Hiking The Pacific Trail Part V

Hello from Snoqualamie, WA! Only 261 miles to go until Canada.


Days covered since my last report: 8/15 - 9/1
Miles hiked: 260
Average mileage: 18.5
Longest day: 32.2 miles
Days off (zero mileage days): 5

Warning: If you're going to try to make your way through it all in one sitting, I advise multiple cups of strong coffee. High-test, not decaf. Do not operate heavy machinery while reading this email.

8/15 - The kick-off point for Washington state is Cascade Locks, famous for it's "Bridge of the Gods" which spans the Columbia River Gorge. It's almost at sea level, so the hike out of the gorge was a tough 4000' elevation gain over 11 miles. I wasn't able to start hiking until 11am, and it was almost 100 degrees outside (my hottest day on the trail so far). There are large sections of the southern WA section that are dry -- sometimes up to 10 to 15 miles in between water sources -- so I found myself carrying as much water as I could (4 liters, or 8 pounds) to get myself to the next available water source. My first day out, I drank 12 liters of water and only managed to hike 15 miles. My feet felt shattered after 5 days off in town.

8/16 - hiked 22 miles to Panther Creek Campground. It was another hot day, but at the end of it I stumbled into the campsite host's campground slot where I found a huge, blanket-lined tent set up by the host ranger. She lets thruhikers sleep in there when there aren't any campsites available (which there weren't). I dubbed it the "Thruhiker Palace". I had my best night's sleep on the trail on her super-thick Thermarest/sleeping bag setup.

8/17 - hiked 15.6 miles to Crest Campground, which was right by a logging road. No water there, but no mosquitoes, either. It felt like a fair trade. A trail angel had left a register (notebook that the hikers are supposed to "sign in" to, and maybe leave a little thank you note) and a bear-proof bucket full of treats for hungry thruhikers -- Sun Chips, candy bars, and various other snacky type food. I was starving and ready for dinner, so I made a good dent in that cache. Mmmmm....Sun chips! I camped alone again, wondering where all the other thruhikers were. I'm definitely at the front of the pack these days, having skipped the 243 miles of northern Oregon that I've already hiked. My friends from southern Oregon are now all behind me, but at the rate they hike, I'm sure they'll catch me before too long.

8/18 - hiked 20.7 from Crest Campgroud to the outlet creek from Big Mosquito Lake. Gray, rainy day with TONS of mosquitoes. Crest Campground was right by a logging road, which seemed to divide two different biospheres: frozen lava flows (dry) and dense, lush forest (wet). The lava flows were interesting. As my feet crunched over the lava, the rocks tinkled like shards of broken pottery being dropped from a height. As long as I was in the flow areas, there were no mosquitoes...but as soon as I hit the forest again they were back. En force. Like High Sierras BAD. Washington had a bonzer snow year, so the snowpack is still melting. And where there's water, there's mosquitoes. Dry southern Oregon had lulled me into thinking that bug season was mostly done, and I was just beginning to enjoy tarping...until it really rained. The morning I left Crest Campground, it began to rain for real. It wasn't that cold, so I didn't hike in my raingear. My mistake. The bugs were soon buzzing all over me, and when I realized that they weren't going away, I dug the 100% DEET out of my pack and slathered it on. The rain promptly washed it off. It was a long day.

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Washington is famous for its misty, rainy days, especially in September. August is supposed to be a fairly dry month here in WA, but it's tourist propaganda, I tell you! All I can say is that it's rained almost as much as it's been sunny. Since I've never used a tarp until recently, a hard lesson I had to learn was that mist carries wetness right inside the tarp in a really annoyingly efficient manner. And bugs don't all go to bed after dark up here in WA like they seemed to do in CA...so tarping is out, and tenting is back in. Luckily, I decided to mail my warmer sleeping bag and tent to myself at Naches, 150 miles into WA. Never before have I been happy to switch out heavy gear for light until I got to White Pass (Naches, WA).

