This is the last part of the story of I'mfine's adventure. Excerpts from his journal are italicised. You can read part one here, part two here and part three here.
I cried with relief when I heard that I'mfine had staggered, dizzy and shaking, into Stehekin. I had felt physically sick for the last few days, and useless so far away on the other side of the Pacific. I desperately wanted to talk to I'mfine, to know what had happened, and to tell him to get off the trail. He was still 80 miles from Canada. A few details of his ordeal trickled through from his mother. I couldn't begin to imagine what she had been through in the last two weeks. I called her and gave her a message to pass on. I told I'mfine that I felt he should leave the trail, finish it next season. But that was easy for me to say... I had been able to finish. I also gave him some advice about the trail ahead, just in case he kept going, and in the back of my mind I knew that he would.
After deciding to continue north and complete my hike, my back pack was unbearably heavy, as I carried a ton of extra food. It had to be at least sixty pounds, the pack I carried into the Sierra being 55 pounds, and that didn't feel nearly as heavy as this.
The first twenty miles to Rainy Pass were all smooth sailing, then it started snowing, and by the time I reached Cutthroat Pass, a fresh three to five inches had fallen. As I approached Cutthroat Pass, the higher I climbed, the more snow was left over from the last storm, although it was frozen to a hard shell and very slippery and difficult to walk on. The north side of the pass was worse and wherever there was a steep ridge, the trail was completely snowed over, then frozen solid, making it nearly impossible, and completely terrifying, to traverse.
South of Harts Pass the trail was treacherous as well, and I had to traverse a section on one ridge on my knees, facing the mountain, and stabbing my trekking poles a foot into the snow to anchor myself to the mountain. North of Rock Pass I slid out and went about 100 feet down the ridge until stopping myself by digging my elbows and trekking poles into the ice and snow, then using my trekking pole as a break, slid down the rest of the way to the next switchback.
Several times it took everything I had to keep going. The last day it never got above thirteen degrees (-11 °C), and my nose was bleeding all morning from the cold dry air. By nightfall, before the sun had even finished setting, my thermometer maxed out at zero degrees (-18 °C). After the ice that had formed in my inflatable sleeping pad the night before stabbed a hole through it, I set up a bed of pine branches under my tent for extra warmth on the last night.
I'mfine walked into Canada, true to the thru, on 11 November.
This is part three of the story of I'mfine's adventure. Excerpts from his journal are italicised. You can read part one here and part two here.
I had to go home. I had been waiting in Vancouver for my energy to return, and for I'mfine to arrive, but neither had happened. I rang Air New Zealand and booked a seat on the next flight. It was leaving in seven hours so I hastily repacked my bag and made my way to the airport. I got an Internet connection just before departure and checked my emails. There was still no sign of I'mfine and Andrea Dinsmore had called Search and Rescue. Suddenly I realised the seriousness of the situation, but my flight was boarding. I felt sick. As the plane took off I stared out the window at the lights of Vancouver. I was leaving North America and leaving a friend in need. Please I'mfine, just be safe, wherever you are.
And I waited. And waited. And waited... And starved. And froze. And waited. On day two for some reason I had a premonition that after nine nights in my tent I would be rescued. I spent those nine nights rationing food at 300-500 calories per day, the first couple days were closer to 600 or 700. The first five or six nights were very cold, and during this period the snow would melt a little during the day, then usually more snow would fall back to its original level. After that it warmed up enough to rain, and even the nights held only slightly below freezing. After night nine, the snow was mostly melted.
During this period I spent all day either hoping, thinking, going crazy with hunger pains, or sometimes extreme anxiety, or lying down calmly escaped in a day dream. I would sometimes feel good in my decision to wait for help, and other times I contemplated trying anything I could to make an escape. I would drift back and forth between feeling relatively calm and sedated, to helpless and anxious. At times I was confident that I would survive, and other times I was less hopeful. By the fifth or sixth day I began imagining air plane sounds from the noise the creek was making, by the seventh or eighth day I began imagining helicopter noises, and by day nine or ten I would constantly hear both air planes and helicopters so I wore earplugs for the last two days to try to protect my sanity the best I could.
After the ninth night the snow had melted enough that I should have made a break for it then, but I decided to wait the day out in lieu of my premonition, and if I hadn't been rescued I would go for it the next day. This was my first full day with zero calorie intake. The day came and went, and when I woke up the next morning I decided that if I was going to die in the wilderness, I wasn't going to die lying in a nylon coffin in that godforsaken canyon which I had grown to detest.
