Below is my final PCT gear list. These are the items that I ended up carrying and wearing by the end of my thru-hike. In point of fact, this was pretty much what I was using from Agua Dulce on and would recommend for a future thru-hiker. A more detailed series of gear reviews will follow in future entries.

The notable changes from what I started off with:

• Switched from the TarpTent Contrail to Big Agnes Copper Spur UL1 Tent
• Picked up a HI-TECH Jacket in Big Bear Lake because of the storms we were getting in California and the poncho was not satisfactory.
• Switched from using the Sawyer Squeeze Filter to Aqua Mira as it ended up being far faster and simpler in the long run.
• Dropped the Marmot DriClime Windshirt, lip balm, compass, mini-leatherman, and balaclava for lack of need or usage.

The first few days after a thru-hike seem to be a bit more organized and settled than the week after. When you first get off the trail, you still have a bit of a journey to get clean, fed, and back to some location, be it your own home or the home of friends and family. There are many hikers who continue exploring, this time in the cities, hoping to find the perfect place to settle.

After you get back to civilization and settled, then what? Reading various thru-hiker blogs and from my own personal experience, there is a frustrating and listless adjustment period back in civilization. You just spent the last five months with relatively simple and direct goals. Find the next water source, make it to the next resupply, continue hiking.

The frontcountry is not like that, at all. It is complicated, messy, noisy, indirect, and far less picturesque. Your activity level also just went from 10-12 hours a day to zero, so your endorphine levels tank. Frankly, part of me feels like post-trail life is a directionless, monotonous, tedious mess and that I would be far better off surviving out there on the trail than back in civilization.

Alas, that is not an option. One must rejoin society, at least for a time, and address all of those niggling little issues like money, job, and the nebulous "future plans".

My current plan is to work until I head back to school to finish my pre-medicine prerequisites. My intention was to take Organic Chemistry next summer, which would allow me to tackle Biochemistry, Physics, Genetics, and perhaps a bit of Physiology that next school year. Seems that most businesses or organizations do not really want to hear that you might only be with them for a year (or two if it is a really great job). That's frustrating. As if they have a guarantee from the rest of their employees that they will most assuredly be there for years to come. I am willing to commit fully to a really hard worked, challenging year of work. Given my skills and experience, I can only hope some organization realizes that that is a good deal.

In the meantime, I am trying to address all of the physical complications of the hike. Without a continuous source of moisture, my dog-esque foot pads have started cracking (lotion to the rescue!). The muscles have finally ceased to ache upon rising from a sitting position though and my heels are thinking about no longer being sore in the morning. Progress.

A new pair of running shoes just arrived from Amazon yesterday and I unpacked my duffel to find my running/biking clothing. Thinking my first trail run may be tomorrow. The constant rain and wind on the island makes me think biking will have to wait until a weather window opens up; do not feel mentally ready for biking in shitty conditions near traffic. I also need to stop eating so much junk food. Sure there are complex salads and healthy drinks back in my diet, but in less than 24 hours I have finished off a container of Trader Joe's Peanut Butter Cups. Boredom will do that to a former thru-hiker.

The most important thing is patience and a sense of direction. Not everything will be resolved overnight or even over the next couple weeks. Taking a deep breath and learning to accept that is probably the best step to adjusting to being off trail.

Last Monday morning (September 23rd, 2013), I crossed the Canadian border and officially became a Pacific Crest Trail thru-hiker five months and one day after starting from the Mexican border. After a quick photo in the cold rain and a signing of the register hidden in Monument 78, I promptly continued on hiking an additional eight miles to the road nearing Manning Park where Goodall's parents whisked us away to a quick shower with clean clothes, a delicious meal, and a four hour ride back across the border (via roads this time) and home to Whidbey Island.

