I am 2,000ft into a long, gradual climb, and I want to give up. I am barely halfway. I have eaten nothing but processed junk for days. The relentless 2pm desert sun refuses to let my grimy, dehydrated body catch a break. Somehow the five liters of water I started the day with, supposed to last until tonight, have almost entirely disappeared. Views of beautiful but barren canyons and mountains stretch on for miles. Switchbacks continue on into infinity. I don't want to think about what happens if I stop and run out of water.

This is life in the desert on the PCT.

On Saturday April 25th, I signed the register at the southern border, flashed my permit to the authorities, said goodbye to my dad, and started northward. By midday people were dropping like flies in the heat. I had planned to do only 17 miles, but on a whim continued on, and was luck enough to experience my first “trail magic” at mile 20. This is when volunteers spontaneously bless hikers with free food, drinks, or other gifts of time or service. "Pinhead", named for the dozens of hike-commemorating pins in his hat, a grizzled but jovial veteran hiker probably in his 70s, served us burgers fresh off the grill and a giant salad for dinner. For free! I could barely believe it.

Day two I woke up fairly sodden due to a poorly executed tarp pitch blowing around in the storm overnight. I hiked wet all day, once stopping to wash my socks at a faucet before realizing how futile that would be in the mud. Wind eventually replaced rain, and I began to see hints of pine forest in the distance. By late afternoon I had climbed 6,000ft Mt. Laguna, and the altitude brought colder temperatures. An enchanting forest full of vanilla-scented sugar pines and chipmunks, I would have guessed myself to be somewhere north of Yosemite, certainly not in San Diego County. Three other hikers and I decided to group up in a campsite, and I sprinted to the montaintop's only open establishment to get french fries to share 5 minutes before closing. Despite 20F windchill that night, I stayed warm and dry and slept well.

The next morning, the wind was even worse. I ran into my second trail magic (this time snacks and drinks) from a couple who had hiked the trail last year. Then I ran into them later the same day further up the trail. Even with the rain, every “seasonal creek" on the map I pass is bone dry. I descend back into the desert and with clearer weather, cowboy camped (ie slept in the open under the stars) for the first time this trip, amongst yucca and cacti.

On day 4 I make a quick stop in the small town of Julian to buy some gaiters to keep debris out of my shoes. I take a much-needed $5 shower at a trailer park ran by a cult, though I find out the latter fact only many miles later. A hiking gear shop in town has a service where you can call and get a free ride anywhere in the area, so long as you are happy to cram in a van with a dozen other hikers along the way. Our driver, a man in his 50s with the vitality of a teenager, cracks jokes and gives me some sage advice about “hiking my own hike” and finding my people. The whole area here looks like the movie set of an old Hollywood western. I end the day camping with another fast hiker from Maine who has hiked extensively Wyoming where she worked a a field biologist. I write down her advice about backpacking in the Wind River Range and we commiserate about making friends every day but having to leave them behind so quickly.

Day 5, without any real reason, I decide to hike my first 30 mile day into the even smaller town of Warner Springs. This marks the end of CA section A, and beginning of CA section B. Things only get interesting after I pass mile marker 100 and head into oak forests and rolling golden hills, the landscape of my childhood. Feeling strangely nostalgic, I arrive with time to spare before the post office closes at 4pm, and spend some time in the Warner Springs community center, a hiker mecca wher we can charge phones, do bucket "laundry", and hose down, all for free. The opulence. My standards have been reset so low that finding cold drinkable running water out of a tap felt as luxurious as if it had been expensive champagne.

Day 6, another terribly long water carry. Have I mentioned the water yet? Your entire life out here revolves around water. How much you can afford to use. How disgusting and green and/of brown it is. Where it can be found next. With about a liter per 5 miles needed even for a fast hiker, the burden can become unbearable fast. In some places, generous volunteers cache hundreds of gallons in bottles, but those caches cannot be safely relied on. You never really know how much if any will be left. They are however always appreciated. I do the arduous 4,000ft climb to somewhere called Mike's place where I find 30 or so hikers milling around a table of free food and beer, and more importantly, a giant water tower I fill up at. Mike is not home, so I group up with three other hikers to walk a couple more miles as the sun goes down.

Day 7, I wake up early, excited. If things hold up I will be in Idyllwild later today, where I will take my first full rest day. Everything goes right, from finding a couple great additions to our conversation, following a sign to a detour to the DeBenedetti's, another local's property where we are served delicious root beer, a break in the shade, and stories from a generous and exquisitely peaceful man with a beautiful baritone voice. Zen master of the trailer park. In my previous 8 years among the moneyed urban elite I have not met a single person 1/1000th as content and happy as this man. It's contagious, and we are all in excellent spirits as we descend to Paradise Valley Cafe, where I eat the best burger of my entire life and wrap up my first week on the trail.

Overall things are good so far. I am logging far more miles than expected. What surprised me most during week one was this -- despite traversing some of the most beautiful trails and terrain I have ever seen, the true gems of my experience every single time that I will treasure in my memories, were the people. I am flabbergasted by the generosity and how much out here is freely given as a gift. I have found myself unexpectedly being generous with time, skills, and supplies, in ways I would never have imagined myself doing 5 or 6 weeks ago. It fills me with hope and optimism that things might actually turn out ok for the human race. Good people are out there. There is still hope for us all.

But that is really just the beginning. See you soon!

Eigen