I packed up and headed for the waterfall upstream, and carefully climbed hand over hand beside it, then followed the creek above to a low spot in the small cliff above the steep canyon wall, the only possible chance I had of climbing out. I crawled up the small scree slope on my hands and knees, then grabbed onto rocks and roots to climb up the canyon wall. I reached a shelf between the small canyon wall I climbed up and a large canyon wall on the other side. I fought through thick undergrowth and trees until I reached an exposed section and climbed up a small knoll to view the surrounding area.
I spotted my best chance of getting up the canyon wall and back onto the ridge line that I originally ended up on after the glacier creek. Leading up to this small spot was a steep scree slope, which I crossed very carefully, each ill-placed step sliding out. When I got to the point I would attempt to climb, I started up, and grabbing onto the frigid rock face for dear life, made it up. Thinking back I cringed a little at the thought of how narrowly I had made it to where I was and what would have happened if I made a mistake.
I hiked back to the first spot I reached on the ridge and resurveyed the surroundings. I hiked around the area for a couple hours, backtracking two different times until I got back to the same spot, and eventually traced my steps back to Glacier Creek, found the trail and where it crosses, and followed it up to Fire Creek Pass, which was still covered in snow about eight to ten inches deep and completely exposed, making navigating very difficult. The north side of the pass still had deep snow drifts and I couldn't see the trail at all at some points. I found my way until the trail became clearer, and I followed it as it dropped in elevation, back into pine forest. It started raining lightly and by nightfall I was pretty wet.
I camped on the trail north of Milk Creek. The next two passes between me and Stehekin were pretty much the same, difficult to maneuver, covered in snow, and sometimes frightening. I made it to Stehekin on a Friday; my last meal, if you can call it that, had been on the Monday. Hiking without any food, after already barely eating for nine days previously, was very difficult. Sometimes I could hardly keep moving when going uphill or through the snow. Having to pick my feet up to step over logs or rocks felt like I was lifting blocks of concrete. I ended up consuming massive amounts of water in spite of hardly sweating. I weighed in about eighteen pounds lighter when I got to Stehekin. I was ecstatic to have found my way out and to eat again, but also extremely sore all over and maybe a little disoriented by now.
You can read part four here.
This is part two of the story of I'mfine's adventure. Excerpts from his journal are italicised. You can read part one here.
It wasn't unusual not to hear from I'mfine - he didn't carry a cellphone and only kept in sporadic contact. But what on earth was taking him so long? I wasn't the only person wondering and a message was posted online asking if anyone had seen him. It emerged that Bouncer and Storytime had seen him last, defiantly pushing on into a storm when they had decided to hunker down and then subsequently turn back. Andrea Dinsmore, a trail angel who I'mfine had stayed with on 16 October, called ahead to the post office at Stehekin. Stehekin was five days walk from her house and I'mfine had planned to resupply there. He hadn't picked up his packages and two weeks had passed. Something was wrong...
October 19th, I was hiking in the rain, when I passed Bouncer and Storytime midday who were waiting out the weather in their tents. After a few hours of hiking, rain turned to sleet, and eventually to snow. There was already some snow on the ground to begin with. I crossed Red Pass (6500 ft), and was soaked to the bone and freezing, so after descending to a small patch of trees at roughly 5500 ft, it started to get dark and I decided to set up camp.
When I awoke in the morning, the snow was already knee to mid thigh deep, with some waist high drifts, and it was still coming down. I packed up and decided to make a move for lower elevation, soon losing the trail. I cut downhill to my left, the side of the ridge covered with nearly waist deep snow, aiming for a creek with the intention of following running water to lower elevation and hopefully eventually exiting the wilderness. After following the creek for maybe an hour or so, I came to another patch of trees and noticed a stump that had been saw-cut. I continued alongside the creek until I came to 3 small logs laying across the creek with saw-cut ends, and a noticeable indent (trail) in the snow on the other side. I crossed the logs, and followed the indent the best I could, eventually leading to a forested area, with the trail being much easier to follow.
This led to a very nice man-made bridge, and the trail through the forested area had less than knee deep snow for the most part. I came to a side trail reading "Trail abandoned, use new side trail 0.25 mile north of Sitkum Creek on PCT". I continued to follow the trail until I reached that side trail, with a sign reading "White Chuck Road and trail washed out". F---. I continued north on the trail until I reached a sign reading "White Chuck Road, and Kennedy Hot Springs". Scratched into the sign were some notes from other hikers including "Both destroyed" and "Not an exit". F---!!
