About Me

I got my start hiking as a kid. In fifth grade, my teachers took the whole class on regular trips down to Watershed Park, where a 1.5 mile trail winds under and through a canopy of fir, hemlock, and cedars - the whole forest in a perpetual state of growth, decay, and rebirth. Wooden walkways cross over sensitive habitat of skunk cabbage and ferns, and offer occasional glimpses of Moxlie Creek. That this sanctuary was worth protecting was never a question. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places my young imagination could dream up.

At 14, my Boy Scout troop spent ten days hiking the 100 mile Wonderland Trail, which circumscribes Mt. Rainier. Back then aluminum-tube external frame packs were standard equipment. The free-standing dome-tent my Dad and I shared on that hike probably weighed at least ten pounds. And heavy-soled, fully-supportive boots were required for the outrageous load. The ruggedness and perceived remoteness of that experience whetted my appetite for more. Someone suggested a mythical hike called the Pacific Crest Trail that started at the Mexican Border and ran all the way to Canada, following the crest of major mountain ranges as closely as possible the whole way.

It took another 20 years before I would embark on that legendary trail, but the idea was never far from my mind. The PCT was far more difficult, more painful, and more educational than I could possibly have anticipated. The journal I kept on that hike is replete with warnings to my future self to never undertake such an insane hike ever again. But as the human mind is wont to do, the pain and suffering that prompted those warnings eroded beneath passing time.

So now, years after quitting my job, moving out of my apartment, putting all my belongings in storage, and setting off into the unknown of the Southern California desert, I’m planning to do it all again. Except this time it’s to hike the Continental Divide.