CoffeePacific Crest Trail: Crossing the Sierra
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Time to read 3 min
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. If you haven't yet: go check out part one & two of his inspiring journey! If you want to know more about his gear setup - PCT - What to pack
High passes, low food, and perfect days through the sierra.
The desert spat us out at Kennedy Meadows. Dirty feet, sunburnt legs, wide eyes. There was laughter, but underneath — a nervous buzz. This was it. The start of the Sierra.
Bear can loaded. Pack heavy like guilt. First steps north felt like walking into a different story. Granite for days. Rivers running loud. Snow still clinging to shadows.
The elevation hit first. Then the climbs. Then the cold.
Up and Over
Mt. Whitney before sunrise. Left camp at stupid o’clock, headlamp dancing off frozen rock. Hands numb, lungs on fire, but that sky — soft orange spilling over the peaks — made it all feel like a dream. No one said much at the top. Didn’t need to. Cold wind. Quiet awe.
Forester Pass next. Switchbacks like stairs to nowhere. Snowfields steep and sketchy. That one cornice at the top? Sketchier. But standing there, looking back — you just laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because you made it.
Pass. Lake. Pass. Lake. Repeat.
Glen. Pinchot. Mather. Muir. Selden. Each pass its own story. Long climbs, posthole descents, frozen toes, and glacial lakes that looked like postcards. We filtered snowmelt and soaked sore feet. Camped high, where wind howled all night. Slept anyway.
One day it snowed sideways. One day it thundered for hours. One day it was just blue sky and silence. You don’t choose out here — you take what the mountain gives.
The Bugs Came Later
Then came the mosquitoes. Clouds of them. No mercy. They followed you up climbs and down into valleys. You ate dinner walking. You peed running. Still got bitten. No one’s immune. Evolution Valley was war. DEET became perfume.
Town Dreams
Hitched out at Bishop. Hitched back in. Ran out of snacks before VVR. Ate the last tortilla like it was fine dining. Spent too much at the store in Mammoth. Still ran out again before Tuolumne. Nothing teaches budgeting like back-to-back 10,000 ft passes with a half-empty bear can.
Somewhere After Sonora Pass
You start to feel it shift. The big climbs soften. The snow pulls back. Pines thicken. Less ice, more dirt. Your legs, once screaming, now cruise. 25 miles doesn’t feel crazy anymore. Just another day. And then Ebbets Pass.
That was magic.
We didn’t expect anything, just another road crossing. But then — trail magic: big cooler, folding chairs, gallons of milk, cereal.
Cereal.
We sat there for almost three hours, pouring ourselves bowl after bowl like kids who’d just discovered sugar. Frosted Flakes, Raisin Bran, even that weird granola with dried strawberries. We sipped milk like wine. Someone played music. Someone cried, but didn’t say why. It was perfect.
No miles. No worries. Just cereal and sunshine.
Up next - South Lake Tahoe.
Showers. Pizza. Noise. Faces. Wifi. Real toilets.
You’re back in the world, kind of. But you keep hearing the wind on Glen Pass, the silence on top of Whitney, the splash of meltwater at camp.
What Sticks
The Sierra isn’t just mountains. It’s the stretch where everything gets stripped down. You don’t have time to fake anything out here. You’re tired or you’re not. You keep walking or you don’t. The views don’t care. The trail doesn’t care. But you do. Somewhere in there, you really start to care.
Not about miles. Not about pace.
But about being there.
And that’s what sticks.
Want more?
Dive into Tom's blog and follow his journey along the Pacific Crest Trail — a path that’s not just about miles, but about mindset. With every step, he questions what we call “normal” and redefines it on his own terms. It’s raw, real, and fueled by no normal coffee — because out here, ordinary just doesn’t cut it.