I continued on the trail hoping to cross Fire Creek Pass, and camp by Milk Creek, hoping that the Milk Creek Trail would offer an exit. By nightfall I lost the trail just north of where it crosses Glacier Creek (not realizing that it crossed the creek, continuing straight instead), and dug in next to a boulder, set up camp, and hoped to find the trail in the morning.
When I woke up a fresh 3-4 inches of snow had fallen. I continued to walk straight until I got on top of the ridge line. When I crested the ridge I saw no sign of the trail. The ridge dropped steeply down in front of me, to my left was a steep treacherous pass, complete with sheer cliffs and glaciers, and to my right the ridge gradually descended until there were trees on it. I couldn't cross the pass, I didn't want to slide down into the canyon to my front (which eventually ended up happening anyway), I didn't want to back-track, so I trucked down the ridge to my right hoping to find some sign of the trail once I got into the trees - cut off branches, bark, anything.
Eventually the ridge grew steeper and steeper until I started sliding out in 20ish foot sections, stopping myself on trees, until I reached a small or 6 foot cliff. I lowered down that holding onto small trees and branches. Eventually the path I chose became nearly vertical, offering me no other options than to continue forward. I reached a 15-20 foot cliff, the path behind too steep to back track, so I manoeuvred horizontally holding onto trees until I found a smaller section of cliff about 9 feet high. I dropped my back pack and trekking poles down first, then pissed on my hands to warm them up enough to gain enough grip strength to lower myself down holding onto exposed roots or rock.
When I got to my back pack, which had rolled about twenty feet in the snow I noticed that my camera had fallen out of my hip belt pocket. I dug all around in the snow, went downhill, back uphill, nothing. I had lost the only thing making me feel somewhat connected to the outside world/people. Lost my video diaries of this whole misadventure. Felt more alone. I continued forward until the ground got a lot flatter and stumbled through a patch of small trees all bent over under the weight of the snow from knee to chest height.
I reached one more small cliff and dropped down to the scree slopes of the canyon below and started following the creek at the bottom downstream until after about a quarter mile it dropped off steeply into a section of canyon with 20 foot vertical walls. I back tracked until I reached another waterfall. Each side of the canyon was too steep to ascend, so on the floor of the canyon between two branches of the creek, I stomped down and scooped out as much snow as I could on the flattest spot I could find and set up my tent.
You can read part three here.
Some of you might remember reading about I'mfine earlier in my blog. In the North Cascades he had an extraordinary adventure. This is part one of his story...
On 22 October - the day after Waldo and I arrived in Canada - Scallywag, Cityfood, Notsobad, Dancingfeet, Doeeyes and Scrubrat all finished the trail. It was a great relief to see them again and to know that they were safe. We spent the night in Manning Park and then all got on the bus to Vancouver. "The last one to Canada wins" had been a running joke and Scrubrat wondered if he might be the winner. "No" I told him, "I'mfine is still out there". I knew I'mfine well, and I knew that nothing would stop him walking to Canada. Given the weather, that was cause for concern.
I had met I'mfine in California, catching a bus back to the trail after resupplying in Mammoth. I was in a bad mood and decided that I didn't like him. It must have shown too because he told me sometime later that he had known. My opinion quickly changed though and I soon grew to appreciate his wacky sense of humour, cheeky grin and refreshing honesty. I even forgave him for giving me a packet of SPAM for my birthday and telling me it was delicious and that everyone liked it. We walked together for a few days before he got ahead of me.
A few weeks later I was sitting at Drakesbad Resort having just spent a week road walking around a section of the trail closed by wildfire. I was waiting for my dinner and was a bit sad to be eating alone - I hadn't seen another hiker since the beginning of the road walk. What the... suddenly someone had me in a headlock! Once I realised it was I'mfine, and not some crazy waiter telling me my dinner was ready, we rejoiced and caught up. I'mfine had also decided to road walk around the fire and had read my entry in the last register. He was pleased to have found another hiker who was staying, "true to the thru", as he put it, and road walking rather than hitch-hiking around the trail closures. We joked that if there was another fire at least we would have company for the road walk.
It turned out that there was another wildfire up ahead the very next day. We once again took to the road and trudged around the fire until midnight. I had found someone as determined and stubborn as me. At least I thought so, because I would soon come to realise I'mfine was much more extreme. The first example was his boots. They were wrecked and the front half of both soles was entirely worn away. Everyone suggested that he get a new pair but no, he had made up his mind that these were his "Cali boots" and they were going to travel with him until Oregon. I witnessed him suffer greatly, including during our 40 mile day, determined to wear the boots for all 1700 miles of California. And of course he did, proudly posting a picture of him and the boots at the state border.
