✨Teaser✨⁣ ⁣ 🎬 Hike the Divide: A Conversation about Climate Action on the Continental Divide Trail ⁣🎥⁣ ⁣⁣ I've been trying to upload this to IGTV all day, don't know what's going on. Anyway, here's a little taste of the film! Come on out to the first look screening tomorrow (!!!) - link in bio. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ #hikethedivide #climateaction #continentaldividetrail #film #documentary #ourtimetorise #keepitintheground #climatebreakdown #independent #adventure #thruhike #journey #storytelling

in ONE WEEK I'll be sharing this brainchild with an audience for the first time. A little scary, super exciting! ⁣ ⁣ This first look screening will be at Central Lutheran Church in NE Portland next Wednesday night, the 17th. It's a free event! ⁣ ⁣ I've been working on this film with the help of @cassgoodluck and @bravealice for the past 2.5 years 😱 and it's a bit surreal to be wrapping it up! ⁣ ⁣ Stay tuned for the finer details and a link to get your free ticket to make sure you get a seat. There'll be a Q+A and opportunity to give feedback. ⁣ ⁣ #hikethedivide⁣ #climateaction⁣ #continentaldividetrail #film #independent #screening #documentary #embracethebrutality #keepitintheground #ourtimetorise #thruhike #storytelling #peopleoverprofit #adventure #activism #conservation #grassroots #nvda #portland #pdx

Birthday this year vs Birthday on the CDT (6/29/16). I was hoping to host my first screening of the documentary on June 28th, to celebrate my Trailiversary, and then skip out on a bday backpacking trip. Well, I managed the latter part, but hey a couple weeks off ain't bad...⁣ ⁣ That's right! If you'll be in Portland you can come be part of the first audience to see Hike the Divide: A Conversation about Climate Action on the Continental Divide Trail on Wednesday night July 17th ! I'll be sharing more details in the coming days. ⁣ ⁣ That Modelo in the second pic was a gift from Crosby, a PNT hiker and Triple Crowner we camped with on the first night of the CDT in Glacier. He had packed it out to celebrate the start of a new thru hike but when he found out it was my birthday, he insisted I take it. Hikertrash, I tell ya. ⁣ ⁣ #hikethedivide #continentaldividetrail #climateaction #documentary #independent #film #ourtimetorise #keepitintheground #choosemountains #thruhike #cdt #backpacking #optoutside #domorewithless #wyeast #mthood #pnwonderland

June 28th was my CDT trailiversary. 3 years since this project became a reality. Figure it’s a good chance to reflect.⁣ ⁣ For the most part, I accomplished my goals. I’ve learned so much since the hike, since I conducted the interviews, that it’s hard not to focus on the shortcomings. A large portion of them stemmed from logistical difficulties combined organizational & time management flops on my part, but there were also many people who never responded to any of my communications. I don’t blame them. What entitled me to their time, their voices? Just some white kid conducting an independent, ill-defined media project with no crew & hardly any funding - what did I have to offer in exchange? The nature of the project left no room to do any more than drop in, record stories, & continue hiking with naught but the vague promise of sharing those stories to a projected audience. Regardless of intention, I can see how such a model is flawed. All the same, many amazing humans met with me & shared their hearts. ⁣ ⁣ When I started prepping, I felt there was a serious chance Bernie Sanders would be our next president. Even after the DNC debacle, I, like most of us, figured Clinton had it locked up. The context of climate action changed considerably overnight while I was cluelessly trudging through the ice-cold Gila River, 2 weeks from the border. As things in the foreground have gotten more nightmarish, the climate crisis bears down on us in the background, encroaching more and more on our daily lives, like the moon from Majora’s Mask. It’s been challenging to grapple with that reality while trying to craft a narrative of hope and agency.⁣ ⁣ Anyway, here’s the long & short: Over the past 2 years, with tons of help, I’ve whittled out an 80-min film from those many hours of footage. It’s not going to win an Oscar, but it is an honest film that I am proud of, & I look forward to sharing it with y’all. If you’re in PDX, you may be able to see it NEXT WEEK! Stay tuned!

