Week 4 Mileage: 170

“Zero Time”

I know what you’re thinking, only 170 miles in a week and taking nudes, has he lost his mind? Well, anyone that would try this again after a 3,000-mile failed attempt the year before must be a little crazy, so there’s that. Furthermore, I need to blow off some steam every once in a while, so the photo certainly did that and I did get some interesting comments from it. Also, this is the toughest section of all the trails for me, so resting the feet and legs for a day will be beneficial down the trail. I’m trying not to be so “bull in a China shop” on this hike. More calculating and efficient so as to expend too much energy or waste time.

I got into Mammoth on Wednesday. A cool couple, Mitch and Blake brought me in. It seems their morning routine is drinking road sodas and walking the dogs, my kind of people. I was able to check in at Motel 6 at 9 am and beelined it to Carl’s Jr. Nothing was going to get in my way. If there was an elderly lady on the sidewalk, I’d be kicking her off the curb. A cripple at the crosswalk, he’s getting wheeled into traffic. I was in a zombie-like fast food trance. I crushed a bunch of salt, sugar and fat. I took a double cheeseburger to go and headed to Mammoth Mountaineering and supply. I replaced my broken pack buckle, new socks and replaced my snow baskets. From there, I hit a discount grocery store and loaded up with food for the next leg and food for the night. A lot of dairy. Back to the motel for showers, naps, TV and food. A proper zero day.

I had given Mitch my website and he emailed me later that day letting me know if I needed anything in town to let him know. The ride back to trail was no problem and Blake and Mitch were ready and waiting at 9 am.  A great couple! I would have liked to hang out with them and get to know them, but no rest for records. I wonder if Blake has a sister.

I finally reached the PCT by 11:30. That side trail was rough. Also, full resupply and a bloated belly from all the cheese the night before made me not feel like a champ. Luckily the trail cleared for most of the day from here, I had to take a reroute for a bridge washout from 2 years before (I actually shimmied across it last year) and made good time. Island Pass had less snow than last year, so it was a cruiser to my camp spot.

The next morning slow, post-holing Donahue Pass. It frustrated me so much, continuously falling through the snowpack, that I turned and flipped it off as I reached the top. There was a dude 15 feet behind. I apologized and let him pass. Once I got to the floor of the valley it was a no-snow wet cruiser. I met a kid named Booth and we hiked all the way to Tuolumne Meadows together. The mosquitoes were starting to hatch and I was glad to be out of that section. Yosemite wasn’t open yet, but the Ranger Station had a volunteer. I ended up at a picnic table in the sun. Feeling good, but still kind of full.

Dairy recap on zero day: A wheel of havarti, a bunch of fresh mozzarella, 2 pints of ice cream, and a half gallon of milk with my family sized box of cinnamon toast crunch. Oof, gotta eat more ruffage…

Week 4 Mileage: 170

“How Good Am I?”

As I approached Forester Pass, I felt excited—not just to climb it, but also because the patchy snowpack on the approach made me hopeful that the Sierra would be low this year. I topped out on Forester at 8 PM, and as I looked down into the valley, all I could see was snow. So much for that pipe dream.

I put on my spikes and headed down the back. It took me two hours to negotiate the slope—postholing, falling, and tripping. I tore my jacket, and by 10 PM, I had reached my campsite. Someone was already there, so I continued on. Because of all the snow, I needed to find a flat spot protected by a tree. I found one—just enough space to tuck my tent into.

The next morning, I was nine miles from Glen Pass, and it took almost five hours to reach the top. Once again, the snow on the approach was spotty, but the descent was entirely covered. It was a bit sketchy—there was a thousand-foot runout to the left, so I took it slow to get down. After four more miles of postholing and route finding, I finally made it to open trail. Exhausting work.

At this point, I knew where the snowpack level was—roughly 9,500 feet. Anything above that meant snow. Most of this section to Mammoth hovered around 10,000 feet. By 6 PM, I started my approach to Pinchot Pass. I liked the look of the clouds, but within fifteen minutes, the pass closed off, and it started snowing. Too dangerous, I thought. Honestly, I was relieved to have an excuse to stop early.

After pitching my tent and settling in, I started questioning my decision—this was too early to stop. I looked out of my tent to see the sky clearing, with sunlight poking through. A defining moment: should I stay or go? It was nearly 7 PM, and I had three miles to the top.

Screw it. I packed up and continued on.

It was rough, tough, and slow. So many times, I wanted to quit and pitch my tent. Those three miles took me two hours.

