Most folks don’t see the appeal of hiking a half-dozen miles with 50 pounds of gear strapped to their back only to set up camp, have the most uncomfortable sleep of their life, then pack up in the morning and do it again. I spent a few days of my spring break throwing myself in the deep end of the backpacking world to find out what that appeal really is.
I didn’t have a story pitch for the Oak Leaf Magazine the day they were due. That same morning I found out Santa Rosa Junior College’s Outdoor Club would be taking a backpacking trip at Henry Coe State Park south of San Jose the first weekend of spring break. When my turn came to pitch, I decided on the spot I was going on the trek.
My prior outdoor experience consisted of simple family camping trips and the occasional hike with friends on Taylor Mountain. The thought of backpacking had crossed my mind before, but I had no idea where to start.
I was lucky to have my partner, Gray Coleman, accompanying me. Coleman spent their summer as a camp counselor taking groups of children on backpacking trips, so they excitedly agreed to teach me the ropes like I was a fourth grader.
Coleman and I spent the next week getting prepared. My dad had a $100 REI gift card I used for hiking pants, a sleeping pad, water purification tablets and two dehydrated meals. The biggest expense was a $200 pair of hiking boots. Coleman helped me find a barely used backpack on Facebook Market-place for $40, and we shopped at Grocery Outlet for three days of meals — PB&J wraps, ramen, oatmeal and plenty of snacks. We packed the night before, splitting food and shared gear evenly. Our packs weighed about 50 pounds each.
A few days before the trip, club president Rami Nacouzi went over the hike details at a meeting and distributed Tyvek tarps to the 15 participants. The morning of, Nacouzi brought donuts to the Park and Ride, and we divided into carpools heading south.
The group met at Hunting Hollow Trailhead. As everyone prepared to leave, Coleman began to feel nauseous but assured me it would pass. Everyone started hiking at 11:30 a.m.
The first mile up a steep hill with little shade on an 80-degree-plus day was torture. Coleman and I fell behind as the nausea returned and they began to vomit. Recovering from a throat infection, they hadn’t realized the antibiotics could react with exercise. Unable to continue, a club member offered to drive them home. I was offered a ride too — one I desperately wanted to take — but knew I had to keep going.
I was now carrying food for two. I sent the tent and stove with Coleman after Nacouzi offered to let me use his. After climbing approximately 2,800 feet in that first mile, I was exhausted. Luckily the next five had a much more forgiving elevation gain. My legs cramping up reminded me I hadn’t been drinking enough water. The hike was still brutal, but I made it to camp at 3:30 p.m.
We set up camp next to Tule Pond. I took a much-needed rest as the soreness settled in, snacking on granola bars and meat sticks and handing some to the club — mostly to lighten my load, one Z-Bar at a time.
The group had to share Nacouzi’s stove for dinner, so the whole affair took a while. After about 30 minutes I fixed up my pepperoni pizza bowl, then waited another 20 agonizing minutes for it to rehydrate.
As the evening progressed I got to know my fellow hikers — a diverse group that included the son of the Healdsburg mayor and an actress from SRJC’s recent “Boeing Boeing” play. Most were experienced; only one other member was also on their first trip.
I learned this would be Nacouzi’s last semester at SRJC, meaning the club would soon need new leadership. It was the worst sleep of my life. I settled in around 9 p.m. as the temperature hit 40 degrees. I woke at least a dozen times — hundreds of bullfrogs croaked, coyotes howled — and couldn’t get comfortable without a pillow, lying on my back, something I never do.
A distant turkey gobbling woke me at dawn. I drank hot cocoa for breakfast, relishing the cool morning knowing the sun would soon beat down. Nacouzi told us to take our time — this day’s hike would be relatively easy. Day 2 was 3.3 miles along a shaded creek.
The group worked like an accordion: experienced hikers went ahead and waited at rest spots for the rest to catch up. I stuck with the back of the pack. We didn’t talk much; most of our interactions consisted of encouragement to keep moving. I found my pace that day.
About two-thirds through I purposely slowed down, taking photos and splashing in the creek. I had music in my ears at times, but ultimately found the sound of the water and chirping birds far more appealing.
I reached the lake 30 minutes after everyone else at 12:15 p.m. I made a salami and mozzarella wrap, then changed into swim trunks and took a dip to escape the heat and several days of relying on deodorant and baby wipes. Club vice president Bodhi Finnerty arrived at 5 p.m. with propane tanks so the club could have dinner.
We chatted and took turns on speaker with artists such as Peter Tosh and The Smiths. Night two wasn’t much better than the first. I was on a slight slope, so my sleeping pad kept sliding off the tarp and my bag sliding off the pad. I would periodically wake to shuffle everything back together like a sloppily-made sandwich.
Day three began before sunrise. Nacouzi blasted army bugle calls on his speaker and rushed us out for a 6-mile trek home. I scrambled to pack up, finally swapping cargo shorts for hiking pants. I skipped breakfast trying to save time. All I knew about the day’s route: up a steep hill for a mile, down a road, then down another hill to the parking lot. I fell behind as usual. At the top of the hill the group reunited, but a hiker called Arlo Herrod was missing.
Finnerty backtracked to find him and the rest carried on. Soon it was just me and Victoria Medina. We grew worried — Byrd and Finnerty should have caught up by then. After waiting 15 minutes with no sign of them, our worst fear set in: we were lost.
We kept walking, staying on the trail. At a fork, we asked two hikers for the fastest way to Hunting Hollow Trailhead and followed their directions. After 20 minutes of distracted talking, Medina and I realized we’d taken a longer, unnecessary trail. It would loop back eventually, so we trudged on.
Then we descended into a valley and realized we’d gone wrong again. We’d need to climb an 800-foot hill to reach our destination. Medina used her satellite signal to update the group. Her husband called park rangers, but the nearest was an hour away. We decided not to wait. If I hadn’t felt the cumulative weight of three days of hiking before, I did then.
Stopping more and more frequently, my pack felt heavier with every step despite being lighter than when we started. If I was going to get lost, I was glad I wasn’t alone. Medina was great company — she shared her experience immigrating from Brazil and her recent role in “Boeing Boeing,” and we traded words of encouragement to keep each other going.
At the peak we took a much-needed rest and finished our water. Medina joked that we needed a horse to carry our stuff — and then, impossibly, one appeared. A volunteer patrol on horseback pointed us in the right direction and told us we’d be close after one more descent. The view on the way down was beautiful — rolling green hills as far as the eye could see.
We made it to the bottom after about a mile and a half. Medina filtered water from the creek, giving 15 more minutes brought us to the Hunting Hollow Trail sign. We let out a huge sigh of relief and collapsed into the parking lot at 2:50 p.m. Leonard greeted us — she’d arrived only 10 minutes earlier, also having gotten lost.
The rest of the club had made it at 11 a.m. Medina and I had hiked 11 miles instead of six. We rode back with the one remaining club member. I called Nacouzi, who sounded relieved and sent me money for a Double-Double from In-N-Out.
The following week I was the sorest I’d ever been; every single leg day I had skipped at the gym condensed into one weekend. Climbing stairs was a chore, but somehow I felt stronger.
At the next club meeting, Nacouzi announced new safety rules: the buddy system, stay put if lost and wait for a club leader. Despite everything, I’d do it again. The quiet of the outdoors reminded me to get away from the noise of life more often. I pushed myself further than I thought possible. Outdoor Club’s motto is “seek discomfort,” and I’m glad I did, but I’m definitely spending a month on the couch first.
