SOBO for Steelhead

Sean “Butt Plug” Jansen thru-hiked the PCT in 2015. Sean is a freelance writer and photographer as well as seasonal wilderness guide in Yellowstone National Park. He is now south-bounding from Hiker Town to Campo to raise awareness for the critically endangered Southern California steelhead trout. An anadromous fish, like a salmon, that swims up the creeks and streams throughout Southern California.

It was never lost on me. The gloriousness, the thrill, the wildness of the Pacific Crest Trail. I was fortunate enough to hike it in full in 2015. I was lucky to experience the diversity of Southern California, follow in the footsteps of John Muir as I journeyed through the Sierra, bask in the glow of the volcanoes of Northern California and Oregon, and gaze in wonderment at the Cascades of Washington. This life-changing journey that lasted exactly 180 days has stayed with me, even ten years after its completion.

I still reflect on the rag-tag, dirt-bag friends that I met along the way. The hiker trash that I now call family. Leaning up against trees with a jar of peanut butter and Ritz crackers for a break or huddling under a rocker, shivering wet and cold in a rainstorm while sipping on whiskey. I often revisit these memories as if they were framed on the mirror I look at every day before leaving for work. I think of all the times while suffering in a depressive state to help get me through it and reminisce about the love I shared with those who felt the same. Like a high that had no down, I was buzzing on the glory of the trail. Then, one day, I metaphorically and literally got sober.

Depression took over, guilt rattled my core, and a sickness burdened me not from food but more like a plague that infected only one person. I tried everything from weekend backpacking trips to copious amounts of time spent in nature, even if it was just sitting on a bench outside; nothing was working. I would even look at images on my time from trail to try and soothe the pain. Nothing worked, and alcohol quickly took over. It was a band-aid for what seemed like a scar, but it worked temporarily. Until it hit me one fateful morning when it all started to make sense. It all started to click, and once the realization happened, guilt quickly washed in once again. I hadn’t given back to the trail, although the trail gave me all its love. I took advantage of the trail even though it was loyal to each step I took. I squandered, publicized, glorified, benefited from, profited from, and took from without giving anything back.

I knew what needed to happen next.

My journey with alcohol continued, and I knew that was the first line of order. I couldn’t be there to help someone or something else if I couldn’t even help myself first. So, I shut all the metaphorical doors, closed all the blinds, deleted all the memories, and focused on the present. And over time, it worked, and I got myself sober. Next was the love I needed to spread to the trail. But not just the trail, the natural environment.

In the years proceeding, I flashed frequently, not just to my companions with whom I shared the journey but also to the sheer ruggedness and wildness that we all had the privilege to hike through. The remote terrain, the high alpine vistas, and the dry deserts were all a beautiful flavor of bliss that we salivated over. I reflected further, realizing that some of the areas we went through were in jeopardy. But ignorance and drive blinded, at least me, to realize what was threatened.

After the trail, I finally got sober, finally got savings, and was finally ready to get back on the trail. I thought about setting off on my journey to the Triple Crown, considered jumping onto another long-distance trail internationally, or maybe redoing some of my favorite sections of the PCT: The Sierra, Cascades, or the Southern California section.

Out of all the sections on the PCT, the most memorable was the first 500 miles. From Campo to essentially the aqueduct at Hikertown. The literal ups and downs to the spiritual and metaphorical learning curve of understanding what my body and nature could do. But in a weird and tummy-warming sense, it was also home. I grew up in Southern California and couldn’t fathom the beauty I was seeing that was literally out my backdoor. The diversity of geography, the diversity of landscape, the wildness, the terrain; I was blown away.

When I finally crawled out of my depression, out of my addiction, and was ready to take to the trail, I decided to redo the Southern California section, but this time, with the goal to finally give back to an environment that gave me so much. Through my childhood and simple research, much, if not all, the rivers throughout Southern California are urbanized, dammed, diverted, or dried up. And as a kid, I was told they were lifeless by way of fish. I was told wrong.