Not exactly the smooth cruise to the finish we were expecting. In fact, it was the most difficult and dangerous part of the entire trip. Started with a raging thunderstorm the first night out of Steven's Pass followed by three days of being constantly soaked in freezing rain and staying borderline hypothermic. The day we hiked into High Bridge for the bus into Stehekin, we had a surprisingly dry and warm day. After a night at the lodge, we headed out for a lovely autumn scented day and camped above Rainy Pass. Next morning, the freezing rain returned and for the next two days the weather cycled between cold, rain, and snow while we crossed multiple washouts on ridges; some of which were 15' deep and required climbing up and down loose, slick rock. Our last night on the trail, we got three inches of snow and tracked the last six miles to the monument through puddles of freezing water.

But we made it. And just in time. Here we are only about five days later and the Pacific Northwest is getting hammered with another winter storm. 1-2 feet of snow and high winds are forecasted for that last section. Most hikers still on the trail are quitting or buckling down for a few days. Winter is definitely here and hiking season is reaching a quick close.

Now that I am done, I am resting and recovering at the Lohrenz Shelter for Displaced Persons on Whidbey Island for a few weeks. All of the gear is clean, repaired, and stored. All photos are edited and captioned for one to view on Flickr. And I had a job interview for a job in Bellingham this past Thursday.

Still, I feel a bit adrift and am slightly frustrated that I really have nothing to do. After five months of hiking nearly every single day, it is difficult to simply stop and try to take it easy. My body definitely needs the rest though. The bottoms of my feet have yet to stop aching and the knees are still requesting more time off as well. Patience is becoming the word of the day. Things will come in time: healing, job, exercise, money, direction.

I am just ever so curious and ready to start. What's next?

Sitting in a hotel room in Skykomish, Washington waiting for the cafe downstairs to open to have my last, civilized breakfast before finishing the last 187 miles of the trail.

Yup, that is all that is left. A mere 187 miles. Granted, we are all pretty well burned out on hiking at this point, so these last eight days or so feel like quite the exhausting hurdle. Does not especially help that the distance as the crow flies is substantially less than the distance we are hiking thanks to copious amounts of up and down. I particularly enjoyed Hermes/Luke's description of it.

But, it just over a week I will be a true thru-hiker. All of my steps have connected and I can walk proud. Or pass out on a couch proud, which seems slightly more likely for that first week back.

While I would not say I am apprehensive or unsettled about returning to civilization and no longer hiking, I cannot say it fills me with joy or elation. Part of me is not ready to go back. The trail has a simplicity and authenticity about it. Your days are spent focusing on getting the miles done, feeding yourself, resting, recovering, and finding the will power to do it all again the next day. No doubt it is monotonous, even with the glorious terrain and immense ecosystems we have crossed. And yet, for these past five months, it was a purer life. Whenever the complications of the frontcountry (play on backcountry, you see) intruded it was often unpleasant and rude.

Return we must though. I have already had a phone interview for a job with the Appalachian Mountain Club in New Hampshire for this autumn/winter and I am intending to return to school next summer (Organic Chemistry! Woo!) with the goal of finishing my pre-medicine prerequisites. Part of me is going to be rather wistful these next few months. Looking out the window of some warm home or building, daydreaming about my time on the trail.

Two months! I have not posted in two months! Not since Tuolumne Meadows! And now I am sitting at my friend Dave's house in Portland, where I will be leading a backpacking trip for Reed College starting tomorrow morning. Yes, that's right, I got off the Pacific Crest Trail to lead a backpacking trip. Everyone seems to find that amusing. The timing just worked out so perfectly and I enjoy leading Reedies into the wilderness so much that it was awfully hard to say no. Also, the money I will make by leading nine freshmen and two upperclassmen student leaders into the Mt. Adams Wilderness will pay for all of my resupplies in Washington. Nice!

So, the last two months were intense and long. Goodall and I made it through the Sierras tired but mostly intact. Her parents met us again at Sonora Pass and gave us a tasty dinner and took the unwieldy bear canisters away (far far away). Then, we entered what must have been the birthplace of the primal mosquitos, as they were there both in force and ferocity. Entire flocks hunted us for days. Headnets and DEET not optional.

