Blistered Kind Of Love Read online

  “This book was such a page-turner that the co-authors would have been hard-pressed to write anything more exciting even if it had been a fiction thriller. The only question a reader is likely to have after finishing this book is what adventure the Ballards will be writing about next.”

  —ForeWord Magazine

  “The usually comical, often insightful view into the workings of the minds of men and women is the strongest feature of this co-authored travel narrative. It’s remarkably entertaining to observe two completely different reactions to the same situation—both equally and logical . . . If you’re planning on hiking the Pacific Crest Trail or anywhere with your significant other, this book would probably be a good supplemental text with some real-life relationship examples that may leave you chuckling at them or yourself.”

  —Washington Trails

  “The adventure certainly puts a positive spin on youthful wanderlust. This book is fun to read.”

  —East Oregonian

  “[Angela and Duffy Ballard] are both good writers and innovative, too . . . What makes this book work is the yin and yang of the two. Each has written alternating chapters and that sets up a wonderful interplay of gender perspectives as they deal with the rigors of life and the trail on their long journey northward.”

  —Association of Outdoor Recreation and Education Newsletter

  AWARDS

  2004 National Outdoor Book Awards, Honorable Mention, Outdoor Literature Category

  2003 Foreword Magazine Awards, Honorable Mention, Sports titles

  “You’ll cry,” said Meadow Ed, the itinerant trail angel, “and sometimes, that tent is going to seem awfully small for the two of ya . . . I’ve seen many couples torn apart on this trail.”

  Ahead lay the Pacific Crest Trail, zigzagging from Mexico to Canada for 2,655 miles. Behind? Angela’s elementary school conquest of Turkey Mountain, Duffy’s adolescent vision quest, and one abbreviated practice hike together. They were green and about to face four and a half months of extremes—scorching heat, numbing cold, bone-aching weariness, and isolation. Not complete isolation, however; they would have each other. But only if they could stand trekking side by side, all day, every day, becoming dirtier, hungrier, and crabbier with each step. They were in love, though—and no matter what anyone said, being in love had to help, didn’t it?

  A Blistered Kind of Love: One Couple’s Trial by Trail chronicles a young couple’s clumsy adventures in the wilderness. In alternating voices, they chart their course from the chaparral-lined desert floor, up and over the snowy flanks of the High Sierra, and on through the lush forests of the Cascades. Along the way they wage a food fight, discover the unfortunate effects of freeze-dried food on digestion, and bond with a motley crew of hikers and locals with names like Crazy Legs and Catch-23.

  As the journey progresses, Angela struggles to overcome Meadow Ed’s skepticism and to keep up with Duffy’s long legs, all the while battling pain and panic attacks. Duffy is stricken with profound hair and weight loss, turning him into the incredible shrinking man with the incredible sloughing scalp.

  A blend of humor, adventure, and introspection, this engaging narrative ultimately delivers something more—a (blistered kind of) love story.

  A Blistered

  Kind of Love

  Angela &

  Duffy Ballard

  One Couple’s

  Trial by Trail

  Published by

  The Mountaineers Books

  1001 SW Klickitat Way, Suite 201

  Seattle, WA 98134

  The Mountaineers Books is the nonprofit publishing arm of The Mountaineers Club, an organization founded in 1906 and dedicated to the exploration, preservation, and enjoyment of outdoor and wilderness areas.

  © 2003 by Dustin and Angela Ballard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First printing 2003, second printing 2005, third printing 2008, fourth printing 2010

  Distributed in the United Kingdom by Cordee, www.cordee.co.uk

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Project Editor: Mary Metz

  Editor: Christine Clifton-Thornton

  Cover and Book Design: Ani Rucki

  Layout: Ani Rucki

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a compilation of notes and memories; as such it is full of subjective perception and opinion. Still, we have done our best to truthfully recreate our summer’s adventure. For the sake of not boring the reader comatose, however, we must admit to taking a degree of creative license. Additionally, some names have been changed (to protect the “innocent,” and ourselves from lawyers).

