CoffeeThe Pacific Crest Trail Part one
Tom Ferstl
Tom Ferstl is all about exploring the world one trail at a time. Whether he’s running through the mountains, discovering new cities on foot, or connecting with local communities, he’s driven by a love for movement, nature, and adventure. Based in Zurich, Tom shares real moments from the road—capturing the highs, the struggles, and everything in between.
The Beginning of an adventure with and open End. Follow NoNormal Ambassador Tom Ferstl on his epic adventure on the Pacific Crest trail, a 2,650-mile trail that stretches from Mexico to Canada.
After months of planning and dreaming, the Pacific Crest Trail has gone from an idea to a reality—step by step, blister by blister.
My journey didn’t start at the border, though. It began with a series of long-haul flights: Zurich to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Seattle, and finally, Seattle to San Diego.
San Diego greeted me with grey skies and unseasonably cool weather. Not quite the golden California I imagined, but maybe a fitting prelude to life on trail—things don’t always go as planned. We spent a couple of days there gathering last-minute gear, shaking off jet lag, and reconnecting with some of my running friends. One of the highlights was joining Adam’s Run Club for a short, easy run. It felt grounding—a small act of normalcy before stepping into the wild unknown.
And then it began.
Day one
The southern terminus was both humble and monumental. Just a wooden monument in the middle of the desert, but for us - and everyone else there - it symbolized a massive leap. We started walking with the early morning light, full packs and fuller hearts. The trail was kind at first: gentle climbs, fresh legs, and the buzz of new adventure.
That night, we had our first experience camping—just us,my sleeping bag, and a sky full of stars. No noise, just the wind and my thoughts. It was beautiful, and also a little unsettling. But already, I could feel myself adjusting to this new rhythm.
The next couple of days were a blur of heat, long miles, and quick introductions that turned into real connections. I met people from all over the world—each of us carrying different reasons for being out here, but sharing the same dirt under our feet.
Trail life started to reveal itself: filtering water from trickling creeks, rationing snacks, and waking up with the sun. The simplicity is jarring in the best way. There’s something so freeing about having just what you need on your back. But it’s not all romantic.
Blisters showed up early, of course. My feet, still soft from city life, were suddenly being asked to walk 20+ kilometers a day on uneven terrain. Every step was a reminder that I’m learning. And that learning comes with pain.
Camping each night has been its own adventure—sometimes nestled in the safety of trail camps, other times cowboy camping again under open skies. There’s a strange comfort in it. The sounds of the desert at night, the cool air, the feeling of being so far from everything I used to call normal.
By day four, I was tired, sore, dusty—and also feeling something I hadn’t expected this soon: belonging.
Walking into Julian, our first little rest day. A free slice of pie for hikers (yes, that’s real), a place to charge phones, rest feet, and resupply. I shared a room with new friends who already feel like trail family. We swapped stories, compared blisters, and laughed about the weirdness of it all—how quickly we’ve adapted to a life of walking, filtering, sleeping, repeating.
These first four days have been a whirlwind. The trail is humbling, beautiful, brutal, and strangely addictive. I’ve laughed loudly with strangers who feel more like siblings. I’ve questioned why I’m doing this, and I also felt completely certain that I’m exactly where I need to be.
