Dave and Lexi's 2004 PCT hike

Washington

August 28, 2004
We spent our third night in Cascade Locks at the RV park, which lets PCT hikers camp for free. Right on the shore of the Columbia River, we watched fishermen drink lots of beer while catching no fish.

Cheered by clear skies, we walked across the Bridge of the Gods to Washington. The bridge deck was quite narrow, and we could see through the metal grating to the river, 135 feet below. We celebrated briefly by the traffic signs welcoming us to our final state, and began the long uphill climb.

Dancing around the poison oak (it grows below 2000' here) was a little bit annoying, but the views south to Mt. Hood and later east to Mt. Adams were a vast improvement over the recent clouds of impenetrable murk. Now that it was not terribly wet, it was easy to appreciate the dense ferns and thick mosses covering every tree.

Even as we settle in for the night, condensation builds on the outside of our tent. We'll just have to make a habit of drying it out at lunchtime. It's nice to be back in the woods, and away from the freight trains that run constantly on both sides of the river.

-Dave

August 29, 2004
Our pleasant night's sleep came to an abrupt end when a souped up pickup skidded to a halt on the dead end, overgrown road, and its driver got out, loaded ammo into his rifle(s) and wandered into the woods, presumably in search of something to shoot. There was heavy condensation on our tent, both inside and out, so we spent a few minutes mopping it off before hiking.

The recent heavy rain made finding water easy. Every seasonal creek on the map flowed like gangbusters. Although not terribly bad, the humidity made us sweat heavily, and after climbing over Sedum Ridge and road walking a mile down Wind River Road, we were happy for cold drinks and ice cream at the Stabler Store. We picked up our resupply box, dried out the tent, and shared microwave burritos with Chipper and Jeff.

We got a lucky hitch back to the trail in a jeep with a seven-week old golden retriever/German Shepard, and hiked to Panther Creek for dinner. The climb afterwards was long and persistently steep. Although we were pretty tired, we trucked on to dusk and found a peaceful dry camp, yet again with Chipper and Jeff. The full moon rose through clouds, bathing us in light.

-Dave

August 30, 2004
The weather today was gorgeous. We hiked under clear blue skies all day and the air was crisp and cool. After all the rain we've had I appreciate the good weather much more.

We met lots of folks out enjoying the trail for the day. Many of them seem surprised that we were thru-hiking as though it had never occurred to them that such a thing is possible. We met one man whose father traded with Indians here at the beginning of the 20th century. Another family we met was out with three pack-goats. Goats seem to be surprisingly good pack animals. They were very mellow, easily controlled even by the kids, and had very little impact on the trail. Relative to some of the skittish trail-eroding horses that we've seen, the goats were a delight.

The kids in this family are home schooled and they seem psyched to check out our website as part of school. I've met a number of home schoolers and for them every chance encounter or interesting moment becomes an educational opportunity. It's pretty neat outlook on life.

I really like talking about our trip to families with children. I know that Dave was inspired by thru-hikers he met when he was little. I hope that maybe we may be passing on some of that inspiration.

Our day also included spectacular views of Mt. Adams, Mt. St. Helens, and Mt. Ranier. Even seeing these mountains it is hard to believe that we're in Washington.

-Lexi

August 31, 2004
We woke this morning to a blessedly dry tent. The last few nights have been cool with lots of dew, but we've gotten smarter about our tent placement. Under the trees, it is usually substantially drier.

We crossed through the woods and were treated to occasional spectacular views of Mt. Adams, which we will circumnavigate tomorrow. We met a crew of bow hunters all decked out in camo and fancy looking equipment. Chipper asked them when the season ended. It turns out it doesn't even start until tomorrow. I guess they were getting a jump on things. After 16 miles, we got to Forest Road 23 which would take us to Trout Lake to pick up our resupply box. Just before the road we found some trail magic: two sodas left by Monte Dodge. We met Monte early in our journey and liked him a great deal. I can't help but hope that he was thinking of us when he left the drinks.

Down on the road we started waiting. After about 20 minutes Chipper and Jeff arrived. They hadn't been planning on going into town, but they were enticed by thoughts of burgers and huckleberry milk shakes.