A steelhead trout is an anadromous fish, meaning it’s like a salmon in that it is born in the river and then heads out to sea to mature before returning to the river to spawn. In Southern California, the very rivers that I was told were lifeless; they live and make their existence. Now, what does this have to do with the PCT? Well, much of the 500 miles from Hikertown to Campo it is along the backbone and birthplace of the rivers that reach the sea and allow these fish to migrate upstream. So, with this concept, I set out Southbound from Hikertown to Campo, all for the steelhead.

Heading uphill and back on the trail with the sun beaming down hot in the early daylight was a wake-up call. I was somewhat out of shape, the pack was heavy, and the sweat beat down my forehead, but I was over the moon and excited I was back on trail – one that I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years. I embarked on this journey in May, thrilled to be traveling during mostly good weather. More importantly, I was heading south, eager to meet fellow hikers on their way to Canada.

Through the rolling hills of chaparral and high desert flora and fauna, I struggled to fathom that water could originate from such hills and feed streams that meandered down to the valleys of millions of people, eventually reaching the sea. But through an organization called CalTrout that I partnered with for this journey, they assured me that steelhead do indeed reach far into the mountains and hills of the PCT, should the stream be unimpeded, which sadly, most are. But the first major and literal steelhead stream was right outside Acton, and that is the Santa Clara River.

The Santa Clara River flows into the ocean just outside Ventura, California, but its origins are near the Acton KOA campground, a popular stop for hikers who send packages for resupply. Many of us take advantage of the river’s water to quench our thirst, as the Southern California section of the trail is notorious for droughts and long stretches without water. At Acton, we can easily step over the river, but by the time it reaches the sea, it is 50 yards wide and can discharge vast amounts of water into the ocean.

Tapping further south and meeting hikers who questioned what I was doing, it was amazing to connect with those who asked and were enthusiastic. I was filled with both jealousy and joy for each hiker and the breathtaking scenes they would experience in the coming days, weeks, and months, provided they persisted.

But persist I also did, making my way into the Angeles National Forest towards Baden-Powell. This was a highlight as I failed to fathom growing up in SoCal that an alpine environment existed within an hour’s drive of the sea. But towering above the valley, enveloped in smog and fog, were various coniferous trees, cooler temperatures, creeks running clear and cold, and snow dripping from the mountain slopes and tumbling down with gravity.

This 150-mile section of trail feeds both the Los Angeles and San Gabriel Rivers. The once mighty LA and San Gabriel Rivers, which once teemed with thousands of steelhead, were the primary sources of water for the Southern California basin before exponential growth led to the damming and diversion of their waters. While the rivers still reach the sea, the fish can no longer pass the concrete barriers. Standing on the peak of Baden-Powell, and later camping at the foot of Mount San Antonio before descending through Cajon Pass to the infamous McDonald’s on the trail, I am reminded that this cold, clear water once flowed freely, supporting a rich and biodiverse landscape where species thrived.

Climbing back up to Big Bear, a haven for hikers in Southern California — that lake, those hills, and all the creeks we crossed and admired fish in held historic runs of steelhead. These are the source of the largest river in all of Southern California, and that is the mighty Santa Ana River. The PCT goes along its backbone from essentially Big Bear to Mount San Jacinto.

Like the LA and San Gabriel Rivers, it’s also dammed. Still, given the sheer size and nature of its watershed, it could have arguably held the largest run of anadromous steelhead anywhere, potentially in the entire state. (As hikers head north near the Oregon Border, you will cross the mighty Klamath River, and now, with the dams being down, it will hold the largest run of salmon and steelhead in the state.)

Having done well over 250 miles, I sadly had to get off trail and get back to work for the summer season. The plan was to return in the fall to restart the trip and finish heading south, but three wildfires erupted and closed miles of the PCT ahead of me, as well as destroyed miles of the trail I had already hiked. But the plan is to return once again in the fall of 2025 to explore the further range of the Southern Steelhead and bring praise to the PCTA for allowing me to share this journey and information.

More to come.