Wild by Cheryl Strayed + My Bucket List Hike

This popular memoir details a lost 26-year-old's misguided, bumbling attempt to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail (a longtime bucket list item for me.)

Published January 25, 2025

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Novel: Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed
Release Date: March 19, 2012
Publisher: Knopf
Format: eBook
Source: Library


At twenty-two, Cheryl Strayed thought she had lost everything. In the wake of her mother’s death, her family scattered and her own marriage was soon destroyed. Four years later, with nothing more to lose, she made the most impulsive decision of her life. With no experience or training, driven only by blind will, she would hike more than a thousand miles of the Pacific Crest Trail from the Mojave Desert through California and Oregon to Washington State — and she would do it alone.

Told with suspense and style, sparkling with warmth and humor,
Wild powerfully captures the terrors and pleasures of one young woman forging ahead against all odds on a journey that maddened, strengthened, and ultimately healed her.


Why I Picked It Up

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I'm not sure when, exactly, I got the Pacific Crest Trail in my head. Years ago, by now. I read this memoir because of my hunger to do the same hike, not the reverse. Somehow, it stuck. Moving to Hawai'i and getting my sun tattoo were driven by the same long-form impulses—ideas that somehow burrowed into my head and stayed there, although I can't pinpoint exactly when they first formed.

Anyway. I wouldn't say I have a fully formed bucket list of specific items (beyond a wishlist place or two and seeing the Northern Lights), but thru-hiking the PCT is on there. And the thing about me is that, when I have a goal like this, I know I will do it simply because I couldn't live with myself not doing it, or at least trying. More on that below.

Every so often, I go down a rabbit hole of hiking memoirs and essay compilations. A Walk in the Woods, Wild, and On Trails were the first. How to Disappear. Mary Oliver. Silence: In an Age of Noise. The Nature Fix. Right now, I'm reading (or about to start) John Muir's Travels in Alaska, Awe, and After the North Pole. Whenever I do, I get infinitely jealous of anyone embarking on the PCT in the coming year and also immediately crave a burger and fries (because of the absolute bliss of the hikers' descriptions of coming across trail angels or towns.) It makes me crave that earned contrast of a zero day.

Voice & Tone

Cheryl Strayed's memoir is probably the most comprehensive in terms of the PCT (despite her not actually finishing it) and has a similar reception to that of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which I actually haven't read: people tend to relish the personal challenge and transformations and sensory experiences it describes, but also acknowledge that the narration, and personal choices, can be very selfish.

She embarks upon the trail way less prepared than she expects to be. I've heard this is pretty accurate to anyone doing the PCT; no matter how you prep, you're still going to encounter that first moment of, "Oh shit, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing" and rely on other thru-hikers to get you through it, hence the community bond. Still, Strayed's version is a little different, because she was still actively doing heroin on the trail, and made some blunders that signaled naivety more so than natural overwhelm. Experienced hikers have pointed out how shitty her trail behavior was (at least in the beginning) because of how she actively endangered the others who helped her out.

Still, that's sort of the purpose of a memoir, so I'm not here to judge her actions—just to describe the mindset that pervades the first part of the book and why it may feel frustrating to some readers. I do love that she focuses more on her internal journey within her pursuit of the trail, because I find that similar books can veer towards the technical in a way that doesn't fully capture the "why" of people doing the PCT. There's a magic in the discipline, the awe, the sensations, etc,. and it is rare. Most people who do the PCT do say it changes them, and she strikes a great balance in terms of focus.

Cheryl Strayed, the writer, broke out with this book; since then, she's gone on to write other books with successful film adaptations (this one stars Reese Witherspoon, by the way) like Tiny Beautiful Things. I frequently see quotes from her cross my Pinterest, and she seems to fall in line with writers like Brené Brown—inspirational, accessible, etc,.

Also—oh God. I didn't realize she went on the trail when she was 26. Maybe I am "behind"!

What It's About

Cheryl Strayed (who has an appropriately meaningful last name) decided to do the PCT at age 26. For four years, she's been absolutely spiraling since losing her mother at age 22; she sabotaged her marriage, got addicted to heroin, and generally lost all desire to do anything.

The PCT was her tipping point. She didn't plan, she didn't train, and she went on the trail solo "driven by blind will." And soon, of course, she finds herself in over her head. Her backpack is way too heavy, she hasn't even touched her guidebook, and she's generally just on the hunt to bumble around and have self-abandoned sex with whoever might be willing.

The plot generally follows her thru-hike and transformation, of course, so there's no other underlying thread. Certain aspects hint at her lack of self-awareness as a narrator (a curse of most memoir.) For example, she's always talking about how hot and charming everyone finds her; the guys want to sleep with her, and people generally help her because they find it adorable she embarked on the trip with as little preparation. Those frustrated by her blindness are mostly dismissed as killjoys within the narrative, and readers expecting accountability may be disappointed.

