Hiking the PCT in 2025: Conquering the San Jacinto Winter Conditions

On Tuesday, March 25, 2025, we awoke in the dark to begin our ascent into the San Jacinto Mountains. The stars above and the distant city lights of Palm Springs to the East twinkled. The San Jacintos had been a looming presence for the past 150 miles, dominating trail conversations:

• “Are you going to go for it?”

• “What’s your strategy?”

• “Do you have an ice axe?”

Tales of frostbite, search-and-rescue operations, and hikers opting to bypass this section entirely had instilled a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

2 weeks prior, a late winter storm had blanketed the mountains with approximately 40 inches of snow. Subsequent unseasonably warm temperatures had accelerated the melt, but reports still cautioned that the traverse demanded high skill levels and mountaineering experience. San Jac Jon, a local expert who regularly provides detailed trail reports, had flagged an 8-mile stretch as particularly technical.

As we climbed, the sun rose swiftly, casting a deceptive warmth that belied the alpine conditions. Patches of snow became more frequent, prompting the tedious routine of donning microspikes for icy sections and removing them for dry patches. Early on, we teamed up with a fellow hiker, who was equipped with an ice axe. We had sent ours to the nearest town before this section, but USPS had unfortunately made a mistake and misrouted them to the Bay Area. Despite this, we felt secure proceeding without them.

The day’s exertion was compounded by my own physical challenges. Lingering blisters had become infected, and my overstrained hips protested with every step. Neglecting morning stretches and rest had been a mistake. The steep ascents and high elevation taxed our endurance, with the thinner air making each breath laborious.

Our goal was to reach Idyllwild, approximately 15 miles ahead. However, the demanding terrain and our slowed pace turned this into a grueling 10-hour endeavor. Water was scarce, and we rationed carefully, pushing through fatigue and discomfort.

Around mile 6 of the technical section, just when we thought the worst was behind us, we encountered an expansive snowbank stretching endlessly ahead. Exhausted, thirsty, and hungry from skipping lunch, my hips screamed with every step. My husband, recognizing my struggle, selflessly carried my pack for a time, allowing us to press on. Camping was not an option; the steep, snow-covered slopes offered no safe haven.

Navigating became increasingly challenging as the trail disappeared beneath the snow. As the day heated and the snow began to soften, we began postholing with every step—postholing is when a hiker sinks deep into soft snow, making progress slow and strenuous.

Foot tracks led in multiple directions, and often vanished altogether. After losing our hiking partner (who ultimately made it safely to town) and scrambling up a hillside to regain the path, we finally began our descent into Idyllwild.

Idyllwild greeted us with open arms. This charming, hiker-friendly town boasts a gear store specializing in PCT essentials, stocked with niche items typically found only online. We indulged in a zero day—no forward miles—to rest, tend to my blisters (an updated med kit and new shoes were in order), do laundry, and savor hearty meals with fellow hikers.

We felt recharged and ready to tackle the rest of the San Jacintos. This time, we moved with more patience, taking our time through the snow and elevation. Having a better sense of what lay ahead gave us confidence, but we weren’t anticipating the winds that awaited us.

By the time we reached the exposed ridge line, we were met with breathtaking views—and rising winds. As the afternoon wore on, it turned into an unrelenting force. We picked a spot to set up camp for the night somewhat sheltered by trees, but it didn’t matter. Gusts ripped through, shaking our tent violently and pulling stakes from the frozen ground, forcing us up multiple times in the night to reinforce guylines, and pile more rocks on top for extra weight. Sleep was nearly impossible— every few minutes another howling gust would jolt us awake, making us wonder if our shelter would hold.

At some point, I lay awake listening to the wind rage against the mountains, feeling both small and deeply alive. I suppose this was the human experience I was asking for. The San Jacintos weren’t letting us pass easily, but we were still moving forward. Morning finally came, and with it, the promise of descending back to lower elevations and out of the unpredictable conditions.

Dropping to the desert floor—our faces were raw and our bodies ached. We were elated to see dirt trails and descend to the warmer desert floor. Gratitude filled us for the anticipated warmth ahead.

Oh boy, were we wrong. The San Jacintos were just the start. While everyone had been focused on this section, few had mentioned the incoming storm rolling through Big Bear. The forecast had been changing rapidly, and conditions were about to shift in a way we hadn’t anticipated. In just a few days, we’d find ourselves in a blizzard, postholing through fresh, deep snow, enduring freezing winds, and learning just how brutal a spring storm in the mountains could be. But that’s a story for another time…