June 4

750-774

Today was an ass kicker. Our goal was to get set up for the highest point on the PCT- Forester Pass. Forester pass is a foreboding wall of rock and ice with a tiny notch in it at 13,120 feet, for hikers to pass through. It holds snow very late in the season, and must be climbed early in the morning while the snow is firm, to allow the safest passage possible.

So, our plan is to camp as close to it as possible. There is a notoriously dangerous section right below the apex of the pass, where one must cross a 60 degree avalanche chute. The potential for a fall is very high, and the consequences of a fall in this location are dire. The slope is so steep, and the packed snow and ice so hard, that chances of arresting your fall with an ice axe are low. At best, you would require a helicopter ride out of the mountains.

Early in the day we officially pass into Sequoia and Kings Canyon national park, where bear can requirements kick in. Our packs ride uncomfortably with the 2.5 pound rigid can stuffed into our packs. At one point we pass by a small wooden gate with a sign stating “close this gate to protect wilderness.”

There is no fencing attached. You can easily walk around either side of the gate. We laugh, and see this as very symbolic of many government measures. It is protection theater. Conservation as a stated measure, with no teeth or reason attached.

In the early evening I see a 6’3”, broad shouldered man, with a massive pack, approaching us. He introduces himself as “Anvil.” We both pause for a moment as we look at each other, before erupting and laughter and hugging. I met Anvil 8 years prior on the Continental Divide trail, another Mexico to Canada route passing through New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming and Montana. He is a veteran from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Anvil began hiking through a program that helped combat veterans get on the national scenic trails as a way to transition back into civilian life. The program was in it’s early days back in 2016, and he was outfitted with the heaviest gear possible. When I met Anvil he was carrying a pack weighing 80 lbs, hence the name. He also carried a .45 and an axe. He has pared down his kit since then, though his pack is still almost double the size of ours. On his calf is a tattoo of a stick figure man with a giant Anvil on his back, to harken back to his early days on the trails. Regardless he crushes miles, frequently doing 30 mile days, and has been on a long distance trail every year since we first met.

We all camp together a few miles from Forester pass, in a massive, barren, plateau at 11,500 feet.

Over dinner we discuss geopolitics, stories from other trails, and folks in common that we know. We are joined by Ed, a Venezuelan immigrant living in San Francisco. He has one of the smallest packs we have seen on trail- he sleeps in a bivy sack – a waterproof envelope that encloses him in his sleeping bag. Anvil with his big pack, cooks a gourmet dinner, while Ed eats cold Parmesan cheese and a plain tortilla. They heckle each other over their different philosophies and we stay up until after the temperatures force us into our respective sleeping bags. I fall asleep worrying about the crossing of the avalanche chute we will face tomorrow. Feeling the weight of this stress, and having old worries and insecurities popping up, remind me of why I am out here. I am out here to battle against my worst instincts. I have done this before. Die before you die.