I dreamt of the trail constantly during the 11 days I spent at home resting my injured knee. A strip of dirt running through mountains and desert had become my world, and I felt lost when that was taken away from me. My soul self, with whom I was just beginning to get acquainted, was a little seedling that had finally found a place it felt safe enough to spread its roots and grow. The endless walking; The sunrises, sunsets and all of the light shows in between; The trees, flowers, rocks and cacti; The cold and clear streams I drank from, it all nourished me and my little seedling.

When I dreamt of the trail, I dreamt of the light shows and the trees and the flowers and the miles, of all the things you experience in a day on the PCT, but mostly I dreamt of the way it felt. I thought about that beautiful little seedling not yet strong enough to survive without the constant nourishment the trail provides. I watched her begin to die, and I dreamt of the trail, and I hoped and prayed I would be back out there soon to revive her.

It’s safe to say the buildup to my getting back on trail in Tehachapi was monumental, and the trail did not disappoint. For all of the beauty and wonder and peace I was anticipating, I discovered so much more. This stretch of trail was the most beautiful I have walked through thus far. It’s hard to pick a favorite, but I was quite literally breathless with wonder on more than one occasion.

About an hour after I finished my last post, around 11:30 a.m., my mom was waving goodbye to me as I took my first steps on trail away from Cameron Pass road. My plan was to make it to the next water source 16.5 miles away and camp there for the night, but despite the heaviness the long water carry added to my pack and the immediacy of the first climb of the day, my excitement fueled me to a quick hiking pace. My first half mile paralleled Highway 58 before cutting back up into the mountains and as I stride along that highway watching the cars go by I felt so powerful. So proud. I was doing something so huge that few, if any, of those people would ever even attend.

For the first half of that day—day 35 of the journey—I climbed up sandy switchbacks lined with Joshua trees and little yellow flowers. The sun was mediated by fluffy white clouds and steady winds, and once again I was grateful that I experiencing the beauty of the desert without its typical crushing heat.

I had been expecting the majority of this section to look like the one before it—dry and sandy, with small shrubs, Joshua trees and a littering of yellow flowers as the only vegetation. However, once I reached the top of the first mountain and then traversed to its other side I was greeted with an entirely new scene: granite giants towering in the distance, fields of pine trees and grassy meadows with purple and white flowers. It was a powerful and eye-opening sight to behold. I could now feel and see how close I was to the Sierras. I only had a few days to decide if I was ready to enter the most dangerous and difficult, snow-covered, steep, high and icy part of the trail.

I took in the first dose of the new scenery and hiked on. After 12 miles it was around 5 p.m. and I was beginning to grow tired to the point where I was contemplating starting early, but luckily before I made that decision I made a new friend named Frolic whose company and conversation helped me push the remainder of the way to Robin Bird Spring, my intended camp. We arrived just before sunset and I was able to set up my camp and fill up my water supplies before it was pitch black. My sleeping bag zipper was malfunctioning and I thought I would freeze but was surprised with a warm night and a deep sleep.

The next day—day 36—I woke just before the sun, savored my final trail energy drink (I’d promised myself I would break my addiction. Packing out 16-ounce energy drink cans is heavy and heavy is hard on the body), packed up quick and set off before the rest of the hikers who had camped near the water source the night before. The morning miles were a delightful balance of gradual uphill and downhill walking. The panoramic views alternated between desert, forest and meadow. Best of all, I felt strong and barely had any pain in my knee.

I took a short break after seven miles and several hikers passed me during this time. Around 11 a.m., I came upon Frolic and his friends lounging and snacking beneath a large tree in true hiker fashion: shoes and socks off to dry, and legs extended to stretch and relax. The moment looked so perfect I decided to take my lunch early and join them before the coming long and steep climb. I met Handtan, Gage and Coffeekart and the company of new friends filled me with energy, excitement and purpose. True to his name, Coffeekart whipped out his stove, a filter and some real coffee grounds (none of that instant stuff) and made me a delicious cup of coffee. It was one of my favorite midday breaks so far on trail.

The climb that followed was much more difficult than I had anticipated. I only had eight miles to go until the next water source and my intended campsite but it was entirely uphill, alternating between short bursts of extremely steep grades and longer gradual hills. There were plenty of trees, but the sun was directly above and they offered little protection. I hiked slow and in nearly every shady patch, approximately every half mile, I sat down for several moments to catch my breath. For a while I was frustrated with myself for struggling, for having an injured knee and taking time off and getting out of shape. But after hours of struggling I finally made it to my camp and felt nothing but pride. I had listened to my body and slowed down to care for it, which is something I’ve always struggled with; I had been patient with myself, and persevered, and made it. I felt good. Exhausted, but good.

It was a 19-mile day and an extremely taxing one at that, but I still made it to camp before 5 p.m. Sometimes getting to camp that early makes me nervous but that night it was a blessing. I had first pick of campsite, time to set up my tent thoroughly as rain was expected later, time to fill up water, daylight to read by and was able to make some new friends as hikers began to trickle in. As soon as it was dark I was asleep: another good day.

The following morning—day 37—I woke to rain. Rain and thunder. Rain and thunder and lightning. It was glorious. I was warm and dry and cozy in my tent, and the rain was supposed to stop by 8 a.m. so there was no pressure to take down my tent and begin hiking while it was storming. It was my first storm on trail, and it was beautiful.

