Dangers on the PCT

Next summer, most boys my age will be facing some sort of risk. These may include getting stung by jellyfish, falling off a bike and skinning a knee, or maybe even getting sunburnt on a luxurious holiday.

On the PCT no such dangers can be found.  My dad asked me to research some of the real dangers of the PCT so I would know what I had coming. He asked me to tell him about them, which got me wondering whether he genuinely wanted me to for the helpful research or he just couldn’t be bothered and wanted me to find out for him…probably a bit of both!  Anyway, I thought it would make good material for my next blog, so here’s what I found.

On the PCT, mosquitoes and wasps live and roam freely. They happily hunt down and torture any body that dares to cross their path. Desperate for food, these ‘micro-minions’ will track you down and devour your skin and bones. Unless you want to suffer much pain and agony, you want special clothing and mosquito hats.  Even with this protection, it’s still not the best idea to go and hit a wasp’s hive with a stick!!!

Virtually all of the PCT belongs to the almighty bear.  Whether you live or die really depends on whether you are in the right place at the right time. Yes, luck. Obviously the risk may be minimal, but August is the month we’ll be hiking and last summer, bear attacks occurred more in that time of the month than anytime else, probably because this is when these beasts stock up on food for hibernation. Bears generally avoid us and go for a less intelligent species but, when hungry, no bear can resist the tasty, crunchy surprise of a homo sapien!!! The only item needed for – what is supposed to be – protection, is a small can of what looks like deodorant. When you see a bear, you need to spray this ‘thing’ around yourself and pray to God that he leaves you the hell alone!!!

There are also Black Bears on the PCT.  Despite their namesake, Black Bears can be cinnamon, brown, black or even white (yes, some are albino).  Some smart chap probably just saw a black, black bear and said, “right, this is a black bear. Deal wiv’ it.”  They are the smallest of their subspecies and, unlike the Grizzly, love a good ol’ human for tea, recording the most fatalities. They generally hibernate during winter (imagine that!) and feed during [gulp] the period we are going to hike.

                                       

What if we fall off a cliff and snap out neck? Not good. In some areas the PCT is only 2-3 feet of walking space.  There is almost no way of making sure you don’t fall off a cliff - unless you select a part of the trail which doesn’t have any cliffs: BORING!!!

With all the stones, rocks and animal holes, it would not be unlikely for either my dad or I to twist or sprain an ankle, and have to miss a couple of days off our hike. We will of course take first aid kits but other than that, there are few things that can be done about this one.

Another danger - every year since 2004, there has been at least one forest fire that has killed more than fifteen people on the PCT.  For example, the Yosemite fire killed 104 people, 74 of them firefighters. If you are hiking from July to November, watch out, because that when fires most commonly scorch the trees of the PCT.

By far, one of the most likely problems on the PCT is that instance when you reach for your bottle, open the cap, open your mouth, tip the bottle over, and wait for the cooling sensation to occur, but nothing. You give the bottle a shake, hoping, praying, that worst wouldn’t come to worst. It does. You frantically scramble for your map, only to find the nearest town is miles away.  You’re now in danger of dehydration.  We will be bringing lots of water, of course, but because water is shockingly heavy, and at times we’ll be a several days’ hike from a town, we’ll have to ration our water very carefully.

So whilst other boys are complaining because of their sunburn, or grazed knees, I will be braving bears and dehydration.  And for some reason, perhaps an insane world view that I've obviously inherited from my dad, that sounds perfect to me.

The First Rite of Passage


When does one stop helping small children get dressed or tie their shoes?  When are they responsible for setting the dishes and cutlery before meals?  When is it dignified to refuse to carry them?


Allow me to introduce the Age of Responsibility.  It’s a real barn-stormer, and it felt like a big deal at the time even if, when you’re preparing for a 500-mile hike, it seems comparatively incidental.   


For our kids, it accompanied their 7th birthday, and was the most natural next step from the original idea.  Each child’s was a little different, with a few consistent themes.

The basic rules for the Rite included whatever bits of (mis)behavior they clung to at the time, and should have stopped by the age of six, but hadn’t.   We also added a few chores around the house that, however capable they were, they could handle.  And thirdly, we added in a couple of new 'house rules' that were important to us, like our approach to quitting.

Their mother and I both lament being allowed to quit certain things as children, so our rule is thus: if they start something, like ballet or rugby or music, let's use piano lessons as the example, they take lessons for an initial set and agreed period, something like 6 months.  Afterward, they don’t take piano lessons for a while.  We then ask them if they’d like to take lessons again.  They choose.  If they say yes, they take the lessons for an agreed period again, and are not allowed to quit during that period. 