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8/19 - I got up early and packed up my dripping tarp, and hiked the remaining 10.6 miles to Road 23, the place where I intended to hitch into Trout Lake to resupply. I sat by the road for an hour with no cars at all going by. The situation was looking grim, because it'd started to rain and I was cold. It was a 13 mile road walk down into town, so I started walking. At least it was downhill, and I found wild strawberries growing along the side of the road, which cheered me up a little.

After a mile and a half of road walking, I was rescued from my drizzly roadwalk by a day hiker who'd intended to hike but had been turned around by the rain. Frank was a cool guy -- he told me all about hiking through the Alps, which has a hut system much like the White Mountains in New Hampshire. I put that on my list of places to go, eventually.

Down in Trout Lake, I resupplied at the General Store and booked a "sleeping room" for the night. The family who ran it used to live in the back part of the store, but they'd recently bought the house next door. They left the furniture in the rooms, and now rent them out to thruhikers.

8/20 - It poured all day, and I decided to rest in town for a day.

Trout Lake might have been my favorite town stop on the PCT so far. It was the tiniest town I've been in (only 4 blocks long), but it had the nicest people, and the little General Store offered "sleeping rooms" for $20 a night for the first night, $10 for the second, and after that they let you stay for FREE. I don't see how that could possibly work out to be a good business plan, especially considering how rainy Washington is (and the tendency for thruhikers to dally in town when it rains), but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I stayed there a second full day while it poured outside. It turned out to be Portland's "wettest day of the year", according to the weather report on TV. When Mike (a fellow section hiker) and I heard that little piece of news while watching the Weather Channel, we turned and high-fived each other. We felt vindicated for having decided to stay in town, and our guilt was, at least partially, erased.

8/21 - Mike and I made up for the previous day's laziness by getting up early and setting out on the trail by 7:45. The local trail angel, Doug Anderson, picked us up at 7am and drove us the 13 miles up to the trailhead. By the time we got there it had begun to sprinkle. Eventually it poured. We just put our heads down and hiked as fast as we could, praying that the rain would eventually stop.

I was trying out a new rain poncho I'd just bought in town, hoping to keep my pack dry. It kept the pack dry, but it didn't cover my lower arms. By 11am I couldn't move my fingers, and I could feel the tendons in my lower arms moving because everything was soooo cooooold. Mike had to take the poles from my frozen claws and secure them to the side of my pack so that I could warm my hands in my armpits. This helped, but only a little. I had a hat and mittens and warmer layers in my clothing bag, but they were buried deep inside my pack. I'd have to explode my pack right there on the trail in order to get at it, and everything would get wet in the process. I just couldn't bring myself to do it until it stopped raining. I began to pray for sun.

Because of the rain, we hadn't bothered to get our paper map pages out to periodically check them like we usually do. Big mistake. Huge.

We were unpleasantly surprised when we took a break for lunch at 1pm and checked Mike's GPS. Mike swore a blue streak -- the first time I'd seen him lose his good temper on this ugly, wet day. The GPS said we were 6 miles from the PCT. Cursing our lack of diligence and trying not to point fingers, we hiked the 6 miles (almost all uphill) to where we thought we'd initially screwed up. Eventually we found our way back to the PCT. Being back on track, on our familiar superhighway of a trail, felt like climbing into my mother's lap when I was little. Extremely comforting.

By 5:30pm, we'd walked another 2 miles to Horseshoe Meadows, which sprawls at the foot of Mount Adams and it's spectacular glaciers. As I set up my tarp, Mike whipped out his databook and calculated that we'd only walked about 7.5 PCT miles, and an extra 13 non-PCT miles. "Lost" miles. It was depressing, especially since we could have been back in Trout Lake watching the Olympics instead of getting hypothermia in the freezing rain.

Thankfully, it stopped raining just as we walked into camp, and the sun began to peek out from between the blanket of mist. I kept thinking that I should have stayed in Trout Lake that day and waited out the rain. Since then I've realized that if I try to "wait out the rain", I'd never get to Canada. It rains at least a little bit every day here. My clothes and gear always feel moist. And you should see my feet (don't worry, I took pictures). Really gross. And after this day, they were ugly AND frozen. I put on two pairs of thick socks and every stitch of clothing that I had that wasn't soaked and climbed into my supposedly 30 degree rated sleeping bag (the whole rating system is more corporate propaganda, I've decided) and tried, unsuccessfully, to get warm. Mike made me a cup of hot coffee (with some Swiss Miss thrown in for sweetness), and let me tell you -- at that moment, it was the best cup of coffee I'd ever had. Much needed trail magic.

