Day 9. Finishing the Pacific Crest Trail

7/17/23 Day 9
Hopkins Lake to Canada (and back to Hopkins Lake)

Washington section of the Pacific Crest Trail

Jan and I made it to Canada today. As of today, I have hiked the entire PCT, some of it multiple times because of all my out-and-backs.

Me at the border monument. PCO Jan

The rain starts and is on again off again all morning. The scenery is mostly for forest with views through the trees and sweet, kind PCT-grade trail. It's good terrain for rain.

Umbrella time!

The monument itself is sort of like I'd expect from seeing other peoples' photos. But it also feels surreal like being on a movie set or peaking behind the scenes of a famous place. I know there will be the cut of trees, because that's the classic backdrop I've seen in other peoples' finishing photos. But I didn't expect the flowers or the rooty bare ground that so many have sat upon.

Jan and Joan.

When we arrive at the border monument, there is already a couple from Maryland (snow-bos) who we’ve been leapfrogging with there. We chat with them and we do a photo shoot.

Jan asks me how I’m feeling but I’m feeling so much it's hard to explain! First, I'm happy. I mean, I did it! But there is also a feeling of disbelief. I've still been thinking it might not happen. I also feel some sadness at finishing. I love the PCT so much and its a part of this chapter of my life. And now I wonder how I'm going to find something as good. Certainly no trail can possibly be as kind, reliable, joyful, and gentle as the PCT!

There is also freedom in knowing this chapter is over. I know that no other trail will be like this trail has been for me … because it has been a constant for the past 10 summers. While I’ve done section hikes 5 of those summers, not being on the PCT for the other 5 summers was still full of anticipating and knowing I’d return. Now that this is over, anything is possible.

I am also overwhelmed with gratitude for the many people that have helped me and showed incredible kindness, and especially for the wisdom imparted along the way.

Holding my PCT Class of 2014 bandana.

I think about how back in April 2014 when I started, I hadn't even met Jan! And how we met in 2014 during my stress fracture and how we ended up being bestie hiking buddies. And now we’ve hiked so many miles together and been through so much.

Look at this! Jan surprises me with a tasty treat! WOW!

I send an inreach message to my parents. They've been incredibly supportive my whole life and I feel so lucky to have them close to me! I also inreach Mags who truly understand how to integrate hiking and life.

A lot of people that have been important for my PCT hike, I've lost touch with over the years. But I send out my thoughts to them. I think about those I've hiked many PCT miles with- Susan, MeToo, Arizona, and Coach. I think of Renee who helped me get started with long-distance hiking, and with whom offered much support and PCT smiles. I think of Steph who helped me transform my stress fracture into a success and got me back out to the trail and saw me through such a dark time. I think of Still Waters who always believed in me. (Still Waters- if you ever read this, I want you to know that I carried your note the whole way and read it countless times and it gave me strength and wisdom to get me through so much. Thank you for everything, Still Waters.)

I am also grateful to my right foot especially for healing after the stress fracture, for turning my thru hike into a section hike, which has given me almost a decade of the PCT woven into my life.

One the return trip, Jan and I have fun chatting. I return to inaturalizing and finally seeing the pika that we've been hearing out frolicing.

That's me frolicing too. PCO Jan

Evening winds increase and I have bad memories too of many horribly windy PCT nights. So we climb away from the lake and amazingly there is less wind here and I am pitched between trees that are at the absolute limit of the length of my tarp. The temperature is dropping fast but so far I am cozy and Jan found a good spot close by so yay what a day!

Hardly any wind up here away from the lake.

As I fall asleep, I have more thoughts about finishing. Before I started the PCT, I remember spending so much time planning for the PCT and wondering how it would change me and wondering what I'd learn. Now I know that I can absolutely do and finish anything. I am persistant. And I can find all the joy in doing it too. I am also grateful that my PCT experience has been my own. That it was on my own timeframe. That I hiked my own direction. That I hiked my own way.

