Prologue
The school year had just ended, and traditionally I'd always headed straight out on a trip. This year was no different, and like so many other years, I had a tight window of time, as we would be leaving for Kauai at the start of the following week.
I wanted to get big trail miles in, and the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) fit the bill. I could go without a resupply and hike right back to my car while traveling clockwise around the lake.
I'd hiked the trail in 2002, just a couple of years after finishing the AT. The trail was brand new at the time. Returning almost a quarter century later felt like the right choice.
I wanted to get big trail miles in, and the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) fit the bill. I could go without a resupply and hike right back to my car while traveling clockwise around the lake.
I'd hiked the trail in 2002, just a couple of years after finishing the AT. The trail was brand new at the time. Returning almost a quarter century later felt like the right choice.
Day 1
Miles: 38.47
Total Miles: 38.47
Elevation Gained: 7,174ft
Elevation Lost: 6,562ft
I hit the parking lot at Echo Lake, at the edge of Desolation Wilderness, at 6 AM. I was on the trail by 6:20 AM. A cold start to the morning, with temperatures in the mid-30s.
I was so focused on starting that I forgot to pick up a Desolation Wilderness Day Permit. I wouldn’t be needing an overnight permit, as I would not be staying inside the wilderness boundary, but I was supposed to have a day permit. In the excitement of starting, I completely forgot to stop at the kiosk and fill out the required paperwork.
In a short 45-minute period, I warmed up sufficiently to take off my windshell and gloves and stash them away in my backpack. Today was day one. I was focused on getting my trail legs and trail lungs. Slow and steady was the name of the game.
I was so focused on starting that I forgot to pick up a Desolation Wilderness Day Permit. I wouldn’t be needing an overnight permit, as I would not be staying inside the wilderness boundary, but I was supposed to have a day permit. In the excitement of starting, I completely forgot to stop at the kiosk and fill out the required paperwork.
In a short 45-minute period, I warmed up sufficiently to take off my windshell and gloves and stash them away in my backpack. Today was day one. I was focused on getting my trail legs and trail lungs. Slow and steady was the name of the game.
Echo Lake behind me in the first miles of my loop.
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I passed the first person who was going southbound at just over 6 miles into the day, after two hours of hiking. That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing anybody on this section of the trail, which serves as both the TRT and the PCT. |
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Lake Aloha (my reminder that I was heading to Kauai almost immediately after this trip)
Dicks Pass, at 9,974ft, was packed with snow across the entire top and on the northwestern side. On the way down, I passed two women navigating the snowy descent. The first was pretty sure-footed, while the second was very wobbly and extremely hesitant. A dangerous combination on snow at such a precarious angle.
Dicks Lake directly below and Fontanillis Lake in the distance.
About halfway down the descent, I approached two adults, each with a child that looked to be about two years old attached to them. The man had a boy strapped to his front who was completely asleep. The woman had another child on her shoulders and was struggling uphill mightily. I warned them about the snow, and they said they’d “take it slow.” I was a bit leery, thinking of them climbing the hill with those kids precariously attached.
I passed by Dicks Lake and Fontanillis Lake and stopped at the Fontanillis outlet. There were some sturdy logs to cross on, and once on the other side, I took off my backpack for the first time that day. I got some water and had a snack.
Soon, two guys approached from the opposite direction on the trail. They walked around for a bit looking for a crossing, and then one asked me if I had crossed on the logs. I said yes, and the first guy went across with very little problem.
The other guy started looking for a different crossing, while the first followed him downstream, chatting with him. After about 10 minutes of the two talking, the one on my side finally threw his backpack to the guy on the other side.
Then, the guy on my side began crossing on the same logs on all fours. To me, it looked much sketchier and scarier than simply walking across, but after a minute or so, he was on the other side.
I passed by Dicks Lake and Fontanillis Lake and stopped at the Fontanillis outlet. There were some sturdy logs to cross on, and once on the other side, I took off my backpack for the first time that day. I got some water and had a snack.
Soon, two guys approached from the opposite direction on the trail. They walked around for a bit looking for a crossing, and then one asked me if I had crossed on the logs. I said yes, and the first guy went across with very little problem.
The other guy started looking for a different crossing, while the first followed him downstream, chatting with him. After about 10 minutes of the two talking, the one on my side finally threw his backpack to the guy on the other side.