At 9 PM, I reached the top of the pass, adrenaline pumping as I bounced down the back side and found a flat spot a mile below. I was glad I had pushed through. I felt excited again to attack the rest of this section in the morning.

I kept my positive attitude the next day. Yeah, the snow was painful, but it would eventually end for good. This was the hardest section of my 7,500-mile hike. This is why people don’t hike the CYTC straight through—they can’t handle the difficult, exhausting, slow-going terrain. I can.

This is what I have to do to be world-class. Nothing less. So go, go, GO!

I topped out on Mather at 11:30 AM. I bouldered my way up the face (yeah, I can rock climb too) and stood on top—completely naked. I took a photo of myself standing on Mather’s peak with just my pack on and a Smartwater bottle covering my twig and berries. It took a few tries to get the coverage just right.

From there, I had a three-mile descent to open trail, followed by thirteen miles of fun, cruising terrain before the ascent to Muir Pass. I reached the top at 9:30 PM. I considered staying in the hut, but someone was inside, and after 31 miles of difficult hiking, I didn’t feel like making small talk.

That night, I froze in my tent. The next morning, my shoulders were rock-hard—I had to crimp, twist, and bang them just to soften up enough to fit my feet inside. Forget my socks—they looked like crinkled-up Christmas stockings. My tent stakes were frozen into the snow, so I used my ice axe to chip them out (the only time I used the axe) and hit the trail by 6 AM.

It had been so cold that I could walk on top of the snowpack without any problems for a couple of hours. By the time it warmed up, I had descended far enough that snow was no longer a concern.

I met the guy who had stayed in the hut the night before—“Fed Belly.” We hiked and talked for a while. He had the wildest setup I had ever seen—an 80-liter pack with a duffel bag attached by climbing rope. No trekking poles. Just wandering the Sierra for a couple of weeks, messing around. His kit must have weighed 100 pounds. He was doing five-mile days, and I believed it.

After crossing Evolution Creek and watching Fed Belly navigate it with two tree branches and his monstrosity of a pack, we parted ways. I had big miles to cover—Mammoth was calling, and it was 55 miles away.

I pushed hard through the next section. Plenty of climbs, but until the last two passes, I would be moving through limited snowpack.

Seldon Pass was next—sixteen miles ahead. Snow-packed and slow-going, I topped out at 6 PM and made my way down into the valley. At the bottom, I had a good river crossing to tackle. The all-day sun had melted so much snow that the crossing was a bit sketchy, but I managed it.

With my endorphins surging and my pack light, I found myself jogging down the trail—not bad after a marathon day.

I wanted to make it to the VVR (Vermilion Valley Resort) trail junction—not to go in, but as a good spot to set up for reaching Mammoth the following day.

I hiked late, stubbornly refusing to put my headlamp on. Missed a turn. Had to backtrack.

Ended up about three miles short of where I had wanted to finish.

Oh well.

Week 3 Mileage: 265.6

“Big miles, big resupply”

Imagine a place like Hiker Town, and that’s pretty much it—a fenced-off area in the middle of the low desert, scattered with trailers and small buildings. That’s where I was headed, needing to grab my box of prepackaged, over-processed food and get back on the trail.

I arrived at 6:20, having already covered 37.4 miles that day. Picked up my box, took a shower, and even did laundry in the shower—classic hiker trash behavior at Hiker Town! A fellow thru-hiker named Trash Panda gave me some extra food, and I quickly realized I hadn’t sent enough for the upcoming 186-mile stretch. I scarfed down a burrito and a Double-Double from In-N-Out, then charged my gear as much as possible before hitting the California aqueduct. I camped 3.7 miles out of town.

The next morning, I trekked across an exposed desert floor through a wind farm. The heat was brutal, and the wind was relentless. With every step, I fought against gusts that drained my energy.

That day, I met two German hikers, Lenny and Yanny, who had an unusual story from the night before. They heard whimpering near the trail and discovered an abandoned puppy. They could see two glowing eyes—probably coyotes—stalking the little guy, so they rescued him and planned to take him to Tehachapi. They named him Skippy.

By 9 p.m., I had knocked out 38 miles and was closing in on Tehachapi. The next day meant a big climb out—finally past all that relentless wind, nearly 40 miles of it. Now, I was approaching the high desert and Kennedy Meadows—my big stop.

