colleen stinchcombe

PCT Miles: 571.0 to 592.0

Miles: 21

I wake up really hungry and tired. But – hungry! I feel as if my stomach is better because my appetite is back and I’m pleased. I eat a muffin in my tent and get hiking. I take several breaks for mini naps and more food. I stop and eat salami and cheese and tortillas. Hunger! I’ve missed you! You beautiful thing!

My legs and body are feeling good and I feel like I’m on track to hit the mileage I want to do today so that I can reasonably get to Mark tomorrow – a 23 mile day to see him.

I get to the water source and make myself macaroni and cheese and take a nap and by 3:10 I’m hiking the last 10 miles to camp. But then I start to feel nauseated. Not cramping, nauseated. Fuck fuck fuck.

I hike and hike and hike and unclip my hip belt and listen to podcasts and try to breathe and I keep imagining myself throwing up off the side of this mountain. Fuck you Leave No Trace, I am thinking. I will not dig a cathole for my own barf. I keep near-crying but I am too tired and nauseated and dehydrated to get very far. I take a pepto bismol which does next to nothing.

It takes me forever, but I make it to camp. I try to set up my tent from a seated position. Rawhide gives me an anti-nausea pill and I crawl into my tent and try to fall asleep. How am I going to hike 23 miles tomorrow? How? How?

At midnight I wake up from fever dreams about being rescued and send Mark a message from my InReach. I don’t think I can hike tomorrow. There’s a dirt road .1 miles ahead that someone did trail magic on a month ago – maybe you can call the forest service ranger and see if it’s passable? Maybe you can call them and they can come get me?

I fall back asleep. I am glad I have brought too much water. I am glad I am near the shade. I am glad that I can text even with no cell service, so that I don’t feel totally alone out here on this mountain.