I got my shit together, more or less. I made it to the Northern Terminus and linked up with some old friends and a few new ones. I conducted my first interview 9 days into the hike. After that, it became a bit of a logistical nightmare. Since Don couldn’t be my support crew, I decided I would repeatedly mail my laptop to myself in what we call a Bounce Box, sending it to towns I would reach a week or two later. This was costly and inconvenient, but I didn’t have much choice.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Of the resupply points on the CDT that even have a post office, many are tiny towns where the PO has very limited hours. Sometimes I’d reach a town on a Saturday morning, and the PO would close at noon and not reopen til Tuesday. I didn’t have the time or budget to be hanging around towns for three days, so on many occasions I had to hike through the night in attempt to pick up my box as soon as the PO opened, upload my footage, write and publish a blog post, and get the box sealed back up and mailed out by noon. This plan was foiled more than once by having no luck hitch hiking into town in time after walking through the night.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I shot everything on my own with a Sony RX100, a ZoomHD mic, and a mount called TrailPix that clamps onto your trekking poles and a tentpole to form a tripod. Of course, I was conducting the interviews too, engaged in conversation, not diligently watching the screen to make sure everything remained properly in-frame.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ The workflow of trying to direct and give feedback when I could only talk once a week at best was just absurd. A lot of hikers today seem to have internet access all the damn time, but I have Sprint, which is useless out there, and my phone wouldn’t accept a charge from my solar panel or batt pack. So Kristen and I decided we’d just hold off and put out video content after I finished the hike, which felt a bit like failing, but was also a huge relief. When it was all over I had 26 hours of interview footage and god knows how much B roll.

A few months before the hike I had two momentous encounters. First, I met the woman I love, my partner Laura. “Just so you know, I’m leaving in 5 months to hike 3000 miles & probably won’t be coming back to Portland, so don’t expect anything too serious.” Welp, that attitude didn’t last. I spent a lot more time getting to know her than preparing for the hike & the project. I don’t regret a moment of it.⁣ ⁣ Second, I met Kristen Mico of @bravealice prod. We met for coffee & I told her I needed a point-person to transform my raw footage into digestible video updates while I hiked. We talked out some cool ideas for the project, & about budgeting. I was uncomfortable incorporating anyone else’s money into the project, but this seemed worthwhile. I put together a GoFundMe with a video my friend @unlimited.time.only made with me, & by the time I started hiking we’d raised about $4k, almost exclusively from friends & family. (Thanks a million, y’all)⁣ ⁣ Memorial Day weekend rolled around, & reality began to set in. I packed up my life & went to stay with my parents for a few weeks. I had a month left to prepare, & I was nowhere near ready. That’s about the time Don Creosote called me. He was going to be my support team, driving along the CDT, hiking with me when he could, toting my filming kit & computer, grabbing my resupply boxes, driving me to interviews & helping me shoot them. He told me he hadn’t been accepted to the grad program he was hoping to attend, & would have to hang back, publish research and try to boost his test scores. It worked out better for him in the long run, but it was definitely a bummer to lose his company and his help.⁣ ⁣ At this point I’m doing what I can to not acknowledge the building sense of panic in my gut so that I can dehydrate, compile, & package 5 months of resupply boxes to mail off to town stops; configure my resupply plan; set up interviews all across the Rockies; dial my gear; teach myself map & compass nav; practice with my camera; manage my blog & IG; eat all the things. Oh, the starry eyed naivety of a young white man. Easy to laugh at myself now, how little I knew, how much more I bit off than I could chew... (tbc)

