Day 1|March 22, 2022 
12 miles

After a seven-hour drive to Tucson, a night at a hotel, and a couple of hours unpacking and repacking my backpack, I  was finally ready to hike. The Arizona Trail Association (AZTA) helped me figure out some travel logistics and connected me with David Rabb, a trail angel who offered to drive me from Tucson to Montezuma Pass, the closest car-accessible spot to the southern terminus.

David wanted to take a longer, more scenic route so he could point out some sights. It was obvious that he volunteers his time out of a genuine love for the trail and his enthusiasm added to my excitement.

When we arrived at Montezuma Pass David parked his car and sat with me at a picnic table while I ate a couple of snacks to lighten the load of my backpack, which felt unnecessarily heavy and overpacked.

My journey began with a 3-mile round trip trek from the parking lot down to the U.S. -Mexican border and back.

At the border, I was surprised to see the monument surrounded by a barbed wire fence and an unfinished, unattractive border wall. I wanted a proper thru-hiker terminus photo, but to get it suddenly seemed more complicated than I anticipated. I hesitated briefly before deciding to just sneak under the fence to take my picture. In that moment I felt acutely aware of my privileged position.

As I contemplated the cost and risks associated with securing an Instagram-worthy snapshot, I couldn't help but acknowledge the stark contrast to the lives of those who risk everything to cross the same border.

For many people, traveling north through the Sonoran Desert is not about recreation; it’s a dangerous journey of desperation. Feeling uneasy, I snapped a quick photo and swiftly crawled back under the fence.

As I made my way back up the trail, a sense of disconnection overwhelmed me. I dropped a sun-glove and barely rescued my hat from being whisked down the mountainside by the wind, and back at Montezuma Pass I almost walked away with my hiking pole still leaning against the trail register.

I put my pack down for a moment and took a deep breath. Suddenly I felt a tightening sensation around my stomach, like a cramp. I went to the bathroom and discovered that I had started my period.

Wonderful. 

It was a tough start to say the least, and I had not even gotten past the parking lot where David dropped me off! But, what could I do? I gathered my gear, popped some Ibuprofen, and walked north.

The trail gains more than 3,000 feet in the first six miles, zigzagging up switchbacks with expansive views of the San Rafael Valley and Mexico’s northern state of Sonora. 

The temperature dropped as I climbed higher, the winds picked up, and the landscape quickly changed from desert grassland to a conifer forest filled with fragrant pines and Douglas fir trees.

As the sun set, the elements intensified. My Ibuprofen began to wear off and I became aware of the cramps that were tightening like a corset around my waist whilst the wind whipped, slapping my face with freezing air.

It was time to call it a day.

It was dark by the time I reached a saddle, the last flat spot for a while. The space was occupied, but large enough for multiple tents, and the woman who was already set up didn’t seem to mind that I joined.

The wind tossed me and my gear around as I tried to set up. My neighbor and I yelled to one another but could barely make out each other's words through the whooshing. 

“Do you have a lighter I can borrow?!” She asked. 

“Yes!” I yelled back.

“You’re a lifesaver!” She replied enthusiastically. She hurried over to grab the lighter and quickly retreated back to her space to make dinner. 

We didn’t even exchange names, the wind was too loud and cold to make small talk. 

Trying to take care of tasks with 40mph freezing winds feels like a joke. The gusts made it challenging to maintain a steady and safe cooking environment. And completing my regular nightly tasks became a test of endurance, as I fought against the biting winds to accomplish even the most basic of chores. 

The first night of my 800-mile thru-hike felt like a comedic adventure. The wind seemed to have a personal grudge against my tent, shaking it relentlessly, while my cramps joined in, adding their special discomfort to the symphony.

Oh, the joys of womanhood!

Lying awake in my cozy sleeping bag, I couldn't help but find humor in the absurdity of it all. From the long drive to Arizona, navigating to the trailhead, and ascending above 9,000 feet, it had been quite the endeavor to get here. And now, amidst it all, I had to pee.

The thought of venturing out into the chilly night, battling the wind and cold just to relieve myself, felt like a cosmic joke. But hey, this is the glamorous life of a thru-hiker and it's all part of the experience, right?

As I lay there, embracing the unpredictability of my journey, I couldn't help but laugh at the wild and untamed adventure that awaited me on the trail.

Day 2 | March 23, 2022
16.2 Miles

After a long night, I was ready to get out of the high mountains. The morning sun never seemed to hit our camping spot. It was freezing and the wind was still howling.

I packed up in stages, moving from doing what I could for a few minutes to rubbing my hands together to build heat and squeezing them between my thighs to keep them warm. Wearing all my layers, I walked out of camp with a lopsided, poorly packed bag, my neighbor still sleeping. 

I turned a corner and the weather changed almost immediately. The morning sun lit up the spaces between pine trees, and the wind was blocked for several moments. 