Day 7. Harts Pass to Holman Pass

7/15/23

Harts Pass to Holman Pass

Pacific Crest Trail in Washington state

Good thing I had that nap on our zero day! Last night was loud in the campground until hiker-2AM (ie 11 PM). Folks were driving in after dark, making stinky campfires (ugh I hate campfires because they burn my throat and make my eyes red and puffy), and talking late into the night. Really, nothing more than you’d expect at a campground. Only Jan and I are on hiker time- meaning waking at dawn (5:30) and going to sleep at dusk (or earlier!).

Today our packs were heavy with 5 days of food but I felt so refreshed after a full zero day and was full of energy. And ready to see what this last section of my PCT hike has in store!

Filling out our self-issued wilderness permit

We could see many of the peaks we’d identified on yesterday's visit to Slate Peak lookout. And we could see the lookout tower several times as we wound around on PCT-grade trails below.

We set up camp at a large campsite where we figured other hikers would join us but couldn’t find a smaller site. And sure enough three people are set up nearby. Hopefully they wont stay up too late!

Day 5. Into Harts Pass

 Day 5. Into Harts Pass

7/13/23 

A short hike back to Harts Pass. There are more swirling clouds and fantastic views. I know I say this every single time, but this really is one of the best sections.

We get a nice campsite at the Harts Pass Campground. I'm glad we've arrived early because this campground fill up fast.

It's luxurious to have Jan's car here without all our resupply. We've got changes of clothes, food, and her solar shower! Plus real towels! Jan sure knows how to do it right!

I eat the baguette I'd picked up in Mazama a few days earlier and it is the best baguette EVER.

We relax and move around the solar shower and solar panels, chasing sunlight as the shadows move around. What a great way to spend the day. Finally the water is warm enough and we clean up and feel amazing!

Once we get our chores done and I'm all relaxed, my mind starts to wander. I keep thinking about how I've just completed my second to last section. And that the next section will be the last. But I’m glad I've got a few more days- I’m not ready for this to be over yet. Will I ever be?

I tuck my hammock in a tight spot but it is so quiet and wonderful. I feel a bit self-conscious about posting so many photos of my hammock-- I know some people roll their eyes at those of us who talk excessively about our hammocks. But also I just have to say that it really is that wonderful to have solid, deep, restorative sleep. Since I moved to Utah, I sleep most of the time on the ground. And I thought I"d get used to ground-dwelling, but nope, the sleep just doesn't even compare at all. And my muscles and hips don't hurt at all. So I'm just going to keep posting photos of the hammock!

Day 4. Butterflies and blowdowns

 Day 4 7/12/23
Butterflies and blowdowns

This has been the day that Jan has been dreading. It's blowdown hell! And she knew this was coming because we've already gone over them once. But that's the thing about and out and back, sometimes the dread of knowing what's to come can be worse than not knowing. So we go back over the blowdowns and I do my best to distract myself with butterflies. My legs are much longer than Jan's so my experience of the blowdowns is so different. But on the other hand, I absolutely hate steep dropoffs, while Jan moves with ease past cliffs that make my head spin. We make a good team.

Long trips give you time for your mind to wander. I have been noticing how memories of previous PCT experiences are coming back. It makes me feel grateful for all the twists and turns in my life. And how things worked out not how I expected but in ways that gave me more than I expected.

Unlike the crowded feeling of the trail yesterday afternoon, there are a reasonable number of hikers and most are either courteous or even friendly so it all feels OK again.

We meet a group of Australian hikers who have flipped up to Washington who were on the shuttle with me to Mazama. It’s great seeing them again! They share the story of how when they got a ride up from Mazama to the PCT at Harts Pass, how they’d been confused and asked where the monument was and were surprised to find it was 30 miles away! They thought they'd be dropped off at the border! They scrambled to get enough food that they hadn’t anticipated! I’m glad they were fast hikers and could make it work.

The climb is gradual and not as bad as I expected. I am constantly amazed how gentle PCT grade is- how can the trail be this kind and easy?! How can I forget this fact? It is such a contrast to how hiking is for me back in Utah. My body feels so good- I keep thinking I should be feeling pains and my knee should be hurting but it isn’t.

Unlike when we did this section three days ago, this time the butterflies are out so I dart about taking their photos and inaturalize everything. 