I talked to a family friend who wrote and directed the film Climate Refugees, and who had lots of insight for me, including the recommendation of naming the project something short and quippy that would stick in people’s minds. I landed on the name “Hike the Divide” with the much clunkier subtitle: “A Conversation about Climate Action on the Continental Divide Trail.”⁣ ⁣ I decided I would spurn any kind of sponsorship. I had considered trying to partner with major publications and even Patagonia to boost the reach of my content, but I felt like remaining independent would preserve the integrity and honesty of the project, especially in the eyes of potential interviewees. I decided that I would forego any compensation for the work for that same reason. I decided I’d evolve from vegetarian to full vegan for the hike, and that I would use gear that I either already owned, borrowed from friends, or bought used in attempt to pre-empt the tired old charge of hypocrisy: “your gear is made from petroleum!” (alas: my shirt I bought brand new, along with my socks and my food bag. I ate pizza with cheese on it in town sometimes) ⁣ I bought Yogi’s book and Jonathan Ley’s maps – shout out to J-Ley for keeping me alive. I started researching communities engaged in campaigns to push back against the fossil fuel industry, especially examples of indigenous leadership like in the case of the Northern Cheyenne in eastern Montana. I talked to pretty much everyone I knew about my plans, in hopes that doing so would chisel away the rough edges and leave me with a clear path forward. I made a website, & had a friend from college design a beautiful logo for me.⁣ ⁣ I had already stirred up a modest amount of interest, and I didn’t want the project to be forgotten by my small, nascent audience while I was out slogging the myriad terrains of the Rockies. "It’s 2016", I thought, "Instagram alone isn’t enough. I had better incorporate a video component.” I had no formal training or experience with videography, but it was 2016! Got a GoPro or a smart phone? You can create content. Of course, I had no experience editing video either. Stop me when you smell a miscalculation… (to be continued)

The Continental Divide Trail. I figured I could hike it, but along the way, visit communities to find stories that would help shift the climate narrative from doom and gloom to one that activates people: stories of victory over the fossil fuel industry and progress towards a livable future. I would interview people, keep a blog with photo and video components, and then write a book after finishing the Trail. Great plan! That’s… not how it went down, but more on that later.⁣ ⁣ I imagine no one needs me to point out that I’m a very privileged person, but it took me a while to wake up to that reality, as it’s the water I’ve always swum in and it's been positively reinforced my whole life. Once I became aware of it, I began to suspect that I had a lifelong journey of healing and unlearning before me, with many unconscious biases and blind spots to clear up.⁣ ⁣ Thanks to the courage and hard work of others, mostly women and non-binary BIPOC, I learned about the (ongoing) history of racism and patriarchy within environmentalism. Obviously if the paradigm of white male leadership were effective and wholesome, we wouldn’t still be fighting these same fights. I realized that my voice, my ideas, my lived experience, could not lead us collectively to climate justice, as I’m still entangled in and benefitting from the systems that perpetuate injustice. So what should my role be?⁣ ⁣ Well, by merit of fitting the norms, by looking and sounding like someone who would fit right into the non-profit industrial leadership model, or the outdoor rec industry, I have some access to those spaces. My voice is *overvalued* in those spaces. It’s familiar, “safe.” So maybe I can use that access to build a platform, however small, from which I can pass the mic to voices that are deliberately ignored by those with power and resources.⁣ ⁣ I was aware that it would be imperfect, that I would likely fuck up in various ways. I had and still have anxiety about causing harm despite my intentions. I expected that I’d get in my own way, center myself more than intended, make people (including myself) uncomfortable… but it felt worth the discomfort to try... (to be continued)

(cont.) before I knew it I was obsessed with climate communication - word choice, framing, different types of reasoning and the demographics each is effective for, etc. I read a book by George Marshall called “Don’t Even Think About It: Why Our Brains are Wired to Ignore Climate Change” that only solidified my conviction that we need to change the narrative around the climate crisis. I started to think about where I might best plug in to do that work.⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ I considered applying for an editorial fellowship at Grist, a non-profit media org focused on climate. I thought about starting my own site focusing on stories of “wins” against the fossil fuel industry and the extractive mindset, examples of resistance, and people envisioning a fossil-free future. These both seemed like attractive and meaningful ways to engage, but there was one problem: I was desperate to get back on Trail.⁣⁣⁣ ⁣ Back when I first decided to hike the PCT, it was a given that I’d write a book about my experience. I was wrapping up a degree in creative writing and it seemed a good way to establish myself as a writer. That idea didn’t last. There are dozens of thru-hike narratives -- most of them your typical conquest-y White Person vs Nature type stories -- and I had no desire to contribute to that. I did want to write again, though.⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ Hiking a long trail takes a lot of privilege. Having the kind of security it takes to step away from the work of shaping and advocating for climate justice does too. I like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t look away from climate breakdown and the socio-econmic factors entangled with it, and it doesn’t escape me that my mountains of privilege will almost certainly ensure that when shit starts to really hit the fan, I’ll be holding an umbrella. I wondered: is there a way to leverage that privilege while still getting to plod 25 miles up and down mountains all day?⁣ Then an idea came to me... 💡(to be continued)

