CHAPTER 14 (Bridge of the Gods mile 2155 to Manning Park, Canada, mile 2668.8)
LESSON LEARNED: PACK WATERPROOF PANTS
Arriving at the Bridge of the Gods, northbound thru-hikers are typically in their best condition, physically and mentally. Hikers in 2014 were mindful of 2013’s early snowfall of September 26th stranding hikers in the North Cascades. With this in mind, I hiked with a sense of urgency. The pull of the northern border was palatable with every step forward. Each day felt like a mad dash northward.
Day 148, Tuesday, August 26
I was eager to cross the Bridge of the Gods and arrive into Washington State. But that had to wait, I spent the morning shopping for food and washing clothes.
Mid-morning I ran into Pakabear who was taking a zero. Cascade Locks was hiker-friendly with many hikers hanging around. I ran into hikers at the grocery store, at the Char Burger restaurant next door, and in the hotel. Many hikers planned to hitch into Portland and spend a few days. ET and Poison were staying a few days with Enduro in Portland.
Having lost 40 lbs with little body fat to burn necessitated carrying an increased amount of food. It was not ideal but had to be done, and I planned accordingly doubling my rations for breakfast and lunch.
In the early afternoon, I was finally prepared to get back to the trail. I climbed up to the bridge approach having readied my toll money. At the tollbooth the lady inside the waved me on.
Bridge of the Gods over the Columbia River
“No Charge for hikers.” She smiled and waved from her small open window. She cautioned me. “Walk on the oncoming traffic side of the bridge.”
“Oh, rats.” I thought. Now, I will have the weight of those quarters to carry.
As I reached the high point of the bridge, I wanted to take out my iPhone and snap a photo but refrained for fear of dropping my phone through the open metal grating of the center portion of the bridge into the fast flowing water of the Columbia River below.
The “Welcome to Washington” sign was at the end of the bridge.
After almost five months I was finally ‘home’ in Washington State.
The trail up and away from the Columbia River followed along a paved road before starting the 3000’ climb up out of the river gorge. The trail was disappointedly littered with garbage. Furthermore, the sweltering day made the afternoon miserable.
A brief stop at Gillette Lake was a pleasant break from the heat with the lake aglitter in the reflection of the afternoon sunshine.
A little farther up the trail, I saw a slug on the trail and a salal hedge growing near the trail. Yep, I thought, I’m in Washington.
Slug
At a small opening up in the thick evergreen underbrush just off the trail, I made camp (mile 2162). It was early, but the hot weather had exhausted me. Many hikers had been in town. There were no hikers on the trail during the afternoon.
I was a hot night. I had to strip down to my underpants to sleep comfortably.
Day 149, Wednesday, August 27
Midday I arrived at Rock Creek and rested along the edge, feet in the water, before crossing the wooden bridge to trudge on. I was determined to make it all the way to Trout Creek.
When I arrived at Trout Creek, it was under my headlamp nearing ten at night. The last few miles I was joined by a young hiker whose boyfriend had hiked on to Trout Creek leaving her behind, alone in the dark. We kept each other company as we struggled along the trail in the darkness.
At Trout Creek, her boyfriend had his camp set up in the only camping spot available. I reluctantly cross the bridge to find another place.
On the far side, I saw a hiker seated on the ground eating dinner next to his bivy bag.
“Hey, Real Time,” I called out. “Good to see you again. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” He smiled, welcoming me to share his space. Motioning to the creek, he added. “Just watch out when you go down to get water. It’s steep, I slipped on the rocks and almost fell in.”
I set up my tent a few feet away from his bivy. Unfortunately, our site was just off the paved road.
Logging trucks rumbled up and down the road all night.
Day 150, Thursday, August 28
About five miles across a broad valley around Bunker Hill, I came out on a paved road. Parked by the trail was a white car. I stood on the road trying to determine why the car might be parked there so early in the morning as a woman got out and came forward.
It was Deb, Halfmile’s wife, whom I had last seen in the desert.
“Hi, Deb. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Homegirl. We met in the desert section. What are you doing here? Aren’t you hiking?”
“Had to quit in Ashland. Lost too much weight to keep going. Now I am following Lon and meeting him where the trail crosses roadways.” She was tiny when I first met her, now she was even more diminutive from weight loss. “He should cross the road here later today.”
“Did you sleep in the car?”
“Yes.” She smiled again.
After crossing the bridge over the Wind River, I began the switchbacks to higher altitude.
In the afternoon, I headed off the PCT down to a spring for water. Seated close by the trail to the spring were two men, approximately 40ish, obviously not thru-hikers. They were tough guy types with their shaved heads and short stubble over scared faces. Spread out were several pots and pans as they prepared a rather large meal.
I was suspicious. After a quick hello in passing, I kept my distance as I sat filtering water.
In the late afternoon, I camped at the Crest Horse Camp in the picnic area with Real-Time who arrived at the camp with me. We picked out a large flat camping area and set about preparing camp.
Three hikers came by and camped at a site across the trail. Soon they had a big campfire burning.
“Hey, you guys want to join us?” One of the men called over to us.
“That sounds good.” Real Time hollered back. “Be right over.”
We quickly joined the three and relaxed around the fire, eating and talking. I had not met the three hikers before and did not see them again on the trail, but for one night on the trail, we were friends.
The two tough guys made camp nearby. Could they be on the run? I asked myself. A long trail might be the ideal place to hang out if you were on the run. Nah, my imagination was getting the best of me.
Day 151, Friday, August 29
It was overcast most of the day with raindrops falling off and on. I became wet from the water off the brush along the trail rubbing on my legs and shoes. I had not packed waterproof pants or waterproof glove covers as these cuben fiber items were very pricey and I was reluctant to spend the money. I was beginning to rue the fact I had been pound foolish.
I was planning to overnight at a camp icon spot shown on the map just past Big Mosquito Lake. When I crossed the footbridge and spotted locals in the campground, I kept going.
Shortly, I found a small clearing close to a steep fast flowing creek and decided this would be a good enough place to stop. As I put up my tent around mile 2228, it started to rain again.
It rained off and on throughout the night.
Day 152, Saturday, August 30
Ten miles ahead at Road 23, I had arranged for friends to pick me up at 2:00pm to take me to Trout Lake.
It was a wet rainy morning. I kept up a fast pace to keep warm.
“Homegirl!” It was Rubik’s booming voice just as I turned a corner. “I’m rushing to meet friends at Road 68.” He called out as he headed down the trail. We ran along together keeping up a steady conversation between us as we jogged.
At Road 68 Rubik met up with friends. I hurried on toward the next road crossing.
Parked on the edge of Road 23 was Deb waiting for Halfmile.
She climbed out of her car. “Hello.” She seemed happy to see a familiar face.
“Did you sleep in your car?” I asked.