Then, the guy on my side began crossing on the same logs on all fours. To me, it looked much sketchier and scarier than simply walking across, but after a minute or so, he was on the other side.
Passing by Dicks Lake
I continued hiking, passing old memories mile by mile. The Meeks Bay turnoff, where in 2014 Isabela, Tenaya, and I had to get off the trail because of blisters and torn paws. Middle Velma Lake with my school kids in 2018. The spot where I watched the solar eclipse in 2023. Middle Velma on an evening swim with Pablo in 2025.
After Middle Velma Lake, there were tons of blowdowns. It was obvious no trail work had been done yet this season, so I navigated carefully. By the time I was through this section, I'd climbed over, under, or around 200+ downed trees. It really slowed my pace.
After Middle Velma Lake, there were tons of blowdowns. It was obvious no trail work had been done yet this season, so I navigated carefully. By the time I was through this section, I'd climbed over, under, or around 200+ downed trees. It really slowed my pace.
The sun getting low. The clouds building. The colors on the peaks I'd hit later in the week.
It drizzled on and off for the last few hours of the hike. The last big climb up into the Granite Chief Wilderness was a beast. I then turned off where the PCT and the TRT split.
My goal was to go another 3 miles or so, but after a mile and a half, the rain got harder and I was exhausted. I stopped for the night and set up camp. It was a less-than-level spot, and I fought sliding downhill on and off most of the night. I slept very poorly due to the high winds, gusts, and heavy rain at times. It had been a productive first day out considering I'd gotten a "late" start at just after 6am.
My goal was to go another 3 miles or so, but after a mile and a half, the rain got harder and I was exhausted. I stopped for the night and set up camp. It was a less-than-level spot, and I fought sliding downhill on and off most of the night. I slept very poorly due to the high winds, gusts, and heavy rain at times. It had been a productive first day out considering I'd gotten a "late" start at just after 6am.
Day 2
Miles: 36.54
Total Miles: 75.01
Elevation Gained: 5,850ft
Elevation Lost: 5,514ft
Not much sleep. Maybe it was the angle of my bedding; maybe it was caffeine too late in the day.
My alarm went off at 4:10, and it took me until 5:40 to finally start packing up and get out of camp. I was quite cold and not looking forward to hiking in the dark. Once I got on the trail, I warmed up quickly with the big descent toward Tahoe City.
I’ll have to take some time later to dry out my poncho, as well as a couple of damp areas of my sleep kit.
My alarm went off at 4:10, and it took me until 5:40 to finally start packing up and get out of camp. I was quite cold and not looking forward to hiking in the dark. Once I got on the trail, I warmed up quickly with the big descent toward Tahoe City.
I’ll have to take some time later to dry out my poncho, as well as a couple of damp areas of my sleep kit.
The colors of the morning were intensified by the clouds, the lighting, and everything being damp from the overnight rain.
Around 7:30 I passed a connector trail to the TRT. I'd forgotten that the Tahoe 200 Ultramarathon was starting at the end of the week. I'd now joined the course (as they can't run through either Desolation or Mt. Rose Wilderness areas) and would be following the same route of the race for the majority of my hike. This meant that I'd have pink and purple ribbons on trees ever 1/2 mile or so. Even better, those ribbons were attached to trees with a clothespin that had glow in the dark tap on it. This would be terrific for night hiking, which I'd planned to incorporate.
Race flagging.
In addition, signs were posted at trail junctions.
At about 9 AM, I saw a huge black bear about 4 miles outside of Tahoe City. Later, after passing through Tahoe City, around 11 AM I found a sunny, breezy spot with some good rocks and dried out all my gear. I also took some time to wash my feet off and noticed a small blister between two toes. Because I’d already taken so long, I didn’t attend to the blister, and only cleaned it.
I saw a smattering of people over the course of the day. Most I only said hi to. One woman asked me if I was doing the whole TRT, and said she was as well.
I stopped at Watson Lake to wash my face and then walked the half mile to the last water source for 17 miles. There, I drank my fill, bandaged my foot, soaked my feet, ate a bunch of food, and got back on the trail.
I stopped at Watson Lake to wash my face and then walked the half mile to the last water source for 17 miles. There, I drank my fill, bandaged my foot, soaked my feet, ate a bunch of food, and got back on the trail.
Watson Lake just before the first long dry section of 17 miles.
