The Pacific Crest Trail: The US West Coast's 'greatest footpath'

One hundred years after the US designated the world's first wilderness area, an epic hike offers adventure seekers the chance to experience a slice of the nation's wild side.

On 3 June 1924, more than half a million acres of pristine mountain meadows, rock-walled canyons and aspen glades in south-west New Mexico's Gila National Forest were designated as the world's first protected wilderness area. One hundred years later, the National Wilderness Preservation System now counts 806 official "wilderness areas" spread across nearly 112 million acres in the United States – an area twice the size of the United Kingdom.

Two years after Gila's wilderness designation, educator and hiker Catherine Montgomery proposed creating "a high-winding trail down the heights of our Western mountains… from the Canadian Border to the Mexican [border]." The idea gained momentum during the 1930s under the stewardship of oilman and avid outdoorsman Clinton C Clarke, who dedicated much of his life to creating a border-to-border trail "traversing the best scenic areas and maintaining an absolute wilderness character", as he put it. This idea would eventually become the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT): a 2,650-mile path connecting Canada to Mexico and has been called the West Coast's "greatest footpath".

In 2023, craving a challenge that would break us from our desk-bound lives and thrust us into the wild, my partner, Claire Taylor, and I qualified as Mountain Leaders and set out on an epic journey to complete the entire PCT. For five months, we hiked past cascading waterfalls, snow-covered badlands and narrow slot canyons as we travelled south along "America's Wilderness Trail". Upon finishing, there was one section that really stuck out to us: the state of Washington, which is home to 31 designated wilderness areas (11 of which the PCT traverses).

The PCT section of Washington covers 505.7 miles of incomparable beauty over remote passes, snowy peaks and dense ancient forests with little sign of human life. And since Washington's portion of the PCT leads hikers through a greater percent of designated wilderness areas (63%) than the other two US states where the trail passes (Oregon and California, which contain 52% and 37%, respectively) it remains a true testimony to Clarke's vision of maintaining a slice of the original American wilderness.  

"But what about the bears?" Claire asked. I replied with the line I'd been telling myself: "The presence of bears embodies the wilderness that we are seeking." In all honesty, having never hiked in bear and mountain lion country, we were a little nervous. We were about to spend five months hiking the PCT with nothing but our tent and hiking poles to protect us. But on our first day, we jumped out of the back of a pick-up truck whose faded bumper sticker read, "Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul", and onto the trail.

We had spent an hour cramped among a handful of other hikers bumping along a dusty dirt road that wound its way along steep cliff edges from the small village of Mazama, Washington, to the trailhead at Hart's Pass, stopping just once for a herd of large white mountain goats to cross. Since it isn't permitted to cross a remote, unmanned border into the US from Canada, most travellers hiking southbound actually start here at Hart's Pass. They then trek north for 30 miles to "tag" the border before returning along the same trail where the pick-up truck had dropped us off four days earlier.

Our journey started in the North Cascades, a vast mountain chain spanning more than 500 miles known for its jagged peaks, subalpine meadows, glaciers and waterfalls. "If you look at a map of Washington state, all the wildest places run down the spine of the North Cascades mountains," says Chris Morgan, an ecologist, filmmaker and podcaster who has called the North Cascades home for the past 30 years. "That spine is where our wilderness areas protect the wildest of our wild – [our] untamed landscapes where nature rules and reconnecting with raw, unfiltered life is still possible." As Claire and I peered out from the dense forest up to the towering mountains that we would soon ascend and pass through, we were struck by the utter vastness, remoteness and grandeur before us.

Within designated wilderness areas, there is minimal human intervention. "[Protected wilderness areas] were set up as places for humans to visit, but not linger," Morgan explained. Ten days after setting off, Claire and I were hiking through Glacier Peak Wilderness Area, known for its heavily forested streams, steep-sided valleys and rugged glacier-covered peaks. Fallen trees littered the path, often requiring us to carefully clamber over or under the debris. We passed a large "blowdown" fir tree that had been knocked down by a storm, cut and cleared by hand. Upon closer inspection, we noticed that someone had counted and marked its rings. Squinting, we counted roughly 700, meaning this tree was here more than 100 years before Columbus sailed to the Americas. As Morgan told me: "These [wilderness] areas thrust you back in time… to a time that connects us all to the raw nature of primordial life."

The PCT is maintained by the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) and a team of incredible volunteers. When I later asked Kage Jenkins, who works for the PCTA, about the role of designated wilderness areas, I was taken back to the 700-year-old downed tree. Kage explained, "Trail maintenance projects in wilderness areas mean no chainsaws or motorised tools; we rely on the crosscut saw. There's a simplicity and joy in spending the better part of a day at the foot of a stratovolcano cutting an enormous Douglas fir."

I then asked how the PCTA manages to maintain the trail while also keeping it wild. "The trail itself always finds a way to stay wild," Kage said.

By July, the snow had just melted but there was already talk of fire among fellow hikers. We passed one young trekker going north to the Canadian border, who told us, "I hiked 2,600 miles last year but couldn't reach the border due to fire closing the trail. I'm back to hike the last 50 miles!" Wildfires are a very real threat in Washington. In July 2014 the Carlton Complex Wildfires burned 256,108 acres. This threat also provides opportunities for nature; some animals like the black-backed woodpecker and fire chaser beetle have evolved specifically to thrive in burn zones, while seeds from plants such as the snowbrush have shown that fire can actually stimulate germination. A warming climate means that the frequency and magnitude of Washington's wildfires is likely to increase.

