When I grow up.

I have spent the past few years trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. After graduating with a BA in Political Science and Public Health, I ended up ditching academia for a while and spent a good portion of the following year getting paid to clean toilets and hike around the San Bernardino National Forest with children. While this experience was far removed from my reality as a student, I definitely in no way had it “all figured out”. So, I ended up moving to Alaska for the summer to shuttle a random assortment of rowdy guests between our cute little lodge on the Kenai River, the Anchorage Airport and the liquor store.  Due to my inability to stop my hands from digging into the infamous ‘wall o’ snacks’ in our lounge, I left Alaska with a slew of pleasant memories and subcutaneous layer that would help me to surive the winter. Apparently I had taken after the eating practices of the brown bears who frequent the area.

Conversations, contemplation and inebriated decision-making allowed me more backpacking opportunities with my friends Javi and Chica Chiva and got me in a pickle when an un-castrated yak chased me through the Langtang Valley in North-central Nepal.

On January 10, 2012 as I unpacked my backpack one last time and apologized to our washing machine for putting in overtime to clean my filthy clothes that had already reeked of body odor more than two months ago, it suddenly dawned on me that somewhere during my adventures, I had made a commitment to myself and to my friend Adriana to hike the Pacific Crest Trail beginning at the Mexican border and ending Manning Park, British Columbia.

Despite interspersed periods of extreme boredom, spending three months in my hometown has given me time to enjoy the company of my wonderful and supportive family, and to figure what the heck I am doing come the anticipated start date of April 25th.

Life in Eugene is pleasant, but rather low-key: my main objective to keep my body and mind somewhat occupied with work and physical activity. After entertaining myself with youtube videos and facebook (essentially doing nothing productive) for close to a month, I landed myself a VERY part-time job at a restaurant that specializes in soup. My favorite soup is chicken mole. And yours? I divide the rest of my time between teaching small children about Pacific Tree Frogs, preparing for my role in the cast of the Vagina Monologues, and, of course dreaming, fantasizing, planning and talking about the Pacific Crest Trail.

There is much more I want to discuss: What gear I am bringing. What I will eat. The base weight of my pack. Trail terminology. The origin of my trail name (Honey Bear). My hope and fears for the trail. My hiking partner. SheJumps: the amazing organization I am raising funds for while hiking...just to name a few.

Please let me know what you want me to write about. I always appreciate input and hope that this setup will offer genuine interaction between myself and those accompany me on this epic adventure my reading this blog.

I leave you tonight with a poem written by Gary Snyder describing the austere beauty of the High Sierras (Thank-you Emilie Schur for sharing this with me).

Bedrock

Snowmelt pond    warm gentle

We make camp

no thought of finding more

and nap,

and leave our minds to the wind.

on the bedrock, gently tilting

sky and stone

teach me to be tender

the touch that nearly misses –

brush of glances-

tiny steps-

that finally cover worlds of hard terrain.

Cloud wisps and mists.

gathered into slate blue

bolts of summer rain.

Tea together in the starry purple eve.

New moon to set;

why does it take so long to learn to love,

we laugh and grieve.

Goodnight!