Six months after securing my permit from Cottonwood Pass to Happy Isles, I finally stepped onto the John Muir Trail on July 20. With a taped knee, a green light from my physiotherapist, and a backpack holding everything I needed, I set off on my first solo hike, 220 miles (350 km) through the wild heart of California.

This was not a trail to take lightly. Weeks of preparation went into permits, gear choices, food planning, and resupply logistics. Everything had to fit in a bear canister, cell reception would be nearly nonexistent, and the route crossed high mountain passes between 3,000 and 4,000 meters. Forums, blogs, and fellow hikers became my guide long before my boots touched the trail.

From the very first days, the American backpacking culture stood out: open, social, and generous. Conversations started easily: about tents, trail names, miles, and food. I quickly found myself hiking alongside others, including Su and Paul, two inspiring hikers in their sixties, who set the tone for a steady and mindful pace.

The trail itself was relentless and breathtaking. Endless climbs to passes like Forester, Glen, Mather, Selden, Silver, and Donohue were followed by long, knee-testing descents. Alpine lakes, Charlotte, Rae, Evolution, Garnet, Thousand Island, Cathedral, punctuated the route with moments of pure beauty. Wildlife appeared regularly: deer, marmots, and bears, always reminding me that this was true wilderness.

Weather became one of the biggest challenges. I thought Californian summer would mean intense sun. But I ended up in sudden storms, hail, and days of cold rain. At times I hiked through clouds, slept in soaking gear, and dug drainage trenches around my tent like a proud Dutch engineer. Wildfires and smoke added another layer of uncertainty, forcing constant decision, making with incomplete information.

Resupply stops, Independence, Muir Trail Ranch, Vermilion Valley Resort, Mammoth, were lifelines. They brought hot showers, real food, and the puzzle of repacking heavy bear canisters. Hiker hunger became very real, and I learned the value of extra calories and leftover food buckets.

Physically, the trail pushed me hard. My knee held up, but ankles, hunger, exhaustion, and wet days tested my limits. Mentally, I learned patience, adaptability, and trust, both in myself and in the trail community. Swimming in icy water, watching the sunset, and sharing stories with fellow hikers, I realized this journey was never just about reaching the finish. It was about moving through wilderness with intention, resilience, and wonder and discovering just how far I could go on my own.

Find my full trail diary and camping tips on Polarsteps!