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ballard, Angela, 1973–

  A blistered kind of love : one couple’s trial by trail / Angela

  Ballard, Duffy Ballard.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 0-89886-940-4 (hardcover)—ISBN 0-89886-902-1 (trade paper)

  1. Ballard, Angela—Journeys—Pacific Crest Trail. 2. Ballard, Duffy—Journeys—Pacific Crest Trail. 3. Hiking–Pacific Crest Trail. 4. Pacific Crest Trail—Description and travel. I. Ballard, Duffy, 1972– II. Title.

  GV199.42.P3B35 2003

  917.9—dc21

  2003010156

  Printed on recycled paper

  ISBN (paperback): 978-0-89886-902-6

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-59485-210-7

  Contents

  Prologue

  1 180 Snickers Bars

  2 Meadow Ed

  3 The Race is On

  4 Pink Motel

  5 Ultimatum at Vasquez Rocks

  6 Saufley Electric and Ballard Gas

  7 Lost in Wonderland

  8 Wounded Knee Walker

  9 Food Fight

  10 Kicking Buttes

  11 Time-out

  12 The Misadventures of Solo-man

  13 Cuddles

  14 Trail Mix

  15 Of Slugs, Rats, and Women

  16 Wet!

  17 Panic and Precipitation

  18 Monument 78

  Epilogue

  Recommended Reading

  Acknowledgments

  First, we’d like to acknowledge the peanut. What a fantastic legume. Without it, our trail diet would have been dangerously unappetizing and protein-poor. We’d also like to thank those who’ve helped make the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail (PCT) a reality. Visionaries like John Muir, who saw the importance of protecting our nation’s wilderness areas, and the builders and protectors—members and staff of the Pacific Crest Trail Association and beyond—who lobby for and maintain the 2,655-mile trail.

  Of course, we must thank everyone who supported our crazy notion of hiking from Mexico to Canada. Phil and Roberta Ballard were instrumental at every step, allowing us to turn their home into re-supply headquarters, believing when it was illogical to do so, mailing packages, and providing moral support. Duffy’s brother, Chris, deserves particular mention because his 1998 literary project, Hoops Nation, was a seminal inspiration, and his wisdom as a writer has since proven invaluable.

  We are also extremely grateful for the love and support of Angela’s family. Special thanks to her parents and to her brothers and sisters-in-law (for constant encouragement, advice, and affection). Mile by mile, we were followed and supported by many friends and loved ones. We owe a large debt to all of those who aided our March of Dimes charity effort and who sent thoughts and words to spur us northward.

  Next, we’d like to acknowledge Duct tape and Spenco 2nd Skin. Without these wondrous inventions, our feet and certainly o
ur thru-hike wouldn’t have survived—and no trail love, not even a blistered kind, would have been possible.

  During our months in the wild, we met many generous souls who offered help while asking nothing in return. So here’s a toast to Bob, Donna, Meadow Ed, and all the other trail angels who brightened our path. You are the spirit of the PCT. And while we’re at it . . . here’s to trekking poles. Without you, we would’ve spent much of the summer on our asses.

  During the sometimes agonizing birth of this book, many took time out from their own busy literary careers to help us focus and improve our manuscript. Chris Ballard, Karen Berger and the folks at GORP.com, Alexandra Cann, and Erik Larson; and Mary Metz, Christine Clifton-Thornton, and Alison Koop at The Mountaineers Books—we owe you much. We must also extend our gratitude to the Savage family and the Barbara Savage Memorial Award for helping us turn our literary dream into a reality. Thanks, as well, to whoever invented the baby wipe. We’re certain you’ve helped keep us together.

  We’d also like to send our appreciation to those who allowed their names, experiences, and writings to be included in this book—in particular, Toby McEvoy for his witty insights into long-distance hiking as recorded in his journal and Luke Snyder for his jokes.