40 minutes and many pickup trucks later, we finally got a ride from a hiker in a small sedan. Undeterred by the diminutive size of the car, we all piled in.

Town was small, but had everything we hoped for, with the exception of huckleberry pie, which they were out of. We were loaded down with three more days of food and full of onion rings, salad, and huckleberry milk shakes (Chipper and Jeff got their burgers). A call to local trail angel Doug Anderson got us a quick ride out of town, and an easy way of turning down a ride with a dirty haired, bloodshot, broken toothed guy with a large Grim Reaper tattoo.

We made camp only a mile up the trail since none of us felt like starting up the long hill ahead. It was such a pleasure to get into camp early. We had time to explore a nearby waterfall and sit around chatting before darkness fell.

-Lexi

September 1, 2004
Yesterday in town we met none other than the local weatherman who was eager to forecast a small cold front. Right on cue, as we packed up, thick clouds blew over. We climbed 2000' up the western slopes of Mt. Adams and into a cloud. Sporadic hard cold rain kept us from enjoying things too much, and persistent mist blotted out all signs of Mt. Adams. Snacking continuously, we stayed reasonably warm.

Midafternoon, we welcome the warmth of the sun. Unfortunately it didn't last long. We endured a brief deluge before making camp at Midway Creek. We were in good spirits despite the cranky weather because we knew that it would blow over soon (the weatherman said so!) We enjoyed mac and cheese in front of a small campfire (our first one this trip) before snuggling down in our sleeping bags.

Daily now we count down our remaining miles. Soon we'll be in Canada, and free of the daily marathons. As our bodies' reserves run low, staying warm requires more food and clothing than it used to, our feet ache more of the time, and we fantasize about being sedentary. As we move into fall, darkness comes even earlier. We lay down and enjoy long sleep.

-Dave

September 2, 2004
The weatherman is in big trouble. He assured us it would be nice on Thursday. Apparently he was thinking of some other Thursday. Fortunately, the new seam-sealing worked like a charm; it rained on and off all night, and not one drop came in. When the alarm went off at 6:45, we were nice and dry while it poured. Figuring that the weather would blow over soon enough, we stayed inside, half napping, until 10:45. The rain had mostly stopped, and we hiked without getting particularly wet.

Blue sky and warm sunshine poked their heads through occasionally, but most of the day we were in cold clouds. We were both feeling a bit gloomy, then the clouds parted, we climbed to tree line, and had our first fabulous views of the Goat Rocks, complete with actual goats, and fresh snow. We were suddenly in an alpine landscape: stunted trees, U-shaped glacial valleys, and snow-dusted peaks. A black bear cub crossed the trail 100 feet in front of us and paused briefly before bouncing down the slope. Crossing Cispus Pass, we entered a new basin, looked over by Mount Ives.

It was a great relief to find a moderately flat and protected camp spot in the midst of all this drama. While cooking and eating dinner, we watched the thin ceiling of clouds rise and fall, and shift from blue to red to purple to black. We're hopeful for clear skies tomorrow as we cross through the Goat Rocks.

-Dave

September 3, 2004
Unfortunately, our protected camp site last night was protected on three sides only. In the middle of the night, the wind shifted and buffeted our tent in mighty gusts from the one unprotected side. At last the wind proved to be too much. One stake popped out and my trekking poles, which hold up the front of the tent, suddenly bent to a disturbing angle. Fearing the worst, Dave and I reluctantly climbed out of the half-collapsed tent to assess the damage. Fortunately, the poles themselves were intact; only the connector piece between them was bent. We re-rigged the tent low to the ground using only one pole, but didn't sleep much for the rest of the night.

This morning only low-grade clouds were visible out the front of the tent. The view out the back - blue sky and occasional sun - was much more encouraging. Looking at the blue part of the sky as much as possible, we climbed quickly towards the alpine zone.

We crossed the Packwood Glacier, really just a large snowfield, on several inches of new wet snow. The craggy Goat Rocks towered above us; glacial valleys extended out below us. Mount Rainier occasionally poked its summit out of the swirling clouds, revealing its startling size.

The trail continued across several more snow fields, one quite icy and steep. Finally it made its way onto a knife-edged ridge with relentless ups and downs. Not since the Sierra have we been in such an exquisite (and challenging!) alpine environment.