Circling back – I want to sit for a minute with my experience at sHellNo! Yes, my involvement had ego wrapped up in it (as has my retelling of the events) but the point I want to make is that for probably the first time in my life, ego and self-interest weren’t the primary motivators. This was my first brush with solidarity. It reminded me of the camaraderie I experienced on Trail, but it was more expansive, of a higher order.⁣ ⁣ All our lives we are told the story of human ascendancy: We are the recipients of the world. It was made for us and we have adapted in ways to exert our mastery over it. If we could just master it a little bit more, it could be paradise; this is our destiny. All 14 billion years of the infinitely expanding universe, or at least all 4.5 billion years of life on earth, have been leading up to this: our coming of age, our mastery over and thus independence from the “natural world.” Even now, knowing what we do about climate breakdown and ecological collapse, about colonization and exploitation, the story reads: if we could just innovate a little further we could salvage our work, minimize the costs of progress. This narrative is the water we swim in. It is ambient noise to us.⁣ ⁣ Thru hiking was like pulling my head out of the River Lethe for a hot second to remember we are each as much our bodies as we are our spirits; that everyone, everything has a life to its own; we are no more alone in the world of subjective experience than we are in the community of life; that we share with everyone, everything, the same air, water, and earth but also light and place and story.⁣ ⁣ Many thru hikers have similar epiphanies. Marry that commonality to the system of mutual aid that results from having a shared goal and struggle, and you get a form of community that, compared to the societal norms of nuclear families and every-person-for-their-self, feels special, exceptional.⁣ ⁣ Still, standing up to the fossil fuel industry was something more. The people I joined on the Willamette didn’t just share my values and convictions; they were enacting them. They were quite literally embodying their values, risking their own safety...***continued in comments***

5 years! I know I just dragged y'all down this whole PCT memory lane but I'm a sucker for trailiversaries. Left: first day on Trail; Right: final day.⁣ ⁣ 5 years ago, by hiking the first mile of the PCT, I completed a rite of passage. It was not just the beginning of the Trail but the start of a much longer, more abstract journey toward the person I'm always working to become. That work has at times looked like immersion in the more than human world, practicing active listening, unlearning a whole mountain of toxic shit, re-learning how to healthily engage with my emotions, showing up and contributing my voice, time and energy. ⁣ Often it feels like I, along with our culture at large, have barely made any progress. But I think back to the kid I was when I clambered up the southern terminus monument: naive, overconfident, entitled and ignorant to the irony of hiking through la frontera for sport while so many folks walk that desert in hopes of a secure life at risk of death, incarceration, and having their families torn apart (meanwhile I received an outpouring of support, and the humans seeking refuge are demonized). I feel a twinge of shame for the person I was, but then I realize how much I've grown since. ⁣ ⁣ Here's hoping that trend not only continues but accelerates. ⁣ ⁣ #pacificcresttrail #pctig #hikethedivide #growth #trailiversary

