The Florida Trail is one of the eleven National Scenic Trails in the US. It stretches 1,500 miles from Big Cypress National Preserve to Fort Pickens at Gulf Islands National Seashore, Pensacola Beach.
As a Florida native, I want to bring Footprints for Change to the Sunshine State by thru-hiking the Florida Trail for its 40th anniversary. I aim to be the first neurological implant recipient to thru-hike the Florida Trail and the first known Black female to complete the trail end to end.
I have never been one to strive for recognition or praise. Especially when it comes to engaging with Nature. However, as I mature, I understand that sharing my achievements means putting something out into the world and having that echo come back to me. Putting my achievements on display drives a more profound desire to inspire others to follow. In many cases, I am the first to achieve these feats, and it’s my hope that I won’t be the last.
The Superior Hiking Trail (SHT) is a 310-mile footpath that follows the rocky ridgeline above Lake Superior from the Wisconsin-Minnesota border to the Canadian border. On Saturday, July 4th, 2020, at 8:46 a.m. I began hiking the SHT in honor of George Floyd, a Black man murdered by a Minneapolis police officer. Twenty-four days later, I officially became the first neuromodulator implant recipient to complete a total thru-hike of the SHT End 2 Ender.
The John Muir Trail (JMT) is a 210-mile trail in the Sierra Nevada mountains that extends from Yosemite to Mt. Whitney — the tallest peak in the lower 48 states passing through Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia National Parks. During her epic journey, I became the first neurological implant recipient to climb Mt. Whitney and the first to complete the JMT.
The Arizona Trail (AZT) is an 800-mile trail that crosses Arizona from Utah to Mexico. I completed the AZT as a calendar year thru-hike (started in August 2021 and ended in April 2022). In 2021, I became the first neurological implant recipient to complete the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim Hike with an overnight at Phantom Ranch and the first to complete the AZT.
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2016, 2020, 2021 Pacific Crest Trail, selected sections
2016 President Range in New Hampshire
2016, 2017 Appalachian Trail, selected sections
2019 Continental Divide Trail, selected sections
Arizona
California
Georgia
Minnesota
Montana
Nevada
North Carolina
Oregon
South Dakota
Tennessee
Utah
Wyoming
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I am section hiking The Great Western Loop (GWL), a 6,875-mile hike through five National Scenic Trails in the Western United States. One of those trails is the Arizona National Scenic Trail (AZT). The AZT is a total of 800 miles, but only 320 miles of those miles are part of the GWL. Despite that, I decided to complete the entire AZT for a finisher’s belt buckle. I completed a calendar year thru-hike (which I learned was a term) for that belt bucket. That’s not a joke. I am highly motivated by medals.
For me, the 2022 hiking season was a testament to perseverance marked by many bright cloudless days, downpours, challenges, and difficulties. Whoever said thru-hiking is easy likely doesn’t understand the definition of easy. I started my trek heading southbound (SOBO) on the Arizona Trail, picking up in Pine, AZ, where I ended my hike in 2021.
Some think Arizona is one big desert. Images of dunes, tumbleweed adrift, and saguaro cacti commonly come to mind. Yet, the AZT offers those features haphazardly while also displaying plateaus, mountains, rocks, snow – yes, snow -spiky plants, lakes, rivers, wind, cows, wild horses, snakes, and javelins. The latter was my favorite discovery.
The AZT’s diversity in climate, flora, fauna, and creatures change with each mile. As such, navigation was baffling at times. Nevertheless, I maneuvered through the solitude of rolling highlands, comforted by visions of the AZT finishers’ buckle. As a SOBO hiker, I didn’t have the luxury of hiking with a partner and only met folks in passing. Though lonely, I sometimes considered this aspect of my journey the norm. I met many NOBO hikers throughout the day and could hear more hiking by my tent during the night. I connected profoundly with a hiker who recently visited my Minnesota home.
The AZT was not without long water carries, or longer road walks without views. Personally, the AZT doesn’t rank high on my list of favorite trails. Though aspects were amazing, like the Grand Canyon and Miller Peak, it’s not a trail I would readily do again. Generally speaking, I’m not an advocate for completing the same trail more than once. But in full transparency, even if I were, I don’t think I’d ever set foot back on the AZT.
On my final day, helicopters flew overhead as I ascended the 9,465 feet to Miller peak (the second-highest point on the AZT). The desert view from the summit was breathtaking. But I felt sadness when I realized the reason for the helicopter. I was crossing the border on April 1, 2022, when I met a young ex-pat hiding from border patrol the day before. My triumph was celebrated by border patrol while she and her family hid in the periphery to evade capture and deportation. I believe that is something for all outdoor lovers to ponder. How can we make the outdoors accessible, fun, and safe for everyone, especially when Nature has been a place of harm?
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Northern terminus: Utah border at Stateline Campground
Southern terminus: Mexico border at Coronado National Monument
Challenges: Long water carries, long road walks without views
Highlights: The Grand Canyon
From the AZT, I took a train to the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I love traveling via Amtrak. Perhaps because I was a smelly hiker, was a handful of stops away from my destination, or maybe the conductor was in a giving mood – either way, I was upgraded to a sleeper car—a highlight of my journey for sure.