Finally, we entered Northern California where we enjoyed many days of temperatures near 100 degrees Fahrenheit and plenty of volcanic rocks through old, shadeless burn areas. Northern California had more than its fair share of unpleasant days. Upon finishing the 30+ dry stretch that is Hat Creek Rim, I remember looking at two fellow hikers, Lotus and Hermes, and we all just looked spent. Shortly after, near Burney Falls, I got my worst blister of the entire trip. The intense heat combined with volcanic rock caused a large blister to form underneath the callous on the ball of my left foot. Was hardly able to walk for two days. And then my iPhone got stolen while at Castella, which had me psychologically break down for an hour (maps, notes, music, photos, videos...buh-bye) and then heading into Mt. Shasta, where I charmed my way into getting a brand new phone that afternoon and at a reduced cost.

There were really good days too though. In Sierra City, nearly everyone took at least one zero and I got to catch up with many old hiking friends. In Seiad City, Goodall and I spent the night with two Reed alums who lived just down the road in Happy Valley; enjoyed a quiet night with showers, laundry, a home cooked meal, and comfy beds. And let's not forget that sunset near Mt. Shasta where the sky came alive with mind bogglingly layers of clouds and color.

Near the Oregon border, we had our first taste of forest fires and their smoke. A lightning storm a few days prior had started at least four fires in Oregon and their smoke drifted down into California. During the long climb out of Seiad Valley, you could hardly see the hillside a couple hundred meters across from you. Once in Oregon, Ashland and Medford had such bad smoke that the outdoor plays were canceled.

Near Crater Lake, I got my first taste of Oregon weather schizophrenia. Not sure what it is, but whenever I am on the Pacific Crest Trail during August in Oregon, I always seem to have first forest fires and then chilling rain. Naturally, I had not checked the weather before leaving Ashland and had forwarded my rain pants on. Thankfully I kept my Smartwool beanie as there were a couple wet days followed by chilly nights. Yet, somehow, we carried on.

Right around the Three Sisters Wilderness, Oregon became absolutely gorgeous. Cookie and I dry camped shortly before Obsidian Creek and enjoyed a lovely sunset and sunrise to the west of Middle Sister. Sadly, the next day had us hiking through at least five miles total of volcanic rock near McKenzie Pass followed by a long, will-sucking burn area. I am ever so glad I changed my plans and took a night off in Sisters. Gave me a chance to catch up with a former coworker, eat good food, and just relax before the final push to Timberline Lodge.

Thanks to the Burney Falls Blister (say that three times fast), I was a couple days behind schedule in getting to Ashland. Originally my plan was to head off into Portland from Cascade Locks on the 21st. No way I was going to make that without risking an injury. So, since I was mostly hiking alone through Oregon, I was able to pull off a half dozen 30s and get to Timberline Lodge on the afternoon of the 20th. And that is where Dave, De'Mel, and Brian joined me for a tall glass of stout, a joyful ride back to Portland, dinner at Nicolas, and a night of Scotch tasting.

For the following night Dave and I had organized a pie party, where I ate savory and sweet pies of numerous varieties while showing photos from the trip on the TV and talking myself a bit hoarse. While at time a social malcontent with introvert tendencies, I loved seeing all of my Portland friends for the night. Felt good. Joyful, even.

Which catches us up to today. All of the gear is ready and in about an hour I will meet the nine freshmen that I will be taking out starting tomorrow morning. Relatively easy trip with no more than 6 miles between camps but it does seem like we will have cool temperatures with a chance of rain. Oh, Pacific Northwest, you so crazy.

Upon my return I will take at least one more day in Portland, if not two, and organize my resupply, see a few more people, and relax. And then back up to Timberline Lodge for four more weeks of hiking up to the Canadian border. Woo hoo!

