Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail: A walk on the wild side

It started over a glass of chardonnay. "What'll you do next, Sarla? Head off on a wild walk?"

We laughed. We'd been reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild, but it had never crossed my mind to fly halfway around the world to hike a section of the 4265km Pacific Crest Trail.

But then I thought, why not? I was ready for an adventure. My son was all grown up. I was 18 when I had him so I missed out on travelling in my 20s. When friends were off working as barmaids in Exmoor pubs, teaching English in Korea, and waiting tables in New York, I'd been at home bringing up baby. Hiking the PCT would be a real adventure: eye-popping scenery, physical challenges, bears, snakes, and heat. I could escape the worst of a Christchurch winter.

Reese Witherspoon portrayed Cheryl Strayed in the film Wild. Strayed embarked on a three-month trek on the Pacific Crest Trail.

I mentioned casually to my partner that I thought I might do a long walk next year. He nodded politely and muttered something about bears. Undeterred, I bought the guidebook that had inspired Cheryl Strayed. The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 1: California had maps, trail descriptions, and advice. I studied the book but didn't know what to do next. How long would I go for? Which sections should I do? Where to start? Finish? How would I get to the trail? How much would it all cost?

I'd never travelled alone before. I was frozen with indecision. In the end, my partner and I chose a date in mid-July, at the start of the school holidays, and an end-date in mid-August. I would go do my walk, I'd allow a month and we'd meet up afterwards in New York to celebrate. Air New Zealand had just introduced cheap direct flights out of Houston. We planned a road trip through the south before flying back to New Zealand at the end of August.

The next few months I assembled what I'd need. I'd picked an area in Central California that sounded beautiful; through the Sierra Nevada mountain range and including Yosemite National Park and part of the John Muir Trail. I copied out Strayed's list of equipment. Backpack, tent and footprint, sleeping mat, sleeping bag, liner, dry-bags, stove, pot, mug, bowl, utensils, rain jacket, compass, boots, first aid kit, whistle, hiking shorts, fleece jacket, socks, hiking pole. Half a dozen trips to Torpedo 7 and several thousand dollars later, I had everything I needed. Putting up my new tent in the lounge, I felt like a complete novice but I also had faith that I could do this. I had courage, common sense, good equipment, and a reasonable level of fitness.

That Pacific Crest Trail passes through some of the most scenic parts of the United States.

Nine months after that glass of chardonnay I touched down in San Francisco. First I needed to organise my food supplies, and get the resupply packages parcelled up and into the mail. My friend David was waiting as I walked into the arrivals section. We headed to the REI store in Berkeley and in a jet-lagged fog I bought mountains of dehydrated dinners, protein bars, jerky, and energy gels. I'd used a website called Craig's PCT Planner to help me work out my start, finish and resupply points. I planned to walk south, starting at Echo Lake and finishing at a place called Bishop on Highway 395. I couldn't believe how much food I'd be eating along the way. Oatmeal, salami, tortillas, nuts, dried fruit, protein bars, and so many dehydrated dinners: beef bourguignon, chicken with gravy and dumplings, shepherd's pie, and on it went. Sorting it into daily piles comprising breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, I worried about the weight and if I'd have room in my pack, particularly for the second section where I'd need to carry enough food for seven days.

I mailed off three resupply packages: the first to Markleville, a little town 27km off the trail down Highway 4. (This would involve hitchhiking – scary, but couldn't be avoided.) Markleville was 6.5km from Grover Hot Springs, where you could get a hot bath or a warm swim. My second resupply point was Tuolumne Meadows, and the third at Vermillion Valley Resort, a 45-minute boat ride off the trail.

Three days after landing in San Francisco, I woke up at 6.15 am, shouldered my 16kg pack and was ready to go. I caught a train to Sacramento, then a bus to South Lake Tahoe, only to find the shuttle up to Echo Lake wasn't running that day. I ended up taking a taxi to the trailhead. My Mexican driver thinks it's a great adventure. "Most girls I know are afraid of a little dirt" he says. I feel chuffed. Neither of us knows exactly where the trailhead is, but the driver is super-chilled. "Don't worry, we'll find it." It's 3.30 pm by the time I start walking and I'm wired from a lack of sleep and adrenaline. I hope the scenery will blow me away and it does, right from the start and it continues to amaze and enrich me over the next 370km.

It's always good to see a trail marker when hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.