Waiting for me there: my ice axe, microspikes, bear canister, and six days of food. My friends from back home, Captain Planet and Birdo, were on the trail just ahead. I kept seeing their names in logbooks—planning to reach Kennedy Meadows by 5/21. That meant big mileage days for me. After a 38-mile push, I camped in the low desert, then pushed for a 43.5.

It might sound extreme, but I was cruising through the desert, trying to keep my miles-per-day average high before hitting the Sierra.

That morning, I had 22.5 miles left and was on the trail by 4:45 a.m. About 30 minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me—it was Birdo, grinning.

We hiked to the next water source, where Captain Planet and his trail family caught up. Five hikers in total, with one I hadn’t met yet—Nick (can’t remember his trail name) and one named Gerbal. No reference to Richard Gere.

We hiked the rest of the way to Kennedy Meadows together. On these long hikes, especially when chasing records, isolation starts to wear on people. Mental toughness is everything. After four out of five seasons chasing the big hikes and covering 15,000 trail miles, I’m used to it. I can handle four, five, or even six days solo, but having a little human conversation now and then definitely helps.

Kennedy Meadows was packed—more hikers than I had ever seen there, around 30. As I approached, the familiar bell rang, followed by applause from the deck, marking another hiker’s completion of the desert stretch.

It was my fifth time arriving here, and it never gets old. I recognized someone coming down the steps toward me—Phish, a buddy from my first attempt back in ’21.

After catching up, I got to work. I wanted to leave by 5 p.m. I had averaged 37.2 miles per day through the desert and wanted to keep up the momentum.

I ate a ton, resupplied, took a cold shower, did laundry, snapped a few pictures, and sent a postcard to Grandma. Then, at 6 p.m., I hit the trail again—carrying the heaviest pack of the hike.

This was it—entering the hardest section of the hike. My goal was to cover the 201 miles through the toughest part of the Sierra in six days.

I’d done it faster, and I’d done it slower. Phish told me the snowpack was like it was for us in ’21—really low. But I was skeptical. I had a feeling it would be more like last year—five-plus miles of snow before and after each pass.

Most PCT hikers take time to rest and resupply in towns. For me, that takes too much time and extra effort. I prefer the challenge—keeping a 30-miles-per-day average through the hardest section of my entire 7,500-mile journey. No cherry-picking sections to avoid snow—I’m heading straight into it, for the fourth time in early season. Bring it on.

Week 1 Mileage: 249.3

“No TP”

Back for another fun-filled year of hiking, where my weekly posts provide good toilet reading and bar talk. This week’s topic: *”Let’s see how far Chezwick goes before he messes himself up again!”*

Let me clear the air on my shoulder injury from last year, since I’m always asked about it. I tore one of the skin grafts that had been repaired five years ago. That tendon held down my clavicle, which then popped out, resulting in my shoulder being separated—painful enough to warrant a quick helicopter ride out of the woods.

Moving forward: no surgery. I figured, *Well, it’s already popped out, it’s already torn—load me up with a cortisone shot and let’s get this hike done!* So that’s what we did. Dr. Chen shot me up a day before I left, and we’ll see how long it lasts. Yes, it’s uncomfortable.

The first day went fairly smoothly. I forgot my credit card at the post office, never sent my charging block to power my stuff in towns, and—worst of all—forgot toilet paper! The first two things? Stupid. The last? Unforgivable. Luckily, I had a brand-new China-made handkerchief, so I was able to sacrifice that.

The first three nights were windy and slightly rainy, each day requiring an extended break to dry out my tent. The water carries through this section are interesting. As you approach Mt. San Jacinto, your only water options are springs a mile off-trail, down a ravine. Not wanting to waste that time, I carried 37 miles’ worth of water to the first fresh, flowing mountain river—cold and delicious (no filter needed).

My right Achilles is inflamed and painful. My ankle swelled up, so I stuffed some snow from the high mountain into a ziplock and did the ICE treatment at about 9,000 feet the other night. Off San Jacinto, halfway through day five, I hit the low desert in the afternoon and was completely cooked by the exposed trail and afternoon sun. I pulled a 41-mile day to put myself in a good position for the next day’s trek: Mission Creek.

A massive flood washed this section of trail out three years ago. It’s essentially 14 miles of walking on a rocky beach, crisscrossing a small river in the middle. Precarious and annoying, it took a while. I started the day at 4:30 a.m. and was out of that canyon by 11. From there, cruising.

The first week shows an average of over 35 miles per day—more than I usually want to do in my first week, but that credit card I left at the post office is waiting for me in Big Bear.

✌️🥾🥾