Defying the Odds

Day 8: Warner Springs to Mike Herrera's backyard, 18 miles

Statistically, a thru-hiker is most likely to quit in the first week. I can understand why. The glamorous vision of walking cross-country that some folk might have nursed from the comfort of their homes withers and dies under the desert sun. Then there's blisters, and injury. Before setting out, Paul volubly and repeatedly expressed his doubt that he--with his laundry list of damaged bits--would make it through the first week. By day eight, it was pretty evident that he was doing fine and it wouldn't be long before he'd outpace me. He's doing great. As for me--for all of my and my family's confidence in my ability to tackle an enormous undertaking like a thru-hike, because why the hell not, there's still a palpable stigma out here surrounding the solo female hiker. Not a lot, I'm glad to say, but you can almost smell the dismissal from certain quarters. I have nothing of the lean, sporty, REI-minted appearance; I don't "look the part," as Paul does, and fairly--all together now--I don't really know what I'm doing! So for our respective reasons, I think we were both pretty proud of ourselves for having made it to day eight. A minor milestone.

That doesn't mean we're guaranteed to get to Canada, of course. The attrition rate among thru hikers, though difficult to determine with any precision, is high. At least 50%.

It's interesting, to me, how often thru-hikers invoke statistics; but then again, I wonder if we're driven to it by the fears of non-hikers around us. The man at the deli, the woman ar the post office. Anything could happen! How likely that we'll be eaten by a bear? Struck by lightning? Bitten by a snake? And the whole time the real threats--bad hygiene, dehydration, money, trouble in off-trail life, and most importantly, the contents of your own mind--slip quietly under the radar. As a solo female hiker, I've had a lot of people ask if I'm not afraid, or--more obliquely--if my mother isn't afraid for my safety. I tell them, truthfully, that I'm very rarely alone--literally hundreds of hikers are out on the trail right now, and it's highly unusual to go more than an hour without seeing one of them. We're all walking the same narrow path. If you have a problem, someone is bound to be along shortly--very different from some hikes I did in Alaska! Equally truthfully, I say that I feel safer hiking the PCT "alone" than driving down the highway, or walking through some parts of some cities at night. It's such a strange question, safety. Who do they suppose is keeping an eye on me on an ordinary day, when I'm not hiking? Hey, world? I LIVE alone. I buy groceries alone and chop vegetables with sharp knives alone. I eat in cafes and visit bookshops alone. I ride airplanes and buses alone. I talk to strangers. The skill set that any woman on the planet, single or otherwise, needs to navigate the terrifying terrain of human civilization is--as far as I can tell--exactly the same as the set one needs to hike alone. Use your head. Listen to your gut. Find the good people and ask them for help if you need it--because there's lots of them, and they're willing to help, believe it or not. So much of the journey is fueled by faith and good luck. I'm not nearly as afraid of the rigors of the trail as I am afraid of having to quit. Because what then?

On our nearo in Warner Springs, while I was trying to catch up with the Internet, I discovered that the authors of Wandering the Wild, one of the trail blogs I follow, had to abandon their Appalachian Trail thru-hike. Shutterbug and North Star hiked the PCT last year. I relied heavily on their blog as a resource for information on gear, food, dry season strategy, even how to maintain an account of the journey. These people are young, fit, and experienced. There seemed to be no way they could fail. Yet they were sidelined in ways they could not have prepared for--damp climate, a mold allergy gone crazy, resulting in shingles, of all things--and they had to leave the trail. It's humbling to see that it can, and does, happen to anyone. But it's also heartening to see that this kind of journey takes place one day at a time, and having to quit isn't he end of the world--it doesn't invalidate those days of your life or the miles you traveled. They still belong to you. HYOH. It was a good reminder.