2000 switchbacks later, I was one sip of electrolytes away from laying down to die. I may have hiked before, but I had never truly hiked until the JMT. Calling it hiking is being generous, it was a battle. (Electrolytes are lovely things, but they sure taste like crap.)

However, after dying and dying again we finally reached the crest of the mountain wall – where you are no longer going up, but in. And there they were. The high Sierra. Crowning the gorgeous ultramarine Gem Lake, they illustrated John Muir famous quote oh-so well: “When you travel the mountains, you are not going out, you are going in”.

The most memorable thing about our first lunch was how terrified we were of bears. We hardly left our packs from our embrace, as if a monstrous grizzly would pounce on our salami tortillas at any moment. One bear-free JMT thru-hike later, I can only laugh at how ridiculously scared we were.

I have never sweated so profusely from all pores on my body at once. The windy trail never ceased to creap UPUPUP, and we had to stop every two minutes or so, lean over our trekking poles and heave for decreasingly oxygenated breath. My backpack dug into my hips and collar bones, creating bruises that would accompany me throughout the journey. We passed lush meadows and still ponds at over 3000m, the trees still bigger here than they ever grow at sea level back in Norway. I fondly remember my first encounter with a white chocolate macademia Clif bar, the start of a glorious long-term affection for these unrivalled motivation boosters.

Seeing Banner Peak for the first time gave me the strength to push away the desire to perish, and inch my way down from Agnew Pass.

Reaching Thousand Island Lake is to this day one of the greatest feelings of reward I’ve experienced. In the dazzling afternoon sunlight, Banner Peak towered majestically over the glittering lake and its lush banks – already filled with tents. We were officially on the John Muir Trail, our home for the remaining summer. The hikers around us would become comrades in arms. I’ll never forget that first camp, kicked off by two generous PCT-hikers filtering water for us. I felt a burst of energy and conversed for both of us, living the dream planted by reading Wild. Our first freeze-dried dinner was by all accounts a disaster, water boils funny at 3000m. Stay away from the Mountain House chicken & dumplings, folks. You have been warned.

But nothing could dampen the experience of crawling into a fluffy sleeping bag under the stars in the wildest of places, saturated with happiness.