Having completed the exposed part of the day, we still had sixteen miles left to go to the road. Our food bags were essentially empty, our stomachs growling, and the store at the road closes at 6 pm. We hiked nonstop at a brisk 3 mph pace so that we would be there on time.

After a seemingly endless hike, which included another 2000-foot climb up to yet another socked-in ridge, we dragged our exhausted bodies into the convenience store at White Pass. There we met Salamander, Juniper, and Juniper's friend Jen. Jen was driving everyone to Packwood for pizza. We happily jumped aboard the van to be whisked off to another universe.

Packwood, Washington, over Labor Day weekend, is home to an enormous flea market. The place was blanketed by stalls selling everything from confederate flags to antique bicycles. We gawked at the crowds dazedly and completed our experience of Americana by consuming funnel cake with our pizza. Our calorie deficit brought more into equilibrium, we collapsed at the motel in White Pass. We enjoyed our evening free from worry about the tent flying away.

-Lexi

September 4, 2004
This morning we woke up luxuriously late: 8:30 AM. The luxury continued with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese cooked on the kitchenette stove in our room at the Village Inn. The rest of the morning was filled with chores: laundry, pot cleaning, and going through our resupply box.

Most of the afternoon we spent at the cafe at the Kracker Barrel store looking at the cold swirling mist outside. One by one cold bedraggled hikers came through the door. We ate fried food and then went back for more as we procrastinated. Finally, by midafternoon, the place was full of hikers most of whom we didn't really know. The crowd was enough to get us out the door.

Back on the trail, we passed lots of people out for a day or two celebrating the holiday weekend. We met a four year old, out for his first backpacking trip, who seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously, hopping across logs and splashing through mud puddles.

After an easy 10 miles, we settled down for the night at Snow Lake and were soon joined by Chipper and Jeff. Now, I'm about to fall asleep listening to the other-worldly melodies of elk bugling.

-Lexi

September 5, 2004
Most of this morning, heavy horse use had turned the trail into a trench of loose mud. The impact they make was especially clear when the trail split at stream crossings. The hiker path to the log bridge was smooth and compacted; the stock trail to the ford was wide and churned up.

Low clouds kept us chilly, then rounding a ridge we broke into sunshine. Its warmth felt wonderful in the crisp air. Just inside Mt. Rainier National Park, we enjoyed views of the snowy summit, while the lower slopes were hidden by clouds. All the reports say that this is the beginning of a long period of clear weather. Hooray!

Late in the afternoon we were passed by an old section hiker who was finishing his last section doing 30-35 miles a day from White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass. He paused long enough to tell of his 15 day hike of the New Mexico portion of the CDT last April. That's about 600 miles, or an average of 40 a day. He mentioned something about developing a rash, and taking anabolic steroids, before trotting away.

High above Chinook Pass, the afternoon sun lit up mountains all around. We crossed the highway on a snazzy stone and log bridge and climbed to Sheep Lake (our third Sheep Lake in as many days) for the night. Among the screaming, tree chopping, fire building horde we found a quiet corner.

-Dave

September 6, 2004
Early this morning we climbed out of the Sheep Lake basin towards Sourdough Gap. At the top, a large meadowy alpine basin surrounded by craggy peaks spread out below us. We continued traversing alpine ridges for most of the morning and were treated to a series of views of Mt. Ranier. We took the miles slowly, appreciating the panorama.

On account of our leisurely pace we had only covered 8.5 miles by lunchtime, so the afternoon was quite a grind. Late in the day we came to a lovely shelter: Camp Urich, complete with an expansive surrounding meadow, wood stove and explanatory poem. Apparently, the shelter was named for Mike Ulrich, a forest service worker, whose spirit now watched over the shelter and its surroundings. Visitors are warned: "stranger beware, leave not a fire - foul not Mike's camp, rouse not his ire!" I like the idea of a guardian spirit, and certainly the place seemed to be in excellent condition. Perhaps folks did indeed heed the sign.

