Mile 2153 - 2298: Heavyweight

Leaky Luck

My air mattress has gotten a leak, so I pretty much slept on the forest duff. It turned out to be quite comfortable and had some of the best sleep in a while. Whether it’s the result of some strange masochism is something I decide not to explore. I still need to fix it though, there will undoubtedly be increasingly uncomfortable surfaces that not even my possible subconscious masochism wants to test. I quickly find a pond where I can submerge my pad after inflating, spotting where a surge of bubbles may come from. I quickly find it. A wear spot right next to the valve. More of a design flaw in my opinion. I try to dry the yellow pad, but my towel can only do so much. I ignore that I should wait until later in the day to try and use the glue patch, as the pad would be more dry, and the instructions call for it to be “completely dry”. “Bahumbug, I can fix it now”, I think to myself. I curse while I struggle to get the patch to stay, all the while an otter dips up and down in the water, watching my frustration in curiosity. This slows down my day, which frustrates me a little. I’m trying to figure out a rendezvous with a friend from my wilderness EMT class, Em, and this delay means I’ve got to hike hard today. 

The day is sunny and smoke free, but I’m in a mossy forest. As I pass by an empty stream I can still feel the cool air flowing. I feel confused and calmed at the same time. The forest is some of the most verdant and lush I’ve seen on trail, and there is not a sound. No birds, no chipmunks, no squeaks or squawks, not even a bug. I see no other hikers today either, it’s the quietest day on trail I’ve had. I hike into the evening, the forest getting darker and darker as I descend deeper into it. I don’t care to hike at night. I think it’s an animal instinct, I’m out of my element. After hearing nothing all day, I hear a crashing to my left. I spooked something, and the hair on my neck stands until I finally reach the creek that I chose to camp at.

My attempted repair on the air mattress didn’t work. I’m not too surprised. I was lucky to be camped on thick forest duff again, but know I can’t keep pressing that luck. I decide to follow Panther Creek this morning up past Panther Falls. This will cut off a few miles and some elevation gain. It’s a bit of a road walk, which I detest, but this is one of the prettier ones. It’s also all uphill so though the hard pavement can be tough on my feet, going up always reduces some impact. I pass by a forest ranger and I start chatting. I don’t know a stranger. This eats up about 45 minutes, which I just have to my head in hand as I realized I just wasted time again. However, things do work out. As I’m climbing the last few miles down a dreary, gravel road, a minivan pulls up and a middle aged woman asks if I want a ride. And a donut. An emphatic, “yes” comes from my lips. She has come from Montreal to meet her son, Francis, on the trail. I’ve met a few French Canadians, and I feel a bit guilty that the name doesn’t immediately bring about a face. Upon pulling up to the trailhead though, I see Francis and immediately recognize him. I thank them and get on my way. This little move helped my conversation with the forest ranger hit a zero sum on my hiking distance today. It’s still penetratingly quiet, and as I pass quite a few lakes, I see even their surfaces are quiet, like glass.

Tales along Trout Lake

I had hiked into the night again. I was happy to camp where I did, at least in the larger scheme. I pretty much slept on a speed bump and had to be in the fetal position to be comfortable in this earthy mound. I had set up my tent around 9:30, and no way was I going to reset it. I was a few miles out from Mosquito Lake, where I told Em I was headed to. She said she’d run on trail to meet me. I get up early because I hate the idea of making her run 10 miles to get to me, and I want to do a small side quest. I camped right near the Sawtooth Mountain trail. Hardly any extra time, but an opportunity to see above the trees and scramble a bit has me moving early. I get to where the scramble starts and push my way through shrubs, trying to keep an eye on the lightly worn trail. I think the trail ends and leads to the knobby rocks vertical above me. I had dropped my pack and poles at the main trail, so I begin climbing. I go up about 15 feet then start traversing. I feel fine until I see I’m now at least 20 feet high and on my traverse route is a big stretch I’ve got to make. This doesn’t seem right. I could go up, but I can’t get a read on the strength of my fingers anymore, and these shoes are far from climbing shoes. Another look down and I see the scramble trail continuing. I had gone up too early, which is a relief. I quickly climb down and find the easier path up. The day before had gotten quite smoky for a few hours, but it had cleared considerably. It was time to get going though. 

I’m back on the PCT, in my own head, not looking up, in my own world, when suddenly Em comes running up. “Holy shit!”, I yell as I come out of my trance like state. We give each other a solid hug and make our way down the trail. We spend the next 4 hours or so just catching up. The air is cool but the sun shines like it does in late fall, keeping my body warm. She drops me off at Trout Lake and we say our goodbyes. Too short of time, as most things on trail though. I get my administrative things done: shower, laundry, shopping, airing out gear, and I even fix my airpad. Properly this time. I talk with some folks, trying to figure out what to do as we approach the fires. The consensus is ending at Snoqualmie Pass. I take this as rule at this point. With the end nearing, I begin updating my resume and start applying for jobs. Trout Lake is small, but the entire town seems to openly welcome the hikers, I feel at ease here. I set up my tent on the lawn next to the general store, along with about 20 other hikers.