  Finally, we must thank and acknowledge our summer’s constant guide, the direction north. Keep up the good work.

  Prologue

  DR. JOHN WILLIAM LOWDER’S unwitting premonition shook me. “When I die,” he said to a friend, “my wish is to be in the mountains, alone, and to have a few hours with God.” Lowder, a sixty-nine-year-old outdoorsman, was walking from Mexico to Canada along the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail (PCT) when he and fellow hikers faced a snowstorm in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. Ignoring his old rule to never hike alone, Lowder separated from his younger companions; no one’s sure why. Perhaps he hoped to out-hike the brewing storm. Possibly his judgment was compromised by exhaustion. Most likely a combination of factors caused the veteran backpacker to take a chance—to set out on his own toward the small town of Lone Pine.

  Along the way, he lost the trail in the snow and fell two hundred feet down a steep, icy slope, breaking both legs and one arm and taking severe blows to the head. Amazingly, he survived the fall, climbed into his sleeping bag, and began treating his wounds. Still, he didn’t survive the night. He spent his final hours in the mountains alone.

  I looked away from the computer screen and around my cluttered studio: Backpacker magazine’s latest Gear Guide lay amongst peanut butter Power Bar wrappers and a dog-eared copy of How to Shit in the Woods. I knew that hiking the Pacific Crest Trail was going to be the experience of a lifetime, but I didn’t want it to be my last.

  Initially, my primary worries had been about leaving my job and upsetting my mother and father. Then I heard about Lowder, bear attacks, and snakebites, and suddenly, unemployment and familial discord didn’t seem so bad.

  Although our dream of going on a really long walk had taken shape slowly, by the time I read about Lowder we’d reached a point of no return. Duffy and I were inextricably tied to the trail, as was our future. Looking back, I’m not sure which came first, Duffy and I falling in love with each other or falling in love with the idea of hiking the PCT. I guess the two life-changing attachments developed in tandem, and from the very beginning, bipedal travel was a fundamental part of our lives together. We’d started off as winter running partners who met despite rain, sleet, and face-cracking cold to jog the streets of Philadelphia, and during each jaunt we shared enough secrets that by spring we were inseparable.

  One of our first romantic getaways was to Duffy’s parents’ cabin on California’s rough and craggy coast. Perched on a hill overlooking the ocean, the cabin was a little lonely and bedraggled, the rotting and weather-warped door reluctant to open. Once inside, Duffy sifted through his childhood memories while I poked around, checking the dates on old magazines and flipping through books until a particular tome caught my eye—The Pacific Crest Trail, by William R. Gray.

  The book’s cover was bent and water-stained, but the photographs inside remained vivid. Soon we were sitting on the porch, alternating between gazing at the beach below and the spectacular images of the Pacific Crest Trail in the aged book. Reading captions like “Snowmelt thundering down Woods Creek” and “Mist swirls around a treeless ridge of the Goat Rocks,” I was enchanted and enthralled. I longed to witness elks sparing in the Cascades, to gather wild berries as I walked, to see butterflies resting on snow, and to “adopt the pace of nature.” Duffy’s eyes sparkled.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” Duffy replied mischievously. “It’s just that I’ve heard of this trail and have been thinking of doing it.”

  “Doing it? Doing what?”

  “Well, it’s two-thousand-something miles long, and it would take months, but I was thinking it would be cool to hike the whole thing—from Mexico to Canada.”

  “You’re crazy.” I turned my attention to the book’s prologue. In it Gray describes hiking the Pacific Crest Trail as a “calling,” to be embraced for reasons ranging from love of wilderness and kinship with nature to lust for a physical test. The rewards of answering the call, he writes, are intensely personal: “the pride of surmounting a difficult pass, the simple luxury of falling asleep in a silent area of rocks, trees and stars.” The experience, he concludes, can change a person in ways that can’t be foretold or imagined.