“Yes, and I had a rather scary situation last night. I was already asleep when a stranger knocked on my car window.” She began telling me a scary story about a stranger coming up to her car during the night when I saw a blue car approaching up the highway. I wanted to hear her story, but I also wanted a hitch into town. I put my thumb out, and the car pulled over. Hearing Deb’s story would have to wait. I climbed into the blue Toyota.
The young man drove me into Trout Lake and dropped me at the service station and café. Across the street was a small general store. Standing out in the rain, I called Judy and Mike, to let them know I had already hitched into town and they could pick me up at the café in an hour. I wanted time to eat.
Judy and Mike’s summer home is on acreage a few miles from town. Staying for the weekend was his daughter with her two children.
Thanks to Mike’s help, I strung my tent, fly, and footprint up in their garage to dry. He propped my wet shoes in front of a fan to help the shoes dry out. There were comments and observations about my worn and falling apart running shoes.
Mike and his daughter took me back into town for supplies at the general store. I ran into ET and Poison who were staying in rooms above the store.
Judy is an excellent cook. We had a special family dinner of salmon, salad, quinoa with green beans, and huckleberry pie.
Day 153, Sunday, August 31
Early in the morning after Sunday breakfast, Judy and Mike dropped me back up to the trail on Road 23. Thanks to Mike and Judy, I was dry, rested and ready to hike.
The trail headed toward Mt. Adams. It was a chilly sunny morning, with a few clouds but no rain. The trail passed up and over the flanks of Mt. Adams with extensive down valley views. The many glaciers of Mt. Adams glistened when the morning sun made an appearance.
After I had gained altitude, I decided to check for cell service. I sat down on a large log at the edge of the trail with a full view of the jagged glacier covered mountain before me and caught up on emails and text messages.
That evening I camped at Lava Spring (mile 2258) among a grove of young trees. Several other hikers camped among the trees. Because of the amount of open space, we kept at some distance from each other and it was not crowded.
Day 154, Monday, September 1
The trail stayed above tree line on mountain ridges. Once I was in the Goat Rocks Wilderness area, the trail followed along ridgelines. At one point I was able to look across to the other side of the mountains and see little white dots of wild goats. Late in the day, I arrived at Cispus Pass. From the pass, the trail traversed just under the ridge. It was rough hiking through the washouts where steep dirt chutes cut downward obliterating the trail.
At dusk, a chilling wind blew across the mountaintops, I camped at mile 2281 on the edge of the mountain surround by stunted alpine trees. I made a fire in the circle of rocks and burned my paper trash. I wanted my pack weight to be as low as possible as I headed across Goat Rocks. Unfortunately, in the dark, I mistakenly burned tomorrow’s maps as well. Once the coals were cold to my touch, I went to bed. It was late. From my mountain perch, I enjoyed views in almost every direction with no evidence of another soul on earth. I was alone.
Day 155, Tuesday, September 2
A few miles upward on the next ridge the two tough guys were camped at Snowgrass Flats.
Shortly after Snowgrass Flats, the trail crested the ridge. Standing at the ridge was a spectacular 360-degree view. Mt. Rainier stood ahead and to the south, Mt. Adams. Both peaks loomed large and impressive. Looking ahead the trail followed the top of a series of sharp rock edges. I was about to start across Goat Rocks.
Mt. Rainier ahead
Mt. Adams looking back
Looking ahead to the start of Goat Rocks
Nearing end of Goat Rocks
Rubiks with Mt. Rainier in the background. (Photo provided by Rubiks, I did not actually see him at this point of the PCT)
I made my way along the rocky trail. In some places, it was too steep to hold my footing on the scree making me slide forward. Both sides of the rocky spine dropped down steep ravines. I was walking on a knife’s edge. I made my way along, glancing over from one side to the other. The Goat Rocks walk is five miles. I walked slowly and cautiously. I had to stop to catch my breath at several points, holding onto rocks. As I slowly made my way along, I was passed by the two tough guys and later another thru-hiker. The thru-hiker stopped to say one word, “Epic!”
He had summed up Goat Rocks with one word.
After Goat Rocks, the trail crossed high on Packwood Glacier. At this early morning hour, the glacier was solid ice. I kept my steps inside the frozen footprints made the day before when the snow had been slushy. I felt a pulse of fear not wanting to make a mistake and find myself several hundred feet at the bottom of the glacier. Within a few feet from the far edge, I slipped on the pocked marked ice and fell backward My backpack dug into the ice and helped stop my slide. I was on my back, my feet below the ice footprints of the traverse. I could not regain my footing on the steep solid ice.
I pulled myself along from one frozen footstep to the next with my hands, sliding sidewards on my bum until I was off the glacier to safety.
Once back down in the basin, I had caught up with the two tough guys. This time, I took the time to stop. We each filtered water by the edge of a creek. It was sunny. The sun glittered on the creek. We sat and chatted as we waited through the water filtering process.
They said they were firefighters from the Las Vegas area. Every year they hiked a section of the PCT. This year they were headed for Stevens Pass. Their trail names were Gimp and Shorty*. Gimp had a previous leg injury that caused a slight limp when he walked. I spent the rest of the early afternoon leapfrogging with them along the trail and forgot I had once felt wary.
At the next ridge, looking back at the Goat Rocks walk along the ridge tops shown here against the sky
Toward the end of the day there was one last climb up and over a high ridge and then down toward the White Pass ski area. Just before the top a few feet off the trail stood a herd of wild white goats. I waited not wanting to scare them off. I stayed and watched until the goats walk on around the steep rocky mountainside out of sight.
Overhead the sky darkened. It started to rain.
As I reached the top of the ridge, I was almost knocked over by a strong gust of billowing wind. I was forced to hunch forward to keep upright. Gimp and Shorty passed me and hurried off the summit and were quickly out of sight. We were rushing to get to the store at White Pass below before closing to pick up our resupply packages.
As I started the descent, the rain turned to snow. Pelts of frozen ice drove into my face, hands, and exposed legs. I stopped and put on my rain jacket. I made the mistake of not taking the time to layering up underneath the rain jacket. I underestimated the severity of the weather and length of time it would take me to get down.
The first part of the descent contained a steep section of switchbacks crisscrossing a rocky face. I hiked as fast as my footing would allow trying to lose elevation quickly to get out of the snow.
Little did I realize the extremely icy wind and snow froze my water filter cartridge which was in the outside mesh pocket on the back of my pack. Once the cartridge of a Sawyer filter freezes it no longer works correctly. I had cautiously slept with the filter each night in my sleeping bag and never considered the filter might freeze in the daytime.
Descending into the trees, I was out of the snow. Fog and rain swirled around. I soon lost the trail. I had accidentally burned the pages of the map and now my GPS did not work in the fog. I remembered the instructions said to follow the first ski lift to reach White Pass. I saw a chair lift and cut back down towards it. The ski slope wound through heavy brush and steep rocky sections crossing in and out of the forest areas broken by swaths of clearings. As I crossed a clearing, four elk bolted through the opening and disappeared into the woods. It was a magnificent sight to see the elk a few feet away. They crossed so near to me, I was overwhelmed by their pungent odor.