For the first 25 minutes, my ice-cold feet hurt a lot. Once they thawed out, they felt pretty much the same as they had the rest of the day.
The snow plants appeared in force today and would follow me for the rest of the trail.
I crossed Brockway Summit and all the traffic. Then it was all uphill past some day hikers. I watched the sun get lower in the sky and finally set.
There was no need to clear this blowdown. It was left as a piece of art.
I was at camp at 8 o’clock and in bed by 8:30. I decided to stop a bit early so that I had some light to put things away. The heat had slowed me down a bit today and dropped my mileage to its lowest daily total of the trip.
Day 3
Miles: 40.09
Total Miles: 115.10
Elevation Gained: 5,972ft
Elevation Lost: 6,976ft
Sleep was more of a rest than actual sleep last night. I had chosen an ultralight sleeping pad with a very low R-value (only 2.5). The R-value is what determines how warm the pad feels in colder weather.
Since I was using a quilt (which is open on the bottom), I had no insulation between the pad and my body. It felt very cold all night long, and I tossed and turned trying to stay warm.
Obviously, this pad wasn't warm enough for these conditions and therefore wouldn't be warm enough for the Eastern Sierra later in the summer. It was good that I was finding that out now, but the remainder of the nights on this trip would be far less comfortable than I would have liked.
Morning started with a very long climb. First up was Mt. Baldy, then West Ridge Mt. Baldy. The trail then continued over Rose Knob, Rose Knob Peak, and finally Mt. Relay, all the while hovering between 9,000 and 10,000 feet.
Since I was using a quilt (which is open on the bottom), I had no insulation between the pad and my body. It felt very cold all night long, and I tossed and turned trying to stay warm.
Obviously, this pad wasn't warm enough for these conditions and therefore wouldn't be warm enough for the Eastern Sierra later in the summer. It was good that I was finding that out now, but the remainder of the nights on this trip would be far less comfortable than I would have liked.
Morning started with a very long climb. First up was Mt. Baldy, then West Ridge Mt. Baldy. The trail then continued over Rose Knob, Rose Knob Peak, and finally Mt. Relay, all the while hovering between 9,000 and 10,000 feet.
Morning light while climbing Mt. Baldy.
It was a cold morning. I walked with my poles hanging from a bungee on my pack and my hands in my shorts' pockets. I was comfortable while moving, but if I stopped, the cold would sink in quickly. I was in the middle of a 14 mile waterless section. I'd carried extra yesterday to get me through this gap.
The snow started just after mile 78 of the trip, approaching 9,500 feet on the side of Rose Knob Peak. Just small patches at first, but in the morning chill, they were very icy. I slowed my pace and chose my steps intentionally.
The snow started just after mile 78 of the trip, approaching 9,500 feet on the side of Rose Knob Peak. Just small patches at first, but in the morning chill, they were very icy. I slowed my pace and chose my steps intentionally.
Crossing over.
A few miles later, the climb to Relay Peak began. The snow increased exponentially at 10,200 feet. Some of it was already quite sun-cupped, with a maze of foot-deep dimples and ridges carved by weeks of sun. It made for slow, awkward walking, as every step seemed to land on a different slope. Most of it was nearly solid ice.
My pace was cut by more than half. I was barely moving. After an extra 45 to 60 minutes, I arrived at the snow-free summit. I was alone and had a 360-degree view.
My pace was cut by more than half. I was barely moving. After an extra 45 to 60 minutes, I arrived at the snow-free summit. I was alone and had a 360-degree view.
View from Relay Peak at over 10,300ft.
The first people I saw were at the top of Relay Peak: two younger backpackers carrying a ton of gear. They explained how they had walked from Reno on back trails and by bushwhacking to get there. It didn’t sound like much fun to me.
Once I left the top, I immediately came to two back-to-back, 50-yard, extremely steep snowfields. This was the slowest, sketchiest traverse of the day.
At times, I had to dig my pole tip into the ice so that my foot could be planted up against it to prevent me from sliding. Doing this step by step for about 100 yards was physically and mentally draining.
When I finally came to the end, the trail dipped below the radio tower before starting its mostly snow-free descent.
Once I left the top, I immediately came to two back-to-back, 50-yard, extremely steep snowfields. This was the slowest, sketchiest traverse of the day.
