In 1994, just before I turned 60, a hiker friend of mine called and said that she was turning 50 the following year and was planning to backpack the Oregon stretch of the P.C.T. She asked if I’d be interested in doing a portion of it with her. I thought for about 10 seconds and replied, "How about if I do it all with you?" Although I was an avid outdoors person I had never hiked for more than a week at a time. I had, however, run a number of marathons and was in very good shape. The lure of distance had always intrigued me. "Why not?" I thought.

In August of 1995 we set off from Crater Lake headed for the Columbia River, some 300 miles north. Being novices at long-distance hiking we figured on an average of about 10 miles a day (a nearly month-long endeavor). Personally, I encountered no problems along the way, but my friend was not so fortunate. She suffered major boot problems as well as stove problems (a mal-functioning stove is a real pain). By the time we reached our last re-supply point near Mt. Hood she bailed out. This left me alone to finish the final 54 miles. I was not a happy camper. My main concern was crossing the fast-flowing creeks coursing down from Mt. Hood on my own (water crossings would always be my biggest challenge along the trail). Obviously, I made it to the Columbia and came out with a tremendous feeling of accomplishment.

At some point during that first segment I began to think about doing more of the P.C.T. and eventually came up with the idea of doing it all over a 10-year span. The more I thought about it, the more appealing it became. And so began the odyssey. I didn’t hike the trail in geographical order, but hop-scotched along it depending on support. The logistics of planning are just as important as the actual hiking – mainly, getting drives to and from trailheads and help with resupplies. This involved the invaluable help of family, friends, and the indispensable "trail angels" along the way. I did not know about trail angels when I started, but I soon learned about their selfless assistance. These are the folks who lug in water to out-of-the way trail-crossings or invite you to spend the night at their home for a little R & R.

The majority of the time I was on my own which was very satisfying. I loved the feeling of self-sufficiency. However, meeting other hikers along the way and sharing a few words was always a great treat. I especially loved the times when my schedule coincided with the majority of the through-hikers on their way to Canada. I so admired their strength and determination, and it was great fun to add their trail names to my journal. For the record, my trail name is T.O.B. (Tough Old Broad).

Aside from some dehydration in the desert and some "hairy" water crossings, I had only one major "incident" during my 10-year quest – when a bear got my food in the Sierras. Knowing the proclivity of bears in the area, I had dutifully rented a bear canister [Bearikade Expedition]. Towards the end of the day I spotted a lovely-looking campsite in Vidette Meadows along Bubb’s Creek (on the John Muir section of the trail). I set up my tent, made dinner, and later propped up against a tree to write in my journal. All of a sudden, I felt something eerie. I glanced over my left shoulder and saw a bear not 4 feet away with its nose in my canister! I had not closed the canister as I thought I might like a snack before retiring (I guess the bear felt the same way). At that point, I didn’t know whether to be terrified or indignant – my food was being stolen! I stood up (all 5' 2-l/2" of me), raised my arms up over my head, and started jumping up and down and yelling. The bear looked at me and took a step backwards. I then took a step forward. The bear stuck out a paw. I then took a step backwards and started jumping and yelling again. In a minute or two the bear lumbered back into the woods with some of my food hanging from its jaw. I then gathered up what he had taken out of the canister, stuffed it back inside, and shoved the canister into some rocks. On the way back to my campsite, the bear came out of the woods again. That freaked me. It knew there was food around, so I took the canister out of the rocks (but did not open it) and took myself and my sleeping bag some 50 yards down the trail. Not five minutes later I heard the banging and clanking of the bear trying to open the canister. In 15 minutes all was quiet. That was almost more upsetting as I had been out on the trail for ten days and knew I must have had some food smells on me. Amazingly, I fell asleep (with my boots on) and didn’t wake up until first light. I expected to find my campsite in shreds. That was not the case. My tent and backpack had not been touched, but the canister was nowhere in sight. I spent about 45 minutes looking for it and finally decided the bear had knocked it into the creek in its aborted attempt to smash it open. It was a very strange feeling to head out for my last four days with no food. But as this section of the trail was very well traveled, I soon got re-supplied by fellow hikers – the majority from a group of three Englishmen who just the night before had talked about lightening their packs. Their English products -- especially a delicious curry dinner mix and a packet of Cadbury’s hot chocolate mix -- were a great improvement on my remaining top ramen and Lipton dinners that had disappeared. Besides losing my food I also lost my eating utensils. In searching though my gear I came across a comb (which I had yet to use on my hair) and found it quite adequate as a scooper. Four days later I met my brother and his wife at Whitney Portal – none the worse for wear. [The Bearikade Expedition was found one year later. Rancid food is a strong attractant to bears. No damage and no rancid food lost.]

Each section of the trail had its unique aspects. The less-desirable parts I simply thought of as important links which tied the whole amazing adventure together. My final pursuit in August, 2006, was the 125-mile section from Walker Pass to Mt. Whitney. When I first started this odyssey I didn’t know where I would finally come out. And then the idea struck me. What greater thrill than to finish the P.C.T. and stand atop Whitney in my 70th year! And so it was. And I followed the rules to the end, carrying a bear canister [another Bearikade Expedition] through the Whitney Zone (even though nothing bigger than a marmot was likely to get at my food in those stark surroundings).