill I will no doubt have perfected on the PCT.
After about 5 miles in, we settled on the perfect campsite. Flat ground, next to a flowing stream with a beautiful view of Mount Hood. Once I had settled in camp, I realized that I had perhaps taken the wrong approach to this outing. You see, almost all of the hiking and camping I've done this year has been treated as training to "keep pace." Meaning there was usually an overlying sense of urgency to finish in time to get back to civilization for the workweek or back to our vehicles before sundown. For those longer trips, it was all about food efficiency. No stove cooked meals or coffee for me, cold-soaking and eating quickly to keep pace. You could say my usual outings involve the destruction of comfort in exchange for the steel resolve needed to push through duress promptly. This trip was not that. This trip was regular old camping. Hell, I could have packed out a stove, pan, and rib-eye if I had just stopped to realize "this is for fun, not just for training." Instead, I was left with my Green Belly Meal bars. Delicious, but certainly no rib-eye. It is an important lesson learned that camping and hiking don't always have to be endurance events, nor should they be.
Composite image of camp at sunset and a shot of the night sky later on.
The entire experience was almost a sensory overload for me. First of all, I could barely believe I was finally visiting Oregon after a lifetime of wanting to do so. In a lot of ways, this entire trip was a dream come true for me. I feel this and other factors affected my ability to appreciate the beauty surrounding me. That being said, it is, to date, the most beautiful camping trip I have ever experienced. The sunset over Mount Hood is one I will truly never forget. One of those moments no photo can do justice. I get distracted a lot, including on this hike, by the fact that none of this would have been possible when I was obese. These things I'm experiencing, these adventures I embark upon, none of them would be possible if I were still 450+ pounds. Thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail will be the ultimate reclamation of my life. It is a creative endeavor that would not be possible without the self-destruction of my past. There is a bitter-sweet irony in that fact.
During my visit to the Mount Hood National Forest, I was closer to the Pacific Crest Trail than I have ever been, but I made sure not to set foot on it. Some might find it odd, but I want to make sure my first steps on the PCT are the ones I take at the southern terminus in Campo. I have no way of truly knowing what awaits me on the PCT, but knowing what Oregon has to offer is reason enough to push through whatever suffering I might experience because there will be suffering. As much as I've prepared, you can never truly prepare enough for something like a thru-hike. At the time of writing this, I have spent at most four days in a row backpacking. I have a taste of what I'm in for, but there won't be a fresh set of clothes and an air-conditioned car waiting for me at the end of any four days on the PCT. At best, a hasty resupply and back out. Suppose I'm lucky, a shower every now and then.
The Pacific Crest Trail will not be a leisurely stroll through nature. The very fabric of my being will be tested in ways I can't even imagine while writing this. Destruction exists on a spectrum; it will either make you better or kill you. I've been closer to the latter end of that spectrum more times than I'll get into here and now. What I will say is since committing to this thru-hike and deciding to tell my story, I'm the farthest I've been from that place in a very long time. On the PCT, I will experience destruction both literally and metaphorically. Through that destruction, I will rise from the ashes around me and create something more important than anything in my life before this experience. Something that I know will help others in ways I am yet to foresee.
I'm not afraid of being destroyed by the trail. I'm terrified of succumbing to complacency and never daring to take a chance. Doing so would bring about my self-destruction. I would rather fail one thousand times trying to do something great than succeed at mediocrity. So when the going gets tough, and if I run out of tolerance for the misery I may be experiencing on the trail, or if I think of giving up, I'll think back to the Ghost Forest of Elk Cove and how giving up now will never get me back there. Because there are fewer goddamned places, I'd rather be.