The PCT merges with the Tahoe Rim Trail around Lake Tahoe and I walked a path carved from massive hunks of silvery granite. I had stepped into extraordinary beauty. Pines shaded the trail, wildflowers flourished beneath them, and creeks and streams burbled across the path. The air was still and warm and light-filled.

Naturalist and author John Muir called the Sierra Nevada the Range of Light, "so gloriously coloured, and so luminous, it seems to be not clothed with light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city."  

My reverie abruptly ended when a northbound hiker stopped to warn me about a large bear that had been following him about 1.5km back. I clutch my panic whistle, breathe deeply, and carry on walking, eyes peeled for big black bears, my heart thumping in my chest. I've no idea what I'll do if I see it: freeze, cry, wave my arms, pee my pants. Fortunately, I never have to find out; the bear stays hidden and over the coming days the most I see of these creatures is some poop on the trail.

Sparkling wildflowers are a highlight of Sonora Pass.

That night, I shared a beautiful campsite with Eric, Tom, and Randy, who were just finishing five days on the Tahoe Rim Trail. I struggled to work out where I was. My guidebook read from south to north, which is the direction most people hike the PCT Trail, and reading trail descriptions backwards is a challenge. Like everyone I met on the trail, they were super helpful, showing me their GPS maps, suggesting I camp at Shower's Lake and reassuring me I had nothing to fear from bears, though they did recommend I hang my food. They were surprised I'd come halfway around the world to walk the trail.

"Didn't New Zealand invent mountains?" Tom laughed.

After dinner, I sat on a rock watching the moon rise across the valley and sipping a celebratory whisky. It's paradise on Earth. I didn't sleep much that night, nor the next three; tents are noisy, my body clock was still on NZ time and I was sub-consciously on high alert for danger.

Sarla's first campsite, near Echo lake, on the Pacific Crest Trail.

Despite this, the following days were exhilarating, the scenery is magical and there's no shortage of people on the trail so I never felt lonely. I passed 20-25 hikers a day, all of them heading north; many of them were walking more than a thousand miles, starting at Campo on the Mexican border. There were lots of bearded men, a few women, some couples. One young man told me happily that he kept getting food stuck in his beard. He looked like Chris McCandless in Into the Wild. Almost everybody I passed was American, save for an Englishman, two Australians, and a French couple. I felt quite exotic.

The landscape is varied, though the upward climbs followed by steep descents are a constant. The high passes are my favourite, away from the flies and dust of the lower elevations and with lakes, wildflowers, and gleaming patches of snow. My biggest day was 26km. I usually hiked for seven hours and averaged 16 to 20 kilometres a day. I quickly fell into a routine: up around 6.45 am, oatmeal for breakfast, brush teeth, slather myself in sunscreen and mosquito repellent, pack up camp and start walking by 8.30 am. I often found a spot near a lake or river for lunch and a swim. The water was surprisingly warm and was heavenly to wash the sweat and dust away.

With up to seven days between resupply points, a swim was my only way to keep clean. Around 5.30 pm I  would start looking for a campsite. I  changed into my camp clothes, washed hands and feet, arms and face, set up the tent and "cooked" a dehydrated meal. After washing up I  wrote in my journal and read until 9.30 pm. That first week, the climbs are tough and I have to keep stopping to catch my breath, but by the time I hit my first big pass at Sonora, I was starting to feel stronger. Thankfully, I was blister-free for the whole trip, all my gear worked well and the sun shone every day.

Sarla in the morning sunshine at Silver Pass.

In the end, I didn't quite make the month; a health crisis at home pulled me off early, but I felt so proud to have walked 370 kilometres over 23 days. I was lighter, stronger, and more comfortable in my own skin. I've taught Into the Wild for years, and when Chris writes on his deathbed "Happiness is only real when shared," students would cry at the poignancy of his epiphany.

Despite being far from home, I thought every day about family and friends, how fortunate I was to have them, the things we'd do when I finished. It was always exciting when I'd get some coverage and could send photos and messages out, sharing my journey and reassuring them I was safe. It was important for me to walk alone but I was also part of a community on the trail. I felt connected to my people back home and to the people I met on my travels. Night and day, aeroplanes tracked across the sky while down below I followed my trail happily through canyons and meadows, briefly at home with my backpack among the mountain streets.

This story was originally published in the Escape section of The Press.