On The Trail Again

I managed to get outside today before the winds returned, so I had a lovely trek in the desert. Oddly, after the hiatus from my faux backpacking trips, I could barely lift the pack, but once it was strapped on my back and resting on my hips, I hardly noticed the weight. Well, not much.

You’d think while I’m out sauntering around on desert trails, carrying an addition twenty-seven pounds (additional to my own weight, that is), that the urge to go backpacking would leave me since trekking with a pack is hard work, but nope. The hook remains. I’ll be interested to see if after I finally get out in the wilderness by myself, the desire will be as strong.

The other day, I was chatting with a friend who suggested that my Seattle trip should be just for my sisters (and dealing with Jeff’s ashes) rather than adding a short solo backpacking trek to the mix. She said, “Why not just do the longer trip in September?” My answer shocked both of us into laughter. “But what if I hate it?”

Despite that totally unexpected response, I truly do not think I will hate being out there by myself. I’ve hiked alone. Camped alone. Could it be so different?

I’m not really that naïve. Of course it could be different — a whole lot different. So, yes — a short backpacking trip first, a trip where someone can come get me if I run into trouble. Afterward, I can decide what comes next.

Meantime, there is the rest of my May trip to plan. As I am writing this, I am printing out a brochure for a San Andreas Fault road tour in the Carrizo Plain National Monument. Although I have no interest in driving along ghastly roads, the San Andreas Fault does interest me. Years ago, I went searching for the fault line (which, I discovered to my horror, was a mere ten miles from where I was living at the time), and though I found traces of the fault in displaced red earth and a lake (pond, really) that had been created by a fault sag (a place where the land sank as a result of earth movement along the fault) in the early twentieth century, there was no obvious indication of the fault, no break in the earth, no line. But apparently, in the Carrizo Plain, the line itself is visible. Probably looks like a dry creek bed up close, but still, if the weather, me, my car, and my nerves hold up, it might be an interesting tour.

Earlier today, I printed out information about the Hoh Rain Forest in Olympic National Park. I get a kick out of that — the idea of going from desert to rain forest in just a few days. Talk about jet lag! Car lag? Cultural lag? Geographic lag? Some kind of lag anyway.

It’s funny — January seemed about three months long, probably because I had added the practice backpacking trips to my normal schedule of dancing, blogging, reading (not writing, you might notice). But February evaporated. Just . . . disappeared. The four months until I start my May trip have shrunk to two months (although I call it my May trip, I will actually be leaving about this time in April).

Yikes. Still so much to do! By this time, I’d hoped to be further along in the weight addition category (being able to carry more weight in the pack), the weight reduction category (carrying less weight on me to keep my knees and feet from having to deal with extra poundage), the planning (though that is coming along quite nicely), and the writing. (I’d still like to finish that last work in progress before my life veers into a different direction.)

I better get cracking.


Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

From “Impossible Dream” to “Why Not”?

I’ve never been much of a group person. I do things alone and sometimes with one other person. The most group-ish thing I do is dance class. I used to go out to lunch with a group, but those people don’t lunch together anymore. I used to walk with a group a couple of times a week, and I even hiked with different groups on the weekend, but the walking group is pretty much disbanded, and I found hiking in a group to be frustrating and dangerous. Groups HIKE. I s a u n t e r. They go fast and purposeful. I go slow and stop frequently to smell the air or take a photo or enjoy a particular vista. Then I have to hurry and catch up. Sometimes they take a break and wait for me, and then as soon as I catch up, they continue along the trail, leaving me with no break. Often, they bring their dogs, and sometimes the dogs harry me or try to push me over a cliff. (True.) One dog wore a bell that about drove me nuts. Why go out to the wilderness to listen to the quiet and be assaulted with the constant tinkle of that dang bell? Even worse, if I hesitated at a stream crossing, people would try to help and I would always get wet. Or they’d try to pull me up an incline even if I didn’t ask for help. Or yank my arm if I struggled to stand after sitting to rest instead of letting me find my own purchase.

Nope. Too dangerous.

I realize there are problems with hiking alone. But there are problems with living alone. Sometimes we simply have no choice. We do what we can.

Before I took my cross-country road trip, people told me I shouldn’t do it — my car was too old, I was a woman alone, it’s too dangerous, etc. etc. etc.

Well, I did the trip. More than twelve thousand miles in five months. And yes, the car broke down — one time the battery went dead, another time a piece of fuel line that was supposed to have been replaced hadn’t been and all the gas leaked out, and a third time, the VW mechanic who changed my oil in Wisconsin put in the wrong grade — it was way too thin, and my car kept vapor locking when I drove through hotter climes.

The most traumatic thing happened when I was with someone — I fell down the stairs backward and scalped myself — but it wouldn’t have happened if I had been alone.

Now that I’m talking about a solo backpacking trip, people are again telling me I shouldn’t do something. They remind me about my destroyed arm. Well, yes, that fall did happen when I was alone, but it was in the middle of the city, and I wouldn’t have been in that dangerous parking lot if it weren’t for other people. (Left to my own devices, I do not go out at night.)

Oddly, the arm thing makes me more determined on a solo backpacking trek, maybe because I have proof of how quickly one’s life can change. If I had someone to go with, I might not go alone, but if it’s a matter of going alone or not going at all, I’m going. What else am I going to do? Hide in my room lest I suffer another injury?

Besides, the point is to be out there alone. To connect with the world, to see if I can handle the immensity — a sort of spiritual journey or vision quest.

My eventual goal is to do one of the iconic hikes, probably the Pacific Crest Trail since I know someone in each state along the way who might possibly be able to help. From what I hear, though, there are so many people on the trail now that it is almost impossible to hike alone. And there are trail angels along the way, willing to help PCT hikers.

Meantime, a three-day solo journey, accompanied by a satellite phone connected to people who would come rescue me if necessary, is as safe as it’s going to get.

All this is still in the maybe, could be, possibly stage. And yet, I can feel the change in me, the change from “impossible dream” to “why not”?

Years ago, when I first thought about hiking one of the long distance trails, I thought it would be so uncommon that if I wrote a book about my experience, the story would propel me into bestsellerdom. Unfortunately, the trails have become so common and the stories so ubiquitous, that the only way to get noticed is if I were to screw up and embroil myself in a lot of drama, and I have no intention of doing either.

With enough research, preparation, and luck, my book would be just a ho-hum story of a woman who decided to hike the PCT and did it.


Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.