At times, I had to dig my pole tip into the ice so that my foot could be planted up against it to prevent me from sliding. Doing this step by step for about 100 yards was physically and mentally draining.
When I finally came to the end, the trail dipped below the radio tower before starting its mostly snow-free descent.
Deep icy snow still held on in large patches at high elevation.
I twisted my ankle 11.7 miles into the day. It was a silly little misstep as I stepped off the snow and back onto hard ground. I sat down for about 60 seconds to stretch it out and then got back up and continued walking. It was a bit sore for about five minutes, and then I never felt it again.
It's amazing how my daily personal PT practices have not necessarily completely stopped me from twisting my ankles, but they have allowed me to almost immediately pop back up and get going pain-free.
I first saw a trail runner near Brockway Summit. She was coming down toward the trailhead that I had passed through the previous afternoon.
The very next day, I saw the same runner again and we stopped to talk for a minute. She was climbing up from the Mt. Rose Trailhead parking area while I was descending toward it. It reminded me of the Colorado Trail, where the same thing happened to me years ago. Out of all the people on the trail, somehow you often cross paths with the same person twice.
It's amazing how my daily personal PT practices have not necessarily completely stopped me from twisting my ankles, but they have allowed me to almost immediately pop back up and get going pain-free.
I first saw a trail runner near Brockway Summit. She was coming down toward the trailhead that I had passed through the previous afternoon.
The very next day, I saw the same runner again and we stopped to talk for a minute. She was climbing up from the Mt. Rose Trailhead parking area while I was descending toward it. It reminded me of the Colorado Trail, where the same thing happened to me years ago. Out of all the people on the trail, somehow you often cross paths with the same person twice.
I took a break after crossing Mt. Rose Highway at Tahoe Meadows and walked down to Ophir Creek. I spent a while drinking, eating, and doing some laundry. In addition, I washed my feet really well. This was the start of another long water carry as there would be no water for the next 17 miles. I drank and carried extra.
Washing your feet on a backpacking trip is one of the most satisfying things. Once you get back on the trail, walking feels 100 times easier... at least for a while.
Washing your feet on a backpacking trip is one of the most satisfying things. Once you get back on the trail, walking feels 100 times easier... at least for a while.
Looking east at Washoe Lake.
I met another Tahoe Rim Trail thru-hiker today. He was decked out in all the usual long-distance hiking gear, but he was also carrying bear spray. We didn't share where we were from but to be carrying bear spray in Tahoe's black bear environment, he must live somewhere without bears.
We chatted for a bit and shared some beta about the trail before parting ways.
We chatted for a bit and shared some beta about the trail before parting ways.
Marlette Lake with Tahoe in the background
I got in bed at about 9:15 -make that 9:30. My body was so amped up that I couldn’t get to sleep. I probably could have walked a while longer, but stopping was the best thing I could do for my feet.
My view as I laid down for the night.
Day 4
Miles: 46.98
Total Miles: 162.08
Elevation Gained: 8,596ft
Elevation Lost: 7,586ft
As with the other two nights, I woke up cold a little after 3 AM. After fighting it for a while, I decided to get up and start walking.
Ended in the dark. Started in the dark. Bring on the miles.
Ended in the dark. Started in the dark. Bring on the miles.
The light of day appears.
It was a very cold morning with very little water available. I'd carried extra for this section that had no water and would be getting more Near Marlette Campground, which would have to last for another 26 waterless miles.
I met a brother and sister who were hiking a section of the Tahoe Rim Trail, and we chatted for a while. Later, I talked to a mountain biker who told me there was no snow on Freel Peak, but the brother and sister had said there was quite a bit. Hmmmm. It's all relative. Sometimes it's better NOT to ask.
Then I met another woman, newly retired from Truckee High. Small world. She told me that she had read on the FarOut app—which I have but use only for water information—that there was about a mile-long section of snow on Freel Peak. She was carrying microspikes. I was not.
The brother and sister hadn’t mentioned it being a mile long, but they did say it had taken them “hours” to navigate and that they had lost the trail many times. We shall see. It’s the one thing that could significantly alter my pace. Any time I have to deal with the cold stuff, everything slows down.
I met a brother and sister who were hiking a section of the Tahoe Rim Trail, and we chatted for a while. Later, I talked to a mountain biker who told me there was no snow on Freel Peak, but the brother and sister had said there was quite a bit. Hmmmm. It's all relative. Sometimes it's better NOT to ask.