In late July, we came across our first real burn zone. We hiked in silence through the dead trees, it was eerily quiet and somewhat disarming. The charred remains were a sobering reminder of how seemingly indomitable landscapes can be altered so quickly.

Claire and I quickly found hiking through Washington both exhilarating and calming. Shortly after setting out, we came across the first bear droppings we would see in the middle of the path. Some nights, our campsite was swarmed by mosquitoes that had recently hatched following the melting snow. Other times, as the skies darkened and thunder rumbled, we rushed to find a flat camping site to wait out the incoming storm. This rollercoaster pattern continued, with hours of sunny, stunning hiking interrupted by extreme weather and energy-sapping lows. As Kimberly Myhren, a hiker we befriended on the PCT, said, "What makes [the PCT in Washington] difficult to hike is also what gives Washington its serene and rugged beauty."

These ever-shifting landscapes only added to the sense of wonder and adventure we felt along the trail: we weren't just passing through the environment but interacting and coexisting with it. "As many wilderness areas are large enough that there is no cellular service, these landscapes are places where one tends to disconnect from technology and be present in a different manner," Michael DeCramer, policy and planning manager at the Washington Trails Association, later explained "Visiting a wilderness area can afford an experience of remoteness that is difficult to find elsewhere."

After a few weeks, we settled into a rhythm. While our GPS told us that we were covering an average of 20 miles and ascending more than 3,200ft each day, we soon found that we were measuring things differently. We focused less on time and distance and more on how we felt emotionally and physically. We were, as DeCramer later said, "present in a different manner".

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One sunny day in mid July, "the mountain", as it's known to those in Seattle, came into view. Mt Rainier, the iconic 14,410ft active volcano and the most glaciated peak in the lower 48 states, appeared like a beacon. We had hiked 250 miles and knew we would enter the Mt Rainier Wilderness Area at mile 330, and having a reference on the skyline reinforced how quickly we were moving; each time we emerged from a dark forest or from a sheltered hillside, the mountain seemed to grow. Where possible, we would pitch our tents to catch a glimpse of the mountain before we fell asleep. The following morning, we would watch the first rays of sun reflect off its snowy peak as we sipped our steaming coffee.

The high-altitude terrain means that hiking the Washington section of the PCT shouldn't be taken lightly. It took us a full month to reach the Oregon border; by then we had ascended nearly 100,000ft – the equivalent of climbing Everest three times. With bags full of food, water, a tent, a sleeping bag and mat, clothing, a stove and gas and other gear, your fitness levels quickly improve. We had spent months training, yet still found ourselves exhausted most days and falling asleep by 20:00. After just 19 days, we had both lost a fair amount of weight and managing our weight and calorie intake became a battle we would fight for most of the trail.

Whenever we needed to hike into nearby towns for supplies, the transition from wilderness to civilisation was abrupt and it felt strange to suddenly interact with locals after having not washed in days. Being able to fill up on much-needed food was great, but it came with hiking out of town with a heavy bag. Our meals were made of lightweight, high-caloric foods such as seeds, nuts, dried fruit, noodles, porridge, milk powder and the occasional freeze-dried meal as a treat. We stored our provisions in bear canisters that doubled as stools as we sat preparing dinner each evening. The canisters are designed to prevent bears and other creatures from accessing to your food supplies, and ensure there is no association between people and food.

We were awoken one morning by the sound of a pack of coyotes playing as the sun came up, their howls echoing through the forest. We also had five bear encounters in Washington, including a close interaction with a mother and two cubs who were more interested in their pursuit of berries than our presence. We met hikers who had seen mountain lions just metres from their tent. Deer would appear from nowhere, often while we were camping, curious and unafraid. On many afternoons, we passed marmots who whistled loudly at us to stay away.

In many places, long hikes end at a cabin with a hot shower. This is not the case on this section of the PCT, however. "Washington is home to some of the most remote areas on the entire PCT," explained Kage. "There are 40-mile sections of trail between the nearest two roads, further still to the nearest town." We carried our home with us, diligently pitching it every night at one of the numerous flat dirt spots established by previous hikers along the trail. Many nights we slept closer than we would have liked to dead but still standing trees – "widow-makers", as they're known by hikers, for their tendency to fall in the night.

While there were times I certainly missed a hot shower, many hikers prefer this rustic approach. As DeCramer said, "Many people report that wilderness areas provide an opportunity to experience challenge and self-reliance." Kage agreed, adding, "The PCT helps ensure each hiker can enjoy their own wilderness experience: appreciating a natural landscape and ecosystem, finding isolation or connection to and interdependence of wild places."

After a month of hiking through Washington, I thought back to Claire's first question as we set out: "But what about the bears?" As I began writing this, a PCTA update flashed up on my phone: grizzly bears will soon be reintroduced into Washington's wilderness areas. "There are only six ecosystems in the USA outside of Alaska considered wild enough for grizzly bears, and this is one of them," said Morgan, who has been instrumental in advocating for their reintroduction "They will feel right at home deep in the heart of the endless forests and giant peaks that their ancestors once roamed."

One hundred years since the Gila wilderness area came into being, this feels fitting. For PCT hikers and for Washington, it's one more reason to cherish this great wilderness.

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