It wasn’t long before Shell’s hired muscle, a private security boat, came alongside us. Their hull bumped us, causing our kayak to rock violently from side to side, dipping the cockpit below their wake. We took on water fast and were in the river within seconds. My friend Lakes, who was on the Safety Team, decked out in orange and black striped flags, came to assist us. The police decided that rather than pull us from the river or allow our safety team officer to help us, they would detain her. Protect and serve, right? Only after they ripped Lakes from her kayak did a Multnomah Co. sheriff boat pull up to us. I climbed onto their swim platform, feeling I’d been rendered useless. ⁣ ⁣ I watched from the stern as the Fennica slid slowly through the gap left by the removal of 4 or 5 climbers. It was a devastating moment. Once the ship passed the confluence with the Columbia, the cops dropped us off at the boat ramp without even taking down our information.⁣ ⁣ Still, we delayed the ship for a few days, costing Shell millions. We rose hell, drawing a huge media response. Public opinion shifted, and eventually, over a year later, Obama enacted a ban on Arctic Drilling (which, struck down by Trump, has been reinstated by a judge).⁣ ⁣ We celebrated the successes of our peaceful insurgency, but I was struck with disillusionment. I started to understand the scope of this project of building a better world, and the reality that it must be simultaneously pursued on an overwhelming number of fronts. We could have sunk that ship and not have been any closer to transitioning off fossil fuels. The thing is, these realizations, though sobering, were not discouraging; in fact, quite the opposite. Those 4 days of shared risk, shared commitment, empathy, unified vision and solidarity built a bonfire of the embers I’d been frantically stoking ever since I left the PCT.⁣ ⁣ I started to wonder whether things would be different if we told more stories like this: stories of agency and action, human stories, rather than sterile scientific forecasts and accounts of impending doom. Surely more people would wake up and get involved if only they knew this is what it could feel like...

The next few days were a whirlwind. On the morning of the 30th I got the text blast: CODE RED - the Fennica was approaching the bridge. I didn’t think I had time to bike, so I hopped in my car and flew down Lombard to the riverfront. I got back into the double with Chris. We formed up and stood strong, chanting and singing. The ship came within about fifty yards of us, then returned to dock. I assumed we were safe for the day, so I elected to go into work that afternoon as scheduled.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Little did we know, the “standoff" was simply a move to prompt an Alaskan judge to grant an injunction against the climbers. Twenty minutes before my shift, I called in and told my manager I couldn’t make it. Back to Cathedral, where police lights swarmed in all directions. All available watercraft were already on the river, but I found a spot with an indigenous anarchist in a double kayak covered with Sea Shepherd logos.⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣ It was a shitshow. If I had a dollar for every time I heard the phrase “like herding cats,” I think I could fund one of Tesla’s Gigafactories. One particularly badass Portlander locked their neck to the railroad bridge with a U-lock to buy us some more time. ⁣ ⁣ Meanwhile, the crowd on the banks had grown to immense size. There were Coast Guard, Portland PD, Troutdale PD, Portland Fire and both Multnomah and Clackamas County Sheriffs’ boats and jet skis on the river, all motoring around at breakneck speeds, creating an extremely unsafe environment. The Coast Guard jet skis were easily the worst, trying to swamp people’s watercraft by gunning their engines to kick up wake. One kayaker got plowed over by a fire boat, miraculously unharmed.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ There was no way to organize such an emergent mass of people. No chance of strategic formation now. Those with higher risk levels were left isolated in open water, many getting hooked and pulled onto the cop boats as others were corralled toward the shore. Meanwhile a crew worked to remove the climbers most directly blocking the shipping channel. As the Fennica neared, it became clear we’d been out maneuvered. As a last ditch, my kayak partner and I joined the charge out into the ship’s path… *to be continued*

“What’s going on?” I ask.⁣ ⁣ “They’re deploying,” someone says.⁣ ⁣ I nod, not knowing what they mean. I’m not sure if anyone at this point realizes exactly what is going on. Eventually it’s clear there’s more than banners in the beams of flashlights in midair beneath the bridge - someone was rappelling down. Over the next few minutes, more headlamps flash in the darkened space above the river. Everyone cheers. The police are already on the bridge. We get the signal and take to the boats.⁣ ⁣ Chris and I, in an inflatable kayak he purchased specifically for this occasion, are among the first in the water. We paddle out with pride toward the bridge, waiting to see if anyone on the safety team is coming by to give us instructions. The air is charged, electric. Nerves, of course, but they’re overruled by excitement. One of the protectors who had been in Seattle for the blockade of the Polar Pioneer says, “Fuck this doomsday project. In many ways, we’re the last line of defense.”⁣ ⁣ As we drift upriver toward the bridge, ready to act as the front line of the flotilla, I look up at the lights dangling from the bridge: 14 brave souls from Greenpeace. Not even our organizers knew they were coming. We cheer for them, to them. They cheer in response. I look around at this manifestation of Blockadia; I see people of all backgrounds coming together in solidarity for the latest chapter of this Davids vs Goliath Inc. struggle for our future. I see college students and grandparents; hardened activists and 1st-time demonstrators; "environmentalists" and those who simply want to protect what they love. I see members of my community willingly risking arrest, some of whom have never been in a boat before. I see a movement. I’ve never felt more empowered. I feel tears well in my eyes as I join the chants:⁣ ⁣ “Portland says:”⁣ “sHell No!”⁣ "Seattle said:”⁣ “sHell No!”⁣ “Alaska said:”⁣ “sHell No!”⁣ “The Duwamish said:”⁣ “sHell No!”⁣ ⁣ ⁣ The Reds were going to raft up in the shipping channel, arrange our bows in a star formation, chain our boats together, and drop anchor. In this moment, there was no need. The Fennica wouldn’t be going anywhere with the climbers in place. *tbc*

