I began to stir, wriggling my toes, stretching my neck and taking a deep intake of air. My senses began to awaken. I could feel the warm breeze on my exposed face, my hair dancing around. I could hear the crinkling of our Tyvek groundsheet as intermittent gusts of wind gently pummelled us, as if trying to rouse us and tell us it was time to move on. With each gust came a sprinkling of sand on my skin and the pitter patter as it landed all around us.

Slowly I opened my eyes expecting to see the familiar green blur of the cuben fiber tent that had become ‘home’ over the last 5 weeks. Instead I could see clear blue sky. I rubbed my eyes, pulled the hair from my face and rolled over to reach for my glasses. The events of the previous night flooded back to me. I rolled back over to face my husband Ali, wry smiles spreading across our faces. We’d crossed a corner of the Mojave desert, reaching another significant milestone. We were just over 500 miles into our thru-hike of the 2660 mile Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail.

It was around 6:30am and we’d had just a couple of hours of sleep. We packed up our belongings, excitedly reliving the previous evening and eager to make sense of our surroundings. We’d reached our current location in darkness, utterly exhausted, with only our head torches to guide us to our ‘bed’ for the night. I’d been absolutely spent and we’d struggled to find any shelter from the intense wind. Desperate to close our eyes and rest our weary limbs we’d settled for this small rocky hollow. We’d inadvertently set up camp in a drainage ditch amongst the 4,000 strong army of wind turbines which makes up the Alta Energy Wind Center, the largest wind farm in the world . Thankfully, it had been a dry night. A freak storm could have cause flash flooding and a very different awakening.

The previous day we’d strolled into ‘Hiker Town’ in the blistering heat of the midday sun, desperate for some respite from the inhospitable environment. As we approached this fenced compound we weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Its name was very apt. We entered a small ‘town’ built from old film sets, wild west style, complete with various tractors, trailers and slightly worse for wear chickens. It was all rather surreal. Even thinking about it now it just seems bizarre, but that’s part of the beauty of an adventure – it opens up a whole new world of experiences.

We’d been pushing ourselves hard, clocking up 26 miles the previous day and then 14 miles that morning to reach ‘Hiker Town’. The desert was incredible and so much more diverse than we’d anticipated, but it was also brutal on the body and the mind. Between the extreme heat, blistering sun, water shortages and many varieties of prickly plant we were feeling the strain. One evening whilst camped with trail friends, and delirious after a tough day, we’d formed the “I hate the desert, it’s a bastard” club. It’s amusing looking back on it now, but I can assure you we meant it. We just needed to get through another week and we’d reach Kennedy Meadows, the end of the desert and the gateway to the Sierra Nevada.