Jurek - North: Finding My Way While Running the Appalachian Trail

A Year Earlier

No matter what direction I looked, I could see forever.

And out past the place where forever ended, beyond the hazy horizon where sky and earth commingled, I knew the desert kept going: more rolling mountains, more vast valleys, more everything. West meant the Pacific Ocean and my old stomping ground in the Cascade Mountains outside Seattle; east meant my childhood home, back in the woods of Minnesota and beyond. South was more desert, more sun, more sand, less water.

North, though, felt new again.

Deserts have always been a mystifying and spiritual landscape for me. I didnt set foot in a desert until I was twenty-two, and two decades later, deserts have retained their wonderful otherworldliness. I can see why many a spiritual seeker has chosen to walk through the desert for purification and reflection.

The still and barren Anza-Borrego Desert in Southern California could coax anyone toward enlightenment.

As I marveled at the measure of eternity, I realized it was possible that I wasnt feeling enlightenment so much as mild heat mania. It was ninety-five degrees and only getting hotter. Almost every other living thing had taken refuge either belowground or in whatever meager shade could be found. The only creatures out and about were two bipedal mammals hiding under portable shade, rhythmically striding along the trail. Many Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) thru-hikers take a break during the heat of the day, but we were short on time. We could get away from work and life for only a week, and we wanted to hike as much as possible.

Light and smooth was the name of our game. Quick, but easy. Desert hiking demands that you submit to paradoxes. You must move hastily through the sun and the heat, yet slowly enough to avoid producing too much heat of your own. You need to ration the water you haul on your back but not so much that you are burdened by its weight. Move too fast under the scorching sun and youll go through your water so quickly that youll wind up with dehydration and heatstroke. Carry too little water and youll shrivel up like a raisin, and the desert floor will swallow you whole. Out there, balance isnt just a beautiful idea; its necessary for survival.

It can also look silly. We were the wacky-looking ultralightweight hikerswhat Jenny calls outdorkywearing long-sleeved cotton shirts and hiding under umbrellas in the bone-dry heat. We were also carrying what could pass for daypacks, each filled with only twenty pounds of gear, food, and water. We had stripped down to the bare essentials so we could move efficiently, cover more miles, and enjoy them without being dragged down by huge packs. We had even left our camp stove at home. We rehydrated our meals while we hiked.

Id always dreamed of doing a long trail, of hiking for weeks and months on end with no specific schedule. Id walk all day, camp where I wanted, live in the moment, feel the flow of unrestricted movement. I felt an urge to live close to the land and forget what society thought was normal. To transcend like Thoreau and Muir, with the Christopher McCandless ideals from