Claire Henley: Adventures West (Anticipating)

  • Friday, August 21, 2015
Claire Henley
Claire Henley

(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big Spoon. Here is her story beginning in March).

In 40 days I leave home to thru hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I will fly from Chattanooga to San Diego on April 21, stay the night with renowned Trail Angels, Scout and Frodo, and at sunrise be driven to Campo, California to be dropped off at the Southern Terminus of the PCT. I’ve been planning this journey for many months now. Now I’m down to 40 days.

Ironically, each passing day creates a longer span between the present time and my start date on the trail. This is because I’m prepared for the trip ahead. So instead of agonizing over all that’s left to do with the limited time, freaking out like a frenzied event coordinator trying to get it done, I wait. I wait with an eager spirit and steady peace.

For the worthy endeavor, preparation is the precursor to success. Take the Greats for example. Michelangelo prepared his sculpting skills with chisel and hammer as a boy in his father’s marble quarry. Lewis, of Lewis and Clark, spent countless hours learning astronomy and poring over accessible maps of North America before setting sail. And years before developing the general theory of relativity, Einstein went to class.

Over the last 4 months, I have prepared for the PCT. I have researched, purchased, and tested gear; analyzed daily mileage, geography, and weather on the trail; designed a sleep, food, and water strategy; and trained on physical, mental, and spiritual endurance.

The PCT is 2,650 miles long. It spans from Mexico to Canada, tracing through California, Oregon, and Washington. The average northbound thru-hiker takes 5 months to complete the trek, with the prime window for this continuous hike being early May to late September. I’ve had the desire to hike the PCT for 3 years. It first formed in 2012 when I lived in the Colorado Rockies. Being from the Southeast, I had never been immersed in such tremendous, open, challenging beauty as I was out West. I wanted to see and experience it all. The PCT would let me.

I moved back to Chattanooga in the summer of 2013, got a job working for a major insurance corporation and started saving. With each paycheck, I purchased a new piece of lightweight, high quality backpacking gear. By spring of 2014, I went backpacking every weekend in places like Savage Gulf, Fall Creek Falls, The Appalachian and Smoky Mountains. I worked my way up from 5-mile, to 10-mile, to 15-mile days on the trail. Sometimes I went with a partner; sometimes I went alone. Every time I went backpacking I became more acquainted with joy and survival in the wild.

I knew I wanted to thru hike the PCT, but still wasn’t sure I could hack it alone. Then, at the start of the New Year 2015, two very important things happened. I turned 25—a solid, unflinching, time-to-do-something-amazing age—and I ordered Yogi’s Pacific Crest Trail Handbook. Hikers refer to the handbook as “The Bible of the PCT.” For the next several days after the hefty $40.00 guide arrived in the mail, I woke hours before my workday, made a big cup of coffee, sat at my writing spot at the kitchen table (next to the window with a sunrise view), and read Yogi’s words with thirsty eyes.

The handbook became my foundation for the research I then conducted. Highlighter in hand and computer at arm’s length, I marked when I should leave, in which direction I should go, what to pack in my pack and wear from head to feet. I studied how to train for 20-mile days and how to fuel my body accordingly—with 1 liter of water every 4 miles and 4,000 calories a day on foods like tuna, granola, potatoes, pasta, chocolate, nuts, jerky, and beans. I learned where to resupply and by what method—either at the shops in town or by maildrop. I tracked the desert water and Sierra snow reports and analyzed thru hiking logistics like how to hike in the SoCal heat (at morning and dusk, resting midday in the shade); and how to hike in high Sierra snow (with ice axe, crampons, and careful steps); and how to hike in town (stick out a thumb). And I discovered even more: what maps to bring, what compass to use, what stove to light, what water treatment to apply. I reviewed shelters, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, stuff sacks, rain gear, field journals, books, headlamps, repair kits, pocketknives, and external smartphone batteries. For quality is essential; yet every ounce matters on a long-distance hike. I learned where to use a bear canister and how to carry the bulky food container in my compact ULA pack. I discerned how to pick a leave-no-trace site, fend off bloodthirsty mosquitoes, handle wild animals, navigate unmarked trail junctions, take precaution against giardia, survive 30-mile waterless stretches, position myself in a lightning storm, and avoid traipsing through the treacherously poisonous Poodle Dog Bush. My intensive research continued on, and I confirmed the indispensable value of duct tape, bandanas, safety pins, and the Ziploc bag. But the best and most important thing I confirmed from the eye-straining, mind-draining, soul-enriching research was that I could do this—I could hike the PCT.

Hence, I began to physically prepare. I applied for the appropriate thru hiking permits then scrutinized, modified, and attained the necessary gear until designing the lightest, most durable, most effective way to pack. I climbed mountains after work; took day hikes on the weekends; and practiced self-arresting with my ice axe one morning after a fateful snow. When the weather warmed in March, I loaded my backpack, grabbed my trekking poles, and went on a 13-mile overnighter to the peaks and gullies of the Fiery Gizzard Trail. Though a short trip, it was a test trip, upon technical terrain, that fortified my confidence in my gear and myself.

I’m telling you this because we live in a society that shouts, “If what you’re doing doesn’t bring you instant gratification, then it’s not worth doing!” But here’s the truth: the things that offer instant gratification are the things that instantly perish. A cigarette burns to nothing with each buzz-filled drag. But the worthy endeavor requires profound preparation. And the rewards of the worthy endeavor last forever.

Therefore, preparation has been the science and art behind my effort to hike the PCT. It has been the rooted seed of final decision, providing me with sustainable answers to questions like: on the PCT will I use canister fuel or alcohol? Toothpaste or toothpowder? Trowel or trekking pole? Wet Wipes or TP? Will I carry 6 Liters of water in the desert or 8? Will I wear sunscreen or long sleeves? (Both.) Do I take a lightweight e-reader susceptible to water damage or a weighty paperback? (At least the paperback could be used as fire starter in an emergency. But the e-reader holds thousands of reads!) Cash or credit? Cell phone or satellite? (Both.) Cowboy camp or pitch a tent? Tennis shoes or hiking boots? Pack-towel or drip dry? Whiskey or wine?

Preparation is demanding. I wake earlier, go to bed later, and work my body out harder. I stretch my mind further to problem-solve potential on trail dilemmas. I trust my soul deeper that I’m doing the right thing by pursuing the PCT. On some days—the weary, sweaty, long drawn days—I wonder how my body will ever hold out on a 5-month walk through 100-degree desert, icy mountain passes, rushing rivers, and thousands of feral miles. But to think I subsist on physical health alone is illogical. For the human is three-in-one: body, mind, and soul. Thankfully, my preparation has whipped my tri-self into shape. Therefore, the days my legs can no longer lift my feet will be the days my mind (which is my knowhow and drive) and my soul (my guiding wind) will carry me through.

Yet, even with all of my preparations for the PCT, my upcoming path hisses with uncertainty. Preparation does not take the place of personal experience but gives beautiful birth to it. So I have peace, because what I’m about to face next month has been properly developed. Right now is the journey before the journey. A time of vital growth. The precursor to achievement. A worthy endeavor all its own.

* * *

Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:

http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks

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