7.28.15 | I got word that the M.S.V. Fennica, a Finnish icebreaking ship leased to Royal Dutch Shell to clear the way for the gargantuan Polar Pioneer to drill for oil in the unforgiving Chukchi Sea of Arctic Alaska, was in town for crucial repairs. The drilling op, for which the Obama administration estimated a 75% chance of a spill over 5 years, could not commence without it. I biked up to Cathedral Park where local organizers, mostly women & non-binary folks, had rustled up a fleet of kayaks & a ragtag assembly of people who did not want to see that ship leave the city. 350PDX & Rising Tide had kayak rescue and know-your-rights trainings for us and people brought immense quantities of food – mostly local produce donated by farmers & Food Not Bombs.⁣ ⁣ At 2 am we’re all drinking coffee. I’ve given up on trying to squeeze in a power nap. As reggae plays for what seems like the 600th straight hour we begin preparing to launch. Most of us have been here since noon. A lot of older folks, retirees. Lots of millennials.⁣ ⁣ A woman drops down two packages of Depends – one pack “Men’s”, one pack “Women’s.”⁣ ⁣ “Reds get first choice,” she says.⁣ ⁣ My new friend Chris and I are in the Red group: those willing to assume the highest risk of arrest. There are eleven of us. An organizer named Carlo equips us with a few clever but peaceful tricks to delay the Fennica's departure. We have bolstered ourselves. We have been given a crash course on civil disobedience. We have been briefed on hypothetical outcomes based on previous experience and legal advice from an attorney on standby for this exact purpose – one we are assured is, “one of the most badass lawyers this side of the country.” Hell, we’ve been given adult diapers – we’re in for the long haul, almost definitely some citations and fines, likely some jail time.⁣ ⁣ I laugh and grab one of the diapers. I turn to Chris and say, “When else will the opportunity arise?” Which reminds me to take preemptive action. When I get back from the porta-john, everyone is looking up at the St Johns Bridge... ⁣*to be continued* 📍traditional land of chinook peoples, tualatin kalapuya, mollala and more

I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself a bit. I went back to the PCT in May to hike a section around Etna, CA that had been closed due to fire. I hiked some stretches I had already completed, too. My friend Pan joined me from Ashland to Etna - we got rained on all but one day. The Marble Mountains and Russian Wilderness were mostly hidden by clouds. It was odd to be hiking southbound, and to not be striving for any finish line. Freeing, in a way.⁣ ⁣ After a night in the home of new friends in Scott's Valley, Pan and her dad dropped me back off at Etna summit and drove back to Ashland. I got my first real taste of solitude. The trip took on a different dimension; rather than challenge, it was medicine. I carried the intentions of finding clarity, shedding that which no longer served me, choosing direction. I interbreathed with the wildflowers and the chipmunks. I saw more bears than I had the entire way from Campo to Manning Park. ⁣I read Whitman's Song of Myself three times through. ⁣ In mid June, I sat at the Greyhound platform in Redding, dirty, sunburned and exhausted, waiting for the already 14 hours late Starlight Express. I hadn't had any epiphanies, but I felt restored. It was clearer than ever that the life I'd slapped together in Portland was not meeting my needs, but also that staying in the mountains forever wouldn't fulfill them either. ⁣ ⁣ I went back to the grocery store, since I just burned through all the money I had saved up. I tried to see it as a means of funding my activism. I had an unshakable sense of being on the cusp of something big. That's why I didn't think twice when I caught wind of what was going down in the record-breaking heat of that late July day... *to be continued* ⁣ #hikethedivide #pctIG #pacificcresttrail #shutitdown #keepitintheground #adventure #choosemountains #climateaction #documentary #optoutside #backpacking #thruhike #sectionhike