PCO Jan

The, the clouds are swirling and part enough to reveal the stunning peaks and we take a rest break on a ridge and watch the clouds gliding across the peaks and it is better than any TV. 

When Jan and I round the corner to camp the wind hits us. After setting up early, I start to worry about the flapping of my tarp in the strong gusts. While Jan rests, I wander around and looked for less windy site, feeling annoyed that I can't find anything better. As I adjust my tarp to get tight pitch, Jan tells me to be patient and that the wind will die down. I remain doubtful but then, sure enough, the wind was calm all night and I wish I had just trusted Jan.

I fall asleep early and it is wonderfully restful and restorative hammock sleep that is only broken up by a trip to pee where the stars are twinkling and everything is quiet. The best kind of night.

 I didn't know if I would keep up a journal during this section or not. For my 2021 hike, I didn't write anything. But for this trip, it just feels right to put down a few thoughts every night.

Day 3. Out and back day

 Day 3 7/11/23
Out and back day
16 miles including a side trip to Snowy Lakes

Today was an out-and-back day. We packed up everything we'd need for the day and then carefully stashed some of our gear that we wouldn't need until night. I felt like I was floating down the trail!

The hike to Granite Pass was shrouded in fog. I loved the smell of the cold icy day. Clouds swirled and just tiny glimpses of peaks revealed themselves. We wondered what they would look like on a clear day.

As we celebrated getting to our previous turnaround spot where we'd been in 2016, blue sky swirled above and a ray of sunshine peaked through. We'd have very different views on the return trip-- it totally cleared up. And we'd have perfect swimming weather!

Snowy Lakes were a steep mile or so off the trail, so most PCT hikers don't visit them. But Jan and I make lakes one of our priorties. We timed it perfectly for the warmest part of the day. The dip was quick but we lingered on the rocky banks, soaking in the beauty.

On the last few miles of trail before we got to camp, we started seeing more and more people heading in the opposite direction. Some of them were pretty rude, not getting off the trail, barely acknowleding us. What was going on?!?

We'd only seen one person our second day and no one the first day except in camp. Most of the third day was quiet... until this huge clump started coming and it felt totally overwhelming. I started doubting my whole trip and spiraled into thinking that the rest of the trip would juat be one big crowded mess, unable to find campsite or peace and quiet. Finally, I asked one of the hikers why there were so many people and he explained that we’d just passed by a tramily of 10 that had been hiking together a long time and flipped up together and that explained it!

After picking up our gear, we hiked a few more miles before finding a quiet spot in sweet deep forest. I love spots like this because they give me the best sleep, though I know they are a comprimise for Jan since she loves views. We will have to find her a good view spot at some point.

Day 2. Moody Washington

Day 2
7/10/23

Below Tatie Peak to before Methow Pass

Today there was moody Washington weather... and I loved it! The fog rolls over the mountains and we get to see it from high places. The cool air makes hiking so sweet. I don't miss the dry heat and intense sunlight of Moab at all. Today, we get clouds and the threat of rain and I couldn't be happier.

I peer down after reaching a pass and realize that there is an incredibly steep descent stretching out below. Will my knees be able to handle it? I slow my pace and Jan is way down ahead of me. But I have no confidence. She waits for me and we take an extra break. And before I know it we are at the bottom at Glacier Pass and my knee is fine. Just fine. Maybe I will make it to Canada after all.

Jan and I aren't heading to Canada at this point though. Our plan is unusual. But fits us perfectly. I love out and backs and taking our time. Jan doesn't want to deal with a car shuttle or logistics of going into town. So we've left Jan's car at Harts Pass and our plan to complete the northernmost 50-60ish miles of the PCT is to do two out-and-backs from the mid-point, Harts Pass. We are starting with an out-and-back going south towards Rainy Pass-- but actually we don't need to make it all the way there since last time we turned around several miles north of Rainy. So we are setting up today for tomorrow's out-and-back where we can slackpack and just leave our camping stuff, tag our turn around spot from 2016, and then come back to camp. What fun! Plus, we get to hike more miles this way which appeals to me!

