For weeks, if not months, I’d been dreaming about what I was going to do when I got off of the trail… Most of those dreams involved food… My mouth watered as I imagined the amazing cuisine that awaited me in civilization… milkshakes, hamburgers, fries, filet mignon, eggs benedict, salmon, creme brulee, cupcakes, cookies, pies… Mmmm… pies.
Even though I kept dreaming about food, a new dream started to creep in with surprising urgency… A dream of going to the Ocean. After five months of hiking along what I think of as the west coast (California, Oregon, and Washington) without catching even a glimpse of the ocean, I felt an overwhelming urge to go and see the Pacific Ocean after I finished my hike… I dreamed about wriggling my toes in the soft, cold sand. I dreamed about the sound of crashing waves. I dreamed about cowboy camping on the beach… As I hiked I realized that it was a dream, but it was also more than that… I needed to see water… big water… I needed to see water stretching out in front of me as far as the eye could see… Water so big that it felt like it must go on forever… After hiking through so much desert and fire, I just needed to see the water… The ocean would be the yin to the mountains yang… It was what I needed to round out my trip.
When the Canadian border finally came into view, however, all of my dreams about food and the ocean instantly disappeared. Canada?! Canada! Canada! That one word eclipsed all thoughts. There was no past, there was no future, there was no present, there was just one word… Canada!
I stood a stone’s throw away from the Canadian Border, staring at the PCT terminus and monument 78 in shock with the word Canada stuck on repeat in my brain… I stopped moving and I tried to make sense of that word… Canada… It just didn’t seem possible.Walking from Mexico to Canada isn’t something that people actually do. It’s just a dream, right? Yet here I was… Canada!
I thought back to the start, to the Mexican border, with all of its barbed wire and corrugated steel… to the clean-shaven border patrol officers warning us about the armed and dangerous illegals in the area… I thought back to the desert, to the cacti, to the drought, and to the heat… Even though I was facing the unknown, I hadn’t hesitated when I stepped away from that corrugated steel wall (under the careful watch of the border patrol officers) and headed off on my hike.
However, everything about the Canadian border was different… there was no barbed wire, there was no fence, there was no border guard (no mountie waiting to check my permit for “entry into Canada via the Pacific Crest Trail”)… Instead, there was a clear-cut gap in the forest, about 2o feet wide, that extended to the East and to the West as far as the eye could see… That gap was the border between the US and Canada and there were just three things in that gap: the PCT terminus monument, monument 78, and my mom.
Here, at the Canadian border, I was hesitating… For the last five months the trail had been my world, my life, my everything… so much had happened since I left the Mexican border… I wanted all of the memories and adventures from the last 2660 miles to flash in front of my eyes before I crossed over… I wanted to have that perfect moment of clarity, of understanding, of bliss, that would neatly sum up the meaning of life, the trail, and everything before I crossed into Canada… I wanted some kind of closure.
In the story of my life the PCT was huge! It felt like it should end with a big, powerful reveal after the resolution of all of the plot-lines of my life. Unfortunately, the closure I was looking for refused to emerge from the chaos of my thoughts and memories… I couldn’t force the PCT into one simple, powerful, universal statement… it remained fractured into thousands of little stories of transformation and transcendence…
The PCT wasn’t the story of my life, but it had been an amazing chapter… A chapter that I loved so dearly that I didn’t want it to end… a chapter so powerful that it seemed like it couldn’t possible end… that it would never end… I fell into denial as soon as I put the word end into the same thought as PCT. I glanced behind me with defiance and muttered, “It doesn’t have to be over, I could just turn around and walk back to Mexico.” It was an incredibly tempting thought…
I was stuck there, within sight of the the border, my mind racing, trying to come to terms with the reality that this was it… this was the end of the PCT for me, and it wasn’t ending with a nice, clean resolution of everything, it was ending with a cliff-hanger… It was an ending that begged just one question…
“What next?” It was the question that had been nagging at me… everyone (including me) seemed sure that after 5000 miles of hiking, after countless hours of solitude with nothing but my thoughts for company, that I would have discovered the answer to that one, simple question… “What Next?”…. but I didn’t have the answer… not a real answer… not the answer that everyone was looking for, not the answer that I was looking for, so I was hesitating there at the border… The word Canada no longer eclipsed everything… I was miles and miles away, lost in thoughts of the past, the trail, endings, beginnings, and the infinite possible futures ahead of me.
As I stood there lost in contemplation my mom gently reached out and grabbed my hand, “Come on,” she said, “you can do this!” My mom had flown from Boston, MA to Vancouver, B.C., and then had hiked 8 miles from Manning Park to the Canadian border (my dad, just out of surgery, was not far behind her) to meet me, to celebrate with me, and to support me. I let her guide me over to the monument, and laughed when I thought that maybe this was the whole reason my parents had come out here… to make sure that I didn’t just turn around and disappear back into the woods… They were there to provide me with the anchor and the support that I needed… to remind me that even though the trail was my home, there was still another home out there waiting for me, a home full of family and friends that loved me and missed me… As my mom pulled me into the clearing marking the transition from the United States into Canada, she pulled me back into the now, back to that word, that place… back to Canada…
“I’m in Canada!” I exclaimed triumphantly as I reached out and touched the monument. I had hiked myself into a foreign country… I had hiked the entire length of the USA, from the Mexican border to the Canadian border, and beyond… I was finally in Canada! It was time for hugs, for celebrations, for champagne, for huckleberry wine, and for the pastries that my mom had hiked out to me… This was it… Canada! I stood there in awe of the monument… in awe of my journey… in awe of the PCT!
I felt like I had just won the Super Bowl of hiking, which brought me back to that question, “Patches, you’ve just completed the PCT, what are you going to do next?” I had to laugh, my answer to that definitely wasn’t, “I’m going to Disney World.” Disney World was the last place on earth that I wanted to go… There were infinite possible futures ahead of me, but the bigger questions of what I was going to do with my life could wait… Right now it was time for vacation, celebration, and recovery. “I’m going to eat all of the food and I’m going to go to the Ocean!” I was going to make the little dreams come true before delving back into the bigger dreams… I was going to eat hamburgers, fries, filet mignon, eggs benedict, salmon, creme brulee, cupcakes, cookies, and pies… I was going to drink milkshakes… and I was going to go to the Ocean!