Under the rain jacket, I had on only my wet shirt. My yoga pants were wet and offered little warmth. I was shaking from the cold. My shoes and socks were soaking wet making my feet cold.
When I arrived at the bottom of the ski lift, I realized I had followed the wrong lift. I needed to walk out the service road until I found the pass. I stumbled along the service road barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I was ready to stop and start putting up my tent for shelter and warmth when I rounded a corner of the muddy road and saw the day lodge below.
I arrived just minutes after the Kracker Barrel store closed. I stood at the door, pounding on the glass, hoping someone was within. I gave up. Obviously, no one was around.
My plan was to hitch into Packwood and find a hotel room to stay the night. Now I realized I was too cold to stand by the road to hitch. There was little traffic on the highway. Not one vehicle had passed since I arrived.
Adjacent to the store was a small condo complex. I climbed the stairs up to the level of the condo to look for a rental office. The square buildings were sited on a flat graveled parking lot overlooking the highway below. At the far end of the buildings, I located the office.
An “OPEN” sign stood in the window. However, no one was inside. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I went in, dropped my pack in one of the chairs by the door and sat down on the other. I was shaking uncontrollably.
A quarter of an hour passed before I was able to get out my trail town notes and use my cell phone to call the office number. A man answered my call just as a heavy set man in sweats holding a cell phone to his ear opened the door and stepped into the office.
“It’s me.” I motioned to my phone. “Do you have a room available for tonight?”
“Yes.” He reached across the desk and handed me a form to fill out. “It’s a studio. $85 for the night.”
I stood up and took a couple of steps to the counter and handed him my Amex. On the form, I printed in my name with shaking hands. My name was barely legible. I looked down at the next line requesting my home address. I could not remember my home address. I could not remember my home phone number. I stood shaking, looking down at the form, not lucid enough to complete the information.
“Never mind.” He said kindly and handed me a room key. He gave directions to the condo.
In my cold, mentally confused state, I had trouble locating the unit.
Once inside, I hurriedly stripped off my wet clothing and jumped in the shower. After a long hot shower, I donned the robe in the bathroom and made a cup of hot chocolate in the small kitchen.
I pulled down the bed coverings and propped myself against the pillows and slowly drank the hot chocolate.
It was several hours before I had the strength to get out of bed and take care of my wet gear.
I had made it to White Pass, mile 2303.
Day 156, Wednesday, September 3
I woke to a sunny day. In the Kracker Barrel Store, I collected my resupply box and purchased additional food items. The store had a laundry for hiker’s use. I went back to my room to fetch my clothes to wash. There was a line up of hikers waiting for the washer and dryer. I visited with Deb, who was waiting for Halfmile. Shorty and Gimp were there waiting for the laundry. Shorty asked to use my cell phone to call his wife. My phone was back in my room recharging. We both walked back to my room for my phone. Firefighter or fugitive, I was no longer frightened of him.
Deb was able to finish her scary story. While she was sleeping in her car, a man had tapped on her car window. She rolled down her window just a bit to see what he wanted. He asked to borrow matches or a lighter. She passed the matches out the crack in the car window. When he asked for help starting a fire, she had been too frightened to get out of the car. She kept her doors locked and did not sleep. In the morning he was gone.
Rubiks and Mountain Spice came in with several other hikers. It was good to see many familiar faces.
It had been my intention to check out and hike onward once my clothes were washed, and gear cleaned. I looked longingly at the sun covered mountains surrounding me and wanted to hike, but I was mentally exhausted. I went to the office and rented the condo for another night. I spent the rest of the day in my room napping and staying warm.
Mental exhaustion was not something I experienced prior to the hike. I felt profoundly mentally exhausted at several points along the trail. I had expected to experience the physical exertion and exhaustion; however, the contant exposure to unpredictable conditions and danger wore on me mentally.
Day 157, Thursday, September 4
While at White Pass, I made plans to arrive at Snoqualmie Pass in four days, arriving Sunday. If I shopped for supplies on Monday morning in Seattle and did a nero out of Snoqualmie Pass, I could be at Stevens Pass Thursday evening. Which would allow my daughter to pick me up at Stevens Pass and I could return back to Seattle area for my dentist appointment Friday, September 12. It meant hiking 25 mile days to reach Snoqualmie Pass for this plan to work.
On the trail early, I turned a corner to find a buck with a large rack standing ahead at a summit silhouetted in the early morning mist. The mist caused starburst morning sunlight behind the antlers. He was there for one heart-stopping moment and then silently vanished.
Later in the morning, as I was jumping from rock to rock crossing Bumping River, I slipped on a wet mossy rock and fell into the river. I scrambled to grab my trekking poles before the fast flowing water washed the poles downstream. I was wet up to my neck.
I changed my shirt. I knew the yoga pants would dry quickly. Because I kept my backpack lined with a trash compactor bag, luckily nothing inside my backpack got wet.
It was here I realized my water filter no longer filtered water correctly. I must hope for the best until I reached Snoqualmie Pass. I had no way to purify drinking water.
My backpack dripped water as I hiked up the next mountain.
The huckleberry bush leaves were starting to turn red. Early autumn turned the undergrowth in open areas to swaths of red, orange, yellow against the dark greens of the forest.
I ran into three groups of bow and arrow hunters along the trail. The only other hiker I saw was a young thru-hiker from Israel who overtook me as I picked huckleberries. At one high point of the trail was a spectacular view of Mt. Rainier. With this view, I stopped and made dinner before hiking on.
When I stopped at dark near Dewey Lake (mile 2329), I found the young Israeli hiker, Mr. JT, camped nearby. I struggled to get my tent up in the darkness since my headlamp was no longer working. I was making a lot of racket trying to set the tent up when Mr. JT came out of his tent to shine his headlamp for me.
Day 158, Friday, September 5
In the early morning, I arrived at Chinook Pass and crossing Hwy 410. The rest stop along the road was a welcome sight. I stopped at a picnic table to have a morning snack so I could take advantage of the nearby garbage receptacle.
It was a spectacular day of hiking. The trail crossed through a corner of Mt. Rainier National Park. The morning ascent was among the finest hours spent in the forest.
Right after leaving the park, I met a pack train with hunters. I have nothing against hunters, and I wasn’t frightened of the bow and arrow hunters as I knew they had to be up close to take a shot. However, hunters with guns gave me pause. I certainly did not want to be accidentally shot by some random trigger-happy hunter.
The views of Mt. Rainier were breathtaking. The trail reached a ridge top, weaving in and out around the rocky outcroppings circular around the Crystal Mountain Ski area.