The phrase "Hike Your Own Hike" is thrown around regularly by hikers as a reflexive catchphrase meant to suggest that everyone's hike is their own and despite any differences we may have between our approaches to hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, my way does not affect you and your way does not affect me. Not so subtly, it is also used by hikers to disregard the opinions and approaches of others. Sort of a low key "fuck you" when there is a strong disagreement but a desire to avoid conflict.

While I would not consider myself a PCT purist, where detours are not allowed and every single mile of the the trail must be covered by my footsteps, I am troubled by people who are calling themselves thru-hikers when they are most assuredly not by any definition I can accept.

The reason this is on my mind so much (and worth a blog entry) is because during the second week, multiple hikers skipped straight from Paradise Cafe to Idylwild. One of my favorite sections of the early trail and they skipped all 28 miles of it. Not because they were injured but simply because they heard it was difficult and/or were behind schedule because of a slow start. And yet, they still referred to themselves as thru-hikers.

And this has continued for the entirety of the trail. People skipped all the way from Walker Pass to Kennedy Meadows (50+ miles) because they were exhausted from the desert and wanted a long, comfortable break before entering the Sierras. I understand that exhaustion, believe me I do, but once you start skipping huge sections like that you are no longer a thru-hiker in my book. Being a thru-hiker to me means experiencing every bit of the Pacific Crest Trail: the highs, the lows, the joys, the challenges, the crummy weather, the gorgeous views. All of it. Saying you thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail means something very significant to me.

Slack packing. I am still on the fence about this. This is when a hiker gets dropped off at a road with a super light pack, usually only containing food and water, and they quickly hike to another road where they are picked up again. Typically, they then go back to a town or campsite for the night. So, they are not really backpacking so much as day hiking sections of the trail. People have been doing this from the beginning and while they are technically hiking the trail, it still makes me a bit uneasy. I suspect this is no so much a foul of thru-hiking as me having a belief that the trail should always be "backpacked" and not just "hiked". Personal preference, especially when you consider all the ways of resupplying, going ultralight, and having friends/family support you.

Which leads me to my own definition of thru-hiking and how I, myself, intend to hike the entirety of the Pacific Crest Trail. Quite simply, all of my footsteps have to connect from the Southern Terminus to the Northern Terminus of the PCT. I can be picked up by a vehicle but I have to be dropped off at the same spot when I return to the trail. My backpack will always be with me too. If thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is my entire life than it should be along for the entire time. The one exception I will allow is for official detours (fire, poodle dog). Safety, sanity, and responsible behavior take priority.

Been quite a long while since I posted a blog entry. While the trail has challenges when it comes to water and food, it is nothing compared to the inability to reliably connect to the internet. First World Problems, I know.

I am currently in Mammoth Lakes, California sharing a condo with nine other hikers for a couple days. We just exited the High Sierras and are only two days away from Tuolumne Meadows (and Yosemite). The past few weeks has been a collection of exhausting 6-7 day trips between resupply points. Tehachapi to Kennedy Meadows to Independence to Mammoth. For that entire time, I probably had cell service for only four days and even then it was not always reliable.

Kennedy Meadows had an internet "cafe", which was really no more than a few poorly working Dell computers in a trailer connected via satellite. It was fine for checking email, but I lost two separate blog entries when the connection was lost or the computer ceased to function.

Independence was a teeny tiny little town, and we hitched to Bishop as soon as we got a Subway sandwich and Amelia's packages from the post office. The Bishop library had computers but they were locked down and were using an ancient version of Internet Explorer that even Gmail did not support. No chance to upgrade, so I abandoned my quest and decided to wait another week.

So, here we are nearly a month later. Still got a bit more of Sierras to go, but Amelia's parents are meeting us at Tuolumne Meadows and my computer will be there. Photos! Videos! Blog Entries! But only if we find good wi-fi. Here's hoping.

