The sun is closer to risen than I’d like in the morning, but cowboying makes for an easy pick-up. Everyone settles in for breakfast at the table, drifts off; I grab three liters from our cache for the trek to Devilfish’s supposedly super-reliable cache ten-ish miles ahead. Yoda and Wolf both plan to pack out the emptys we’ve created; Wolf is also tasked with writing on the extra bottles: Not a Maintained Cache, Please Pack Out Emptys! We hope it works – hiking the PCT and the CT has restored my faith in humanity, and I think the community will come through for us again. Continue reading →

It’s a chilly evening – I nestle down tight in my sleeping bag, letting my breath be my space heater and tightening my hood against the cold. When I’m out, I’m out – I’m hardly awoken by my alarm that’s 30 minutes earlier than we’ve agreed, and then it’s only that Pineapple’s chirps a merry tune at us that I even register that it’s morning. But nobody moves. Someone should move. The alarm goes off. Nobody moves. Continue reading →

It’s so hard to move in the morning, cocooned down into my sleeping bag. I’m mostly shamed into it, when everyone shifts and stirs.  Even though I cowboy camped, Homegrown and Sprinkles, with their tent, are packed and out before me. But I’m on my feet by 5:30, and rolling out into the dawn. Continue reading →