I began hiking through the fog and most shortly before 8 a.m. with two new friends: Crunch and Smiles. We wound through forests and passed many streams and the air was cool and we talked of their past thru-hikes and all of our future ambitions. The miles flew by. Rain was forecasted to begin again around noon so we took a break when the sun came out to try our tents. Lazing in the sun is quickly becoming one of my favorite activities.

When our things were dry we hiked onwards in the direction of the dark skies and the clouds pouring rain in the distance that looked as though they were melting. When it began to rain again it rained hard, and then for a period of time it hailed. My pack was dry thanks to my pack cover, but I was wet thanks to my ingenious decision to wear my rain jacket around my waist and allow it to get wet before I put it on. Freezing, cold and miserable, I trudged upwards through sandy hills, Joshua trees and skies that appeared to be doomed with foul weather for as far as the eye could see. I took advantage of a moment when rain was lighter to set up my tent, but it was still raining and I wasn’t speedy enough so I slept in a puddle that night. It stopped raining shortly after my tent was up, a sign to me that I should have pressed onwards towards the camp my new friends and I had decided to meet at that night. Lesson learned.

I began packing up my camp at 3 a.m. the next morning—day 38—a slow process because everything was soaking wet so I needed to find a way to hang it instead of putting it away. An hour and a half later, I began to walk beneath the predawn moon and stars, guided by my headlamp, with my spare clothes and tent draped across me and my pack in the hopes they would dry at some point. After three miles the sun began to rise and I was rewarded for my early start: brilliant layers of color created a silhouette of mountains and Joshua trees and a crescent moon sat high in the sky. The early bird gets the worm, which in this case means getting to experience the beauty and joy and solitude of morning miles and sunrise views.

Halfway through the day my friends caught up with me while I rested by a water cache and we then tackled the steep three-mile climb together. At the end of the climb I felt tired but strong and by the end of the day I had covered 24.1 miles, a new personal record. Crunch, Smiles and I slept in an abandoned cabin eight miles before Walker Pass—a cabin well known for its mice infestation. Ellie of the past would never have slept in that, but I was tired and didn’t want to set up my tent, so I hung my food from the rafters, put my pack under my feet, curled up tight in my sleeping bag and slept fabulously.

Eight miles in the morning—day 39— which were mostly downhill so they went by fast, brought us to Walker Pass. I hadn’t been planning on stopping in the town of Ridgecrest but Crunch was out of food. There was a Chinese buffet that sounded amazing and hotel rooms were $45, so we decided to split one and rest for a night. Before hotel check in, after the amazing and much needed Chinese buffet, I napped on a bench under some trees and felt like a true nomad. Apparently thru-hiking is just like being a glorified nomad? Not yet sure how I feel about this.

We had intended to get back on Trail the next day—day 40—but Ridgecrest is not a popular hiker stop and the general population there didn’t know who we were, so after two hours of attempting to find a ride with no luck, we gave up and decided to zero and take the Monday-Wednesday-Friday bus back out to Walker Pass the following morning. A fellow hiker named Holiday who was a friend of Crunch and Smiles allowed us to stay in his hotel room for the night and I slept wonderfully on the floor in the closet. I took an extra layer of foam intended for the ironing board and put it on top of my sleeping pad for more cushion. Luxury.

An early bus the next morning—day 41—had us back on trail before 8 a.m. and a long day of stunning views harrowing climbs began. The scenery coming out of Walker Pass was dominated by granite and large trees, the Sierras were getting even closer.

There were three major climbs that day, the last of which I hit during the afternoon hours once I was already tired. This one also happened to be the longest, composed of six miles of switchbacks cutting across granite slopes. Luckily I was able to listen to music since I had charged my phone in Ridgecrest and knew we would be in Kennedy Meadows soon—I don’t think I’d have made it through that final climb without my “tidal wave” playlist. It was another 24 mile day, leaving me just over 26 miles to get into Kennedy Meadows the next day.

I woke up early on day 42 and began hiking before the sun was up because my friends had gone farther than me the day before and I wanted to be ahead of them before they began walking. The forest is so quiet in the morning—only the sound of birds, wind, and my own footsteps—so peaceful and meditative. Morning miles are always my favorite miles. I passed many streams of cool clear water but did not stop until I’d gone 17 miles and had no more climbs separating me and Kennedy Meadows. At the top of the final climb the Sierras were suddenly so close, like I could run and jump and land among them. So close, and so snow covered.

I did not stop for long and continued to hike fast, excited to see the infamous Kennedy Meadows sign; Excited to have made it to the Sierra gateway. The miles were all beautiful, and my body felt so strong, and by 1 p.m. I had covered 22 miles. I paused to ice my feet in the raging South Fork Kern River before covering the remaining 4 miles to the paved road which would lead me to the Kennedy Meadows General Store—my stopping point—in just under a mile. I arrived at the general store moments before 3:30 p.m. after walking 26.6 miles, which was a new distance record as well as a new speed record. I could not believe how early it was and how far I had already gone. Crunch and Smiles had already arrived and clapped for me when I arrived, my cue to collapse in an exhausted happy heap. I had made it to Kennedy Meadows.