We pressed on a few miles past Camp Urich to a place with the foreboding name "Wind Gap". The place was not as windy as we had feared, but fog pouring over the gap made us very cold and damp. It seems like, in a very short period of time, the weather has gone from being mostly hot to mostly cold. Many nights now it takes me close to an hour to warm up enough in my sleeping bag so that I can fall asleep.

-Lexi

September 7, 2004
The evening's fog thoroughly dampened the tent, but we rose to clear skies and the warm sun streaming in. We passed through a 3,000-acre fire from 1988. Bleached trunks towered all about us. All day we walked through clear-cuts covering entire mountains. The contrast between mature (if not truly old) forest and clear-cut was stunning. The forest was dark, cold, wet and mossy. The cut areas were hot, sunny, dry and aflame with the red leaves of vine maple, and intense crimson of fire adapted huckleberries. Fall is in full force. A few purple lupine blossoms remain, but most have long since gone to seed.

At Tacoma Pass we found a cooler with soda. Hiking on over endless lumps and bumps, we finally gave in to the power of the huckleberries and stopped to graze. The huge purple berries (related closely to blueberries, which also grow here,) burst with sweetness, and made our fingers and tongues splotched. We just sat in the bushes and ate. However, some care was in order: occasional berries had begun to ferment and were pretty unappetizing.

More lumps later we arrived at a friendly weather station, where we found water and a comfortable camp. The cold weather has made us ever more hungry. One pound of pasta, dehydrated sauce and � cup of olive oil barely made a dent. We finished up with cocoa, pudding and more snacks. I can't wait for breakfast.

-Dave

September 8, 2004
We had a great evening at the weather station. The place was a nice bit of civilization complete with lawn ornaments: glass reflecting globes, a birdbath and CD's hanging from the trees.

Our trek continued through clear cuts and power line right of ways, and more seemingly endless ups and downs through the woods. Mirror Lake was a highlight in an otherwise unremarkable day. We saw several folks there picking berries. One of the women was a local who immediately identified us as through hikers and wished us well on the rest of our journey.

A few miles later, we ran into a crew who had just finished up a day of trail work. We thanked them for their work and chatted for a while. They were from a group called "Washington Trails Association". The group reminded us of our Green Mountain Club friends at home. They offered us sodas (our third in four days,) and fresh homemade raisin bread. I had eaten nothing since breakfast except one snickers bar (280 calories), and my food bag was empty, so any extra food was extremely welcome.

Our day ended with a trek down the ski slopes towards the Best Western at Snoqualmie Pass. Fifteen minutes before we reached the hotel it started to rain. We thought our timing was pretty good! Of course, it's supposed to rain for the next four days. Right now we're enjoying the dryness, and trying not to think about tomorrow.

-Lexi

September 9, 2004
This morning we made the long commute down the hall to the pancake house, where we wolfed down large plates full of everything a pancake house has to offer. The ridiculous Channel 5 weatherman finally coughed up a rainy forecast. Given that the top of the Snoqualmie Pass ski hill was shrouded in clouds, we contemplated taking a zero, but right at checkout time the skies began to brighten, and we packed up. Before heading out, I grabbed a deep fried burrito (people out here will deep fry anything) and washed it down with our last Deschutes Brewing Obsidian Stout. Now that's trail food!

We climbed out of Snoqualmie Pass into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Craggy peaks jutted into patchy clouds. At the Kendall Catwalk, the trail crossed the solid granite ridge on a precipitously narrow path blasted through what anywhere else would be a classic alpine rock climb. Great mountains towered all around, but we couldn't identify many with our narrow trail maps. There's a lot of exploring to do here.

We stopped early at the narrow pass between Joe and Edds Lakes. The terrain here is so declivitous (a.k.a. steep, these guidebook authors sure like their vocabulary) that places to camp can be infrequent. We relished the time off our feet and with Games magazine.

-Dave

September 10, 2004
This morning dawned crisp and clear. The sliver of moon shown like a headlamp into our tent. Since heavy rain was predicted for the afternoon, we were eager to get as far as possible while the weather was still good. We were hiking by 6:30 in the gray light before sunrise. It's amazing how short the days are becoming.

