[pct-l] Closure

[sean bowers]

Lying amongst the leaves and dirt deep in the Chaparral Mountains of San Diego County, euphoria took in its effect at such a deep level, nothing could be matched with any other exhilarating experience in my life time.  Staring up at through the network of intertwined branches of a monstrous tree, it took great focus to look into the blue cloudless sky that day.  Life could not get any better than this.
   
  It was my first day on the Pacific Crest Trail.  I took an unscheduled prolonged rest at the oasis of Hauser creek.  Not more than 5 miles ahead of me, I had a steep climb over the Hauser Mountain where I would set up my first camp of hundreds to come.  
   
  The next evening I was back home without the use of my right ankle.  Peroneal tendonitis had threatened my thru-hike attempt after 1 day on the trail and it was a miserably terrifying thought.  I blamed my ankle on the excessively loose shoes I was wearing.  From my research on thru-hiking the PCT, it is known that after walking mile after mile with an extra step of heat, dirt, and impact, the human foot would swell and require a larger shoe size.  I convinced myself that my shortcomings were due to wearing shoes that were too large and with improper ankle support.  A few test hikes and three weeks later, I bought myself some boots and decided I would test my fate once again.  I quickly realized this solved all ankle troubles.  So quickly after this realization, I never knew I was about to have one of the greatest and cruelest experiences of my life.
   
  Three days had past. Once again I found myself lying down on my back looking up at the late afternoon sky with that same unexplainable feeling.  I felt I could have stayed there for hours but it was getting dark and it was time set up shelter.  It was a windless night which was something completely foreign after spending a few nights along the ridge of East San Diego’s gusty mountains.  Dead silence took over my environment.  Ironically, it symbolized the end of a dream.  
   
  The next morning I knew I had no choice but to go home.  I picked a path that would take me back to civilization which involved me bee lining my way across the sunrise highway over to Lake Cuyamaca.  Several times I thought of turning back and testing myself again thinking that I could never allow myself to give up.  Each time I was shortly reminded that control was no longer mine.  It was all over.
   
  It was hard coming back to friends and relatives who did not understand why I would attempt something as “crazy” as hiking from the longitudinal length of the Western USA.  The real disappointment was the kind I shared with myself.  I could now only aspire stretching the beauty and imagination of the trail I encountered during my 70 miles on the trail.  So many places unseen, so many people unheard of.
   
  For months I considered myself weak for such an early departure.  I was confused, and I could not comprehend what had happened.  It was not until three trips to three different podiatrists where I met a very good doctor who at least put an idea into perspective that I could theorize over.  He confirmed that I had a bad case of plantar fasciitis.  The idea was I have a foot deformity in the first metatarsal of my foot which was the source.  In other words, I have an inflexible big toe which causes a tremendous strain on the ligament and makes me quickly susceptible to the ailment.  When you grab your big toe you are suppose to be able to bend it upwards towards your head more than 90 degrees.  I painfully can bend it just shy of 45 degrees.  
   
   I’ve done plenty of hiking before growing up in California.  I’ve gone out for weekend excursions and have even summated Mt. Whitney.  I did notice that my feet felt very sore before, but it seemed like a reasonable reaction to a day of hiking.   Perhaps I should have experimented a bit more before investing money, time, and most importantly emotion.  I reasoned through others’ trail journals that I would be okay to just figure things out from day 1.  Perhaps the fault lies on me.
   
  The point I want to bring across is not to ask for sympathy, but rather a more optimistic view.  Thru hiking season is coming up shortly and I have no intentions for another attempt..    It has been a unique and productive year, but I am still bothered daily with the fact that I could not come close to accomplishing the challenges of the PCT.
   
  Though only days on the trail, I will never forget the feelings I had while I was there.  The excitement of just planning this journey was a thrill in itself.    Since then, I have accomplished an entirely different challenge thanks to the virtues I’ve gained through empowerment and knowledge of the PCT’s existence.  With patience and perseverance, I have learned that the adventure has only begun right from thevery first step on the Pacific Crest Trail.  THAT my friend makes it all worth it.
   
  -Sean

       
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