At the end of the day, we encounter lots of blowdowns. Jan has shorter legs and these blowdowns are exhausing for her. I've got really long legs, so I find it easy to step over them. Jan is starting to dread going back over these on an out and back. We will see if we end up sticking with our plan.

Day 24- Into White Pass

Day 24- Into White Pass

Washington PCT Section I

2299 to 2292 (White Pass)

7 miles

Frost. Mist rising. The sound of elks bugling. Maybe one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard. On par with the cry of the loon at least.

 

Thoughts cloudy and swirling with brain fog. Definitely a fever. Must pretend I am OK until I get somewhere safe. Must hike hike hike.

I question every northbound hiker about the next section called the Goat Rocks and about the Knife Edge. The phrase "extreamely sketchy" is used nearly universally. Some add "most dangerous thing I've ever done" and "hardest part of the PCT" and "Don't cross it like I did the snow and 100 mph winds. I could have easily died up there."

I get cell phone service and check weather and there is a high chance of storms the next few days.

I think about what it means to be brave versus stubborn. I think about words like grit and fear, adventure and safety, comfort and risk. I try not to think of it in terms of quitting. Mostly I just want to be somewhere I can lay down and be warm until my head stops swirling and the feverish chills and aches go away. 

 

The store at White Pass is so warm. Warmth, ah what a beautiful precious thing! 

Steph (who helped care for me when I got the stress fracture in the Sierra section of the PCT in 2014- and who helped me get back on trail) has sent me a resupply box here and its bursting with wonderful food and surprises - a true Care Package! Where will I be when I eat this wonderful food? I have no idea.

The northbounders sitting around the store have wild looks like they have escaped death but barely. While I've been hiking through rain they have been hiking in falling sleet and snow and the winds have been even fiercer. 

I sit and talk to the northbounders about the pros and cons of the two routes through Goat Rocks.  There is the low route, the official PCT, over the Packwood Glacier with a "really sketchy" snow traverse that has iced over in the storms we've been having. The hikers that went this way describe a steep scree scramble before the icy glacier traverse with tough kick steps. Jan has told me not to go this way. She says that more people die on the Packwood glacier traverse. 

Some of the hikers say they tried to go over the high route alternate over the knife edge but the wind literally knocked them off their feet and they had to turn around and take the other way. 

Neither if these sound like good options. 

Everyone says wait until the weather is better. But how long do I wait?

In the meantime, I need to wait to get my new hammock and I need to wait until my illness gets better. 

It takes me a while to get a ride at White Pass to the town of Packwood. Am I sticking my thumb out too high? Should I wear my red raincoat or blue fleece shirt? Am I smiling too much? 

But the wait is worth it because the woman who picks me up is just the right person. Deborah works at a community college in Yacama and we talk about the joys working with college students and AmeriCorps. Mount Rainier finally shows itself on the drive down and then Deborah drops me right off at the hotel some other hikers recommended. Thank you Deborah!

I get a room at the Hotel Packwood which is a deal for $45 including laundry and is right across the street from the public library. I sit on the porch and watch my tarp, poncho, and ground cloth flapping in the brisk wind and the storm clouds building over the mountains. The poncho has a fresh collection of new holes, and I wonder why I wasted all that tenacious tape and waterproof spray on it instead of just buying a new one. I take stock of the dreadful state of my feet and the feverishness coursing through my body. 

****

Then I spend the next two days recovering in town and devising a plan. They only charge me $31 a night for the room the next nights and I find some deals at the grocery store so I don't waste money on going out. Once I am in bed I realize how sick I am.

 

I also realize that I have more than two choices. It's not Knife Edge versus Packwood Glacier traverse. I can be ANYWHERE. 

This is my life. This is my hike. I can make choices. I have freedom. 

I will choose to hike through Goat Rocks section some other time. I have hiked 300 miles now in Washington. That is good. I will be back. For now, I decide I want to be in Oregon. I grew up in Portland and even though I haven't been back for many, many years, Oregon is my roots. It is important for me to hike there now, I decide. 

I don't care that the thru hikers do the trail in a linear manner. I want to make meaning in my hike that is my own personal thing, that is mine alone, that is for my reasons. 

