By Sean Jansen
It was never a vacation. It was never a sojourn, or a journey, trip, excursion, or trek. It was simply a dream. I couldn’t think of anything better than to be in nature, spend up to 150 days in a sleeping bag, and stink to unfathomable levels to where people at McDonald’s and grocery stores couldn’t stand to be within ten feet of me. Find comfort in the most bazaar of locales, find love where I wasn’t looking, but ultimately finding that change I was looking for.
Change came in the course of landscape and trail, but more importantly, I changed. And to say the trail changed me is as night and day as summer and winter. Change inside, change outside, change in appearance. Change emotionally, physically, and mentally. If there is a single word to describe the trail, it is, “Change.” The trail changed me as much as it changes elevation. And in looking at the total elevation differences throughout the trail, something life altering was going to happen.
There is something very special to be said about what it takes to wake up after a day that gave six new blisters, a sun burnt forehead, and a headache reminiscent of a hangover without the alcohol. Watching that sunrise up over a Joshua tree in Southern California because I should have already been walking by then if I wanted to get somewhere before it got too hot. Carrying eight liters of water for a 38-mile dry section in 90-degree heat or simply freezing in a tent at 9,000 feet because I laughed at the fact a storm was going to bring rain and ended up shivering while it snowed. After walking through what many said was the worst section, I was now at the doorstep of the Sierra itching to open it. And the only way to describe what I saw when I open that door is nothing short of breathtaking.
When my muscles started hurting more than usual, and I wished I could literally buy oxygen, I knew I made it to the Sierra. Sierra literally meant granite peaks, extreme altitude, and a view that HD doesn’t know how to handle. Only to reach the top of the climbs then hike slowly down the backside cheering John Muir about how much of a legend he is. The Orange glow of a granite wall at sunrise or sunset, and my memory card simply reminding me that I can’t take any more photos when the card is full, simply spoke Sierra. I averaged 9.8 miles a day for 20 days going through the Sierra’s. Not because I was tired or because it was hard, but it was purely because I wanted to.
I am certainly convinced, after hiking through the Sierra Nevada and the famed section that John Muir created, that he himself had to have been a fly fisherman. You can’t just create a trail that meanders next to some of the most gorgeous and un-fished waters on this planet to not want to cast out at sunset to rising trout that made the lake look like it was raining on a clear day. Many took off and sprinted ahead, while I casted out to pure gold, making the 200 or so miles through the Sierra a 20-day odyssey. Fly-fishing this section was like a trout grab bag where the prizes are all satisfying. So it was always fun wondering about what I just hooked into. Then see a six-inch fish give its best marlin impersonation, and it would then proceed to still be full of piss and vinegar while you try and get the fly out of its mouth. My perception of only catching quality over the years changed when I hooked into nearly 50 fish in a day.
After the Sierra, this next part of the trip turned out to be a highlight because it was different. It was social hour. Here is where I met some of the most incredible humans that I still call friends to this day. Having the ability to share 20 plus mile days through some gorgeous terrain made the rest of the trail fly. Transitions were abundant along the PCT. The descent out of the Sierra was slow but obvious. When the highest elevation I hit for the day was around 7,000 feet and not over 10, I knew Northern California and Oregon were knocking. The temperatures began to climb again, but the terrain got easier. The climbs were far mellower and the days were getting longer and longer. Pretty soon the slow casual pace through the Sierra, turned into marathons and the occasional ultra.
We were all puzzled through Oregon and Washington. It was this never-ending chase from volcano to volcano in this bazaar game of cat and mouse. Starting back at Lassen National Park, then continuing to the sisters region in Oregon. Getting to that luxurious breakfast buffet at the lodge on Mount Hood, and finally getting our first glimpse of Rainier as we rounded one of the fingers of Mount Adams.
But it really started to set in when we reached the North Cascades. The snowcapped spires shot up to the sky and blew all of our expectations away, but kept us all in check, making sure we had to work to get to the finish. The feeling of accomplishment was there for sure, but not being able to look over at my equally dirty friends every morning, or lean our packs up against a tree and take a nap because it’s that comfortable, are just examples of things that changed the way we thought about nearly everything. From dehydration to deprivation and accepting and accomplishing, there is simply nothing else in my life up to that point to where I am grateful of what was in front of me.
I set off from Campo, California on April 13th at around 2 pm. I finished the trail on October the 10th at 1:20pm. Five months and 27 days or 180 days total: 2,650.10 trail miles, 2,781.16 total miles hiked, 253 trout caught, 46 passes hiked over, hitch hiked 39 times, lost 34 pounds, got 27 days of rain, took 22 showers, used 15 fuel canisters, stayed in 11 hotels, eight campgrounds, took seven buses, got snowed on six times, went through five pairs of shoes, saw three bears, climbed three mountains, stayed in three houses, two days below freezing, and one life changing adventure.