We walked together for a couple of weeks and during this time I'mfine essentially saved my hike. I was rapidly losing weight and couldn't figure out how to reverse the trend. I'mfine carries a legendary amount of food and is also incredibly generous. He started giving me all sorts of food, getting me addicted to a few high calorie things and he helped me with my resupply. By the time we stopped walking together my food bag weighed almost as much as his. In Etna, when we were sorting out our resupply, Notsobad picked up I'mfine's food bag and commented, "your resupply feels a bit light for this section...". "Oh no", I'mfine told him, "that's just my cheese bag". He was the only thru-hiker that I met who had gained weight. Little did we know that this would help save his life a few months later.
I'mfine also liked to sleep in. I would often leave camp before he had emerged, walk the day alone and then get woken up by, "Typo, is that you?", when he wandered into camp. Eventually I had to pick up the pace - I was worried about the weather deteriorating - so I said goodbye to I'mfine in Ashland, thinking he would catch up eventually. He never did so when I finished my walk and headed to Vancouver I waited there, expecting to hear soon that he had made it to Canada. The days ticked by and there was still no word...
You can read part two here.
It was the coldest night of the trip and I woke often because it was so chilly. I could hear Waldo snoring nearby, which at least let me know he was still alive. The alarm went off at 6:30 am and I looked up at a layer of frozen condensation lining the inside of my tent. There was fresh snow outside but mercifully only a few inches had fallen overnight. As expected my boots were frozen stiff. I had trouble getting them on despite having opened them wide the night before. I had the luxury of a dry pair of socks, which was just as well since the pair from the day before were also frozen solid and resembled overcooked pieces of bacon. We packed up quickly to make the most of our 11 hours of daylight. Canada was 12 miles away and then we would have to walk a further eight miles beyond the border to the nearest road at Manning Park Resort.
We had breakfast, put on our snowshoes and set off towards Woody Pass. The snow was reasonably thick but we were recharged and made good progress. I was pleased we had decided to stop when we did the night before. As we crossed Woody Pass the weather deteriorated and a whiteout suddenly surrounded us. I caught sight of a tree in the distance just before the weather closed in completely, and headed in that direction. Thankfully it lifted before we became too disoriented. We were generally able to find our way by sight, as on the previous day.
I was thirsty but my drink bottle had frozen solid overnight. Waldo still had a little water, which we shared. We came to a pass which I mistook for our highest point. I spotted some blurred footprints in the snow - left by Wolverine. It was reassuring to know that he had made it that far but the prints soon strayed from the trail. I wondered what the conditions were when he passed and if perhaps he had attempted it in the dark. I knew that Wolverine was travelling alone, without a GPS, and that he had been out for much longer than us. We were incredibly lucky again and the weather was mostly clear.
After another short climb we reached our highest point. The snow was thick at the top and there was no sign of the trail. I cut across in what I hoped was the right direction and thankfully found the trail. I was relieved to see Wolverine's tracks again, but the relief was short lived as they soon left the trail. They had become so random that I wondered if he was delirious. I was consumed by worry. I realized I was no longer concerned for my own safety - it was now all downhill to Canada - and that my anxiety had shifted to Wolverine. We descended the "Devil's Stairway" and once again found Wolverine's tracks. I could tell he was cutting the switchbacks and pictured him slipping and sliding down the steep valley. It went a long, long way down. I imagined him huddled somewhere needing our help. Should we be following his footprints and looking for him? I spoke my mind to Waldo but thankfully he had more sense than me. I couldn't wait to get to the border - not to finish my journey, but to search the register there for Wolverine's name.
Everyone knew the story of a hiker, Gourmet, who had broken his ankle just six miles from the border and been airlifted out. This was also on my mind. Almost exactly six miles from the border there was a log across the trail, just above knee height. As I stepped over it my snowshoe swiveled forward and the front poked straight into the snow, preventing my foot from planting flat. I had already shifted my weight over and couldn't stop myself from falling. I lay sprawled on the ground. My first thought was for my legs and ankles. If they were all right I would make it to the border. Thankfully my arms had taken most of the fall and I was left with only a torn jacket and bleeding elbow. We removed our snowshoes and Waldo took the lead. I had been leading for too long.