Then more good news! Renee/ Pathfinder is in Sisters, Oregon but will come meet me in Portland/ Cascade Locks to hike southbound through Oregon together. I'm excited because its fun sharing the trail with a good hiking buddy. It will mean adjusting my pace again though, but I decide I don't care how many miles and at this time of year it will certainly be safer hiking with Renee than solo.

***

The day before I take the bus/ train to Portland. I talk to northbounders who waited for a break in the weather to cross the Knife Edge and they say it was one of the most beautiful days they've had on trail. I briefly think about continuing on. I know I could do it safely by waiting, watching the forecast and timing it right now that I have gathered all these stories and information. Talking to them though allows me to come to peace with my decision. It makes it feel like I am not avoiding challenges, but rather that I am making a positive decision for myself.

Let the Adventure Continue....

Day 23-What is comfort?

Day 23- What is comfort?
2323 to 2299 (Buesch Lake)

Washington PCT Section I

24 miles

In Stehekin, a guest at the lodge explained why she doesn't camp- "There is no comfort!"

I wake up thinking of that word "comfort" and what it means to me out here as the cold rain falls. I am warm. My hammock didn't rip during the night and spill me into the cold wet ground. Is that comfort? 

I send a message on my InReach to Still Waters to have her coordinate with Randy of Dream Hammocks to send a new hammock to my next stop. What does it mean that I can be anywhere and yet know there are people out there looking out for me. Is that comfort?

A well-traveled deflated mylar balloon glistens in the rain and I shove it into my pack because there is a trashcan at the road crossing in just a few miles. Not just a trashcan but also an outhouse that a hiker told me he'd slept in a few nights ago. I redefine comfort to mean trashcans, and the shelter of an outhouse.

A strange sounds echoes below in the valley in the pre-dawn. It sounds like a musical instrument. Or perhaps some strange relative of the sandhill crane. What could it be? 

 

It is raining even harder. The trail is slick and my legs are lead weights. My brain is sloggish and dark thoughts about quitting swirl in my brain and I'm feverishly sweaty. My lips and eyelids are burning up. Dang thats how I get when I am sick. But I can't be sick I must ignore it and hike on like normal. There is no way I can quit I'm not a quitter even if my hammock is torn and its rainy/cold/miserable. I try to remember that feeling of warmth from the morning and I check my InReach messages to see if they can send a new hammock. But there is no reply so I have no idea if and when a new hammock will reach me.

The outhouse at Chinook Pass is a palace. They even have furniture I think as I prop my pack up on the trashcan. And toilet paper- oh that marvelous wonder! I sit in the outhouse and listen to cars wiz by and wonder what it would be like to stick my thumb out and get a ride into town. 

 

Instead, I gulp down more spoonfuls of peanut butter, try to tell myself Im not really that sick, put on my pack and adjust the poncho, put my umbrella up, and enter into the William O. Douglas Wilderness.

My brain is jolted out of the fog and cold seeing the name of that great progressive supreme court justice. I remember the story of how William  O Douglas saved the C and O Canal from being paved into a highway by inviting the important decision makers/ newspaper to go hiking with him along that beautiful stretch, and what a remarkable area was subsequently preserved. It's a story my Dad told a hundred times when we'd take family hikes on the C and O canal tow path near our Maryland home when I was in high school. I have no idea though why this area was named in his honor- was he from this area- but I am warmed by the thought that I actually remembered one of my Dad's stories (See Dad, I did pay attention!)

As the wind picks up and it gets colder and rainier, I hike in survival mode. Seeing only the mud and concentrating on not slipping on rocks.

There is a single break in the clouds. A ray of sun shines down at an angle. I stop in my tracks to look over at it. The bream of light cutting through darkness above a meandering creek. A great blue heron flies through the light. Then both it and the light are gone. It was just a moment. But it is, once again, enough to sustain me through a few more cold-dark-completely uncomfortable hours.

And then, two hikers are standing by the side of the trail and they are going Southbound!!! The first southbounders this section. Comfort comes in the form of conversation and connection. These two women who stop to look at mushrooms and pick sweet blueberries! Turns out they were in Americorps/ Peacecorps too and we all worked with kids! We hike together the rest of the afternoon. They tell me the alien sound of the morning was elk bugling!  