We left our campsite on a narrow wooded ridge and circled around a high basin surrounded by steep craggy peaks. Our spirits were high on account of our amazing alpine surroundings and the unexpected sunshine. After a few hours, we stopped for a break on a rocky sunny slope above Park Lakes. We took this time to dry our tent and sleeping bags, which had gotten wet from condensation overnight. Comforted by the thought that, even if a downpour came, we would start the evening with a dry home, we continued on.

Soon, we left behind the alpine area and began a dizzying descent on countless tight switchbacks. 2000 feet below, the trail crossed under the spectacular cascading waterfall of Delate Creek, and finally leveled out in the broad wooded valley of the Lemah River.

The trail, however, did not stay low for long. Soon we were following another seemingly endless series of switchbacks up, up, up into another alpine basin. We ogled another series of magnificent crags, wishing we had time to stop and climb them. We traversed through fields of crimson huckleberry, around tiny, pristine lakes, and across steep boulder fields. By late afternoon, we had covered 22 difficult miles. Heavy wind and rain was predicted for the evening, and clouds were now covering the sky. We opted to continue hiking out of the gorgeous but exposed alpine area and down into the next river valley.

We pounded 2,300 feet down another seemingly interminable series of switchbacks. Towards the end, my feet ached, and my brain was clouded with exhaustion. Still, we continued on. Finally, just as it was getting dark, we reached several large protected campsites next to the Waptus River. The first raindrops began to fall as we crawled into the tent. After 27 miles, and over 3,300 feet of elevation gain, my body ached and I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to eat dinner.

-Lexi

At 1:45 AM we woke in heavy rain to find that we were camped in a small depression, and our tent had turned into a waterbed. Amazingly, the floor of the tent didn't leak a drop, but we were floating. As comfortable as it was, I found this unacceptable, and got out to do a bit of hydrological engineering with our trusty orange shovel.

-Dave

September 11, 2004
After yesterday's big miles and last night's water adventures, we were pretty tired this morning. We allowed ourselves to sleep in to 8:30. While procrastinating we poked our noses outside and realized that the sky was clearing and that there was even some patchy sunlight. We packed up our soaking wet tent and our damp sleeping bags and hit the trail around 9:30.

Two more high passes were on the slate for the day. Halfway up the first climb, we came to Deep Lake. True to its name, its a deep crystal clear lake nestled in a steep sided glacial bowl. We took advantage of some sunlight and spread our all our things to dry. We sat, in the midst of our yard sale, doing puzzles from Games magazines, sent to us by friends, and enjoying the view.

Over a thousand feet, and many steep switchbacks later, we came to the top of Cathedral Pass. Cathedral Rock beckoned to us out of the swirling mist. We fantasized about possible rock climbs and pledged to return sometime.

A few more miles brought us to a river crossing that the guidebook described ominously. In typical fashion, the guidebook had vastly overstated the danger. (The guidebook authors seem to enjoy including unnecessary dire warnings!) We crossed the river encountering nothing more hazardous than wet feet.

As we pulled into camp at Deception Lake, the ever gray sky grew darker. We hurried to get the tent up, and jumped in just as light rain started. After only 20 miles, we are pretty tired. Our efforts yesterday are taking their toll.

-Lexi

September 12, 2004
After a peaceful evening of inoffensive rain, we walked on, headed for Stevens Pass, 18 miles north. Climbing over a series of steep passes, we rose into and back down out of low clouds. Despite the murk, the scenery was magical. Bursts of cold rain were mitigated by breaks of warm sun, so we were never really soaked. Around Mig Lake, the light shone on a colorful landscape of bright red huckleberry bushes, and blue sky poked through. Unfortunately, the trail was a slippery mud trench. Only by luck and talented balancing did we avoid full butt slides.

Late in the afternoon we descended over ski trails (one named Crest Trail is "fully lighted") to Stevens Pass, where after only 8 minutes we got a hitch 14 miles west to the small town of Skykomish. The Cascadia Inn has been super friendly, with a special room with TV and kitchenette specifically for hikers to hang out. The weather is looking pretty wet for the foreseeable future. I hope that we can stock up on dryness here.