I hoped to start the PCT where I finished last season in Kennedy Meadows South, and head northbound (NOBO). However, it was April, and there was a lot of snow and no other hikers. Against my principles, for mental health and safety reasons, I backtracked, redoing sections of the PCT that I’d already completed, and joined the PCT Class of 2022 in Big Bear, CA.
As far as FarOut goes, it was humorous being one of the last people to post the previous season, reading the comments I left for would-be 2021 SOBO hikers as a current NOBO hiker in 2022. A large portion of the PCT closed the previous year due to wildfires. Nevertheless, my time on the PCT 2022 was filled with wonderful memories. Martha, the lead staff at Hiker Town, nursed me back to health following a bout with norovirus. Kim and Harry camped beside me for two nights, sharing dinner and stories. Anne, the park service worker who fixed the hole in my sleeping bag, transported me around a previously hiked section weeks later. I did some yo-yoing to make a book reading. Some of the folks I met in town restored my faith in humanity. Others, like the two that called the cops on me, were reminders of what’s wrong with our planet.
I hiked 160 days, five long months, crossing the California-Oregon border. I made my way to Elk Lodge near Bend, Oregon. I’d been in pain for nearly 100 miles at that point and could no longer withstand hiking. In what was first believed to be a freak splinter accident, I was scheduled for surgery. Two lovely trail angels, Liz and Tom, housed me for over a week while I waited for surgery. Surgery revealed osteophytes due to long-term repetitive impact. My body needed rest, and as I write this, I continue to rest. At 2,384 miles, 2022 has been my longest hiking season to date. While I am sketching plans for the 2023 season, one thing I know for certain is I’m not hiking a trail without a map and compass in addition to the FarOut app. Without either, I’d likely be living out in the Arizona wilderness amongst the wild horses, cows and javelinas.
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The Arizona National Scenic Trail (AZT) is a non-motorized trail, traversing 800 miles across Arizona from the Arizona-Utah border
in Kaibab Plateau in Utah southbound thru Arizona to Monument 102 on the U.S./Mexico border. The AZT connects three national parks, two national monuments, five national forests, and Oracle Arizona State Park, encapsulating Arizona’s varied beauty. According to the Arizona Trail Association, over a hundred hikers each season set out to complete an end-to-end hike.
Section One: The First 400 miles
In September of 2021, I completed the first 400 miles of the AZT (southbound). I enjoyed the AZT in the fall and became the first neuromodulator recipient to complete the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim with an overnight at Phantom Ranch (the bottom of the Grand Canyon). Due to medical reasons combined with an ill-fitting backpack that caused cuts and abrasions on top of my neurological implant batteries, I ended the trip shy of 400 miles.
Section Two: The Last 400 miles
Fun fact, upon completion of the AZT, finishers are awarded a copper-plated, handmade belt buckle. In the spring of 2022, I set out to complete the remaining miles of the AZT. No lie, though I completed the miles of the GWL on the AZT, I wanted to finish for the belt buckle. Finishers also become the proud holders of a completion sticker. I have completed various races, including four half-marathons, for medals.
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But in all seriousness, when I set out to complete something, I do it! Even though it makes me a long-ass section hiker versus a thru-hiker. I want to go on record here: completing a hiking/backpacking goal that you set out for yourself over time does not make you any less of a hiker. In the case of the AZT, I hiked the exact 800 miles that a thru-hiker would. In the running world, a 40-minute mile is still a mile. On April 1, 2022 (not an April’s Fool joke), I completed the AZT.
Speaking My Truth
I wasn’t as impressed during my second season on the AZT as the previous season. I found myself in snowy weather conditions right off the bat. From mile to mile, there were huge fluctuations between snow and heat. Though prepared, as a native Floridian, I found the cold extremes off-putting in the otherwise hot and dry climate. Within the first week, I bounced through various weather extremes that made no sense to me. As I made my way southbound, I was often alone for days. I enjoy solitude but quickly realized the importance of human connection, if only in brief greetings from strangers. For the first four days, I didn’t see another person. As someone living with a mental health condition, loneliness set in, and my endurance wavered.
Midway into the second week, I began crossing paths with other people. I was happy for all the brief connections and decided to make each encounter part of a Connection Collage, taking selfies with all the consenting people I encountered (the AZT selfie photos can be located on my Instagram account @footprintsforchange). Subscribe for future photo updates as I will continue this project on future treks.
Nearing the End
Loneliness aside, as I grew closer to the Mexican border, I began running into hikers whose complexion were similar hues of brown to mine. However, their end goal was anywhere in the United States. As I conversed with these travelers (Sí, yo hablo Español) I was engulfed in sadness and discontent. Here I was, hiking leisurely to receive a copper-plated belt buckle (smile). One encounter, in particular, left a disconsolate imprint on my spirit. I discovered a little girl amongst the backdrop of the Arizona landscape. Her stoic innocence masked the desperation and sallowness as I approached.
