SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2019
BACKPACKER.COM 97Grrrr. I jumped out of my sleeping bag, grabbed
my headlamp, and scrambled to set up the tarp by
myself in the pelting rain. I didn’t have the heart to
ask Tumbler to join me. Her contribution was to note
sleepily that it wa sn’t quite taut.
WE FINISHED UP OREGON AND WASHINGTON
over three years. At that point, our motivation got
a serious boost: We’ve hiked two out of three states.
California, here we come! So in 2015 we set off from the
Mexican border, winding north through the desert.
It was 140 miles into our first California desert
hike that I saw Caroline disappearing into the
gloaming and shouted ahead for her to slow down
and wait. Just as I was working out how to break
the news to my wife about Caroline being eaten by a
cougar while tending her rattlesnake bite, I rounded
a bend—and there she was.
Tumbler had set up camp, laying out the ground
sheet and unfurling her sleeping bag, in a lovely sandy
cove 30 feet off the trail. Boulders shielded the spot
from the wind, and the sand looked soft and inviting.
She was lying on her sleeping bag, doctoring her toes
and waiting for me.
I looked around for something to complain about.
In our hikes, I was usually the one to choose a good
campsite.^12 Alas, the spot looked annoyingly per-
fect. Quiet, aching, my pride as battered as my knees,
I glumly complimented her on the site and rolled out
my sleeping bag.
Caroline was now 17, and there was upheaval in our
hiking relationship. Far from being empty, her pack
was now about as heavy as mine, even though she is
shorter and lighter than I am.^13
We each carried our own food, clothing, and water
now. She carried the groundsheet, and I carried our
medical and repair kits, water filter, and maps. When
Caroline grabbed the tarp, too, I only thought about
protesting.
Traditionally, I had mostly hiked in the lead, with
Tumbler behind me, partly because I had hiked more
quickly and could nag/coax/model a faster pace. Now
everything was upended. Caroline often led, and she
periodically zoomed off, especially on a downgrade,
deriding me affectionately as “one-speed old dad” as
she hurtled into the horizon.
Since I no longer set the pace, my own hiking idio-
syncrasies began to show. I tend to hike more slowly
than many other hikers but for longer hours and at a
consistent pace. Tortoise-like, I prefer to get up at
dawn and hike until dark, tottering slowly but with
few stops and covering 28 to 30 miles a day.^14 This
made little sense to Caroline, who was now inclined
to get up later and then hike faster.
Still, we relished these father-daughter days, even
if we each contended that the other was a bit crazy.
Normally at home, I’m on email and cell phone, and
Caroline is buried in her phone,^15 but the wilderness
imposed quality time on us and cemented a power-
ful bond. Like all backpackers, we treasured the ben-
efits of unplugging, the glorious scenery, the sense of
accomplishment that comes from seeing a crag far in
the distance in the morning, rounding it in the after-
noon, and seeing it far behind in the evening.
We shared the blisters and dry stretches, the
aches and the apprehensions of river crossings—oh,
and the rattlesnakes. Our first rattlesnake made
itself known as Caroline was returning from a bath-
room break; it rattled indignantly as she was about
to step on it. Later on, I was puzzling over a strange
sound when I suddenly realized that it was a rattle-
snake beside my foot; my contorted leap managed to
break my trekking pole.
The rattlesnakes brought us together. So did the
sunsets, the glacier-fed mountain streams, and
the exhilaration of sliding down snowfields from12 Dad’s idea of “a good
campsite” doesn’t always
align with mine. Dad will
point to a vaguely level site
dotted with rocks and elk
feces and exclaim, “Caroline,
this is perfect. All those
weeds and roots will serve as
nature’s mattress.” I relent,
and then Dad whips out the
air mattress he needs for
his “sensitive back,” even
though I couldn’t bring extra
underwear because we’re
“ultralight.” I have a fun night
being jabbed by sticks and
dad wakes up perfectly
rested from “nature’s
mattress.”13 Which means that as
a percentage of our body
weights, I’m carrying 50
percent more than my dad.
But who’s counting?14 I thought this dawn-to-
dusk schedule was what
every hiker did—I realized
much later that it was just us
and the freaks who attempt
to break speed records.15 Is he suggesting my
phone use is less important
than his?Why Section Hiking?
Doing a long trail in chunks has obvious
advantages over thru-hiking—it’s easier on
families and jobs—but it has other benefits, too.Conditions If you’re flexible with the route, you can
hike sections during optimal times. In early May, per-
fect desert hiking season, we would sometimes do a
week or so in the Southern California desert. In July
or August, we would do a week in the mountains.
Crowd control We were able to time sections so as
to avoid the PCT equivalent of rush hour, when thru-
hikers are everywhere.
Recovery Most blisters or shin splints can be
endured for a week or two if you know that afterward
you’ll have a couple months of rest.
Scenery It’s the same terrain thru-hikers see, but
it’s difficult to get blasé about radiant beauty when
you’re exposed to it in brief bursts.
Logistics There’s no real advantage here, as get-
ting on and off the trail is a challenge all hikers have to
figure out. We sometimes found friends to take us to
a trailhead, or we took buses, trains, Ubers or taxis,
or we caught rides from trail angels, and of course
we hitchhiked as well. Logistics are much easier on
the Appalachian Trail and harder on the Continental
Divide Trail.
Trail angels These heroes are an American trea-
sure, and although I was originally shy about accept-
ing their help—figuring their aid should be reserved
for thru-hikers—we did rely on them several times,
and they were a fantastic part of the trail experience.
Community One disadvantage of section hiking
is that you miss the camaraderie of getting to know
and grow with the same hiking pals over five or so
months. On the other hand, section hikers stretch
out the magic of a long trail over a number of years,
meeting hikers and making friends across several
“classes.” –N.K.