By 11:30pm the cold had woken me up, and couldn't go back to sleep until 4am-ish. It was in the 20's all night, and after comparing notes the next morning as we peeled our frozen hiking socks from the tree branches we'd draped them over, we found out that we'd both been up half the night doing sets of buttcheek and leg crunches in a lame attempt to warm up. My black sleeping bag had felt more like a black plastic trash bag for all the warmth it had provided.

8/22 - The misery was countered somewhat by the beautiful sunrise. I woke at 5:30am to see a pink wall of light through my tarp. The early morning light had painted glacier-spotted Mt. Adams a glimmering shade of flourescent pink. I was reminded of why I came out here -- which was good -- because after that night of frozen temps, I was beginning to question whether this was still fun or not.

The day was a good one, simply because it was sunny--a much needed mood lifter after the past 4 days of gray rain. I hiked 22.5 miles from Horseshoe Meadows and camped at the first flat spot I could find once the sun had set. I'd left Mike nursing his sore feet at a spring about 10 miles back, and didn't think I'd see him again...which was actually fine with me, because his risque sense of humor and boob comments were beginning to get on my nerves. However, just as I was pitching my tarp, he showed up. He must really not like camping alone, I thought.

8/23 - Hiked 20.3 today, over some of the toughest terrain in WA. I met up with "Billy Goat" again, who was hiking southbound, and we sat down for a half hour and had a nice visit right before Cispus Pass. Once I hiked up to the pass, I had amazing views of the Goat Rocks Wilderness. Gorgeous wildflowers filling up a huge, steep valley which was flowing with multiple waterfalls and creeks. The day was sunny and dry, which turned out to be important. Later in the afternoon I hiked over a glacier and up and over a knife edge crest which looked like the serrated edge of a knife -- up and down for 2 miles or so. At least the views were spectacular. Two valleys fell away on either side of the 3 foot wide trail. My mom would have fainted if she could have seen me walking this ridge, I'm sure. Normally I don't think about falling off the cliffs I walk right next to, but this piece of trail made me extra aware of how high up I was, and how one wrong move could be...problematic.

Exhausted, Mike and I trudged down from the crest to a flat, gravelly, windy plain and I set up my tarp and went to bed before it got dark.

8/24 - I woke up around midnight to the tarp spanking my face. A stake had come loose and half the tarp was down. The wind had increased to a dull roar. I'd staked my tarp out as tightly as I could, but the wind was so strong that it was flapping the walls to the point where they "rizzed" -- a horribly loud buzzing noise made in high wind. I lhortened my trekking poles, hoping to lower the tarp's profile and make it more aerodynamic...but it didn't help one bit. As the sleepless night wore on, the stakes kept pulling out of the ground and I eventually just threw in the towel and packed up the tarp. Luckily, it was a clear night, full of stars. As I lay there stargazing, praying for sleep to come, I realized that I should have done this from the beginning. The tarp was definitely going to have to go. I missed my tent.

I opened my eyes around 6am to the most beautiful sunrise I'd yet seen on this journey. The cloud formations were incredible right by the horizon, and kept changing color as the sun crept closer to the horizon. I played with my camera for a half hour, trying to document the shifting light and brilliant colors. It was the most fun I've had at 6am in a long time, on trail or off.

Mike and I were hiking by 6:45am, and I was so amped to get to town that I got there in 5 hours. 16 miles (including a food break) in 5 hours may be a speed record for me. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I was flying. I disturbed a large herd of elk grazing downslope from the trail, and got to watch as they thundered off down the steep hill, leaping over logs and crashing through bushes. I'm always amazed that they don't trip.

I hit the highway at Naches, WA and walked the extra mile to the Kracker Barrel gas station/convenience store where I'd mailed my warm gear to myself. I was so happy to see my tent and my 15 degree bag that I actually kissed them as I took them out of their boxes.