Thinking about this question, what first comes to mind is what I do not miss. The noise of civilization comes to mind first. I have taken longish backcountry trips before and when I returned to Portland, the cars whizzing by on 39th Avenue had me on edge for over a week before I acclimated to city life again. Now after being on the PCT for over a month, being in something as simple as a remote town with a small grocery store with all of the music, talking, and the noise that humans create is slightly unsettling.

Showers and beds are odd now too. I am staying with the Boyink family this weekend and even though I could easily sleep in their RV, I feel far more comfortable sleeping outside, under the stars, with a bit of wind. And, I feel no compulsion to take a shower every day or even every other day. I am hardly getting dirty sitting around eating, talking, and reading books. Why would I need to shower? Showers are now meant for when you need to wash off the grime after days on the trail and be presentable.

I definitely daydream about reading material and food on the trail. The ability to eat the wide assortment of foods in an American grocery store is truly a wonder when you think about it. Ice cream, cinnamon rolls, pumpkin pie, stir fry, salads, et cetera. All sound really good when I get into town. And, I have now finished seven books on this trip. Every town stop has me tossing one book into the Hiker Box and looking for a new one (or two) for the next section.

The cool weather of the Pacific Northwest combined with my old, glorious apartment has been on my mind during the bad days too. While crossing the Mojave desert, I had at least a litre and a half of water throughout the night and still woke up dehydrated. The hot, arid weather does not agree with me. Being able to watch a windy, wet storm go on outside while watching Doctor Who and eating pie often sounds like bliss.

What I really miss most though, is friendly, relaxed company. The trail is stressful. It is all too often empty and even a bit lonely. There have been a handful of days when I see no one until the end of the day and at least a third of my nights have been spent camping alone. Despite all of my introverted and asocial tendencies, I do crave human companionship on a semi-regular basis. Part of this trip's learning experience is being forced to examine how isolated I have made my non-trail daily life and how going further down that path is unenjoyable in the long term.

The examination of how to balance my need to be alone, do challenging adventures, and my desire for human company is ongoing. Many more months to think about it.

UPDATE: OK, so let's get one thing straight. While I do not really miss showers on a daily basis, after five or six days of hiking I greatly enjoy washing the grime off both myself and my clothes.

You know what they say.
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a whistle!
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

That's a lie, Mr. Idle. A damn damn dirty lie.

Bad days happen on the trail, there is no way around it. And, it is incredible how just one slip in judgment or a seemingly minuscule event can cause an otherwise normal day to tailspin into a fantastically wretched day. I was extremely lucky in that my first four weeks on the trail I only had one bad day. Too much sun, an unsettled stomach, and a poor night's sleep sapped my energy so that I felt thrashed from the moment I woke up. The entire day consisted in nothing but forcing myself to take steps and wishing for it to be over.

This last week had three bad days in quick succession. It all started after Agua Dulce. Epsom salt foot baths were available at Hiker Heaven and since my heel calluses seemed a bit overgrown, I indulged in one to soften them up a bit (such a horrible idea in retrospect). Foolishly, I never washed my feet off afterward to clear off the salt. The next day, after a poor night of sleep, I started off at 5 a.m. to beat the heat as the trail started with about five miles of road walking. By the time I got back on a proper trail, my feet had lost a couple layers of skin in key places. That was just the beginning.

Even with clean socks, blister pads, and duct tape the hot spots got worse, especially on my heels. There was little shade once the sun rose and my whole body slowly roasted until I stumbled into the fire station just up from the Anderson's (trail angels at Casa de Luna). I was definitely not the only hiker who was suffering from foot problems either, thanks to the heat baking both the ground and our bodies. Five of the six hikers I met while resting at the fire station reported that their feet had become messed up over the course of the day.