Strayed's reflections by the end ultimately looks like noble self-acceptance on the surface (and she's admiringly transparent about her worst mistakes), but she doesn't acknowledge her flaws or how she's negatively impacted others. She just embraces them as being part of what got her closer to healing. So is it really self-acceptance if you're not actually taking a good hard look at yourself, pros and cons? Or is it just a solidified self-centeredness that feels better to you and waves away the impacts of your choices on others?

But a lot of the themes of endurance and change would likely resonate with those who need to hear it, and I did admire her stubborn determination to continue (for as far as she did, at least. She only ever planned to do the California portion, but did continue in to Oregon. She just didn't complete the legs in Canada and Washington.)

I was amazed that what I needed to survive could be carried on my back. And, most surprising of all, that I could carry it.

Cheryl Strayed also spends a lot of time off-trail. She hitchhikes and takes the bus at certain sections—like the notoriously difficult icy terrain within the Sierra Nevada range—so ends up in some funky situations. They're entertaining to read, but if you're expecting the true, classic thru-hike, you won't find that here. But I'm perfectly fine with that, and still would argue that she's done enough of the PCT to speak authentically to the experience without having completed it. (Bill Bryson's depiction of the App Trail encounters the same critique; they did not finish it.)

While I would love to do the entire hike all the way through, I do think that everyone "hikes their own hike" (a common refrain within the PCT culture.) At least nowadays, I worry about my own capability to simply because of how frequently wildfires have forced hikers off the trail prematurely, in recent years. Personally, I'm reading these types of books for the individual stories, not to experience exactly word-for-word what the PCT is like, so that mix of interior and exterior works for me.

I, of course, love depictions of the physical challenge of the hike. Despite being a verbal, creative person, I put a lot of stock in athleticism and endurance, and that's a priority of mine too. (Recently, I read Murakami's Novelist as Vocation which embodied my thoughts on this.)

I love that she did the hike solo, intentionally, because that would probably be my first instinct too. When I've thought about the trail, I've never had a "buddy" in mind to do it with, but expect that I'd fall into a "trail family" accordingly, like she describes. The PCT does have a reputation for becoming a little social, at least in this spirit of collective independence—"alone together" in a shared goal, etc,. etc,.

I would have loved more nature imagery, and some more vivid depictions than her summary of individual days hiking. But Strayed's focus is more so on the other aspects of the trail, which is fine. I'll read more specific nature-writers if I wanted the rest. Strayed's memoir is pretty easy reading, and was entertaining enough for me to get through quickly. I've never reread it and don't necessarily plan to, but am grateful that I did.

Wild is emotional (a little corny), and gripping, and does a good job pinpointing some of the value that "normal" people find in the trail vs. those who consider themselves solely outdoorsy. The outdoors scene can be just as cliquey and judgmental as so-called regular society—admit it. And of course, its value for me is in just making me long vicariously for a summer completing it.

My Personal Goal of Hiking the PCT (!!!)

This review has been on the docket for a while for me, but last night, I had the most satisfying realization that I might be closer to checking this goal off my list than I thought.

The hardest part of deciding to embark on the PCT, for me, has always been timing. It's very, very difficult to decide you can take 6+ months off of participation in society to go hike 2,650 miles. To disappear in that way is undeniably a privilege solely in terms of time, because a lot of our success and community relies on syncing ourselves to more conventional pacing. And you do experience the opportunity cost—both because the trail will cost you in terms of supplies, lost wages, career trajectory, etc,.

Which is also (partly) why the PCT holds such meaning for those who choose to do it. It is a commitment—a big one. It's physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, etc,. Many choose to do it at points of transition: after losing a relationship, a job, a worldview. I often think it would have been easiest to do straight after college (if not for COVID) because it's more doable to remove yourself from everything for a little while then without feeling the rush to justify. Like it or not, we are impacted by our participation or lack thereof in necessary rhythms, whether you're seeking long-term financial stability or investing in community.

Many also do the PCT in retirement for the same reason—finally able to embark on it without the cost—but I personally worry about putting it off just because of the physical toll; you're more likely to get injured, take longer, etc,. So all the power to those who do it later in life. It's a tough balance to strike between the need to plan and the need to get lucky in terms of blank space.

I'd like to thru-hike it rather than section-hike it, but some who eventually complete the trail do so in sections. My friend Anna and I wanted to hike sections after my sophomore year of college, and I was absolutely desperate to until my parents noshed that ambition because of the whole 20-year-old female thing. (It's okay; she went on to do sections, I filed the dream away for later, and went on to have a fantastic summer doing other things.) Hike your own hike. Safety is a factor and everything has its risks, but I'm okay trying to alleviate the fear factor for my parents in whatever way I can—in this case, waiting, because I wasn't going to thru-hike it then anyway.

anna
Anna and I, backpacking in college!

In my early and mid-twenties, I've been pursuing a book deal. I've been (somehow successfully) building a stable-enough journalism career in travel—my dream. I've been just visible enough to have some significant, incredible opportunities that cite my creativity and consistency, so I haven't been able to take time off in the way you'd need to here. 2024 was an absolute marvel in that everything popped off, all at once.