A sweet local guy named Steve went 40 miles out of his way to take me into Packwood. What is it about me that inspires this chivalric behavior? Is there something about me that screams, "Maiden in distress! Right here!" or is it just the universe providing as it ultimately ALWAYS does? It's a mystery to me. In either case, I always seem to get taken care of by kind-hearted people like Steve. He drove a pristine red convertible mustang (top down, of course) with matching red plastic windshielf wiper covers. The interior sported miniature plastic Superman dolls -- one sprouting from his cassette deck, and the other dangling on a string from his rearview mirror. His life partner snored away in the passenger seat while I chatted Steve up about the my hike. They were on a quest to collect spaghum moss from the forest. They were going to use it to line the dirt beds of their flower pots. Steve was a trip.

Packwood was very cool, although still a one-horse town. George, the hotel manager, offered to do my laundry for me, since he was "about to do his wife's laundry, anyway." I didn't know that Indian men even DID laundry. This guy was definitely the most domesticated Indian man I'd ever met. I didn't make him do my stinky hiker laundry, though. That'd really be going above and beyond the call of duty, I told him. Besides, I was secretly afraid that my polypropelene clothes might shrink in the dryer to a size that would more properly fit my 3 year old niece than me. But I appreciated George's offer.

My pack's hip belt was hanging by a piece of stretchy fabric, having ripped a few days back. Luckily, Packwood's little outfitter featured a man who knew how to run a sewing machine, and he promptly repaired and reinforced both sides of my hip belt. The odds of finding any kind of outfitter in such a small town were miniscule, so I felt well taken care of today. This trip has been a great example of proper "unfoldment" -- seemingly random events taking place right when I need them to happen in order to feel provided for. I'd call it luck, but I'm pretty sure it's something else.

8/25 - I woke to rain, and decided to stay in town and catch up on emailing and my trail report. I found a cheaper hotel (only $30/night) and checked into that one for my second night. Later on, I met Don and Mike in the hallway. They were in their early 40's, married with kids, and were extremely interested in my PCT hike. Especially the fact that I was doing it as a women, alone. They were touring around on their huge, beautiful BMW touring motorcyles for a few days, and were leaving the next morning. As I waited outside in the hallway for my turn in the public bathroom, I could hear them talking about me and my hike, hatching a plan to help me get back to the trailhead the next morning. As I walked by and said goodnight, they proudly announced that they'd like to help me out. I was secretly thrilled, because it had been an ongoing fantasy of mine to get a hitch on a motorcycle. I mean, how cool would it be to roar down the highway on the back of a bike?

8/26 - It was just as fun as I thought it would be. I looked a little bit like a fireman, tricked out in Don's safety gear, but I was grateful for it's warmth once we were cruising down the highway.

Mike dropped me at the trailhead, and I thanked him for the stylish ride. Later that morning, some of my thruhiker friends from southern Oregon finally caught up with me. They'd been hiking 30 mile days since I'd left them. Incredible.

I hiked a 29 mile day with "Tangent", another women who was also hiking without her husband (who's also named Kevin, and also drives a silver 4-Runner truck. Coincidence? Hmmmm...secret life, secret wife? I thought...but no, she showed me a picture and he's definitely NOT my man).

Just as we zipped ourselves into our tents for the night, the skies cracked open and the rain poured down. All night long. I was so grateful to have my tent back.

8/27 - We woke up early, and it was still raining, so we puttered around in our tents, praying for it to stop. By 8am it had let up, so we packed up our sopping tents and hiked. It was a muddy, misty-cold day, but we managed to make it almost 24 miles in the mud to Ulrich Shelter.

Ulrich Shelter was a full-on cabin, complete with a door, a woodburning stove, sleeping platform...and privy out back. There were already hikers there, and the shelter was warm and toasty. What a great way to end a slimy day.

As Tangent and I were eating dinner upstairs on the sleeping platform, one of the men called up to us, "Hey ladies, you know there are mice in the shelter, right?"

