Thirst by Heather Anderson

Author:Heather Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781680512373
Publisher: Mountaineers Books
Published: 2018-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

DAY 20 / 40 MILES

I crossed the bridge over roaring Woods Creek in the morning twilight. There was something about seeing the first desperately awaited ray of dawn color the horizon ahead of me. It awakened a thankfulness, not only for the strength of my body, but for my life itself. I realized that no matter how dark, no matter how long or cold or alone, I would hold the promise of dawn in my heart. No matter the outcome, I will be thankful for the strength of my body—for the blessing of being alive. For the opportunity to face the night. I wound through beautiful meadowlands as I climbed toward Pinchot Pass, drinking in the wildflowers drenched in dew and sunrise.

I reached the pass at 8 a.m. and scarfed a second breakfast before descending into the basin. There, I enjoyed passing multiple campsites full of people rising for the day. The chronic stiffness in my body had subsided over the last forty-eight hours, and I didn’t even notice the continual aching in my feet anymore. At the same time, my mood had elevated to the heights of the passes I crossed. I continued to follow the trail through its cycles of pass-valley-pass—descending from the ridgeline to ford a deep river in the valley below and climbing again to the next ridgeline. I reached the fourth of the five highest passes on the PCT—Mather Pass—at midday and sat down for a quick snack.

“I actually feel pretty damn good,” I stated to a bird perched nearby, waiting for a handout.

Just then a hiker popped over the north side of the pass. He sat beside me and struck up a conversation.

“Are you a PCT thru-hiker?”

I nodded, my mouth full of prunes.

“Are you trying to break the record?”

I stared at him for a long while before I answered. It was obvious that he already knew who I was and what I was trying to do. The hair on my neck prickled.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

“I thought I might run into you. I do a loop out here every year. Although I usually go the other way, I wanted to meet the Ghost. So I went the opposite direction this time.”

“What is with the name the Ghost? My name is Anish.” I was irritated despite my nervousness at obviously being stalked.

He looked at me quizzically for a moment.

“It’s what people are calling you on the PCT-Listserv. You’re here one minute, gone the next. All anyone sees are your unusual footprints.”

I looked down. He was right, the Altra shoes I wore left lug patterns in the shape of a bare foot in the dirt. I’d heard of the PCT-Listserv, or PCT-L for short. I’d never been on it because like all online forums it seemed to be full of haters and belligerent trolls. Drama had never been my scene and I certainly didn’t want it to ever be a part of my trail experience.

He asked a few more probing questions, seeming intrigued, but cautious.

“But how do

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