 

Turns out they aren't stopping at White Pass so I decide to go camp by myself so I will have time to focus on patching up my hammock. It feels like the coldest and dampest night yet but maybe its the fever and my hands fumble and the tape doesn't want to stick. But I am persistent and cut out a patchwork of butterfly bandage-like repairs using all the tape I have. I set up the hammock nearly on the ground- so low that my butt rests on the ground (or rather on my raincoat spread over the groundcloth on the geound). But at least my head and feet are off ground and most importantly the down underquilt can loft fully around my shoulders to keep me warm. It seems like a good compromise between safety (not falling far if the hammock fails) and comfort (being slightly elevated allows me to stay warmer since the down under-quilt isn't compressed). If it were warmer, my torso pad would be enough and Ive gone to ground fine with it a few times but not when its freezing.

Before I fall asleep, I get a message from Still Waters that the new hammock is on its way. I fall asleep listening to splashes of rain on the tarp and try to figure out what Im doing out here. Why didn't I hitch into town at the road crossing? Why does the experience feel like its worth it?

Day 21- Turtle mode

Day 21- Turtle mode

Washington PCT Section I

2369 to 2347

22 very wet miles

Rain all day long. No breaks. It is heavy unrelenting and cold.

The cold freezes all happiness and the greyness starts to fill me with hopelessness. One tries many techniques to raise ones spirits. I pass many nobos wearing headphones to escape. I don't want to escape. My goal is be present.  So I try to let the rain soak through me and not let it get me down, just run over me all zen. I follow streams of water running down trail and try to be one with the water, but this doesn't work either I just feel stupid for being out here in the cold.

I figure I need to try another technique to get my spirits up. I try to think about the big picture, or at least my understanding of rain. How water molecules cycle through over and over getting to travel for miles and have so many adventures- maybe a water molecule starts out as pika pee and ends up in an alpine lake and then evaporates to a cloud over Mount Rainier only to fall as snow and get stuck in a glacier for years and then melts in a stream is drunk by a hiker. Its actually quite amazing if you think about it. This line of thinking makes me less resentful of precipitation.

Precipitation, condensation, percolation, perspiration, urination, transpiration-- it's all right here!  The water cycle in action!

 

At the state park where I spent the past two summers, teaching about the water cycle was one of my favorite field trip programs. The third graders make up skits to act out the water cycle and the kids would roll down the grassy hill pretending to be water in a stream and wiggle their hands pretending to be rain. Then they would all laugh and giggle. I try to think about that joy that kids have when they are being silly and it starts to warms my heart a tiny bit more and gets me through a few more miles. I don't know if this kind of reminiscing is not being present and escaping or whatever but I decide I don't care anymore.  I am desperate for something to cheer me up.

The umbrella provides protection from rain but no warmth. That's where the poncho comes in. Turtle Mode, my highly advanced hiker technique, is putting the poncho above your head like making your very own sheltered home and its a little warm if you breathe out and trap the hot air, just lacking in views. But I can get into my pack without getting rain inside my pack which is what makes Turtle Mode such an advanced brilliant maneuver. 



Jan took this photo of me in Turtle Mode last week.

 I allow one break all day to sit in turtle mode balancing my pack in my feet, poncho over my head spooning peanut butter into my mouth. For a moment I am almost warm. I wonder if anyone passes me on trail while I am huddled like this in the trees. I cant hear anything but rain. Maybe my dream hiking partner just walked by and I missed them.

An hour later I meet a northbounder named Mary Poppins who is carrying an umbrella. We stop and chat and I ask her if there are any other southbounders and if my dream hiking partner is walking right in front of me but I never catch up because we are so perfectly hiking at the same pace.  She says there is no one, dream or otherwise, close in front of me. But we get to talking and she is so super friendly and says I should come hike north with her and her friend and it is tempting but I decide to just keep going on.

In the afternoon, the wind gusts are so strong I have to take down my umbrella. What am I doing up so high on these exposed ridge? Oh that's why they call it the crest trail.