Mother Teresa is a little behind me, she spent some more time in Cascade Locks. Between that and the impending end, I don’t feel the need to get out of town any time soon. The town has absolutely community shuttle service that runs three times a day, I decide I’m going to wait until later in the afternoon to head back up the trail, perhaps catch Mother Teresa on my way. I apply to more jobs and spoil myself to breakfast at the local cafe where I get coffee, an omelette, and a slice of huckleberry pie. It’s my birthday today anyway. I feel pretty satisfied with the progress I’ve made with my resume and jobs applications, my mind shifting gears already to the next stage of my life. A whole lot of people come in from multiple shuttles, creating a bit of a party atmosphere. There’s a potluck and music tonight, and a free breakfast in the morning, which brought hikers in like flys to shit. I have a plan to meet my parents a bit up the trail at White Pass on Sunday, so I decide I’d rather get a move on than spend more time here. It seems like a fun time, and probably an appropriate place to spend a birthday, but I want back on trail. For as much as I feel accomplished for all my job applications, I realize I was trying to escape the feeling of dread. Dread of the end of the trail. 

A cave

I begin my way up toward Mount Adams. Only 5 of us came up to the trailhead, with many more waiting to go back down to Trout Lake. I see many plants that look familiar to me, often what I saw in NorCal. They are no longer full with green leaves, but have gone to seed, in the last days of their lives. There are some burn scars here, but they are short. As golden hour approaches, a cold wind begins to blow through, and dead trees can still sing.

Mt Adams

A Cold Notion

The day before was long. My body felt unwell. I am blaming kombucha again. As I set up my tent, in the night again, I was able to see my breath. A change is coming. I awake to tiny droplets falling on my tent. The rain is here.

It’s small right now, but it only takes a small drizzle to soak the overgrowth, which I know will soak me. I fully gear up knowing what’s ahead for today. I haven’t checked the forecast, but I just know the weather will not be cooperative today. Sure enough, within two minutes my feet are soaked from kicking the water that lingered on trailside brush. Digging cat holes when it’s raining and cold sure is a frustrating endeavor, but manageable. Along the trail I come upon what I think is initially a chicken. For a moment I feel I’m in Hawaii. It’s a forest grouse, seemingly reluctant to get off the trail. I trail him for about a minute, not rushing him. He doesn’t seem rushed either. He finally flies up to a tree once the brush opens up.

I’m sad about missing the North Cascades, but this wilderness, the Goat Rocks Wilderness, is second in beauty only to the Sierra Nevadas. Well, I wouldn’t know it, as the mist and fog shroud any view.

The rain and wind is pounding on me, with sleet interrupting every so often. I reach a spot below Old Snowy Mountain and chat with some folks who had come over. I can’t see the top, but I can see it covered in snow. The ladies say I look a lot healthier than other hikers. Well, that’s before I really encounter what today’s weather has in store for me. I try to find a balance between keeping warm enough and trying not to sweat. Though I’m denied views, I secretly enjoy the challenge, the pressure put on by the weather. It’s been weeks and weeks of fairly nice weather, a change stimulates my sense of adventure. The wind whips over the razor’s edge and tries to blow me off the ridge. I hit the highest elevation of the day, which has felt reminiscent of the Sierra Nevadas, and I begin a drawn out descent. Upon setting up my tent, I’m not quite thoroughly wet, but enough that my down puffy isn’t doing its job. My hair feels like straw. My face and forehead feel burnt by the stinging wind. But dammit, my feet are the clean and soft. I fall asleep, damp and exhausted.

Under Old Snowy Mountain

I still feel damp in the morning. It’s awful cold, I haven’t the benefit of moving for a while so my extremities struggle to get blood. My hands cramp as they grip my trekking poles, the pain of a wet cold seeping deeper into my knuckles. After an hour I find the sun. I take a sit and set all my things out to dry. I feel myself thaw out. I have to climb before going back down into White Pass. The fog is intermittent, and I’m nervous that it will be thick as I crest and gain a view of the west. I fear I’ll be denied a view of Rainier. I push higher and see the fog blowing over the crest, looks like my fear may be realized. I come up love the crest to a white landscape in front of me. I keep moving forward, but this fog is whirling, it’s moving, dancing. Then in a sudden swish of wind, it all clears, then silence. I see in front of me, to the west, Mount Rainier, standing proudly. I stand there, another silent moment. I feel my nose drip a little, and then my eyes water. There is no rush of cold wind here though. Instead, it’s a rush of emotion. There’s nothing I can attribute it other than beauty. The sun shines through, like a flaming sword, evaporating all the fog. I now see the ridge I had navigated the day before. It shines upon Shoe Lake reflecting a mesmerizing light show. I feel enveloped by the moment. Then it passes and I pass through it.

Rainier

Shoe Lake

A few more miles then I’m at White Pass where my dad picks me up. I’m tired. Psychically. Emotionally. I also stink. My mom is waiting at the truck stop where she ordered a pizza. The rest of the day is me laying around and figuring out my next move. Mother Teresa texts me and makes me aware of poor weather that is to come in. Colder and wetter. My jacket felt a bit compromised. My other gear still soaked. I feel torn on how to continue. Then my dad offers to bring me back in a few days, so I can go home for a few days to wait out the weather. I don’t fight the idea very hard. I fear this may be the end though.