PCT 2014 | A week or two passed. I moved all my stuff from a storage unit into a UHaul with my mom’s help. We drove from LA to Portland and I moved into a house with some of my best friends. I visited the PCT at Ramona Falls almost immediately. I was excited to be in the city I’d been planning on living in for so long, to be with my friends, to build new community, to start a new chapter of my life. I felt energized to work towards a future without climate breakdown.⁣ ⁣ It didn’t last. The city overwhelmed me, the space of every second filled with the sounds of artifice. Light pollution stole the sky. I struggled to relate to people. Everyone I met was interested in my thru-hike, but only on a surface level. I’d be introduced: “This is Connor, he just hiked the PCT.” They’d say, “Wow! How was it?” No one really wanted to hear about it, not even those close to me. I get it. How can you communicate a paradigm shifting, half-year long, highly specific experience to someone who didn’t share that experience, let alone in the space of a 5-minute chat?⁣ ⁣ I felt the authentic self I had found on Trail slipping away more each day. I was slowly reverting to the person I’d been before. My tan lines faded, my trail stank wore off, my toenails grew back. I shaved my beard, eventually. I spent a lot of time in bed feeling empty. My body wanted to keep walking but I had nowhere to go. I took a job at a local grocery store and languished under the halogen lights and the weight of countless customer service micro-interactions, but hey, I was making rent.⁣ ⁣ I reconnected with other hikers in PDX, most of whom could relate to what I was going through, but we were all already back on the yoke of civilization, unable to support each other amidst the constant pressures to “produce,” to “contribute,” to sell our labor and be good consumers or go hungry. To participate in the mechanisms of ecocide and oppression and keep quiet about it.⁣ ⁣ It kept on this way for a long time, my depression deepening, until one magically chaotic day in July of 2015… *to be continued*⁣ ⁣ 📍traditional lands of the Chinook peoples, the Atfalati (Tualatin) Kalapuya, Molalla and many more

PCT 2014 | In the morning we all grabbed breakfast together. Don and I bought some beer, hit the hot tub, did laundry. I retired my Lone Peaks and for the first time truly appreciated the degree to which I had destroyed them. I didn’t throw them away though; I just wrapped them in a plastic bag and jammed them into my pack. If you haven’t already figured out, I’m a highly nostalgic person. My two most common moods are probably “wistful” and “pensive.” I had no idea what I’d do with my disintegrating shoes, but at this point I was resolutely confident that I would never undertake another thru-hike (lol) so I took ‘em home as a memento. In the early afternoon a group of us shuffled out to the highway to hitch a ride to Vancouver. Don and I had flights to catch the following day. We stood there for about an hour and a half before everyone else gave up – two other hikers were getting married there at the resort the next day and had invited any hikertrash to join in the celebration, which admittedly sounded better than standing on the shoulder of the highway. We said our goodbyes. Not ten minutes later, someone picked me and Don up. It was a two-hour ride to Surrey, BC, where we’d catch the Sky Tram into Vancouver proper. Our driver didn’t seem all too interested in the fact we’d just hiked over 2600 miles, and I was happy to just sit in silence watching the boreal forest blur by. The Sky Tram was packed with people, and with my rank and tattered pack I felt very visible and uncomfortable. Don’s dad was kind enough to book us a hotel room near the airport. We ate pizza and watched Chopped Jr. from our beds. I’d been looking forward to slothing around for so long. “Once it’s over I’m not going to do shit for at least a week,” I’d tell people, “just eat everything, read a few books, watch Netflix.” This was already losing its appeal. A mere 24 hours back in the “real world” and the novelty had already worn off. One of the first things I missed, admittedly, was being able to pee wherever, whenever. The finality was sinking in; moreso than "I did it," I felt: "it ended." 📍Syilx (Okanagan) and Nlaku'pamux land #hikethedivide #PCTig #thruhike #pacificcresttrail