We continued down past the turn-off to the frozen Hopkins Lake. There were various tracks zigzagging over the trail, mostly animal tracks but perhaps Wolverine's tracks as well. We were at a lower elevation and the snow was thinner on the ground. We came across running water and filled up - it was a relief to drink. Three miles from the border we spotted the melted shape of a tent print in the snow under a tree. I made it into the shape of Wolverine's tent. Surely he was safe. I charged on ... so close now.
The last few miles flew by in a snowy blur. I rounded a corner and there it was - a break in the trees, the wooden northern terminus, the metal border monument and Canada beyond. I burst into tears. All of the challenges I had faced and overcome, but had been unable to process, caught up with me. In the final days I had been so intent on survival that I hadn't prepared myself for this moment. Suddenly I was standing at the end of the Pacific Crest Trail and I had walked every step from Mexico to Canada.
I went in search of the register and found it inside the metal border monument. It was soggy and falling apart but I found the most recent page and there they were, the words I had read so many times before but was never so pleased to see as then: "Wolverine, Detroit, MI." I remembered the morning I met Wolverine in Northern California. He was walking slower and shorter days, and I thought I probably wouldn't see him again. And now he had finished a day ahead of me, through the storm, on his own after we had lost him at Rainy Pass. I had underestimated him greatly.
Waldo arrived and we signed the register and took photos. It was around 2 pm and cold and we needed to keep moving to get to Manning Park before dark. It was a struggle to do a further eight miles now the trail was finished, but it was a good track and provided time to reflect. Waldo was having trouble with his new snow boots so slowed down and told me not to wait for him. I came to a road ... almost there ... one last bit of road walking. The only traffic I saw was a lone cyclist in the dying light.
I came to Manning Park Resort and found the rather grand entrance. I was covered in snow, half frozen, and had my snowshoes strapped to my backpack but I walked in anyway. I asked if there were other hikers there and was directed to a couple of cabins. I could see a large glowing window and walked towards it. On the other side was Astro's father. I had never met him but recognized him anyway. His face lit up and he rushed to the door. "Are you Typo?" They had been anxiously waiting for me all day. My friend Astro rushed out. His journey along the Trail had been a remarkable one and it was a miracle to see him safely in Canada. I was starting to break down and only managed to demand, "Where is Wolverine?"
Astro said Wolverine was in the cabin next door so I staggered over. Light streamed out of the window and I looked in. There, sitting reading, was Wolverine. Alive! I will never forget the look on his face. He threw what he was holding into the air and flew out through the door. We exchanged our stories. He had thought Heehaw and I were ahead of him the whole time, and had stumbled on, driven by fear. I told him we would have waited, of course we would have waited. Every emotion I was feeling was expressed in tears and I was a wreck, sobbing uncontrollably. Astro joined us and today, exactly a month later, I can still hear him saying, "Hell yeah, Typo made it, of course Typo made it, I knew Typo would make it."
Waldo's alarm went off at 5:30 am. We got up and packed, said goodbye to a half-awake Scallywag and strode out into the dawn. We had arranged to pick up two pairs of snowshoes at an address in Mazama. They were there waiting for us. The snow chains on the car had been noisy and cumbersome on the sealed road but we were thankful for them as it turned to gravel covered by snow and ice. There was a lot more snow at Hart's Pass than the day before.
I was nervous but ready. Five months and 22 days on trail had prepared me for this moment. We strapped the snowshoes to our backpacks and set off. Waldo had already walked the first 5 miles before turning back so he knew the way. He took off like a rocket and it was all I could do to keep him in sight. Everything was covered by a blanket of snow but it was possible to follow where the trail went because of depressions in the snow and cuttings in the trees. Whenever we were unsure we checked using GPS, which put us right on several occasions. It started to snow lightly and it was utterly beautiful.
As we climbed higher the snow was thicker, and we started sinking up to our knees. It was time to put the snowshoes on. They took some getting used to but I was hyper-focused and quickly made the necessary adjustments to my steps. We sunk less as we continued our slow but steady progress. It felt like wading through water and was exhausting, so we took turn about in the lead cutting the trail. It was hard enough walking at the back and I hardly felt refreshed before it was my turn to lead again. I slipped and fell often but it was into a soft bed of snow.
Every now and then we paused to stand and eat. I had filled my jacket pockets with food - half a pound of sliced salami in one pocket and a bag of mini Snickers bars in the other. We were burning through our energy rapidly, keeping warm and keeping moving. It was too cold to stop for any length of time so we had no option but to carry on. My water bottle was half frozen and my beard was streaked with ice. I felt so alive! Every detail around me was crisp and clear to an extent I had never experienced before.