I am worried about the wind driving rain into my hammock, but see a grove of trees way down so I dart down the hill way off he pct and there is no wind (yet) so I hope it will protected enough to keep me safe.

Day 20- Solo sobo

Day 20- Solo sobo (Southbound!)
Washington PCT Section I

Snoqualime Pass (2390) to 2369

21 miles

Jan drops me off at Snoqualime Pass. She is heading off to heal from her foot injury, and I will be hiking southbound solo. Will I meet other southbound hikers? Everyone around seems to be going north.



Just me.

 "Don't you know theres a storm coming?" they all say as the stream of nobos rush by, heading into town.

It's one thing to get caught in a storm. Its another to deliberately set iff into it. I'm setting off into it. Why?



The clouds come like a cloak across the sky.

One hiker tells me that there is s cabin in 40 miles so if I hike fast maybe I can dry off there the second day of the storm. But she is a bit uncertain about it and I can't tell the story for sure.  She says I'll have to ask permission of a guy who is staying there and maybe he will let me stay there. 

My legs swing wild and free and I find myself hiking fast now that I am solo. I skip rest breaks even though I know my feet will hate me for it. The rhythm of my legs synchs with my breath. Even though I know I'm missing the scenery, I focus on the motion, moving and crusing and flowing down the trail. It makes my legs and heart feel good, but oh my poor feet. Why cant my feet and kegs agree to a pace?

Feet say they are ready for a swim!

A swim in Mirror Lake takes my mind off everything and feels good on the feet. The cold jolts me into the present. Afterwards. I wonder if this will be my last swim-- I notice how quickly my mind leaps forward into the world of what ifs. It's so cold I can barely stand it and it takes longer for me to warm back up and I know the weather is changing now.



No idea why they call it Mirror Lake.

 I try to soak in the views while I can still see. I try to stop and smell the flowers. The mountains to the north I went through what seems like so long ago. Rainier to the south- will it be obscured by clouds when I get there?



All bright and sunny... for now...

 The rain starts falling during the night. Here it comes. What am I doing, choosing this?

Day 18- Kindness of Strangers

Washington PCT Section L

Jan and I didn't expect to get off the trail at Rainy Pass. But her foot is too injured. So here we are, getting off trail, not going to Canada.

How will we get 200 miles to Jan's car near Snoqualime Pass? There is so little traffic on the road. We stick out our thumbs and put on our best smiles.

 Hitchhiking sign 

A van pulls over within 15 minutes. Amazingly, Steve and his dog Molly are going all the way to Snohomish and can drop us off at the bus stop in Everett. What luck! Though he looks like a woodsman, he is an adventurous old soul who tells us tales of packing horses on the PCT in the 70's. Since then he has been a commercial pilot for skydivers, been in the navy, and now dreams and plans to embark on a sailing trip to Alaska. I only hope that I can lead half a life of adventure and keep learning new skills. Also, Steve is kind and we are so lucky he picked us up. Thank you Steve!

Three hours later, Steve is driving us in circles around the Boeing factory complex as we provide horrible  navigational directions. Its more like a small city and everyone is business clothes and security badges with checkpoints everywhere. We have no idea how to find the Metro bus that google says should be here. We are so obviously not in the right place and we know we made a mistake in being here. This bus stop is clearly for Boeing employees, not smelly hikers. Finally, Jan asks an employee bus driver where the Metro bus stop is and she takes pity on us and will take us there. So we leap out of Steve's van and onto the bus.  The bus driver drops us off at a bench in the middle of a sea of cars and gives us a stern warning. "Can we go to the bathroom somewhere?" 

"No you must wait here. You are on Boeing property. You do not have badges."

We don't need no stinking badges

 We wait for an hour for the bus. Everyone stares at us. Everyone keeps their distance. We have no bus map. Our iphones hardly have any battery left. My charger is near empty and seems to be malfunctioning and Jan's broke last week. We ration the last of our battery power.  Google says it'll be four buses minimum. Will there be any bathrooms on the way? Where can we get some water? We are surrounded by civilization, by technology, but we are trapped like animals in a cage. Without a bathroom.