PCT 2014 | Don and I were the last to leave the monument, a little after seven. The sun was down and light was fading quick. One more night hike. Seemed fitting. The 24 miles to the monument that day felt like the quickest of the entire hike; the nine to Manning seemed to be the longest. At first it was surreal – we’re... in Canada. After 5 months, we're... here now – but soon it was just tiresome. The trail wasn’t nearly as well maintained as the section from Rainy Pass to the border - which the North 350 Blades keep in impeccable shape - it was dark, and we were fighting the effects of all the celebratory libations other hikers had shared with us.⁣ ⁣ I felt, well, neutral. On the one hand, relieved to be finished. My body was wasted and the wet&cold had been eating at me. But I felt like I was about to lose so much of what I loved. I still thought Yo-Yo hikers were nuts, but for the first time I sort of understood the desire. ⁣ ⁣ Eventually the trail meets a road. There is signage for Manning Park Provincial Park. The skies were clear as an alpine lake and the stars bright and uncountable. As we strode up the resort, we ran into our friends leaving the restaurant. The kitchen had closed just before they arrived, and all they were able to get was soda. Crushing. Still, I laughed, realizing I was rapidly running out of chances to say “I walked here from Mexico, dammit!”⁣ ⁣ We piled into a hotel room, nine of us, missing only SOGO and Juliangelo. The receptionist gave us little cards that read “Congratulations! Now that you’ve made it Enjoy a free drink on us! Just take this voucher over to the Pinewoods Restaurant or Bear’s Den Pub for your complimentary drink.” I bought every bag of chips they had at the front desk, including all-dressed potato chips, which smuggleslightheart had been talking about since I met him. My first time in Canada, after all.⁣ ⁣ I took a steaming hot shower and laid out some couch cushions on the ground to sleep on. It struck me that my last night sleeping on Trail had passed, but I was too tired to sit with that reality and conked out for a solid ten hours. ⁣ ⁣ 📍Syilx (Okanagan) and Nlaku'pamux land #hikethedivide #PCTig

PCT 2014 | Then suddenly it was just… there. I wouldn’t have recognized it as a national border from a photo, just a treeless corridor following the curve of the mountainside, extending out beyond sight. As if by gashing a line into the forest they could separate the forest, create something with an absence. The trees hold each other’s roots beneath the divide.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ ⁣ It’s a lot to grapple with. The culmination of a long-held goal. The sense of something impending. A bracing. A decline. An ultimatum chosen.⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ As I stood there taking in the final vista, I was startled by an eruption of applause, hoots, and howls. A split second of quiet and a primal yell. It happened again maybe 2 minutes later. I had imagined a private moment at the end, or maybe finishing in step with Don as we had started back in Campo, but it felt right to have my comrades, my pilgrim peers, my filthy fellow hikertrash there to cheer for one another, to celebrate our shared accomplishment, our imminent death.⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ It felt like time slowed down as I turned the last corner. I’d been anticipating this moment for months: would I run to the finish? Would I cry? Fall to my knees?⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ I tried my best to take in all my surroundings, to walk with my head up and take smooth, intentional steps. I breathed deeply. I raised my poles above my head as I entered the clearing and let out a cry of joy in concert with my friends’ cheers. I set down my pack. I think I might have kissed the obelisk. Don was just a couple minutes behind. ⁣⁣⁣ ⁣ After some celebration and a naked group photo (tradition!) I slung the guitar strap over my shoulder and clasped my capo on the 4th fret. SOGO asked if he could film me, I assented. Rocket Llama took a little toy gorilla she’d carried for thousands of miles out of her pack and slid it into my breast pocket.⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ “I wasn’t planning on playing this song, but I don’t have a 5th string, so, yeah. This song has played a weird role in my life, and I guess it’s in honor of the person I used to be and how I’ve changed since Campo.”⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣ 🎵My baby don’t mess around, because she loves me so...⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣ 📍Syilx (Okanagan) & Nlaku'pamux land