Pacific Crest Trail Norcal: the section we began to fly
June 27- July 8th
Northern California on the PCT: A Fresh Start at the Halfway Point
NorCal. Land of smothering heat and expansive views. Of 14-mile relentless climbs and mossy, rushing rivers. Of burn scars as far as the eye can see, and the quiet green shoots of new life, stubbornly forging a way through the ash.
This section of the Pacific Crest Trail felt like a fresh start, a new perspective—and the halfway point on this journey.
We had parted ways with our trail family and were starting a new chapter. Just as we began at the Mexican border, it was back to the two of us. When we dreamed up this journey years ago, this was how we imagined it—just us, walking north. Meeting our trail family had been an unexpected gift, but this shift felt like an opportunity to return to the inner work we had set out to do.
We spent hours in deep conversation, listening to thought-provoking audiobooks, and processing as we hiked. Our inner landscapes deepened as the outer ones bloomed around us.
Big Mileage Goals: Testing Limits in Northern California
My birthday was coming up, and my wish was to celebrate with a rest day in town. To make it happen, we had to average 25 miles a day for a week straight—more than we had ever done before.
It was a test run for the bigger goal ahead: to reach the Canadian border in time for a family wedding, we’d need to average 25 miles a day for 53 days in a row. And if we wanted rest days, that meant going even further. We knew it was ambitious, maybe even unlikely, but we wanted to give it everything we had—riding the fine line between pushing our limits and avoiding long-term injury.
Day one was a warm up. After a resupply and a long drive back to the trailhead, we didn’t start hiking until the afternoon. Still, we managed 20 miles through a hot and exposed massive burn scar. Then came the rude awakening—we had miscalculated our resupply distance. To make it, we’d need to hike back-to-back 30s. And the difference between 25 miles and 30? That was a whole new threshold. The record incoming heat wave wouldn’t make it any easier on us, either.
Hat Creek Rim: Heat, Lava, and Mental Grit
And so, into a heat wave we went. Hat Creek Rim stretched long and exposed, with the sun pressing down at 97°. Blisters screamed, lava rock shifted underfoot, and every step felt punishing.
But the views—Lassen fading behind us and Mount Shasta rising ahead—made the suffering almost worth it. Against all odds, we did it. Two back-to-back 30-mile days.
The reward? A hiker’s oasis: Burney Mountain Guest Ranch. Showers, laundry, camping, a pool, and buffet meals. Out here, we’d do nearly anything to avoid extra steps that didn’t count toward our continuous footpath. And much to our delight, this stop was just a quarter mile off trail, making it our easiest resupply yet.
Pushing the Miles: A 31 for a 31st Birthday
From Burney, we pushed four more days toward Shasta, including one very special 31-mile day in honor of my 31st birthday. Each evening brought us to some of the most breathtaking campsites of the entire PCT—ridge-top sunsets, mirror-like lakes, and stars that seemed impossibly radiant.
The days stretched long, our bodies felt strong, and we pushed them—harder than we ever thought possible. But if I’m honest, it wasn’t our bodies carrying us forward. It was our minds.
Callousing the Mind: Lessons from David Goggins on Trail
During this stretch we listened to Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins, which drove home the concept of “callousing the mind” to achieve the impossible in athletics. Out here, that was exactly what was happening.
My body didn’t feel great. My feet hurt with every step. I had infected blisters that seemed to reach bone-deep and a tendon injury I kept shoving into the recesses of my mind. Each morning I would wake up, hobble out of the tent, and brace myself from collapsing under those first few steps. At home, pain like that would have kept me in bed all day. Out here, it was just the way things were.
We called it “The Hiker Hobble.” Everyone knew it. Sit too long, and your body would lock up with inflammation. Stand, and you’d look like you’d never hike another mile. But after a few miles, the body remembered. The stride smoothed out, the pain dulled, and we carried on.
The pain never truly went away—but our minds grew stronger. We proved daily that we were capable of more than we imagined. That we could hike 30 miles with everything we owned on our backs despite pain that would have sidelined us at home. That mental transformation was one of the most unexpected gifts of the PCT. We felt like machines.
Mount Shasta: A Birthday Gift and a Turning Point
When we finally reached Mount Shasta, we were tired, yes—but surprisingly strong for the pace we had set. My feet, however, were in rough shape.
I spent most of my birthday consulting with a trail-famous pedorthist known amongst hikers as “Foot Jesus.” He diagnosed the tendon pain I had been carrying for months and crafted custom insoles to keep me moving north. It was the best birthday gift I could have asked for.
That same day, with my feet cared for and my mind fired up, I felt a spark ignite. Inspired by Goggins’ reminder that we are not products of our environment but of our choices, I signed up for my first ultramarathon. On my 31st birthday. In Mount Shasta. On the Fourth of July.
Ready to Soar Beyond the Trail
I don’t know exactly what post-trail reintegration will look like. But I know this: the Pacific Crest Trail has given me a new threshold for discomfort, a deeper respect for perseverance, and a craving for challenges that will push me beyond what I once thought possible.
NorCal wasn’t just the section where we began to fly. It was the one where I realized I was ready to soar far beyond the trail.
Toward Oregon: Fires, Thunderstorms, and New Chapters
Before we knew it, the Oregon border was waiting. Fires began erupting, nipping at our heels. In Seiad Valley, we huddled under a shelter during a thunderstorm, then set out into the night to begin the infamous 7,000-foot climb into Oregon.
A new chapter awaited.