I remember a time when I was street smart, living on the south side of Chicago, cruising the DC Metro. A lifetime ago. Now we are feral creatures of the forest. And we smell like it.

But not everyone keeps their distance. Mr. High School Guidance Counselor arrives and immediately takes us under his wing, orients us, and proceeds to launch into a rich discussion on hopes and dreams, travel, life, and everything. "I wish I had my car I would take you all the way to where you need to go." He rides the bus with us and we talk for an hour and feel like old friends when he gets off the bus.

Jan

Once he leaves, Mr. App Guy comes over and wants to empower us and teach us the ways of the bus system. He gives us 4 transist system app choices with pros and cons and studies our options and we take notes of all the bus transfers on paper.

This transfer ticket gets us really far on just a few dollars

 Partway through the bus gauntlet there is a problem. Imagine: you are at a bus stop with people and cars around, you've been traveling for six hours and you still have six more hours to go. The next bus is coming in two minutes. You have to pee. BAD. Do you put on your rainponch and just go in the gutter? Do you "hide" behind the transparent bus stop? Can a bladder explode? 

Which way to the nearest bathroom?

The next bus comes and we get on and start talking about our next transfer. Mr. Nerdy Programmer leans over and whispers softly, "Get off at the next stop, go up the stairs, and go to Bay number 4 for the 208 express." Do we listen to him or follow the instructions on google?

Finally, one more bus change to go. Ms. Professional gives us the most efficient way to get the job done. "Don't listen to the bus driver. Take the 556. At the end of the line, transfer to the 218." She is right. Of course.

We are overwhelmingly grateful when we see Taryn waving to us when we get off the last bus. She brings us to Jan's car and we collapse in the hotel. We made it all the way from Rainy Pass to the town nearest Snoqualime Pass in 12 hours! 

The kindness of the people that helped us restores my faith in humanity many times over. I thought I knew how city people were. But it wasn't like that at all. We were dirty and worn. And we were met with generosity and kindness. 

Thank you Steve and Taryn and all the wonderful people that we met in between.

Day 17- Rainy Pass

Day 17- Rainy Pass, Washington PCT, Section K and L

2586 (Junction to Copper Pass) to 2596 (Granite Pass) then back south towards Rainy Pass to 2592

Spectacular scenery and bluebird skies climbing from Rainy Pass with views of Glacier Peak to the south. Surrounded by mountains on all sides. And then thrilled for something completely different - The Larch!

Larch

It's the first time I've seen larch since leaving Montana. I've never seen them so windswept and dwarfed- are they a different type here? Back at the park I was at in Montana, the larch numbers were dwindling due to fire suppression, so efforts were made to cut the doug fir which were growing in unnaturally dense stands and crowding out the shade-intolerant larch. This spring, I helped replant larch seedlings to help restore the natural balance of tree types. How has this forest been changing? I also wonder how the larch seedlings I planted back in Montana are faring.

The traverse between Cutthroat Pass and Granite Pass is gorgeous.

North from Cutthroat Pass

 Jan's tendonitis is getting increasingly painful and swollen. Jan is limping. At Granite Pass, we discuss our options and Jan starts to break down. This is hard. Heartbreaking hard. Should we turn around and hike back to Rainy Pass or try to make it to Harts Pass or Canada? 

Towards Granite Pass

 As we were talking, Bobber comes along and gives Jan his ace bandage. He'd had the same problem a while back and needed a week of rest to heal. Hearing his experience makes it much easier to decide to turn back. It's more difficult to turn around than keep pushing forward, but I know it is a good decision. Jan's leg isn't going to get better if we keep going, and it could easily get worse or lead to other injury or problems. Safety comes first. And will stick together.

Jan sporting the Ace bandage

 We take the hike back slowly. The ace bandage does wonders and Jan goes from limping to walking nearly normally. 

Camp has clear views of the surrounding mountains, but it is bittersweet knowing it is our last night together on the trail for this trip. Jan is a delightful hiking buddy and I will miss her.

Hanging with another view

 No idea how we will get back to Jan's car or Snoqualime Pass from here. But at least we are together and things always seem to work out.