Our theory is that this would help not only boost a belief they are not quitters, but also reduce the tedium that a seemingly endless stream of anything can foster.  They were able to try lots of hobbies (the only exception was swimming - they had to learn to swim), and work out which ones they truly loved, whilst retaining a resilient attitude.   It seems to have worked very well for our three kids.

Of course, every parent would have different priorities.  I don’t think the specific examples I’ve mentioned above matter as much as creating the Rite of Passage itself.

The best part is what we promised them in exchange for overcoming this Rite of Passage, for doing all these new chores and other behavior.  Nothing!  If I may immodestly share our description of it to them, which we repeated many, many times:

“You are going to love the Age of Responsibility.  You get to do X, Y and Z (all chores).  It’s the start of growing up, the first step to becoming an adult!  And you know what you get back – nothing!  It’s just like life!!

“You know what we get when an adult gets with a new job?  Lots of work!  You know what an adult gets with a new house?  More work!   A big lesson of life is, the older you get, the more responsibility you get, and the more responsibility you get the more work you get.”  Woo Hoo!!!

Yes, we spelled it out with enthusiastic, possibly sadistic, bluntness.  The best part is they realize it’s not a great deal, and that confuses them.  Freya once asked, “I gotta do all that... do I even get a single ice cream?” and for my fellow parents out there, steeped in the thick habit of negotiating with their children, I can report the answer was a jocular “Nooo!!”  

Frankly, I don't know why it seemed to work.  Perhaps they like the honesty of it.   You could see in their eyes a certain fascination that life isn't easy for the adults, either.  I think a big part is just their age.  Young children seem to inherently trust their parents, and if some things aren't easy or fair, so be it.

Any good Rite of Passage needs to culminate in a ritual.  We wanted to choose one that seemed both easy and hard – they’re only turning seven after all!  So we asked them to say a toast at their seventh birthday party.  Just thank everyone for coming and ask them to have a good time.

That seemed to work pretty well, although our youngest got very nervous indeed.

Now, back to planning this hike.  I want to give a special shout-out to my dad, who has been doing lots of amazing research recently.  More on that later.

Dad Shares the Idea.

Dad first ‘let me into’ the idea when I was around five or six years old. I wasn't quite sure what made him think of it, but being a person whose always had big ideas, some of them a bit crazy, I wasn’t entirely surprised.  As Dad sat at the table with his double-shot (plus extra shot), no-froth latte it became clear that this wasn’t to be some random idea, which also just so happened to sound like a seriously epic adventure.  There would apparently be huge responsibility linked to this, so with this in mind he began to share, in a manner reserved only for very serious occasions, the significance of the idea. I can always tell when he requires my full attention because he peers over the top of his glasses and leans forward, his faced masked with concentration.

I pressed the palms of my hands together as I did my utmost to look attentive although, in my brilliant five year-old mind, all I could think about was putting tents up, roasting marshmallows over campfires and sharing ghost stories.  I should have known better as Dad has taught my sisters and I from a young age that good only comes with hard work, and to positively embrace life’s struggles.  As he sat across the kitchen table from me, he began to explain rites of passage, which he and Mum had decided were to become family tradition.

These rites of passage would take place at the ages of seven, “The Age of Responsibility”; at thirteen, “The Age of Maturity”; and eighteen, “The Age of Adulthood”.  At that time, I had no idea other children didn't also do these rites.  Since learning it was only our family, I thought it was pretty cool.

Seven is the Age of Responsibility. This determines that we are basically not babies any more and can only rely on our parents for certain things from then onwards. To actually determine our ‘pass or fail’, we would have to give a speech* in front of our family and friends.  In hindsight this was a good idea because at the age of seven I was young enough not to be scared and the experience itself gave me confidence in later years.  Don’t ask me what I said because for the life of me I do not remember.  Not the point though - first rite of passage complete!!!

At thirteen is the Age of Maturity. This marks the start of teenage years, adolescence, taking more responsibility for our own decisions and becoming a young man.  We are really starting to be shown a great deal of trust and loyalty. The challenge for this privilege however is greater than at seven. Instead, the challenge is to do something good in the world. This could be in the form of doing something extremely difficult, and using that platform to raise money for charity.  On the other hand, it could be in the form of working in a monastery or helping to build a school in a Less Economically Developed Country (LEDC), or something along those lines.  Many LEDC’s are around the equator and tropics so building a school in blistering heat is very hard work.