The trail rolled across the high ridges of the mountains before eventually lowering into Sunnyside Canyon. From pine cones to prickly plants; I was elated to be descending back down to the heat of the desert. 

I came upon my first spring and it demonstrated the delicate nature of water in the desert.

As I patiently waited for four liters of water to flow from one leaf-drawn spout, I met Haiku.

I was spread out on both sides of the water. On one side, my backpack leaned on a tree, schlumped over with its contents spilling out. I sat on the opposite side, by the slow leaf spigot, reading my book and keeping my dromedary in place.

All of a sudden, a thin, hip, mustachioed man appeared. He wore a brightly colored JollyGear hiking shirt and carried a small, black ultralight backpack. His short black shorts revealed the muscular legs of a seasoned thru-hiker, which let me know this was not his first long trail.

The Hawaiian floral print on his clothing softened his somewhat serious facial expression, and although it seemed like he was in a hurry, he stopped to chat.

He leaned against his trekking poles and introduced himself.

"Haiku, PCT 2021. You?”

“Larry, PCT 2017.”

He told me he was one of ten that were still behind him.

My eyes widened. “Ten?! That’s a lot of people.”

“Yup. We all hiked the PCT In 2021.”

A Texan with a tattoo of Karl Marx on his arm, Haiku is in his 30s, an avid bird watcher, and a talented poet.

“Well, see you down the trail,” he said and leaned towards me with a closed fist to bump. I bumped and he took off down the trail.

Shortly after meeting Haiku, I met two more of his group members: Daddy (a trail name I never felt 100% comfortable using) and Silver Bullet. Daddy was also a skinny white male with a hip mustache. He was excited and chatty and right away invited me to camp with their group. Silver Bullet walked up a few minutes later and introduced herself. She seemed to have been newly absorbed by the PCT 2021 crew.

They stopped for water, and I hiked on.

The temperature was rising and the day was getting better as it went on. The trail descended through gentle grasslands and evergreen oak woodlands.

Several miles ahead, I ran into Juliet, who I learned had been my neighbor at the windy campsite. She was a young woman, early 20’s, with a British accent and no trail name. There was something familiar to me about her introduction story and then it clicked. We had met each other on the Colorado Trail in 2018!

As the sun set, I climbed to the top of a ridge and found a quiet campsite nestled among the tall golden grasses.

There was no wind and no one else around. Once in bed, I smiled, finally feeling like I could appreciate my surroundings. Peaceful quiet under a star-filled sky.

Day 3 | March 24, 2022
19.2 Miles

I woke with the sunrise and spent the morning traversing the east side of the Canelo Hills, a seldom-traveled range of low mountains that connects the Santa Rita, Patagonia, and Huachuca Mountains.

I hiked through rolling grasslands and chaparral. I climbed short, steep hills, passed through gates and traversed dry wash crossings. 
The trail rolled over rocky terrain, and crossed several arroyos where cairns help guide the way. 

As I walked, passing other hikers, I felt strong and fast. A gentle breeze blew through the canyon and a small sparrow flew across the trail. I was in a groove. The trail dropped into the upper end of Meadow Valley and I found a nice place for a coffee break.

As I was sitting and enjoying my coffee another hiker came by, a man I had passed earlier that morning. 

He was tall with dark hair and looked like he might be in his 20’s. 

“You were cruising back there!” he said with a bit of surprise. I nodded awkwardly, a little unsure how to respond.  “It inspired me to speed up,” he said with a grin. I could feel myself getting a little defensive. Was he surprised that a woman was hiking faster than him? I still wasn’t sure how to respond.

“What’s your name?” I asked, moving on. 

“Walker.” 

“Is that a trail name?” 

“No.” 

This was going well, I thought. 

“Well I guess you don’t need a trail name with a name like Walker!” (the sentence sounded weird when it came out and his response was effectively lacking affect).

Walker was a bearded fellow from Bozeman, MT. He wore hiking boots and still had his tent packed in its stuff sack. He was in school studying computer engineering but he dropped out. Now he works seasonally as a potato farmer.

“I can imagine sitting all day at a computer would be tough, especially for someone who likes being outside.” 

“I like computer work” he responded tersely.

I guess you don’t like having conversations with people though, I thought. I gave up with my questions but he lingered around awkwardly for a bit longer, just standing still while I sat and finished my coffee. He didn’t ask me any questions and eventually he left without a word. 

I was grateful to get back to being alone. I finished my coffee, splashed some cool water on my face, and continued to hike through rolling hills lined with oak and manzanita. 

My next water break was later in the day at the Down Under Tank. A small herd of cows guarded the brown pond water. This would become a typical watering scene on the AZT. 