-Dave

September 13, 2004
We made a breakfast of Chevron Danishes and microwave scrambled eggs, which were a good deal more palatable than we had feared. We dodged raindrops to collect our boxes from the post office and spent hours watching a series of dismal weather forecasts. Between here and Stehekin the trail on the west side of Glacier Peak was obliterated by record rain. Since last winter we had planned to take the High Pass variation of the official Forest Service detour. However, the detour involves crossing the Napeequa River, which was knee to thigh deep in August, when it had been dry for weeks. After days and days of rain, it was hard to imagine that it would be crossable at all. The backup plan of last resort, a 50 mile road walk, hardly inspired us, so we stared out at the rain, hoping for a break. It didn't take long before we caved in and committed to taking a zero day. The "parlor" at the Cascadia Inn was great, we could spread out all our stuff and no one cared a bit.

At the library, while checking our email, we learned the news that Lexi's mom is very sick. It is strange, when in a moment everything changes. For years, hiking this trail has been a journey important to experience during my life, yet when faced with the mortality of a loved one, hiking seems so frivolous and self-indulgent.

Hanging on the fringe of a growing mob of washed up hikers, Lexi decided to go home, at least for a few days. We tried to settle our minds by sharing frozen pizza and french fries with other hikers and watching TV. The folks at the Cascadia Inn were super helpful and let us use the phone and computer to look up airplane fares. It was a restless night.

-Dave

September 14, 2004
A the liquor store/deli we ate hot bagel sandwiches and bid adieu to Chipper and Jeff. They reluctantly stuck out their thumbs for a ride back to Stevens Pass to begin the first leg of the road walk: 20 miles east on Route 2. At 2:00, Tigger, temporarily off trail with a skin infection, drove Lexi to Sea-Tac. Now all I have to do is wait for her return on Sunday, and hope that the incessant rain lets up before our return to the trail Monday.

-Dave

September 19, 2004
I had a quiet time of guarding the fort at the Inn, in the company of a couple of traffic flaggers. In preparation for Lexi's return and the continuation of our hike, I recounted our food. My parents' flight arrived at Sea-Tac about the same time as Lexi's, so she met up with them and got a quick bus-hassle-free ride back to Skykomish. Having been woken up by her mom at 2 AM, eastern time, and not having slept since, Lexi was pretty bleary eyed and exhausted, but made it through a reasonable if not expert game of Scrabble with Mom and me. Mom and Dad had originally planned to meet us in Manning, at the end of our hike. Seeing them here has reinforced my idea that to here we had an adventurous thru-hike, and now we're faced with a last ditch effort just to finish. Our trek has lost its blissful freedom. Life now seems heavy, and we know our time on the trail ahead will be filled with attempts to answer unanswerable questions, to comfort those thousands o f miles away, and to predict the future. Our comfort with the hiking life in no way has lessened the burden of life's other challenges.

-Dave

September 20, 2004
After a week off, we're back on the trail again. Unfortunately, we're on the trail in name only. In reality, we spent the day walking on the shoulder of US Route 2. Despite funky weather and the potentially Napeequa, we might have taken extra food and tried the trail route. As it is, we have to get to Stehekin by Friday in order to be sure of catching our plane on October 4th. So we're taking the safe, asphalt lined trail. We'd been looking forward to having a little bit of an adventure exploring off trail along the reroute, and I'm a little sad that we won't have that opportunity.

In some ways, its good to be walking again. Its very therapeutic to put one foot in front of the other over and over again and let my brain wander where it will. In other respects, it seems so futile and self-indulgent to be out here. In half a day, I got on an airplane and flew across the same distance that its taken me 5 months to cover. Then a few days later, I got back on a plane and repeated the whole process. I know that this trip is about the journey, not the destination, but I'm still having a hard time with it. I've realized that one of the things I really like about being out here is that I feel so in control. Obviously, I don't have control over the weather or the trail conditions, but I know that for every problem or obstacle that I encounter, I can come up with a solution. Off trail, I'm faced with many problems that I have no ability to solve, and I'm left feeling frustrated and helpless.

-Lexi

We opted for the 50 mile road walk around Glacier Peak because we thought that crossing the Napeequa would be unsafe. However, walking 20 miles on the shoulder of Hwy 2 didn't feel entirely safe either. Yeah, it was pretty boring, but mostly it hurt in ways we never expected. The repetitive pavement pounding exacerbated every foot ache we've ever had and reduced us to long distance hobbling.

