As much as I love remembering the awesomeness that was my Pacific Crest Trail hike, during moments of aggressive trail jonesing, I also try to remind myself of the horrible times out on the trail. The horrible times? Yes, the horrible times. These times include, but are not limited to: the
On day 113 of my Pacific Crest Trail thru-hike I encountered a thunderstorm in the middle of the Three Sisters Wilderness in Oregon. Stuck hiding beneath a tree, begging for the mercy of the almighty Zeus, I did the only rational thing I could think of: I filmed my last will and testament.
The Pacific Crest Trail is a fickle bitch of a mistress, and the way to Canada (or Mexico) is (un)paved with blood, sweat, and tears (literally). As a result, sometimes (most of the time) things fail to work out as expected. Nowhere was this more true than in Washington. Not once, not twice,
I really thought we had an understanding. Scorching daytime heat, you are on full blast. Attempting to set up tent and/or sleeping - you had best be elsewhere. I forgave you already for deafening me on my way to Cabazon, and even for blowing that poodle dog bush into me (I am still itchy); but
Across the world you can find people who love nothing more than to talk about the weather (yes, boring people are everywhere). For whatever reason (usually a desperate need of social interaction), to some people, nothing is more exciting than speculating on what torment mother nature is brewing
When the rainy season hits in Rio de Janeiro it seems that the media overseas choose to report floods of biblical proportions that force locals to stockpile animals and supplies into arcs as a last resort for waiting out the storms (I hope Giant Stone Jesus saves us). This is not the case; you