For a few miles the trail descended to a lower elevation. There was less snow on the ground so we took off our snowshoes and picked up pace. We had slogged for nearly 15 miles and were both tiring. Our energy had dipped throughout the day, but thankfully never at the same time for both of us. We had been able to pull each other along. The weather had cleared and there were a few small patches of blue sky. We felt extremely lucky and kept moving to make miles while the weather allowed it.
We climbed up again to what we thought must be Woody Pass. It was a couple of miles beyond this point to the last pass over 7000 feet, and we decided to try and push on beyond there. We wanted to get it behind us. The trail went straight on the map so we did the same, but we soon came to a sign reading "Trail Abandoned". We could see no trace of the actual trail, and it had started to snow again, and darkness was approaching. We considered hunkering down. I checked my GPS and it showed we were actually a couple of miles before Woody Pass and had missed some switchbacks down the side of the mountain. We managed to find them and started to descend steeply.
The darkness came and we got our head lamps out. It was much harder to find the trail and we again discussed stopping. The trail started climbing once more and we didn't want to get caught out at a higher elevation. Waldo spotted a tiny patch of green on the map that overlapped the trail and we decided to make for it. We walked together through the darkness to the patch of trees. It was rocky and steep, so I suggested we just camp on the trail. It was the flattest place and the trees on either side provided a bit of shelter from the swirling snow. My last night on the trail would literally be camping on the trail.
I hadn't camped in snow before but Waldo knew what to do. We packed the snow down with our feet to make a flat space for our tents. I put on Heehaw's lucky gloves and a pair of dry socks from ED. I set up my cooker in the vestibule and heated some water for a warm drink and dinner. Heehaw had given me a dehydrated meal to which I added the hot water, then I stuffed it down my front to act as a hot water bottle while it cooked. I loosened the laces on my boots and opened them fully - a tip from Heehaw - since they would freeze overnight. Waldo had dinner nearby and set his alarm for another early start.
We were 12 miles from Canada. With visions of heavy snow overnight blocking the last pass, I wondered if we should have pushed on into the darkness. We were totally exhausted, however, and walking was much more dangerous with limited visibility. Overall, it felt right to have stopped and we had made the decision together. I put on every piece of clothing I had, got into my sleeping bag and cinched it up so just my nose was poking out. The temperature was well below freezing and we were in for a very, very cold night.
Map (View larger)
Recent Check-ins (View all)
21 I made it.
15 About to catch the last bus for the season out of Stehekin and planning to walk out of America in four days time on the last day of my visa...
09 It looks like some bad weather is finally on the way. My rain gear might actually get some use! Tough climbs ahead but getting closer to Canada each day and with great group of fellow stragglers.
22 Quick stop in Cascade Locks to shower, do laundry, resupply, eat and 'rest'. Across the Bridge of the Gods, over the mighty Columbia river, into Washington today - the first day of autumn.
13 Resupply for Washington all sorted with some help from Mum, who is visiting on her way home from Europe. Now it is time to escape Bend and resume the race to Canada.
Photos (View all)
30 True to the thru (Part 4 of 4)
30 The waiting game (Part 3 of 4)
30 Something was wrong (Part 2 of 4)
30 A story that needs to be told (Part 1 of 4)
21 "I knew Typo would make it" (Part 6 of 6)
19 Throwing the Hail Mary (Part 5 of 6)
10 Up and down, but not out (Part 4 of 6)
06 Crossing Cutthroat Pass (Part 3 of 6)
03 Warming up in Winthrop (Part 2 of 6)
30 We're sleeping in a toilet (Part 1 of 6)
25 Another radio interview (Audio)
21 I made it
04 Nearly there
29 Trail Magic
19 Walking with Mum
28 Cold food
28 Hello Oregon!
20 40 miles in one day
08 Official trail name: Typo
06 (Humbolt) Summit Fever
06 Road walking around a wildfire
30 Two trail birthdays
18 A picture is worth...
10 Pain and gain in the Sierra
28 Hiker hunger
27 The inquisitive marmot
19 Stage one survived
05 Live from the Mojave (Updated)
04 I just walked 500 miles...
31 Current nemesis: Poodle dog bush
23 Mexico to McDonald's
23 Gear review: Sleeping pad
18 Hot and getting even hotter
10 People on the trail: Sunset
05 Eagle Rock
03 Hiker discount: 100%
30 The beginning
25 Final preparation
17 Blogging along the way
16 No publicity is bad publicity
08 Walking before the walk
08 Maps for the trail