  When we returned to Philadelphia, I showed the book to Duffy’s parents. They’d never seen it before. Someone must have borrowed the cabin for a night and left it there. I can’t help but think it was left for us.

  Duffy and I had been planning our hike for almost a year before I finally told my parents. I knew that quitting my job and disappearing into the deserts and mountains of the West with my boyfriend wouldn’t make them happy and was deeply afraid of even broaching the subject.

  When I did finally bring it up, I explained that Duffy and I were going to embark on a pilgrimage of sorts and hopefully, someday, write a book about it. Their reaction was what you might expect from many parents: They were horrified and said so. I tried to explain that this was going to be good for me, that I needed to take a risk, and that it was a smart career move to quit my advertising job and attempt something extraordinary. They’d traveled a lot as youths; maybe they could empathize with my wanderlust? But my parents are protective, and for them there was no getting around the fact that I was taking off with a man they’d never met to backpack along a trail they had never heard of. Nothing I said eased their minds, and I felt like I was speaking through a wall. Everything was muffled and confused.

  As I drove back to Philadelphia from visiting my family and breaking the news, I replayed the confrontation in my head and cried. I wasn’t a perfect daughter. There were things about the woman I’d turned out to be that I knew my parents were unhappy with, but I tried not to purposefully disappoint them. By hiking the PCT, I was going against their wishes, and that was a hard thing to do. That didn’t mean, however, that I wasn’t going to do it, and when my tears dried I was more committed to our hike than ever.

  After that, my parents and I didn’t speak for a few months. It wasn’t an entirely intentional separation; it just kind of happened. I guess I needed time to cool off and adjust. When you’re little, you think your parents are infallible, and even into early adulthood you tend to trust that they’re right—and mine often were. But in this case, I was fairly confident that they weren’t. I say fairly because I still had fears—of bears, bugs, bandits, and the like. Potential danger, however, lurks everywhere you go, and I truly believed that trekking the Pacific Crest Trail was the appropriate next step for Duffy and me. The months of relying on one another for food, warmth, and shelter, as well as for safety and companionship, would bring us even closer and help us to determine whether we were cut out to spend the rest of our lives together. But by prioritizing the man I loved, I was damaging my relationship wit
h my parents. It was a heart-wrenching trade-off. Only time could prove whether it was a worthwhile one—or not.

  ONE EVENING IN THE FALL OF 1998, while flipping through a popular men’s “lifestyle” magazine, I came across a headline that captivated and taunted me—Be a Man of the World: The 10 Adventures of a Lifetime. The list included a voracious bite of everything macho—mountains and motorcycles, Cadillacs and kayaks, animals and air travel. The writer dared me to carry out one of these adventures and overcome years of pathetic suburban impotence. The challenge struck a cord. It was bad enough to be a prematurely balding and single twenty-something, but to be further mocked by a magazine that I depended on to unlock the secrets of female pheromones was too much.

  “Dude,” I thought to myself, “you can do this . . . just throw down a strong cojones elixir and scamper right up to the peak of K2. Or kayak your lazy ass down the 2,750-mile Mekong River in China. Or get your manliness in gear with a little help from man’s best friend by dog-sledding 150 miles to the North Pole.”

  I pondered these options one by one. I’d recently read Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer, and a quick review of the story convinced me that I wanted no part of a 29,000-foot peak—especially not one described as “a mountaineer’s mountain . . . high, technical, mean.” And while I’d done some kayaking in the past, I recalled that it hadn’t taken much more than a portly dragonfly to tip over my kayak. This sort of boating résumé didn’t exactly qualify me to be the first ever to conquer the Mekong “from source to sea.” How about dog-sledding? I sure did like dogs—but I didn’t like the idea of minus twenty degree temperatures and a landscape so glaringly white that I couldn’t remove my glacier goggles.

  There was one choice, however, that maybe wasn’t so impossible: hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. That might be feasible for a mere mortal. It sounded easy enough—strap on a backpack and put one foot in front of the other. After all, it was just walking.