Having skied at Crystal Mountain frequently in earlier years, it was interesting to look down at the lifts and be fondly reminded of many happy ski days. After making it around to the far ridge, I looked back across the valley. Above Crystal Mountain, stood Mr. Rainier. As skiers unload at the top of the mountain, Mt. Rainier is right in front of you (on rare clear days).
I camped along a creek at mile 2350 in the dense, dark, and gloomy forest. As spectacular as the day had been, this was a dark, dreary and unremarkable place to camp. Later in the evening, Mr. JT came by and joined me.
Day 159, Saturday, September 6
In the early morning, passing Urich Cabin, I saw Gimp and Shorty again. They had spent the night in the cabin on the edge of a meadow. It was a choice place to camp overnight. They gave me a tour of the cabin. These two tough guys are now my new BFFs.
Later in the morning, I ran into an older couple providing trail magic where the trail passed close to a dirt road high along a ridge. I stopped with Gimp and Shorty for a second breakfast. We sat beside the trail angel’s RV in camp chairs and talked.
At lunchtime, I passed a trail angeling couple making sandwiches for hikers. She made up a delicious lettuce wrapped sandwich.
My lunch trail angels
In the afternoon shortly after stopping to eat a few alpine strawberries, I met CatDog headed southbound. I paused to catch up with news of her hike and to wish her luck returning to Bend.
CatDog
Vintage PCT sign
After dropping down to Tacoma Pass, I came upon more trail magic. This had been one lucky trail magic day. Two guys had set up a couple of large tents complete with camp chairs offering hot dogs and beans along with soda and beer. I stopped and ate dinner.
Gimp, Shortie, and Mr. JT came to Tacoma Pass at about the same time and the three decided to camp nearby. It was very tempting to put up my tent and call it a day. Reluctantly I kept going a few miles to try to get in the full 25 miles. I camped alone at mile 2376. It was a large open grassy spot on top of a high ridge with views in every direction.
I sat my tent looking toward Mr. Rainier from the tent door and did not put on the fly to be able to enjoy the streaming moonlight as I fell asleep. During the night I was awakened by the sound of foxes. I looked around by could not catch a glimpse of my mountaintop companions.
Day 160, Sunday, September 7
As I was hiking along in the morning dreaming of scrambled eggs, I came out onto a road and another trail angel. His name was Stumbling Norwegian, a former thru hiker, offering scrambled eggs and bacon along with a shot of homemade Kahlua. It was an incredibly welcome second breakfast.
For me, it was a rough hike into Snoqualmie Pass. The tread had worn off the bottom of my shoes, and the shoes were now unable to grip the rocks on the trail. Frequently, water spilled across making the rocks on the trail extra slippery.
After Mirror Lake I started encountering day hikers.
I met a father and two young children.
“Where does this trail go?” he stopped and enquired as I came toward them.
“Mexico,” I answered with a smile.
I was panic stricken I would not get to the pass before dark as I had no working headlamp for night hiking. I ran the last few miles. When I crested the top of the Snoqualmie Pass ski area, I blue blazed down the ski hill toward the Chevron station I could see in the distance.
My son-in-law, Edward, picked me up just at dark. He and my daughter had flown in from a tenth-anniversary weekend trip to Napa just as I called to say I had arrived.
I had made it to Snoqualmie pass on schedule but was completely exhausted. I knew there was no way I could possibly make it to Stevens Pass in 3-1/2 days to return by my Friday appointment. I must somehow try to get the dentist appointment, to replace my temporary crown, changed and moved up to earlier this week.
Day 161-164, Monday to Friday, September 8 to September 12
It was a gorgeous sunny week in Seattle. I knew from forty years of living in the Seattle area the first two weeks of September are usually sunny weather. Then the unrelenting rain starts.
Each day I woke to sunny skies, I knew I should be out on the trail. Each day I called and hoped the dentist would have a cancellation and squeeze me in. Each day nothing happened. I was forced to wait for my Friday appointment.
To fill my days, I helped the nanny with the kids and cleaned my gear. I washed and waterproofed my tent. I washed my backpack. I washed my sleeping bag and down jacket. Instead of buying a replacement water filter, I purchased Potable Aqua iodine tablets and taste-neutralizing tablets at REI. I was surprised REI did not sell Aquamira water treatment preferred by most hikers.
On my shopping trip to REI, I took my two-year-old grandson along. I was holding his hand looking at gear, when he looked up at me with big blue eyes and ask, “Grammy, why are you always hiking?”
I was stunned into silence. I thought about it, I had been out on the trail for almost a quarter of my grandson’s life. To him, it must have seemed like ‘always.’
I prepared a resupply package for Stevens Pass and drove it up to the Cascadia Inn in Skykomish and made a reservation for staying the night at the inn upon my later arrival at Stevens Pass.
It was nice to have the break to see the grandchildren again. It was difficult returning to the trail.
Day 165, Saturday, September 13
My daughter delivered me back to Snoqualmie Pass at seven in the morning. Hiking up off I-90 was heavy-duty climbing into the alpine areas with fantastic views south to Mt. Rainier. It was a cloudless day. I felt my luck the weather was still holding. For the next seventy-five miles, there is no road access to the PCT as the trail wound northward through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area.
Leaving Snoqualmie Pass
Five or six miles on the trail is the beginning of Kendall’s Katwalk where the trail is blasted out of the rock cliff face of Mount Kendall. Another five miles the trail passes between the alpine lakes, Ridge Lake and Gravel Lake. Up to the Kendall’s Katwalk section, I saw a few day hikers. At the lakes, there were a couple of local backpackers. After this, I ran into no other people on the trail for the rest of the day.
In the afternoon the trail crossed through massive rock slides. The trail itself had slid down the steep mountainsides in sections. It took extra time to traverse these slide areas. The rocky slide crossings were made up of good sized rocks on which one could easily turn an ankle. Awkwardly stepping among the rocks, I was extra cautious with each step.
I planned to make it twenty miles but camped at mile 2418. It had taken twelve hours to walk sixteen miles.
Day 166, Sunday, September 14
I ran into Coke Man a couple of times on the trail. He said hello and answered my questions about his trail name, but otherwise made no effort at further conversation.
It was a long day of switchbacks.
Deep Lake
At one point climbing switchbacks up to a ridge, I had a fantastic view down to Deep Lake.
I camped at Waptus Lake (mile 2438). It was early, but I had already walked 20 miles. Nearby a young man on a weeklong backpacking trip made his camp. We visited as we each ate our dinners. I was curious about his hike and peppered him with questions.
Day 167, Monday, September 15
I camped at mile 2458 on a sandy bridge between two lakes. I had to walk across logs to get over to the sand bar. The lakes were rimmed with tall Douglas Fir Trees and the two lakes hidden in the forest. It was a beautiful spot.
Lake is barely visible
Day 168, Tuesday, September 16
The weather was still holding. It was a warm sunny day. I had lunch seated at the edge of Mig Lake looking out over the small pristine lake surrounded by waves of red huckleberry bushes in the open meadows around the lake. The fields were broken with groves of fir trees dotted along the edge of the water.
