It ain’t over ‘til it’s over

how I became the packless wonder

I’ve always hated clichés.

Growing up, I would roll my eyes at the -isms and sayings adults would throw at me, sayings like “patience is a virtue” or “this too shall pass” (most, if not all of these sayings, had religious undertones).

A few weeks ago, I was scrolling through comments on FarOut, the app widely used by PCT hikers for navigation and trail tips. I saw a comment from a disgruntled individual complaining that other hikers had been cutting switchbacks instead of sticking to the trail. “Don’t take the easy way out. There are no shortcuts in life,” the comment said.

Cringe!

How lame must you be to leave a comment just to shame people about cutting switchbacks?

Fast forward to July 29th. I had just spent a lovely two days in South Lake Tahoe and was antsy and excited to hit the trail again.

I embarked on a three day trek to Truckee, on the north end of Tahoe, where I would be meeting my parents, uncle and cousin from Portland, and some of my mom’s relatives who had generously invited us to stay with them for a few days.

Because I set off in the early evening, I only planned to do 11 miles that day. Still, I hoped to get to Truckee as fast as possible. I popped in my earbuds, turned on an audiobook, and gassed it.

Somewhere along the way, I got absorbed in thought, as I tend to do. Normally, daydreaming makes the experience more pleasant; I can zone out and let my feet carry me.

But as it turned out, I was so in the zone, blazing down what I thought was the path, that I completely missed a turn and didn’t notice until I had wandered almost 2 miles off trail.

If you know any thru hiker, you know that the last thing we want to do is walk. Especially if the miles aren’t part of the actual trail.

I mean, if it’s not getting me closer to Canada, I might as well not be moving…

Once I became aware of my fatal mistake, I decided to do my own trailblazing to get back on track. I wanted to take the shortest route possible to get back to the PCT, so I began cutting switchbacks left and right.

Sorry to whoever made that FarOut comment.

As it turns out, the individual who made that comment was completely correct. There really are no shortcuts in life. Because in my off-trail adventure, I unintentionally ventured up a mountain pass, getting myself even more lost.

After a mile of climbing straight up (and a beautiful view of the sunset, might I add) I began to get panicky. It was getting dark, I was alone, and I still hadn’t found the trail.

But then somehow it got worse.

I realized that to get back to the trail I would have to climb down the other side of the mountain I had just ascended.

There was just one problem: I was above about 400 feet of cliffs.

Idiot.

I tried to remain calm and come up with a plan. I had to get down. I couldn’t go back the way I came; it would be too dark to navigate. I was determined to get back to trail.

The weight of my backpack was making me wobbly and I feared I could fall. I decided I would take my pack off and place it on the ground while I stepped down from a steep ledge. Below me was a gradual drop from which I could slowly descend.

First, I threw my trekking poles down. They landed safely, so I was confident that my pack would be fine.

But, as I’m sure you’re aware, a pack weighs a lot more than trekking poles. as soon as I placed my pack down, as gently as humanly possible, gravity did what it does.

The pack began rolling… and rolling… and rolling until it was completely out of my sight.

I had lost everything.

If you’ve ever seen the movie Wild with Reese Witherspoon, it was a bit like that opening scene when she drops her shoe off a cliff. And then she screams “Fuck!”

That’s exactly what I did.

Needless to say, I was in full-blown panic mode at that point. I tried to scramble down as far as I could get to find my pack, picking up loose scraps that had fallen out of pockets (I was luckily able to salvage my Hello Kitty pin).

But the pack was a goner. And now it was 8:15 and the light was fading fast.

I knew I had to get out of there.

Somehow, I had cell service and was able to call the sheriff’s department. They told me they would send the search and rescue team right away, but that it would be a few hours.

Ok, I thought, they’ll probably get here by midnight?

I was envisioning a sweet chopper ride to safety. They’d scoop me right out of there, give me a warm blanket, and I’d be on my merry little way.

But alas, there was no chopper (according to a member of the SAR team, I wasn’t “injured enough”), and the team didn’t arrive until almost 3:00 in the morning.

I haven’t prayed in years, but during the six hours I was waiting, wedged between two boulders for warmth, I was repeating Hail Marys over and over, shaking like a leaf, until I saw the light of headlamps coming to my rescue.

We then hiked out six miles, from 3:00 to 8:00 a.m. And just like that, I was back where I started.

There are no shortcuts in life.

I’ve had serious doubts about posting this story on the internet. It is a scary story, yes, but now that I’m on the other side of it, I realize there was a lesson in it all.

Luckily, I was able to get new gear, and am in communication with members of the Tahoe Rim Trail Association about recovering my pack from where it fell.

It was ultimately a lesson in surrender.

I am taking a huge risk by spending all my time outdoors. Nature is powerful, unpredictable, and at times merciless. And I am not invincible.

The trail provides, and it also takes away. If I am to fully embrace this experience, I have to embrace that sometimes, things happen and we have no control over them.

I’m not ready to give up, though.

As shitty as things can get out here, I love everything about what I’m doing. Everyday is a lesson in humility, acceptance, and trust.

After pulling an unintentional all-nighter and making it back to South Lake Tahoe, I was luckily able to meet up with friends, who kindly went on an emergency shopping spree with me (hi Izzy and Brynne :)).

As we browsed the camping section at Goodwill, the Lenny Kravitz song “It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over” came on.

I suddenly felt a flood of hope and relief come over me. I had survived one of the worst nights of my life and here I was: safe with friends and, oddly enough, content.

As incredibly unfortunate as this incident was, it made me realize how lucky I am. I’ve received so much support; complete strangers have taken me in, my parents continue to support me, and friends have been by my side the whole way.

So there is my long update. I’m learning, the hard way, to prioritize my safety and wellbeing over pushing an agenda. It’s a process.

…

And as for my mileage update, I’m almost out of the never-ending state of California! Wildfires have sped up the process, though. I’ve had to skip roughly 300 miles of trail due to a massive fire in Chico.

Perhaps by my next update I’ll be in Oregon! I’m excited for a change of scenery (and for no sales tax).

Stay well, stay healthy, I’m thinking of you all! <3

Izzy