That night I found a quiet campsite nestled among  tall golden grasses. While I set up my tent and cooked dinner, I called home and talked to Cosmo. I appreciate the solitude and freedom that comes with solo backpacking, but I miss having a shared experience. Cosmo and I know each other so well that it was easy for him to picture what I was doing and I could tell he truly understood all of the awkward and beautiful things that happened on trail that day. It was nice to share a moment with him, even from far away. 

Day 4 | March 25, 2022
10 Miles

The sun arose as I awoke and I enjoyed a peaceful breakfast at my campsite.

I had just finished packing up when Daddy showed up. He was jogging down the trail and stopped when he saw me. The two of us were going into town that day, and we were happy to have some company for the walk. Together we hiked the seven miles to Patagonia, AZ. 

There was a package for me at the post office in Patagonia, and after hiking on my period for 3.5 days through hot, cold, wind, sand, snow, and dirt, I was ready for a shower and laundry. 

We stopped in the TerraSol Hostel and talked to Mary. Her place was perfect and affordable. I could do my chores, and Daddy could set up camp in the backyard while waiting for his friends. Her place was hard to resist, but I hadn’t been planning to spend the night in town. 

Mary let us borrow some bikes and we rode into town. After picking up my package at the post office, I stopped at the local grocery store and bought two vegan ice cream bars and an avocado, which I immediately ate. 

Outside the store, we met Aladdin who was on his way out of town. It turned out we had a mutual friend, Alex aka "Willy Wonka," which sparked a conversation. We talked backpacking, trail running, and the PCT.

It was fun to be around other hikers. I knew that Daddy was waiting for a large group to arrive and I feared getting sucked into a town vortex. My gut told me Aladdin was thinking the same thing as me and that he would make a great hiking buddy. So I selfishly suggested he come back with us to the hostel, we relax, finish chores, then together we hike out before dark. I could finish my chores, socialize, and not worry about peer pressure to stay the night in town. 

Aladdin was skeptical at first, as he had an ambitious trail schedule to keep up with and had no need to spend the night in Patagonia. He compromised and said that if he were able to hitchhike back to the hostel while Daddy and I biked, he would stay for a little while.

When Daddy and I got back to the hostel, we were greeted by Juliet and Haiku (who were both staying at Mary's).

Soon Aladdin arrived and I was happy to see him! He was my ticket out! Hikers continued to trickle in and there was a bit of a buzz about one hiker in particular. I was asked multiple times if I had ever met someone named Treebeard (I hadn’t). I was told that I should at least wait and meet him before leaving.

Eventually he arrived, escorted by a few other hikers, and introduced himself.

“Hello! It’s me, your new friend Treebeard!” he said boisterously.

Treebeard is a tall, white male in his early 30’s with a bushy beard and magnetic personality. He has the charisma of a cult leader and is adept at making everyone feel welcome and comfortable in a group setting. 

Treebeard is passionate about thru-hiking because of the people and community it brings, and the more the merrier!  The look of utter confusion on his face when I told him I was planning to hike out later that night was a warning that he was going to challenge my efforts. 

“You and Aladdin should both stay.” Treebeard began his debate. “You'll meet other hikers. Relax. Socialize. Come on, put your tent up! You can always just leave in the morning. Or…sleep in, have breakfast, and join us at the Audubon Center to check out the hummingbirds.” It wasn’t that Treebeard really wanted to stop me from hiking my own hike, he just genuinely loves people and it brings him joy to build connections and be part of a group.  

I looked over at Aladdin and I could tell that his strong will was cracking.

“We’re going out for pizza tonight, at least join us for that.” That was when both Aladdin and I gave in. What hiker can resist pizza?

I set up my tent and actually felt a sense of calm with my decision. Staying at Mary’s meant I could actually stop for a moment and relax. I appreciated the opportunity to eat a kale salad, do laundry, yoga, and take a shower…all before going out to dinner with some new friends to drink beer and eat pizza.

More hikers trickled in and the backyard began to fill up. We went out for pizza and beer and then walked back to Mary’s in the dark. We stopped at a convenience store because Treebeard said he needed to pick up some Arizona Iced Tea and a gallon of milk. Aladdin and I gave each other a confused look but didn’t think much of it.

Back at Mary’s Treebeard announced (with excitement) that he would be leading the evening ritual. He requested everyone to come sit at a shared picnic table. He explained that it was a tradition of his from the PCT to gather together at night, share haikus from the day (for those that had them) and then drink a glass of milk mixed with iced tea as a symbol of our connectedness. Aladdin and I both thought this might actually be a cult so we politely passed when it was our turn to “drink the juice”.

We were warned several times by Mary that we must be cautious about our food because javelinas may enter the backyard and eat anything they can find. After cleaning up, everyone retired to their tents, sleeping pads, or tarps.

The backyard hummed with pillow talk that slowly faded into total silence under the stars.