Yet the author also discovered a newfound sense of awe for her, hiking the PCT was “powerful and fundamental” and “truly hard and glorious.” Strayed was stunned by how the trail both shattered and sheltered her. Along the way, she suffered aches, pains, loneliness, blistered, bloody feet and persistent hunger.
Strayed’s writing admirably conveys the rigors and rewards of long-distance hiking.
Woefully underprepared for the wilderness, out of shape and carrying a ridiculously overweight pack, the author set out from the small California town of Mojave, toward a bridge (“the Bridge of the Gods”) crossing the Columbia River at the Oregon-Washington border. Initially, the idea of hiking the trail became a vague apparition, then a goal. I was not meant to be this way, to live this way, to fail so darkly.” While waiting in line at an outdoors store, Strayed read the back cover of a book about the Pacific Crest Trail. “I was crying over all of it,” she writes, “over the sick mire I’d made of my life since my mother died over the stupid existence that had become my own. For the next four years, life was a series of disappointments. Family ties melted away she divorced her husband and slipped into drug use. Unsentimental memoir of the author’s three-month solo hike from California to Washington along the Pacific Crest Trail.įollowing the death of her mother, Strayed’s ( Torch, 2006) life quickly disintegrated.
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