It had been a warm day, and when I arrived at the top of Stevens Pass Ski area, I was hiking in my mesh sports tank. At the top of Steven’s Pass, I sat down on a rock to check my cell service and was hit by a strong chilling wind. Suddenly cold, I had to quickly change into a warmer top.
I called a friend, Fred, about one hour before arriving at Stevens Pass (mile 2476) to see if he was available to give me a ride into Skykomish. While I was waiting in the parking lot for my ride, 45 hiked out of the trail into the parking lot. We talked for a few minutes before he left to get out on Hwy 2 to hitch a ride.
After being delivered to the Skykomish’s Cascade Inn by Fred, I checked in and picked up my resupply package. The small 14 room 1922 vintage inn was fully booked. I was jubilant I had a room reservation.
In the worn hotel lobby I ran into Moxie. She said she was ‘so over the PCT.’ I wanted to talk with her further, but the owner was waiting to show me the finer points of staying at the inn and how to get my laundry done. I did not see Moxie again and later wished I had had a chance to visit with her.
After getting a shower, I started looking for eating options. The casual cafe on the side of the hotel was closed for the evening. I walked over to the Whistling Post Tavern next door for dinner. It was warm and welcoming place with a large historic bar on one side and a row of tables on the other wall. I chose a table. While I was eating, Happy Feet came through the door. I jump up to greet him with a big hug. Seated at the counter of the bar eating was Coke Man. He turned to us.
“I didn’t know you were a thru-hiker.” He looked at me in surprise.
“Why didn’t you think I was thru-hiking?” I asked.
“You had all the right gear, you just looked too clean.” He laughed.
“That’s because I spent five zeros in Seattle!” I smiled. “And I bought new hiking pants.”
As 45, Whiskey, and several other hikers arrived for dinner we gravitated to the back room with round tables. We sat together drinking beer and eating. Everyone was in a jovial, loquacious, and somewhat rowdy mood. We were almost to the border.
Day 169, Wednesday, September 17
I woke to an overcast day. There were no restaurants or stores opened to grab breakfast or coffee. My friend, Fred, arrived at the arranged time of 7 am. Happily, Fred had brought coffee. The drive back up Stevens Pass did not take long. Fred talked about the history of the area. Once we were in the parking lot, it took a few minutes searching to find the trailhead as it was not signed in a prominent location. Fred and I took photos, and I hiked out.
I was now hiking the infamous ‘Section K”, the Stevens Pass to Rainy Pass section. It was for me to be both the most beautiful part of the PCT and the most agonizing. On top of everything else, Stevens Pass was the last connection to the world. From this point, I knew I would have no cell service.
A few miles in, I passed Lake Valhalla. It was a day of hiking beside beautiful alpine lakes, each lake passed inviting me to stop and enjoy the surroundings. If only I were not in a rush to get in my twenty miles per day.
At higher altitudes, I started to see Pikas among the rocks along the trail. They scurried about without fear of me as I walked along.
The only other person on the trail was a section hiker, Bob, going from Stevens Pass to Rainy Pass. His mother was dropping him off when I had started in the morning. He passed me early in the day and stopped to talk. I found out he was from Olympia and this was his third hike of this section of the PCT.
In the waning light I arrived at the ridge above where I planned to camp for the night, I saw a couple of tents below. I thought, oh, I’m almost there. But the switchbacks down took so much time it was well past dark when I arrived. Bob was there and helpfully showed me where to obtain water in a nearby creek.
As soon as I retired inside my tent it began to rain. It rained heavily off and on all night as huge raindrops pounded my tent.
While in the Seattle area I had made the mistake of buying Gortex running shoes thinking in rainy wet weather these waterproof shoes would keep my feet dry. They worked very nicely up to this point as these shoes gripped the rocks on the trail. I was soon to find out what happens to Gortex running shoes once water gets inside. The water stays inside.
Day 170, Thursday, September 18
Hiking up a steep grade of switchbacks in the morning, I met a long section hiker (the trail name for this is LASH—long ass section hiker) with the name Don’t Ax. He had started the trail at Mojave instead of the beginning at Mexico. He was a short and thin older man. We leapfrogged and each time stopped to talk for a few minutes.
I ran into The Animal as he passed me on the trail. He was very familiar with the area after previously participating in several searches and rescues around Glacier Peak.
When he took a zero at Snoqualmie Pass, he had spent his day off on a search and rescue for a missing person in the Olympic Peninsula. I was impressed with this guy. I was thinking, this is the type of person who should be out here hiking the PCT, not someone like me. The difference between us was not palatable. I had taken five zeros and had been thinking only of pampering myself, buying new gear and getting a pedicure. The Animal had done something, really done something meaningful.
It rained off and on all day. At Snoqualmie Pass, I had switched out my yoga pants for North Face hiking pants thinking this would keep the water off my shoes and socks. This did not work. The water ran down my pants making my socks and shoes continually wet. I now regretted not having waterproof bottoms to slip over my pants to keep the lower part of my body dry. Once the water was inside my Gortex shoes, there was no escape. The water sloshing inside my shoes as I hiked.
When the clouds lifted, I was treated to views of glaciers and Glacier Peak.
Most of the day I hiked above tree line through alpine shrubbery turning purple, red and yellow.
I made camp along Kennedy Creek (mile 2520) in a space suitable for one tent. I put the tent up in the rain under a large fir tree. During the night the tree limbs continually dropped water on my tent. Thhuud, thhuud, thhudd. It rained all night.
Day 171, Friday, September 19
Somehow I managed to break the zipper of the fly in the morning. I had already had problems with the tent zipper not fully closing so that it gapped open along the top of the door. Now the fly zipper did not work and was stuck in the open position.
The trail passed right up under Scimptar Glacier, Kennedy Clacier, and Ptarmigan Glacier as the trail followed the west side of Glacier Peak then circled north of the peak and headed east.
In the afternoon I began the switchbacks down into Milk Creek. In several places, the trail disappeared where the mountainside had given way in massive mudslides. I was happy it was daylight, and I was able to climb and crawl around as a way to detour each of these slides. Because of the difficulty of negotiating around the detours, the hiking down to Milk Creek took longer than expected.
My plan was to camp at the bottom along Milk Creek. Little did I know it was too steep in the canyon to find a flat place to pitch a tent. I now faced a five mile, 3000’ climb out of the canyon in the growing dusk in steep switchbacks along a very steep mountainside. My headlamp was not working, and I was climbing with the use of a small 9volt PakLite. I made it almost to the top when I ran completely out of energy. It started to rain.
Desperate and completely worn out, I pitched my tent in a switchback bend and crawled in, wet and exhausted. The tent sloped sharply downward but I was happy to be inside and off my feet. I had made it to mile 2538.