Then I met another woman, newly retired from Truckee High. Small world. She told me that she had read on the FarOut app—which I have but use only for water information—that there was about a mile-long section of snow on Freel Peak. She was carrying microspikes. I was not.
The brother and sister hadn’t mentioned it being a mile long, but they did say it had taken them “hours” to navigate and that they had lost the trail many times. We shall see. It’s the one thing that could significantly alter my pace. Any time I have to deal with the cold stuff, everything slows down.
Crossing back.
Decided to stop at Star Lake. I decided to jump in with all my clothes on, and it felt great. This was my test to make sure drying my clothes on my body worked as well as I remembered.
While sitting there, a woman on a mountain bike rode up. I said hello to her, but she said nothing. She put her bike down about 40 feet from me, had a snack, cleaned up a gash on her knee, and never once spoke. When I turned around, she was gone.
I was drying fast and got walking again. Within 25 minutes, I was completely dry.
While sitting there, a woman on a mountain bike rode up. I said hello to her, but she said nothing. She put her bike down about 40 feet from me, had a snack, cleaned up a gash on her knee, and never once spoke. When I turned around, she was gone.
I was drying fast and got walking again. Within 25 minutes, I was completely dry.
Nice to be out of the waterless section.
Armstrong Pass, just below Freel Peak, was a section I didn’t remember at all from the last time I hiked the TRT. I was surprised by how many mountain bikers were on this stretch of trail. All of them were very friendly.
The pass was still a long way from being completely melted out. Luckily, I was climbing over it at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, nearly 29 miles into my day. That meant the snow was super soft. Soft snow is physically demanding, but I’ll take it over the icy conditions I encountered the day before.
At no point did I feel unsafe. Just a slog. A beautiful slog. Then it was down, down, down.
The pass was still a long way from being completely melted out. Luckily, I was climbing over it at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, nearly 29 miles into my day. That meant the snow was super soft. Soft snow is physically demanding, but I’ll take it over the icy conditions I encountered the day before.
At no point did I feel unsafe. Just a slog. A beautiful slog. Then it was down, down, down.
I passed this beautiful centuries old Juniper Tree. It was amazing.
Not long after the end of the descent, I found a nice rock slab and took a seven-minute dirt nap. It helped immensely.
The TRT's confidence marking is terrific.
The long winding descent to Big Meadow Trailhead on Highway 89 was next. I crossed over the highway in the last of the day's light, climbed the trail on the south side of the road and made it to Big Meadow with still enough light to enjoy.
Big Meadow at 8:58pm.
The double climb, with a huge drop in the middle, to Round Lake was a beast. Hiking with a headlamp, I tried to focus on the new stars that would appear every few minutes. I was getting tired at this point. It was close to 9:45, and I'd been walking for nearly 16 hours.
And then it happened.
My light blinked three times. This meant the battery was getting low. I immediately switched it to the lowest power mode. I was sure this would last as long as I needed it to.
I was completely wrong.
Less than 20 minutes later, it turned off mid-step, and I was in total darkness. As I sat down and fumbled for my phone's flashlight, something huge moved through the brush not 25 yards behind me.
People ask me all the time if I get scared when I backpack. I always tell them I have a hard time remembering being truly scared, except for maybe one time in Alaska when a pair of grizzlies rushed me and my trip partner.
Otherwise, nothing.
Until now.
My heart rate must have doubled as I yelled in the direction of the sound while simultaneously turning on my phone and starting to walk away down the trail. I walked for about 10 minutes before sitting down to figure out my lighting situation.
My first thought was to try to wear and charge the headlamp at the same time. It wouldn't work, as it only charges when turned off. Next, I decided to charge it and walk using my phone until the headlamp was usable again.
After about 20 minutes of walking with my phone, and switching hands to try to keep one warm, I decided it wasn't worth it. The headlamp was barely charging. It would need time. And I only had one light with me this time (lesson learned), so I'd have to stop and let it fully charge.
I found a flat spot. It was already late and quite cold. Once set up, I immediately started getting colder. I was on the pad and not moving for one of the first times all day. I ended up tossing and turning for about two hours before finally deciding enough was enough and that I needed to walk to stay warm.
And then it happened.
