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.

 Thousand Island Lake – Devil’s Postpile

I love my ZPack Duplex to bits. However, single-walled tents are a condensation nightmare. You can set the alarm at 05.30 all you want (and you will be rewarded with a stunning sunrise), but drying out all that gear takes forever.

Leaving great camps is always bittersweet, but we were in high spirits as we marched along in the cold morning air. The sun crept upward as we passed Ruby lake, Emerald lake and Garnet lake.

By this time, we had already gained and lost hundreds of altitude meters. On the switchbacks leading up to Rosalie lake, Gladys lake and Trinity lakes, we fantasised about daypacks. Those sexy little 30L things, with room for a water bottle and a sweater. Heaven! And we are so gonna start The Association for Hikers Against Uphill Walking. The hot afternoon sun scorched the back of my legs, and I ferociously applied 50SPF sun screen stick, which ended up attracting every dirt particle within a three-foot radius. Black dirt and white sunscreen on a red background? Rawr.

Devil’s Postpile – Deer Creek

No bears! And a lovely trail brekkie of apple pie oatmeal with freeze dried berries and Kate’s good company. Once again we were back on the trail at 08 (for my non-hiking readers: this is absurdly late). It takes time to get into a good morning routine, especially if you are two people with two sets of gear to pack up. And the constant dilemma: who carries the soggy tent today? However, the forest was beautiful in the morning sunlight. We all screamed wading through an icy river that reached all the way up to my thighs.  

We parted ways with Kate before Red’s Meadow junction. I would have hiked with her all the way to Mt Whitney, but we had different itineraries. Now only two sets of boots kicked up dust on the soft trail. Smoke from the wildfire descended upon us as we traversed a burnt area, and we nearly choked inching our way out of Red’s Valley up into clearer air. At this point, I confess I felt a little discouraged. The smoke obscured all view, we had hiked in dark pine forest all day, and I longed for mountains. Preferably flat, with winds to carry my pack for me.

 Deer Creek – Squaw Lake

We found our trail legs today. Oh glory! And not a moment too soon, as this would be a long day to position ourselves strategically below Silver pass. The dry air and altitude had given me persistent nosebleed, but we only had so much toilet paper… So every time I blew my nose, my hand would get splattered in red.

This was our longest day so far, and at the bottom of Tully Hole, surrounded by yet another batch of starving mosquitoes, my body screamed for rest. But even reapplying sunscreen was a lost cause, let alone sitting down to munch an energy bar. We had the choice of almost running onwards or be eaten alive. The hiker autopilot took over as we dragged our deoxygenated legs up, up, up towards Squaw Lake. We hiked hard as the seemingly endless uphill dragged on.

But at long last, we heaved ourselves up to the glistening shores of our home for the night. Silver peak crowned guardian-like over Squaw Lake, and all we could do was turn around and look into the sunset. Everything was bathed in golden light. Nestled in a nook on top of the world we pitched camp and listened to the crickets buzzing like electric currents. The astonishing beauty of the High Sierra took my breath away, and I felt raw power course through my veins. I could do this.

Squaw Lake - Edison Lake via Silver Pass 

Last night was the worst. After our apparent success with altitude acclimatisation, I’d ceased to think about the risk we were taking, pushing our bodies through extreme climbs and descents at over 10 000 feet. I’d been unable to fall asleep, and around midnight I became nauseous and dizzy. I panicked. Adrian tried to comfort me and took me out to filter some water as I hyperventilated and cried pathetically. Packed up in my puffy coat, I fell into a cold sleep eventually, but was completely wrecked this morning. Eyes like slits, body heavy, brain filled with cotton. We moved in slow motion as we packed up down camp and trudged upwards into the sunrise.

Interestingly, Silver Pass was so tiny that it bordered on the disappointing. A steep climb through a snow patch that took about four minutes to traverse was all there was to it. First trail pass conquered! Was this the cause of the Americans’ hysteria? I had fretted endlessly about the record snowpack, but my driveway at home in Norway would be snowier than this in winter.

My nightly toils melted away as the sun seared over the distant mountains. Both sides of Silver were beautiful, green fields flecked with snow patches, lakes and white stone. Up here we could breeze along for hours before the trail descended from the alpine into familiar pine woodland.

Our last camp on section 1 was nestled on the pale shores of Lake Edison under a tall Jeffrey pine. No bugs, and we could eat our gooey mac ‘n cheese in peace. It felt like… a weekend. But I also felt nervous for the upcoming section. Section 1 is the gentlest, but it has been so hard. We were constantly covered in dirt, sweat, bugspray, and layers of old sunscreen. Despite my best efforts, I was covered in over 200 mosquito bites – my butt looked like a relic from the smallpox era - and I still had nowhere to blow my bleeding nose for lack of toilet paper. Every other day I’d change the gauze and leukotape covering my hips and collar bones to prevent pressure sores from my heavy pack.

Don’t get me wrong, I was so proud and grateful to be out in the wild. And I never expected it to be glamorous. But I’d be lying if I didn’t confess how hard it was. On the other hand… I also remembered that I’d resupplied myself both brownies and jumbo cinnamon buns. Omnomnom!

Zero at Vermillion Valley Resort 

You know that feeling when you wake up on a weekend morning? Sunlight flickering in through the window, little particles of dust dancing in the air. You can stretch, wriggle your toes and really feel how calm and rested your body is. Replace the window with a tent mesh, and you have this blissful morning on the shores of Lake Edison. Sleeping until 08 felt like a massive rest, and we spread out like starfish with our books and Pro bars. All aches and pains seeped away as I walked barefooted along the rocks for a skinny dip in the glass-like waters.

For the first time, I took a moment to look at my body. Over the course of less than a week, it had already hardened. I’d spent five weeks bulking up in Norway, and confess I was relieved to see the slimmer shapes reappear. In our regular city lives, our bodies are for show – to visually appreciate and dressed to attract. Here, our bodies are solely functional, aesthetics are completely disregarded. Every little ache is a cause for concern, your only mode of transport needs to be so well cared for. I’d never loved my legs so much, such troopers!

In the afternoon, our wonderful trail angel Liv Kari, along with her sister Inger pulled up outside our tent cabin. Liv Kari’s dog Simsim stuck his fluffy head out the car window, and we had a joyful reunion (not least with our resupply boxes). Like animals we dove right in on chips, Twizzlers, peach iced tea (!), and finished off with spareribs and a whole pie for dinner. And yes, I am very aware that all I’m doing is fetishizing food here. But after a week stuck in the wilderness with a diet restricted to the contents of a bear cannister, you would be too.

But that was tomorrow’s worry! We spent our last night grilling marshmallows and drinking margaritas after a big birthday dinner for Inger. I’d eaten continuously throughout the day to compensate for the upcoming stretch and felt ready to pass out. Light from our bonfire flickered over Simsim’s golden fur. Above us shooting stars bounced across the darkening sky, “like Roman candles across the night”.