post-apocalypse

an epilogue

2026.09.22

This is part of my PCT Series.

The last time I hiked through Northern California on the PCT, I compared it to the apocalypse. Nothing else came close to describe how I felt traversing over and through the endless charcoal monoliths in the scorching sun.

Now back for a second round in the golden glow of the Indian Summer, it feels decidedly post-apocalyptic. Very few people are around. Most PCT hikers are close to the terminus by now, or have finished and gone home for the season. Only elk hunters remain. Things are eerily quiet. We have time to watch nature moving at its own pace as the season turns. Autumnal colors begin to sing decay.

After an all-night train journey north, I arrive in Klamath Falls (sometimes known as Klamtucky for reasons which quickly become obvious). I’m here to meet my friend Liminal who summoned me back to the trail to hike NorCal with her. I agree without really considering what this will entail. After some thought, I convince myself the horrible experience I had last time was due to my own mental state and interpersonal issues, and that this time, maybe I can enjoy myself. Maybe. If not, at least it will be a productive training period.

Lim and I met early on in the PCT, back on day 4 in Warner Springs. I haven’t hiked with her much, but we have continuously exchanged voice notes and texts since we met. Despite being “long distance”, she’s one of my closest friends from the PCT.

Just south of Ashland is my new favorite road walk. Only partly because it marks the border to CALIFORNIA <3

We hike south from Ashland, comparing notes. We are able to construct full stories out of our own partial fragments of metatextual lore; when I was almost thrown from the back of a pickup truck in Hikertown, it turns out that the driver was demonstrating the fishtailing that another hiker named Whiskey had done to flip the truck just days before. Whiskey, temporarily employed at Hikertown as a driver, was known to have an alcohol problem. He went to jail. Go figure.

big fan of the “CAUTION HIKERS ON ROAD” sign

even the wolf lichen looks pretty parched

Though it’s been only a few months, the scenery here is significantly different. Everything is tinged with gold and orange. Days are noticeably shorter and the golden hours before dusk seem to stretch on endlessly. It’s warm but not hot; healthy breezes blow through up on the ridgeline.

I will give you one guess as to which mountain can be seen here in the distance

I definitely think this is the most underrated section of the trail now

I’m struck by just how much your mindset determines experience. With relentlessly positive Lim, the hundreds of blowdowns are more of a minor annoyance than a day ruiner. We take long breaks to appreciate the scenery, and despite this we still clock 30+ miles on a full day. Lim is tough as nails and despite the fact she has had her share of men harassing and stalking her on trail, steadfastly continues towards the finish.

Rocky Mountain Maple leaves starting to turn

At the Oregon/California border, I am stopped in my tracks by an intense wave of nostalgia as I leaf through the register. Dozens of names of those I left behind at some point on my journey are listed in succession. It’s good to see that they made it, at least to the end of California. It’s even better to see the groups of friends that stuck together all this way. Hiking is a small world, so I hope I see them again soon. Except for Pierre. Get fucked, Pierre.

Hunting season means road walks become a reverse drive-through where burly camo-clad men hand us hikers food through the windows of their ginormous trucks

We meet a doomed looking 22 year old SOBO who, on top of dealing with some kind of devastating tibalis issue that is making him walk like an 82 year old, also had to be treated for rabies. He has had to stop in every town for shots after getting bit on the finger by (supposedly) a rat while asleep. His pantomime of the scene involves a sleeping position with arms crossed over his chest like a vampire and Lim and I conclude it was definitely a bat bite. We christen him Rabies.

Another SOBO hiker, at first introducing himself as Big Sausage, later loses this trail name. A Texan who has just graduated college, he continues to cook elaborate meals 4 times a day, despite being hopelessly behind schedule to finish. He recounted the story of being asked his name by an evangelical preacher hosting him overnight. “No. Under my roof” the preacher warned disapprovingly, “you are Bob”. Needless to say after learning this we demoted him to merely Sausage Bob.

Lim and I make it to Etna, where we plan to stay for the day before continuing south. Slow season notwithstanding, it’s a charming town. I’m excited to continue on through what I previously thought were some of the “worst” sections. Sometimes what you want most is hidden behind whatever you least want to do. Or something like that.