An hour later, a young man, Jack*, hiked by under headlamp light and stopped to inquire who was camped there. He said he almost walked right into my tent in the darkness.
Day 172, Saturday, September 20
Near the ridge top, I looked back at Glacier Peak to the south in the morning sun.
Just over the ridge, I saw plenty of wonderful campsites available and wished I had pushed myself a little more. Don’t Ax, Jack, and The Animal were all camped there. I hiked around the corner into the sun and found a suitable spot to string my tent and sleeping bag over small trees to dry. I had a long, slow breakfast while I waited for the morning sun to dry my gear.
The top crossed several glacier fed streams. I filled up with water. The drop down into the Suiattle River canyon was difficult by the number of trees fallen across the trail. In a one-mile stretch, I counted forty trees to climb over.
Nearing the Suiattle River, the trail passed through groves of magnificent old growth forest. It was a memorable section of the trail. The trees were tall and grand. It was a feeling of reverence to walk among these majestic trees.
Reaching the edge of the river, the PCT follows along the river up to the newly constructed bridge across the river.
I stopped for lunch just after the bridge. I hung my socks over a log to dry in the sun. I had switched to waterproof Gortex shoes thinking this would keep my feet dry. Little did I realize once water gets in this type of shoe, it stays there. The water inside my shoes and the wet socks were causing my toenails to soften and disintegrate. The excess water combined with the grit from my socks rubbed the skin from my feet like sandpaper. My feet were red, raw and swollen. The stiffness of the shoes caused open cuts in the skin on the top of each foot. I decided to cut holes in the shoes to allow water to escape and allow air to get in. I also hoped the holes would remove the stiffness of the shoes which were now causing the cuts on the top of my feet.
I was in the process of cutting large holes in the top of my new Gortex running shoes when Don’t Ax walked up. He stopped and joined me for lunch.
In the afternoon, the trail headed back down the Suiattle River until the trail crossed Miners Creek log bridge and then followed Miners Creek up out of the canyon.
In the late afternoon, I came upon Don’t Ax gathering water for the night. He had camped on the other side of Buck Creek Trail cutoff (mile 2558) and asked me to join him. He offered to try to help dry out my shoes. (Even walking in the sun did not dry these shoes out.)
At camp, we raked back debris to clear an area for a fire. Keeping a large amount of water nearby, we built a small fire. Stacking the insoles and shoes around the fire, I waited to see if this would help. Later, we smothered the fire with water and waited until the coals were cold to our fingers before going to bed. It was a lengthy process with only marginal results. My shoes were still wet.
After dark, Jack hiked in and camped with us. Jack could identify the type of owl hooting in the trees above, an amazing skill.
Day 173, Sunday, September 21
Both Don’t Ax and I wanted to make it to High Bridge by noon to catch the down valley bus to Stehekin.
We were up at 3 am. It took me a little longer to get underway. By the time I was on the trail it was a little after 3:30am, Don’t Ax had already hiked ahead.
Luckily, my headlamp was working again as I started. Two log crossings of creek tributaries to Miners Creek had to be crossed over in the heavy darkness. These were tricky crossings with a backpack in the dark. As I inched my way slowly across the first log one foot in front of the other, I peered down through the darkness with my weak headlamp at the boulders and rushing water below with trepidation. I couldn’t determine the strength or depth of the water. I knew if I slipped and fell in the water and rocks below it wouldn’t be a good thing. At the second crossing, I had somewhat more confidence in my footing as I crossed the log.
Further on I woke Animal with my headlamp. He had camped on top of a large rock in a barren area under Miners Ridge. He called down to ask who was passing. Then he shouted down he was getting underway soon as well.
Shortly afterward, my headlamp cut out again. I used my PakLite to pave my way until the morning light started to rise.
As the morning lit up the sky, I could see this was an especially beautiful section of trail. Rock cliffs cut with glaciers above looked down on lush forest below and on into the South Fork of the Agnes Creek and the valley beyond. The trail was lined with almost bare elderberry bushes hung with orange-red fruit. At the tree line, dwarf alpine Huckleberry bushes grew around rocky outcroppings.
When I hiked down back into the forest, I stopped to boil up black coffee. The Animal hiked by. He was hoping to catch the noon bus as well and hurried on.
As the cloudless morning wore on, I noticed the forest foliage change from the lushness of the western Cascades to the foliage typically found in the dryer eastern Washington Cascades. The underbrush changed slowly as I walked. Later the trail followed along the edge of the Agnes Creek Gorge with thundering water rushing below.
Where the trail conditions allowed, I jogged along. I made it to High Bridge (mile 2580) in the morning in plenty of time for the noon bus.
I had spent a week at the Stehekin Valley Ranch when my daughter was young, and I was looking forward to visiting the area again.
Stehekin is a small community on the north end of Lake Chelan accessible only by hiking in or by taking the ferry or boat up the lake from the small town of Chelan. There is no road access to Stehekin.
Luckily, arriving early in the day, I was able to secure a room at the lodge at Stehekin Landing. Stehekin was my favorite trail stop. The landing looked out over Lake Chelan across to the mountains beyond. It was a rustic, bucolic tiny village. No cell service. No road access. Even the post office was a quirky little place.
Mountain Spice, ET, and Poison arrived at Stehekin ahead of me. There were around 20 plus additional hikers staying either at the lodge or in the campground nearby. Jack and Don’t Ax stayed at the campground.
I took the bus up valley for dinner at the Stehekin Valley Ranch and sat with a group of thru-hikers I had first met during a lunch break just north of Big Bear in Southern California.
Day 174, Monday, September 22
After the Post Office opened I retrieved my resupply box and washed my clothes in the laundry. I stood in line for over an hour to use the satellite pay phone to call my daughter and reconfirm my pick-up date and time. She was taking the day off work Friday to pick me up at Manning Park.
At the ranger station I got the permit needed for camping in The North Cascade National Park. At the ranger station, I found Aqua Mira for disinfecting water and happily discarded the nasty iodine tablets.
Shortly after noon, it started raining. Mountain Spice invited me to take a zero with them and hike together with ET and Poison to the border. This was the perfect way to end the hike but I had already made arrangements for pickup with my daughter. I thought it best to keep to my schedule.
Several other hikers took the bus up valley, including Coke Man and Don’t Ax. When the bus left the landing it was overcast but not raining. By the time the bus stopped at the Stehekin Pastry Co. and The Farm, a local maker of fresh goat cheese, the sun was shining and our packs were heavier with the purchases of fresh local fare.
Upon our arrival at High Bridge, Ranger Jan was waiting to take the bus down valley. I was able to give him a big hug before he jumped on the bus.
My permit was for a campground just eight miles out. The North Fork Camp was on the edge of a mountain, divided into several levels. There was a young man already in the level beside the creek. Coke Man opted for the second level. I took the third and highest level, the last space available. We were required to hang our food from a high wire and the wire for hanging food was on my level. Coke Man hung all three of our food bags for the night. I was happy to have his assistance.
