Skip to main contentAccessibility feedback
Background Image

A Different Sort of Pilgrimage

Friday night I had dinner at a Catholic Answers function. I sat next to Lenora, a loyal friend of the apostolate whose husband was unable to be there. I told her I was happy for Don, and she nodded. She understood when I said that, as much as I enjoyed the gathering and the company, I wished that I were with him.

As those at our table enjoyed salads in a lovely patio setting, Don was trudging along Silverwood Lake, in the hills north of Los Angeles. He was at mile 324 of the Pacific Crest Trail. One of three national scenic trails, it stretches from the Mexican border to the Canadian border, passing through the whole of California, Oregon, and Washington. Total length: 2,668 miles.

Don and I are the same age. We both came to backpacking late in life—he later than I—but he has found himself in a position to take on a challenge I only can dream about. Like 1,800 other people from around the country and around the world, Don is taking several months to hike what most hikers consider to be the premier long-distance trail in America.

He’s doing it a little differently than most. He’s hiking six days on, one day—Sunday—off. “The Lord rested on the seventh day, so I think I should too,” he told me. His plan is to hike at a pace that allows him to be at a road junction each Saturday afternoon. Lenora picks him up, and they find the nearest town, where Don can get cleaned up, have real food at a restaurant, and get a good night’s rest at a motel. On Sunday, it’s to Mass, and then later that day or Monday morning (I’m not clear on this part), Lenora drops him off where she picked him up, and he hikes for another six days.

This is a wonderful arrangement, for two reasons.

First, it allows Don to carry less food than most hikers. The PCT doesn’t cross many roads, and, when it does, it often crosses them so far from the nearest town and along such lonely roads that hikers can’t count on getting to town for a resupply. Don doesn’t have to worry about that, since Lenora will be there with the car.

The second reason that this is wonderful is that it’s wonderful to find a man with such a supportive wife. She will be away from home as much as he. In the early days of his hike, she could drive home after retrieving him for his rest day. (They live near San Diego.) That has become difficult now that he is one-eighth through the hike.

Lenora will uproot herself and will follow Don northward, hopscotching from one road crossing to the next. During the six days that he is on the trail she will explore the local areas, and she expects to get a lot of knitting done. (I told her that, if he persists and goes the full length of the trail, by the end of his journey she will have knitted enough sweaters for all of their relatives.)

A week after Don began the PCT I found myself at another dinner. It was at the home of Scout and Frodo. Those are the trail names of a San Diego couple who, each April, house hundreds of PCT hikers. With a cadre of helpers, Scout and Frodo pick up the hikers at the airport, bring them home, give them one last “real” meal, help them check their gear, and then—early the next morning—shuttle them to the trailhead that is a few feet from the fence dividing the U.S. and Mexico.

The night I was at Scout and Frodo’s home, there were twenty hikers, some sleeping in the house but most camped in the backyard. The next day there were scheduled to be thirty-five hikers. I marveled at Scout and Frodo’s efficiency and generosity. They refuse donations and pay for all the food and gas out of their own pockets. They inspired me to do a bit of the same.

Earlier that day, and then again a week later, I parked myself along dead-end Kitchen Creek Road in Cleveland National Forest, about 44 miles from the Catholic Answers office. I positioned myself where the PCT crosses the road, and I waited. I had brought a book to read and a mandolin to play but hardly got to use either. It wasn’t long before I had my first visitors.

As panting hikers reached the road—which was at mile 30 of the PCT—I brought out Gatorade and flavored water from a large cooler and asked whether they’d like a cold drink. No one turned me down. The first day I saw twenty-two hikers; the second day, twenty-eight. I was the first “trail angel” they had come across. They were delighted, but not as delighted as I. I much enjoyed talking with them, however briefly, and learning what prompted them to go on such an arduous hike, one that takes most successful hikers four or five months.

Most of the fifty people I met were young, but some were my age. One young man was hiking with his gray-haired father. There was an Australian who moved at a good clip even though he could have stood to lose fifty pounds before hitting the trail. There was a thirty-something woman with two rings through her upper lip and a stud in the middle of her tongue. There were the well prepared and the hardly prepared. There were the jovial and the already hurting. Well fewer than half will finish the trail.

When asked why they were attempting the PCT, they gave a range of answers. Some sought adventure. Some wanted bragging rights. Some wanted to escape something. I think Don already had given me the best answer.

He said he wants to get away, clear his mind, and have the liberty to pray at length in surroundings that testify to the glory of God. He said the chance to pray in a deliberate way, for hours each day, is more important to him than the trail itself.

As I said, I wish I were with him.

Did you like this content? Please help keep us ad-free
Enjoying this content?  Please support our mission!Donatewww.catholic.com/support-us