Of course, I had to get cocky and inform them that I'd hiked the Appalachian Trail and was well familiar with mice and felt like I'd made peace with them. So it was particularly embarassing when, later that night, a mouse crawled up my arm not once, but twice, eliciting hair-raising screams from me, and waking the whole shelter. I could hear them men below snickering. Feeling shamed for acting the girlie girl, I dug out my tent and set up the bug-net part, hoping to put some distance between me and the mice for the rest of the night. I swear, that second mouse was first cousin to a hamster -- it felt gargantuan. Ick.

8/28 - It was pouring outside and my calf was twanging and swollen from trying to keep pace with Tangent yesterday, so I decided to rest in the shelter. I'm getting so sick of all these minor injuries -- but at least I've learned that if I rest for a day, they clear up faster than if I just try to hike through them. At first I felt embarassed that I didn't go out with the other hikers, but as the rain got heavier I was completely grateful that I wasn't having another hypothermic day in the rain (it stayed in the 40's that day). So to keep things interesting, I picked up the shelter's axe and chopped up a few stumps that people had been using as seats. It was really fun, actually -- I was getting to be a dead-eye at splitting the wood by the end of the experiment! I'm just glad I didn't accidentally chop off my foot in the process. I'd never used an axe before.

There was no kindling and all the wood outside was sopping wet, so I peeled the bark off the ONE dry piece of wood that was left in the shelter and was able to use that as kindling to re-start the wood stove. I stacked what I'd cut on top of the stove, so it could dry out from the heat. I felt like a survivalist, surveying my morning's work. The pile would last all day.

I spent that day resting my leg and finishing my book (so the future hikers would have some fire-starter material). I've gotten very practical about books. I'll rip off the pages I've already read and burn them, cut books up into sections so that I don't have to carry the whole thing at once (oooooh, descration!)...basically, things this English major would NEVER have done before this hike. At the beginning of the hike, I found myself carefully carrying my books into town and sending them home. Now I just leave them for others to read, or burn them if they weren't that good (I'm a harsh critic).

I've been getting closer to my goal of walking into my next resupply point with nothing in my food bag (ideally, having eaten the last bite of food a few hours before). So I got cocky and accidentally UNDER-estimated what I needed for this 100 mile section. I'll never make THAT mistake again. To add to the problem, I found myself having to take this unexpected rest day at the shelter, 45 miles from the next town. Luckily 3 hikers arrived in the afternoon, and 2 of them were able to share a meal with me. I was so grateful, because I'd slipped past simply hungry and moved on to rabidly ravenous by the time they started cooking up their dinner. Despite their generosity, I was still going to be at least two meals short the day I had to hike into town. Not a happy prospect.

8/29 - I hiked 32.2 miles today. Started at 7:40am and finished at 9:30pm. Miraculously, I was able to fit 2 hours of huckleberry picking into this long day. I topped a crest that was absolutely rife with huckleberry bushes, and found 3 generations of this one family who were out with their tin pails, picking these huge, thumbnail sized berries. They were so big, they looked like huge purpley-black marbles, and they were sweet and tart and juicy. I must have picked and eaten at least a pint as I walked the trail that day.

The family's adorable little granddaughter, not quite two, toddled up to me in her puffy parka and powder blue pulldown hat, blond wispy hair sticking out and mouth purple berry-stained. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, then reached out and started patting my mud-encrusted bare leg. I felt so...loved. Later that afternoon, a dayhiking couple offered me all their spare food and a cold Vitamin water as they were heading back to their car to go home. Between the abundant food all along the trail and the affection of this sweet little girl, I felt like the universe was being extra generous today.

8/30 - I hiked 14.5 into Snoqualamie Pass. It didn't rain until the last 10 minutes of the hike, and I walked into town with two bites of a peanut butter sandwich left in my pocket. I think I can safely say I've achieved my goal of walking into town with an empty food bag. It wasn't worth the stress. From now on, I'm sucking it up and carrying extra food, weight be damned.

8/31 and 9/1 - zeroed in Snoqualamie while catching up on emailing and simply escaping the last of the wicked rain. Forecast for the next week: sun! Yipee!

Talk to you all after I've reached Canada, most likely.


Peace
-Dawn