On Foot is a record of a long walk, including the part that happens before the walking begins.
I am preparing to walk the Pacific Crest Trail north from Mexico, moving under my own power for as long as conditions and judgment allow. Roughly 2,600 miles, give or take reroutes, closures, and detours. This site begins before the first step because preparation is not separate from the journey. It is where most of the real constraints are identified.
The timing is deliberately unresolved. Late April looks optimal for me, balancing snowpack, runoff, and risk tolerance, as well as a simple preference for spring conditions over winter travel. Starting earlier increases snow exposure. Starting later increases swift-water risk. I hold swift-water rescue training, but that training mostly clarifies what not to test. The start date will be chosen accordingly, not declared in advance.
Recent years add another layer of complexity. The 2024 and 2025 water years were recovery years. Reservoirs are up. Hillsides are green. Growth has returned. That recovery is welcome, but it comes with a tradeoff. Increased vegetation means increased fuel. Whether this year ends above or below average, fire potential is rising, and with it, uncertainty. Preparation has to account for that.
Last year, I planned to walk this trail and held a permit in hand. The plan was complete. The walk did not happen. Fire damage, flood impacts, and ordinary life intervened without offering a clean narrative. This year begins from the opposite position: no permit locked in yet, but a clearer understanding of what matters and a willingness to pivot based on the permit I do obtain.
What interests me is not the achievement of finishing, but the method—how a long walk is prepared for under uncertainty, how decisions are made with incomplete information, and how plans are revised once movement begins.
My approach to the outdoors has always been non-motorized and human-powered. I gravitate toward mountain travel where the work is done by your own body and the impact is meant to disappear behind you. Leave No Trace is less a slogan than an operating assumption: take only photographs, leave only footprints, carry what you need, waste little, and move on.
I come to this walk with experience—military, mountain, and otherwise—but the trail has a way of flattening résumés. Out here, preparation matters more than background, and judgment matters more than intention.
This site is where I document that process as it unfolds. Some entries will be practical. Some reflective. Some provisional. I’ll show what I try, what I revise, and what I find along the way.
This project documents preparation and progress as they happen. Plans will change.