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My first thought was that her traveling companion(s) were detained. My second thought was, what action should I take? I fed and hydrated the young girl and decided to connect with any other adult reflecting the hues of the young girl. I needed to refill my water containers, especially considering I was now carrying water for two. As luck would have it, we arrived at a water trough where a group of folks and the little girl ran up to one of the men, yelling, “papa!” He explained that everyone dispersed when the border patrol came but assured me that her safety was most important, which is why he didn’t chase after her.
I learned later that expat children have the burden of proof. There’s no way to determine if a non-American-born child is not a citizen. I was set to finish the trail the following day and shared my lightweight food with the family. I realize the controversy around expats is a significant issue in the U.S., and aiding these individuals in entering the country is a crime. But allowing folks to starve to death is a greater travesty. As we wished one another safe travels, the young girl’s father reached into his pocket and handed me 20 pesos. He said “eres un ángel”. He explained that it was all his money and would give me more if he could. I was hesitant to take the pesos, but he insisted. I traded him a twenty-dollar bill in exchange.
Lasting Impact
That peso holds a scared spot in not only my heart – it is now a travel bug of sorts tucked away in a safe place as I continue North on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) *side note: I am writing this post as a reflection piece, and as of April 15, I have begun hiking the PCT as a part of the GWL.
The memories of that encounter stuck with me. Upon completing the AZT, a couple of border patrol agents congratulated me on my trek. I thought about my 800-mile journey and how challenging it was at times, yet, those who travel just as far, if not more, aren’t celebrated upon reaching the same border. My sobering completion and immense sadness I felt followed me to the PCT. I am now nearing the halfway point. Consider this a cliffhanger as my journey to connect continues.
The original post can be found here.
Crystal Gail Welcome on the PCT in the Sierra Nevada this summer. Photo by Crystal Gail Welcome.
Fires are ablaze throughout California, wreaking havoc on homes, businesses and wild landscapes. Folks from all walks of life are working endlessly to extinguish the devastating effects of the wildfires amidst a drought and scourging heatwave. I can’t help but empathize with Nature and see how much she is suffering. The majority of trail users are people who can insulate themselves from the everyday reality of environmental injustices—such as these wildfires—and can afford to focus solely on preserving the purity and sanctuary of Nature. I think of you who call California home, like my family out in Oakland, and it saddens me that you can’t just leave and go back to your homes; you’re already home.
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I wrestled with these notions crossing Highway 108 at Sonora Pass into the High Sierra. Sauntering southward, I bore witness to the destruction of an earth thirsty for rain, some trees scorched to bare trunks others hollow pits where trees once stood. The lingering decay of soot in the air filled me with grief and an awareness that this destruction is a direct result of humans.
As of this writing, the U.S. Forest Service has closed every forest in California and asked that trail users exit all forest lands immediately. This order is an effort to utilize California resources efficiently and ensure the safety of those of us lucky enough to be here. Forest Service staff have an incredibly important job, and I appreciate the work they do. In my work to make Nature more accessible for BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) and the various intersections of my identities, when it’s all said and done, I want us to have a planet to live on. It got me thinking about my impact and use, and listening to Nature.
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Upon exiting the Inyo National Forest, I talked with fellow hikers about the purpose for my hike and what the closures would mean. They expressed concern that I wouldn’t officially complete the Great Western Loop. They explained that in skipping the closed section it wouldn’t be an official thru-hike. I smiled and said “that’s fine by me.” I have come to understand, and I hope that others will too, that this notion of a thru-hiker is unattainable for most. Aside from the costs of gear, food and in-town lodging, there’s the cost of taking time off work. Then, when you add costs associated with bypassing closures, it’s even harder. For a lot of aspiring BIPOC thru-hikers, the additional uncertainties are additional barriers to accessing the outdoors.
During my final week on the PCT where it meets the John Muir Trail, I’ve met white hikers who struggle through injuries in their attempts to complete the trail. One fell over a cliff and another had a broken foot. This willingness to complete at all costs, when most people (primarily those who look like me) will never set foot on this or any trail is not only dangerous but a travesty. This lack of concern for themselves puts Nature at risk as well as the forest and park service employees who may be called to rescue them.
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In the spirit of making the outdoors more inclusive and accessible, changing the “you’re not a ‘real’ backpacker unless you are thru-hiking” stigma is a good place to start. We need to eradicate the mindset that once on trail you have to keep pushing through even when it’s dangerous to yourself, others, Nature, or when the Forest Service mandates that you leave.
I am taking cues from Nature as I go along, and seeking a deep understanding of my mission to make the outdoors more inclusive for all—for generations. Maybe she is telling us to give her time to recover and grow. Out of respect for Nature and a desire to give her the time devoid of people that she needs to heal, I am now transitioning eastward toward the Arizona Trail to continue my Footprints for Change Hike of the Great Western Loop.
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