My light blinked three times. This meant the battery was getting low. I immediately switched it to the lowest power mode. I was sure this would last as long as I needed it to.
I was completely wrong.
Less than 20 minutes later, it turned off mid-step, and I was in total darkness. As I sat down and fumbled for my phone's flashlight, something huge moved through the brush not 25 yards behind me.
People ask me all the time if I get scared when I backpack. I always tell them I have a hard time remembering being truly scared, except for maybe one time in Alaska when a pair of grizzlies rushed me and my trip partner.
Otherwise, nothing.
Until now.
My heart rate must have doubled as I yelled in the direction of the sound while simultaneously turning on my phone and starting to walk away down the trail. I walked for about 10 minutes before sitting down to figure out my lighting situation.
My first thought was to try to wear and charge the headlamp at the same time. It wouldn't work, as it only charges when turned off. Next, I decided to charge it and walk using my phone until the headlamp was usable again.
After about 20 minutes of walking with my phone, and switching hands to try to keep one warm, I decided it wasn't worth it. The headlamp was barely charging. It would need time. And I only had one light with me this time (lesson learned), so I'd have to stop and let it fully charge.
I found a flat spot. It was already late and quite cold. Once set up, I immediately started getting colder. I was on the pad and not moving for one of the first times all day. I ended up tossing and turning for about two hours before finally deciding enough was enough and that I needed to walk to stay warm.
Day 5
Miles: 13.31
Total Miles: 175.39
Elevation Gained: 1,961ft
Elevation Lost: 2,901ft
It was 1:30 AM when I started walking. I strapped my poles to my pack so I could walk with my hands in my pockets. In about 20 minutes, I'd warmed up enough to be pretty comfortable.
The challenge was that I was walking through an area with both a lot of snow (which was frozen solid) and a lot of heavy runoff from the day's melting. I couldn't imagine how much stronger the runoff must be during the warmth of the day.
Each time I came to either a creek crossing or a snow crossing, I had to take my hands out of my pockets, unstrap my poles, and make my way across before strapping the poles back on and quickly getting my hands back in my pockets.
It was quite a chore in the middle of the night after finishing up my 47-mile day just a few hours earlier.
I was tired, hungry, and cold, walking the most challenging section of trail I'd encountered. The closer it got to dawn, the harder it became, as the trail began a 1,500-foot drop into a tight, technical granite gorge.
It was a slog, and when the sun finally appeared, I felt recharged. My pace quickened, and I enjoyed my last sunrise on the trail.
The challenge was that I was walking through an area with both a lot of snow (which was frozen solid) and a lot of heavy runoff from the day's melting. I couldn't imagine how much stronger the runoff must be during the warmth of the day.
Each time I came to either a creek crossing or a snow crossing, I had to take my hands out of my pockets, unstrap my poles, and make my way across before strapping the poles back on and quickly getting my hands back in my pockets.
It was quite a chore in the middle of the night after finishing up my 47-mile day just a few hours earlier.
I was tired, hungry, and cold, walking the most challenging section of trail I'd encountered. The closer it got to dawn, the harder it became, as the trail began a 1,500-foot drop into a tight, technical granite gorge.
It was a slog, and when the sun finally appeared, I felt recharged. My pace quickened, and I enjoyed my last sunrise on the trail.
Sunrise from near Benwood Meadow in the final gorge.
I made it to Highway 50 at Echo Summit. It was so early there were no cars going either way and I just sauntered across. The TRT on the north side of Highway 50 winds in, around, up and down through the small community of cabins with a couple last views of Tahoe and a new view of where I'd started.
Echo Lake in the background.
Above all, this was a shakedown trip. My goal was to take the exact kit that I'll be using later this summer for a much larger effort. I wanted to use this hike as an opportunity to learn as much as I could before then.
I learned a tremendous amount about my gear, my food, and the systems I've put in place for a hike this physically demanding. There were plenty of successes and more than a few semi-disasters, but that's exactly what a shakedown is for.
Every problem solved on this trip is one less problem I have to solve later this summer.
I'm grateful for the lessons I learned every step of the way.
I learned a tremendous amount about my gear, my food, and the systems I've put in place for a hike this physically demanding. There were plenty of successes and more than a few semi-disasters, but that's exactly what a shakedown is for.
Every problem solved on this trip is one less problem I have to solve later this summer.
I'm grateful for the lessons I learned every step of the way.