"The Pacific Crest Trail traverses 2,663 mi (4,286 km) through California, Oregon, and Washington. It aligns closely with the highest portion of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade mountain ranges, which lie 100 to 150 miles east of the coast. The southern terminus is on the US border with Mexico, near El Campo, California, and its northern terminus on the edge of Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Its midpoint is in Chester, California (near Mt. Lassen), where the Sierra and Cascade mountain ranges meet. President Lyndon Johnson defined the PCT and the Appalachian Trail as National Scenic Trails with the National Trails System Act in 1968, although the PCT was not officially completed until 1993.
"Thru-hiking is the term applied to completing a long-distance trail from end to end in a single trip. Although the actual number is difficult to calculate, the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) estimates that out of approximately 300 people who attempt to thru-hike the PCT each year, around 180 complete the entire trail. Most hikers travel northward. In a normal weather year, northbound hikes are most practical due to snow and temperature considerations. The timing is a balance of not getting to the Sierra Nevada too soon, nor the Northern Cascades too late. Deep snow pack in the Sierra Nevada can prevent an early start. Thru-hikers have to make sure they complete enough miles every day so they will be able to reach the opposite end of the trail before weather conditions make sections impassable." [wikipedia]
So here are the parameters for a thru-hike of the PCT. In a normal year, the snow in the Sierra Nevada mountains effectively barricades all comers until the middle of June. It takes roughly six weeks to travel the 700 miles from the Mexican border (El Campo) to the last major resupply at the foot of the mountains (Kennedy Meadows), so counting backwards brings us to a start date of approximately May 1. May Day. M'aidez. Many hikers, anticipating a gentle break-in period, intense desert heat, and possibly a number of days off to ease those initial blisters and tweak gear selections, plan to begin a little earlier. Accordingly, the Annual Day Zero PCT Kick Off ("ADZPCTKO," christ) takes place over the last weekend in April (this year it's the 27th-28th).
Once a hiker has successfully plowed through the late-season snow of the Sierras--an enormous undertaking--what remains is to cover an astronomical number of miles and finish the trail before it starts snowing in the northern Cascades--in a normal year, around October 1. This presents a relatively narrow weather-window for covering such a distance, and in order to complete the task in a timely (and safe) manner, a hiker has to average at least 20 miles every day. Every day. For five months. Wearing a pack. Just for reference, my longest hikes in Alaska were about 18 miles, carrying only water and snacks in a daypack--and I didn't do much the day after.
I think the reason the PCT works as a thru-hike has something to do with the rubber-band principal. You get six weeks in the desert to warm up (literally) and make mistakes before tackling the mountains. The Sierras stretch a human being to the limits of their endurance--or maybe just my conjectural limits of endurance. I'm a good walker, but I am not a mountaineer. You traverse steep, ice-covered passes that give me the flipping whim-whams just looking at the photographs. There's the snow, the altitude, the river-crossings, and the fact that entering those mountains--the most difficult terrain of the whole trail--you happen also to be carrying the heaviest load (bear canister, ice axe, cold-weather clothes, seven to eleven days of food). Your concept of normalcy is destroyed, and your body expends an ungodly amount of energy to travel 10-15 miles in a day. Fortunately it's some of the most breathtakingly beautiful wild land in the country--perhaps the panoramic mountain views will distract me from the plummeting scree immediately below.
Providing that one doesn't break during this trial, one turns into a hiking machine. Strong. Burdens lightened, you come down out of those mountains flying. All of a sudden a 30-mile day over rolling hills feels effortless---except that you're consuming whole pizzas and quarts of ice cream at every town. The force of that released momentum carries you as far as the Columbia River (Cascade Locks)---sea level---and at that point, staring into the dense rain-forest and steep climbs of Washington, you're exhausted and starving and discouraged, but having come so far you'll be damned if you quit. So you keep going.
This is just my theory, of course. They say that if a hiker can make it as far as Yosemite (Tuolomne Meadows, actually, but whatever), he is likely to finish the trail.
To say that I don't know if I can do this would be the understatement of the year. It sounds grueling, and crazy. But look at the photos!
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