I woke to a wet tent. It must have rained in the night. As I hiked out I noticed Coke Man was wiping his tent down methodically. He was an accountant with one of the big accounting firms. Of course he was wiping his tent down in a neat and organized manner.
Day 175, Tuesday, September 23
This hiking day required crossing several bridges which were broken or had been partially washed away. It stayed cloudy and rained lightly. At high altitude it was foggy. One bridge, crossing a torrent of a river, had simply given way in the middle and sat across the water in a V shape. Another bridge had washed out and was in an almost a 90 degree angle to the water. I had to walk along the upturned side edge of the bridge to cross over.
Before the thru-hike, I had always been excited to hear the rush of water ahead on the trail ahead and looked forward to discovering a creek or waterfall. Now the sound of water filled me with dread as I anticipated what might lie ahead to be crossed over.
At midday, I glimpsed Hwy 20 through the forest and decided to cut through the underbrush to the highway and save myself possibly another broken bridge crossing.
I came out and walked along the highway to a rest stop and assumed the trail would start north nearby but could not find the trail north. I sat down at the picnic table and ate my lunch. A young couple with an RV pulled in, also looking for the trail. Before they pulled out they asked if I need anything.
“A soda would be nice.” I suggested with a smile. The wife handed me an ice-cold soda. My yogying skills were improving.
I guessed the trail and Rainy Pass likely to be up ahead to the west and I walked westward along the highway. The trailhead was about a mile or so up the road. Just as I cut off the road to the parking lot, Whiskey came out to the road to hitch a ride. He was hitching to Mazama to wait out of the bad weather. I wished him luck on the rest of his hike and started up the trail. I ran into two groups of day hikers on the steep trail out of Rainy Pass.
Once I reached Cutthroat Pass, I did not see anyone on the trail. This is a grand beautiful area. The clouds rose suddenly, and I could see the jagged rock formations reach up in peaks to the sky. The trail wound around and thru the steep rocks up through Granite Pass.
The days were getting shorter. It was getting dark earlier each day.
I pushed myself all day to get twenty miles in before dark. I came to the first flat area I had seen for many miles and decided I would make camp under Tower Mountain and Golden Horn. My campsite at mile 2609 was at the 6,200’ level. As I rushed to get my tent up and get inside for relief from the cold, it started to sprinkle again.
Just as I was falling asleep, frantic rat scrambled up the screen of the tent door. The sudden noise caused me to look up. I grabbed my PakLite and shined the light toward the tent door as the rat hurriedly disappeared. I was relieved the rat had not found the upper corner where the broken zipper gaped open.
Peering out through the broken zippers I saw what had frightened the rat. Beyond the opening of the tent and fly, stood a large bear just a few feet away. The bear walked slowly out of sight as it circled around. Had I been thinking clearly, I could have attempted to scare the bear off with my Paklite. Instead, at this point of my journey, I was in my sleeping bag, cold and tired. If he was going to attack me, there was nothing I could do about it. My food was in my food sack inside at the foot of my tent. It had taken all my energy to gain 21 miles for the day. I could not summon energy to be frightened. It was only three more days to the Canadian Border.
With this train of thought, unable to be fearful, I snuggled back down into my sleeping bag. Live or die whatever was going to happen was going to happen.
It was now raining heavily, and rain splashed through the broken tent zipper openings onto the floor of my tent a few inches from my head. I fell asleep listening to the rain.
Day 176, Wednesday, September 24
The day was wet with thick fog and rain. Water ran down my pant legs into my shoes. My gloves were wet and offered no warmth. The trail traveled up and over Methow Pass and with a high climb up and over Glacier Pass, staying on high plateaus for most of the day. There were a lot of huckleberries on the purple alpine huckleberry bushes. I grabbed huckleberries as I rushed along.
At times, the fog and clouds lifted and the surrounding beauty was visible.
I did not see another person on the trail all day.
When I made it to Harts Pass campground (mile 2630) I was looking forward to building a fire in a fire ring and getting warmed up and dried out. I knocked on the guard station door and ask if this was where I paid for a camp site. The man and wife staying at the guard station said the camp fee was $8.00 to be put in the drop box at the park.
I had only one $20 bill. I asked if they could make change. But no, they could not make change for me. They reluctantly invited me to come inside for a few minutes to get warmed up after I asked if I might. The couple said they were planning to close the guard station for the season and go home in the morning. The campground was completely empty. They would not allow me to stay in the empty campground unless I paid.
While I was warming up, they suggested I hike on up the trail for a half-mile to a parking lot with a public restroom. Across the road in the forest beside a creek was space to pitch a tent at no charge.
I slung my wet pack over my shoulders and hiked out, thanking them for the information. The few minutes inside had warmed me only a little. I was still wet and cold. I found a flat space of dirt a bit off the road, near the creek. There was just enough room to pitch my tent between two large logs. I was safely tucked away from the sight of the road by the surrounding trees. My tent was soaking wet but not leaking. My sleeping bag felt damp.
It rained during the night, and when it wasn’t raining, the large drops of water fell out of the trees noisily onto the tent. My sleeping bag picked up moisture.
I woke in the night and realized I needed to pee. With my PakLite in hand, I scooted over the log by my tent and made my way across the road in the rainy mist. I was surprised to see a tent in the middle of the parking lot. Another hiker must have arrived after dark.
The metal door of the toilet rattled as I pulled it open. A rat ran out before the door banged closed.
As I was leaving, I heard a noise coming from the men’s side of the toilet. I walked around to investigate. The flashlight swung around through the rain and fog before it lit up a hiker huddled inside a sleeping bag on the concrete vestibule of the men’s restroom.
Day 177, Thursday, September 25
My new size 6 NorthFace pants purchased during the zeros off Snoqualmie Pass were now hanging on me. I had to pull them up high and tighten my pack belt around the pants to keep them from falling off my hips. I thought I should write a diet book. Then laughed to myself. The book would be very short. Three words: Hike the PCT.
Just as I reached a mountaintop, I came upon a group of hunters on horseback as they made their way onto the trail from their camp. The grouping and type of tents making up their camp appeared to be a commercial operation. I was unnerved by the thought of being mistakenly shot in the morning icy fog.
I walked among the horses along the trail and I was happy to see the group take a pack trail to the left and head down the mountain in the opposite direction I was headed.
It was a wet and cold. I kept a watchful eye on the sky for signs of snow.
I hoped to make a big push and camp right before Monument 78 at the U.S.A./Canada Border. The trail was high along ridge lines between 6000 to 7000 feet most of the day. In several areas, the trail crossed along the steep slopes of scree where parts of the trail had washed away. It is difficult to maintain footing crossing the wash outs. I fell several times. On one fall I landed on a rock breaking my tailbone. Luckily, it did not impede my ability to walk. It would take six months before I could lie down comfortably.