Still, after resting for three or four hours and cleaning all feet and socks, I continued on to the next water cache. That was a bit of foolish of me. I did not need to continue on and my feet could have used a longer recovery period. But it was early still. I wanted to stick with and camp with people I knew. So, I kept on going. ::sigh::

By the time I camped my feet had graduated from possibly problematic to a complete mess. I had also lost my brand new book (left behind during a break), cut my hand while getting off trail for a bathroom break, and was all around miserable from mile dehydration and miles of constant descent. If a genie had appeared and offered to whisk me back to my old, lovely apartment in Port Townsend with a fresh episode of Doctor Who waiting...doubt I would have said no.

To make a long story short, despite trying to baby my feet and not push too hard, I had a limited supply of food and a desert to cross until my next resupply. The next few days of hiking were not pleasant at all, especially since I forgot my second pair of socks drying on a fence and my backup socks were given to a desperate friend a few days before. Feeling the searing hot pain of a blister popping? One of the most demoralizing experiences a hiker can feel. Combine it with the usual trail trials and every additional minor problem just compounded my mental and physical fatigue. Only will power kept me from just collapsing in a heap yesterday.

All of which reinforces the fact that thru-hikers are a stubborn lot. It takes a special combination of foolishness, insanity, and mental resiliency to willfully subject your body and mind to a thru-hike. Yet, hikers do have ways of responding to the stress and handling those really bad days.

I have seen an older gentleman on a rather steep bit of remote trail with hardly a rock to sit on calling his wife just to hear a kind voice during a particularly difficult stretch. A hiker couple just barely leaning into each other during a snack break to feel that small bit of support. Hiker camaraderie and bitching sessions are quite common at the end of the day and during long breaks. Vacant stares into the distance and crying happen too. During the Mojave desert crossing at one point three of just dead dropped our packs, flopped on the ground, and did not say anything for two or three minutes while we ate food and collected ourselves.

My primary way of dealing with the grind is sharing my experiences and photos on Twitter and Facebook almost daily. The desert is photogenic and heart-stopping beautiful at times, despite the heat. And a Don Quixote reference while crossing a wind turbine farm in the early morning has most definitely not gone unused. That bit of humor and sharing with friends around the world is what kept me going during those bad days. And remembering the fact that I genuinely enjoy sharing the outdoors with other people is not a bad thought either.

A somewhat common belief about long distance hiking is that you will have plenty of time to think. Figure out your troubles, work through problems, and contemplate deep thoughts. As I have a tedious tendency to obsessively think as it is, I think there was a reasonable belief that an abundance of trail thinking would drive me a bit over the edge.

Shockingly this has not been the case. In fact, thinking while hiking has been rather difficult. Despite the trail being graded for horses and there being an organization behind its upkeep, traipsing along it requires a certain amount of concentration. Rocks, roots, cliff edges, poison oak, poodle dog bush, stream crossings, et cetera. Throw in a pack that is averaging 28 pounds, two hiking poles to manage, and days of 20+ miles...and you have a recipe for a consistent need to focus.

At the end of the day you are usually so tired, you simply want food, bed, and maybe a bit of relaxation, which for hikers seems to be either smoking, drinking, TV watching, or for a select few it is reading a book. I just finished my fifth book and have spent an entire town afternoon in the library, so I think we know what camp I belong to.

Yet, saying all that, I have had time to think. Had an entire afternoon where I had Taylor Swift's "22" in my head on repeat (damn catchy song). Spent an hour outside the grocery store in Wrightwood talking to a local pediatrician about the trail, my wavering desire to pursue some manner of career in medicine, and his own experience combined with that of two of his children (end all: he strongly encouraged me to go back and finish pre-med).

Also have thought quite a bit about what I want out of the rest of my life. Reviewing in my head what I have been most proud of in my life, what I regret the most, the principles I still hold, and how it all might fit together into at least a direction, if not a firm goal.

Nothing firm yet, but it has been interesting to see what has come to light. A regret I did not realize was so potent has reared its head and a principle I used to strongly hold to has lost quite a bit of its steam. And I am not even past the one month of hiking mark. Could be fun seeing what else slides/pops/wiggles into my consciousness on the trail.