Five years later, when I was eleven, the big day finally came and my dad gave me a book of options to decide from (which I think he's sharing as a blog).  For example, under hiking, my choices included: The Appalachian Trail, The PCT, Camino de Santiago (The Way of St James) and The Haute Pyrenees.  Of course my initial favourite was the PCT and I slightly leaned towards that one from the very start.  At one point, we thought my dad was going to have a pacemaker, which would have meant he couldn't carry a backpack, so we were going to do the The Great Divide Mountain Bike Trail.  Fortunately, no pacemaker.  During that year I did a lot of research at school and at home.

Eventually, when I was twelve I was asked my final decision.  I had completely forgotten (or so I claim) that this was the day I was supposed to choose which adventure I was going to do.  After a crap-load of “Come on! Come on!” from my sisters and even more of “De-de, de-de, de-de, de-de, de-de-de-de-BOOM” (Hint – 30 seconds with Nick Hewer and Rachel Riley) from the whole table, I chose the PCT.  There is going to be much planning, training and preparation ahead and I am looking forward to all of it. To be entirely honest, I didn’t think everything would be that hard at first but that’s a different blog altogether.

The Big Idea's Beginning.

The 'Idea' began back in 2005, on a cold, winter morning, as I searched our London flat for my son’s something.  I was annoyed – he'd recently turned 4, and I thought he ought to know where his some-thing was.   Normally, his mum would know - she'd use her stuff-antennae that all mothers seem to have, but she was out.  It was just the boys at home and he'd never known where his things were before, so I had no right to be annoyed.  I just remember thinking - when does the slog of always-having-to-do-everything stage of parenting end? 

Almost immediately, I realized all parents would go through this.  Little caveman kids would’ve left their things in the back of the cave, almost certainly in the darkest corner of the cave.  I could see cave-dad having to grab a torch and find the tot's whatever in the dark shadows.  THAT would be a slog.

Picturing this, I also realized that industrious do-gooders must have tried some sort of parental solution to this.  Like most parents, I didn’t mind helping my son find things, or any of the mind-numbing duties of those first five years.  I enjoyed those duties as much as any dad in the history of soiled linen.  But I wanted a light at the end of the tunnel – when would it end?

Then the 'Big Idea' hit me – Rites of Passage. 

History is littered with all sorts of rites of passage.  Perhaps the most famous were the Spartans, those swashbuckling sadists, whose children marked their first significant rite of passage by not being thrown off a cliff on day one.   Fortunately, most rites of passage are easier on children, and at more sensible ages, with 7 days, 7 years and 13 years being the most frequent ones. 

My epiphany was that these rites of passage weren’t just for the kids, they were for the parents, too.  Of course, on the child’s part, they do their ‘rite-of-passage’ thing, they become a man, a woman, a Jew, whatever. A very big deal. But what doesn’t get often mentioned is that it’s also an important moment for the parents - once the child performs their Rite, the parents are relieved of accepting their pre-passage behavior forevermore.  The child can be reasonably expected to grow up, and the parents must now recognise that maturity.  

Both parties get a clean slate, because the Rite has decreed it.  Genius.

My only problem was that no part of my culture has rites of passage.  I’m neither Catholic nor Jewish, both of whom regularly practice Rites.  My people just didn’t have them.  

For many of us in the West, we have almost no rites of passage (some may count going to school or getting a driver’s license, but I don’t).

So this blog, and the treks it will describe, is the result of that frustrated winter morning, when Ben was about 4, and I was looking for his something.   It is part of my effort to create some Rites of Passage for my kids.

So this is the 'Big Idea': on their 13th summer, I will take my kids on a Rite of Adventure.  The rules are twofold: it has to be a genuine challenge, and it must take about a month to complete.

To prepare for the Rite of Adventure, the children receive on their 11th birthday a little booklet (which I make), describing a variety of options for their Adventure.  On their 12th birthday, they 'pick their poison'.  And on the 13th summer, we go and do it together.

Ben's booklet included 500km hikes, 1000km bicycle treks and long canoeing trips.  He chose to hike 500km of the Pacific Crest Trail.  We're both very excited.

This blog will be written by both the kids and myself, and will tell the story of their Rite of Adventure.  We’ve been talking about this for a long time.

After next summer, this blog will share the story of Charlotte’s adventure in two years’ time, and Freya’s two years after that.   Each trek will be unique.  

Thanks for sharing in this adventure with us.