But I always said that if my book doesn't sell this year, I'd travel for a bit until it didn't hurt. Win-win. If it sells, I'll finally take a real, actual vacation. If it doesn't, I'd probably pick up and wander solo for a minute until the sting of sunk cost and heartbreak faded away.

I tend to talk about selling my book in more negative terms than what I think can/will happen because I'm superstitious. I hope for the best but brace myself for the worst here, just because of realism and low odds.

I have tremendous, extraordinary faith in my book, positioning, quality, etc,. so believe that Mountain Sounds can and will go so far, but I also have done as much work as I can to make sure that I don't lose my confidence and sense of self if the outcome doesn't go my way—because in all reality, I've done absolutely everything I can but the rest of it is all luck. (So, actually, if you're the praying or hoping kind—I would very much appreciate your prayers for my luck.) No matter how you square it, seven years is a long time to devote your everything to something, and it would feel really shitty for the book to die, even though I've gotten so many benefits from the process itself. The outcome does matter.

But I had the fabulous, fabulous realization. I'm not yet on submission, but if my book went out and stayed out on submission for a year and a half or so, it's probably a goner. (Not to be a drag.) The longer it stays out without a bite, the lower the odds. Your agent would most likely advise you to work on something else and try again. So by the time I would need to do permit applications next year, I would probably know the result.


The Epiphany—2026?

If my book doesn't sell this year, and next year finds me in this exact same position with nothing else to show for it, I could totally make the 2026 PCT work.

My logic is this—provided each of these factors are the same as now. If everything remained the exact same as now (which it probably won't, but hypothetically), these factors would push me towards a yes:

  • I've arranged my schedule for the last few years to "pay myself in time" to write a book i.e. working multiple jobs to afford to devote manyy hours to my manuscript revisions (woo.) If the book doesn't sell, I will of course keep writing books, but will adjust my schedule accordingly i.e. actually get paid what I deserve to. So I could call the summer of 2026 a last hurrah in terms of total, self-controlled structure.
  • This year, many of my friends are moving off-island. I'm making new friends, reconnecting with old ones, and loving my community (and overall very independent), so I don't feel lonely over it, although I'll miss them lots—but it's the price you pay for living in a transient place. Either way, I wouldn't be missing goodbyes to people I care about.
  • Thus far (obviously): no weddings, births, reunions, or significant events I'm aware of that I'd really detest missing. Most of my friends I expect either got married this year, or perhaps later? My brother and his wife are preggo this year, not next? My twin will be in her first year of grad school, not the second, so I wouldn't be missing a graduation, for example.
  • I'm not in a relationship. I likely wouldn't go on the trail if I were, because I wouldn't want to lose out on the connection and trust you build by growing over time. The trail will still be there, but people won't always be. But O'ahu has a pretty limited dating scene, so if I end up single a year from now—what's another 4-6 months?
  • If Mountain Sounds doesn't sell, hiking the PCT would be a good way to grieve the book process (I'm a big belief in how helpful ritual can be for loss) while still giving myself a tangible win, reminding me that I'm more than whatever happens outside of my control. Sappy, but true. Every so often, I think I need a reminder that I'm a person who successfully completes hard things.
  • It would probably feel better than aimless travel because of its endpoint in terms of healing me if I were upset about a negative book outcome. Psychologically, the awe and nature and disconnect would probably be excellent for me too.
  • I want to do the PCT, and it'd probably be the most convenient point in my life re: physical ability and lack of roots.

Quite literally, my one major consequence that I could anticipate now is that I've never missed a summer in Canada—excepting 2020, when the borders were closed. Voluntarily, at least. Black Island is my favorite place, although it scratches a similar itch to the trail.

Still though, there are years we've gone up to Black Island at other points of the year, and even if I got a late permit and completed the trail in mid-September, there's still time within the season to make it there. Or (and this wouldn't be my preference), some people do get forced off the trail for small stretches—like fires, etc,.—and have to go elsewhere for a beat, so maybe I'd unexpectedly land in Ontario. But I definitely wouldn't want to lose my momentum unless it really felt worth it to.

All in all, there's a lot that could change within this plan to make a plan. If I were dating someone then, I'd want to invest in that and know I can do the PCT at another point; I'm of course all about individualism and autonomy, but part of that means that I understand the beauty and trust in letting somebody else affect my plans (and therefore affect me.) If travel writing were going really well and I felt in the groove, I wouldn't want to interrupt my flow. If my next book (likely Sun Guilt) were positioned to get answers on submission, I'd wait. If, if, if. It's a fun daydream now.

So it's not a given at all. But it is a pretty fantastic consolation prize in mind. So maybe I'll be going down the PCT rabbit hole this year just in case. I'll absolutely be spending more time getting a little lost.

journal
the journal entry
island
some island beauty to hold me over
first page

1.

I've been saying etc,. etc,. a whole lot lately.

2.

Similarly to how mothers—no matter how high-powered—statistically suffer from maternity leave, no matter how well they're funded and supported. The time lost puts you behind, and we haven't yet accommodated well enough for the opportunity cost in trajectory.

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