Day 1: Death is Imminent
*One quick important note before we get started, and it concerns the frequency and style of these blog posts. Out of practical and safety reasons there will be an intentional delay from the days that we describe and our actual current location. On the practical side our internet access will be spotty throughout and my main focus will be on enjoying every moment of the trail and being mentally present. I will be writing in my own journal every day after we hike then presenting the best of that here when I can. On the privacy / safety end, it is highly recommended that you delay posting your real time stats so anybody wishing you harm won't know exactly where you are and what kind of condition you're in. Cool beans. Onto the story.*
Kickoff! Today marked our first official steps on the trail and what a day it was. All told we went from the Southern Terminus in Campo to the Lake Morena Campground, covering 20 total trail miles.
The terminus itself is much less glamorous than I had pictured in my mind. It stands alone a couple dozen feet from Mexico, surrounded only by the hot and dry chaparral environment that we're so familiar with down here. Upon our arrival there was only one other hiker there being sent off by his parents, with no crowds or parking lot to speak of. All of this was just perfect for me. It was very cool getting to meet our new friend from Minnesota, connecting with someone else crazy enough to be going at this beast too.
I was surprised to find how relieved I was that there was nobody else there. I know my gear set up and hiking shape is by no means perfect, so our solitude helped take the pressure off in a really powerful way. I guess a big part of me just felt like the new kid at school, and it was nice to get to the first few classes out of the way without too many eyes and too much judgment on us.
As far as the actual hiking goes, that first mile absolutely flew by. I was fueled by adrenaline, fresh legs, and a great night's sleep. The heat from the day (we heard just under 90º from some other hikers) hadn't yet started to zap my strength, and I was thrilled to finally be out there.
However, I settled in pretty quickly, mostly due to the fact that the scenery down there is what I've grown up hiking in for most of my life. The desert flowers were beautiful, but they were also familiar. We hiked through the whole day, crossing train tracks, climbing down into canyons, and hoofing back out of them in the heat. By the time we reached Lake Morena I was nauseous, thirsty, hot, and oh so sore. 20 miles on the first day is no joke, especially when a significant chunk of that is the mentally deflating hike into Hauser Canyon when you can see what you have to do on the other side to get out.
Despite all this, there is one thing that will stick with me from this first day of hiking, and it was the perfect way to set the tone for the entire trip. At one point we were passed by an ultra-marathoner training for his next big event. A little while later we passed him up. We continued to leap frog each other on the trail a couple times before he finally stopped and chatted with us as we were catching some shade and water. We compared notes on what each other were doing out here, him telling us he plans to run a couple hundred miles over the next couple days (ow!), and us telling him how we hope to eventually hike thousands.
The conversation inevitably turns to gear talk before he takes off again. All of us agree on the importance of keeping it as light as possible, although that means vastly different things for both of us. Our final exchange goes something like this:
Him: "...Yeah, I've got a super thin and ultralight down jacket and shell."
Dad: "Just enough to keep you alive, huh?"
Him: (Jokingly) "Just enough to prolong death."
At this we all laugh and he turns to leave. As he takes off he yells back at us:
"Death is imminent, right? And that's why we're all out here! Good luck!"
And with that, he's gone. But those strangely uplifting words remain, giving every step added purpose and serving as a constant reminder of how lucky we are simply to be here.
