Grit on the PCT

July 27th, above McCloud Dam, Mount Shasta sitting out on the horizon and the heat coming off the rock in waves. We'd been walking since April 15th — a hundred and three days — and California still wasn't finished with us. Our little band was losing steam. Eli rolls his own, always a bit cockeyed. He held still for one frame and looked straight down the lens. I've called this one the Marlboro Man ever since, though no cowboy ever walked this far. Black and white doesn't hide what a thru-hike does to you — or what it builds in you.

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