Trail Angel

Severe weather, dehydration, wild animals. The perils of the Pacific Crest Trail are many. But there’s also ex-cop Steve Scarano

- Steve 'Hamburger Helper' Scarano

THE BRIGHT ORANGE TARP IS spread out on the hard-packed desert sand and filled with strawberries, cherries, cupcakes, Twinkies, hot sauce, Pop-Tarts, Milky Ways and our homemade PB&J burritos. We have gallons of ice-cold lemonade and iced tea ready to pour and lots of vitamin I: ibuprofen for those aches and pains that come with serious hiking. We’re on the Pacific Crest Trail, a hundred miles north of the Mexican border. Day Six for most thru-hikers.

They start coming at 9:30 in the morning, boots kicking up dust. I don my angel wings—a big feathery appendage from the Dollar Store—to greet them. Our sign says Majik, the words spelled out in pink duct tape. Trail magic is what hikers call it, the unexpected blessings that appear on their journey. Doing this year after year has proved a blessing on my own life journey. But it wouldn’t have come about without prayer.

I was a police officer in the coastal town of Oceanside and, before that, a Marine. When I retired, I stayed busy volunteering. I taught wilderness skills to kids, and in another program we paired at-risk youth with first responders to do a ropes course, teaching them teamwork and leadership. I served on the Eagle Scout review board. I liked being outdoors and getting exercise. “You seem pretty happy being retired,” my wife, Emmy, observed. I was.

Then in 2007 our good friends Marty and Norma decided to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail, starting down at the Mexican border and going all the way north to Canada. Five months of the great outdoors, five months of facing the elements. I’ve done my share of backpacking, going to the top of Mount Whitney and the bottom of the Grand Canyon, but hiking one end of the PCT to the other—a trek of some 2,600 miles—was out of my league.