This portion of the PCT is in the Pasayten Wilderness Area. The trail follows the ridgeline of the Cascade crest north crossing seven passes along the way with deep drainage on both sides of the ridgeline. The trail crossed Buffalo Pass, Windy Pass, Foggy Pass, Jim Pass, Holman Pass, Rock Pass, and Woody Pass. The sheer vastness of the wilderness was astonishing to behold. After five and a half months hiking I was still in awe of this mountainous and wild area.
At this high elevation, the vegetation existed in nearly bonsai form and size.
It rained off and on during the day. The temperature kept dropping. Somehow the rain did not turn to snow.
I had gotten in the habit in Washington of stopping between five and six in the early evening to prepare and eat dinner before walking a few more miles in to make camp. This allowed my feet and legs a rest and kept the smell of food away from my tent area. As a break from the cold, I stopped early to make dinner. Don’t Ax hiked by and stopped to join me. When I started up the Jetboil, the flange around the bottom came apart.
I was able to make dinner by cautiously regulating the flame without the flange, but it was difficult. My tent zippers were broken, the zipper on my Loksak belt wallet no longer closed properly, my headlamp worked intermittently, now I had broken my Jetboil. My gear was falling apart.
Don’t Ax and I hiked on together after dinner. At one point Don’t Ax asked me if I wanted to hike alone since I was “solo” hiking.
“No,” I answered painfully and truthfully. “I am only solo hiking because I could not find anyone to make the trip with me. I did not choose to solo hike. That is not the point of my hike.”
Shortly after the Devils stairway, we decided it was best to look for a place to make camp and try to warm up. We left the trail just as it zigged back toward Hopkins Lake and made camp (mile 2654) below the trail. There was a rock fire pit left from previous campers. We gathered wood and made a fire to warm ourselves. We were huddled at the fire attempting to warm up and dry out when a hiker named Jim* joined us. He had been the hiker camped in front of the men’s restroom door the previous night. He said he was freezing. We tried with limited success to dry out our clothes and shoes by the fire. Jim accidently burned a shirt. After wringing the water from my socks and placing them near the fire, the socks remained soaking wet. We were a shivering cold threesome hovering as close as possible around the fire.
We kept an eye on the sky for signs of snow as the temperature dipped below freezing. Miraculously the clouds maintained a hold on the snow.
Neither Don’t Ax, nor Jim had permits to enter Canada. Both were hiking to the monument at the border and returning to come out at Harts Pass. For me, it was my last night on the trail. I was wet and cold and also excited.
After many days of rain without the sun in the daytime to dry out my tent and sleeping bag and clothing, everything in my pack was wet. The fire added only a small amount of warmth to the brutally cold evening.
It was a wet, cold night. I lay in my wet sleeping bag shivering, unable to sleep, too cold to sleep.
Day 178, Friday, September 26, 2014
I wrung the water out of my socks and tugged them on my feet. Ouch, it was cold and miserable.
It appeared to be a cold sunny day early in the morning with breaks in the clouds overhead. As soon as I was up and on the trail, dense, high clouds moved in.
It was downhill all the way to Monument 78 (mile 2660). I hurried along filled with the excitement of making it to Canada. Don’t Ax, Jim and I arrived at the Monument within minutes of each other in the morning rain. We each signed the ledger and took photos. My journey had ended the same as it had started, in the rain.
Don’t Ax and Jim*
Don’t Ax did not tarry or take off his pack, as soon as we snapped a few photos, he immediately headed back down the trail.
Jim hung back for a few minutes. He wished he could continue to Manning Park as all his gear was wet and he said he was freezing cold. But he did not want to be caught entering Canada without a permit. I told him this was unlikely. But he was not inclined to take the chance and I was reluctant to encourage him further in case he actually did get in trouble for crossing over.
Jim’s headlamp had stopped working. He asked if he might borrow mine. I told him my headlamp only worked intermittently and was not dependable. I took out my PakLite and handed it over.
“Take this.” I said, as I gave him a hug.
He waved as he headed back the way we came.
I was left alone at the monument in the middle of the wilderness with 8 miles yet to hike.
Beyond the monument, I passed a campground and began the climb up a mountain. I had looked forward to the border, I had not given much thought to what to expect after the border. Had I expected a unicorn to magically whisk me to Manning Park? Had I expected a straight wide path leading to Manning Park. I am not certain what I expected, what I was faced with was more hiking.
From the monument, the trail climbed up a thousand foot elevation as it crossed over one last mountain before dropping down the other side to Hwy 3B.
I was hiking without the impetus to keep me going. Each step forward an effort. I should have been flying but I wasn’t. When I thought surely I had hiked eight miles, I sat down to look at the map to make certain I was still on the correct trail.
The rain stopped and the sun came out from behind the clouds. Deciduous trees along the path were yellow and added a glow to the day.
Just when I thought I never was going to be out of the forest, I saw the roadway. From the road, I could see buildings in the distance. Manning Park! I arrived at Manning Park Resort at two in the afternoon and walk across the lawn straight to the restaurant to have lunch.
The restaurant actually closed at two pm, but the waitress was pleasant enough to make an exception. She said saw me cross the lawn with a big smile as I headed for the restaurant. From the first day on the trail to the last day, I had been met with generosity from strangers. It was reaffirming to realize most people are good, thoughtful, and generous.
I ordered lunch and called my daughter who was on the road to pick me up. That settled, I washed up the best I could in the restroom.
After eating, I was too excited to wait inside. I walked down the road to the entry of the resort to wait my daughter’s arrival.
I felt a mixture of relief, happiness, sadness, anxiety, and accomplishment. I had set out on the journey and had not quit. I had faced the wilderness, alone. I had the strength to experience profound loneliness. I had learned to go on when every step forward was agony. Giving up had not been an option. Possibly, I would never know fear again.
I was going home.
At Manning Park
To all the strangers and trail angels who extended kindness and assistance along the trail, I would like to offer my profound thanks and gratitude. No hike is accomplished alone. Each of you strengthened and reaffirmed my faith in the basic goodness of people.
Lessons learned:
- Life can be lived with a lot less stuff.
- The trail is approached in the same manner as any challenge. Break it into sections. Identify what must be accomplished and then tackle each challenge one at a time. In this case, one mile at a time, one section at a time.
- I learned how to pray and happily offer thanks for each day survived.
- I learned to like beer.
Aftermath:
Before the hike I did not understand the importance of understanding the problems associated with integrating back into normal life.
It took six months to learn to sleep in a bed. I can only go to sleep on my stomach with my arms folded under me as I did for warmth on the trail. I prefer to be scrunched up in this position at the edge of the bed.
Normal everyday activities seemed meaningless and unimportant, hardly worth my notice. It took five years before I resumed sending out Christmas cards to friends and relatives.
Everyday I wish to be outside on top of a high mountain looking at the trail ahead even as age is limiting the duration of future hikes.
Lucy Ondo 