At 5 o'clock we reached Cole's Corner and the 59er Diner. It was a gloriously authentic diner, complete with a genuine Wurlitzer jukebox, loads of Elvis paraphernalia, and a soda fountain drink called Swamp Water, that was a tasty mix of lime, half-n-half, cream soda, and mysterious green goo. We filled up on veggie burgers and finished with a divine blackberry cobber.

We continued a couple of miles up Route 207 and made camp behind a barbed wire protected power building. The score for today: one unsolicited offer for a ride, and one $5 donation.

-Dave

September 21, 2004
We woke this morning to clear blue sky. This is the first sunny day we've had in weeks, and the weather helped considerably to lighten my mood. We continued our pavement pounding today. Every part of our feet and calves ache as though they've been beaten by a hammer. A few miles on Route 207 brought us to the Happy Clown Restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant was not open, and our dreams of pancakes were dashed. We had to make due with Pop-Tarts instead.

At last we turned onto our last road segment: Forest Service Road 62, which we had to follow for 25 miles. For the first 10 or so, we were still on pavement, but there was little traffic, and we began to get views across the Chiwawa River valley, so the walking was much more pleasant. We rejoiced when the pavement finally gave way to dirt, though the dirt was still harder on our bodies than the trail. After about 23 miles, we stopped, exhausted and alone, at a Forest Service campground.

We haven't seen any other thru-hikers since we started walking again. With such a long break, it almost feels as though our thru-hike is over, and what we're doing now is something different. This feeling is exacerbated by the road walking which feels very unlike hiking. I still feel very unsettled about being here. I'm sure that in the long run, it will seem like the right choice, but its hard to get my mind back into hiking mode.

-Lexi

September 22, 2004
Sometime before dawn, light rain pattered on the tent. And sure enough, when we reluctantly poked our noses outside, it was to overcast skies. After four more miles, we were done with the blasted road walking, and onto a genuine trail. We were soon passed by packers who were looking for a "lost" mule, which carried several thousand dollars worth of Forest Service surveying equipment. I really can't understand how it is possible to "lose" a mule, and why the Forest Service should want to hire such nincompoops.

It was indescribably comforting for both of us to be back on the trail. Fresh snow dusted nearby peaks. Vivid red huckleberry leaves glowed. The clouds lowered and a cold drizzle began. Its wonderful to be hiking in Washington again. The long 3200' climb to Buck Creek Pass was straightforward and clear. The main challenge for me was managing what I can only assume is a growing stress fracture in my right foot. With stunning alacrity, the sharp pains of the road walk have faded, leaving the unmasked symptoms of a true injury. I limped uphill, more to prevent further damage than to avoid direct pain.

After a few breaks under the protection of trees, we found a camp by Miner's Creek. At only 7 PM we were reaching for our headlamps. The hours of daylight grow short.

-Dave

September 23, 2004
We were in a cloud, grateful for mist and not rain. The morning's 1500' climb to Suittle Pass was steady and uneventful. Not a glimpse of the nearby towering Glacier Peak was to be had. Descending to Agnes Creek, the clouds broke and the sun peeked through. As we slopped down the mud greased trail devoid of water bars, the vivid colors of fall shot out: red vine maples, crimson huckleberries, yellow and orange mountain ash. Fresh snow clinging to the peaks was like a warning, "Move on, there's more a-coming!"

The long haul down to valley towards Stehekin was punctuated with many rest breaks. Whatever bruise, strain, tear, or fracture I have in the second bone of the middle toe of my right foot causes me to have rather erratic endurance. My body is clearly calling for rest.

We hiked on past sunset. Glorious alpenglow climbed McGregor Mt and we crossed the creek one last time to reach High Bridge, on the road to Stehekin. As darkness fell we made dinner in the campground, and welcomed Dave T and Crazy John. The last time we saw either of them was in Agua Dulce. We had been hoping for other hikers with whom we could share the final days, but had no idea who to expect. Tomorrow we make our last town stop. The nostalgia begins.

-Dave

September 24, 2004
Today, we visited our last town on the trail: Stehekin. We set off early on our 2 mile road walk with Dave T and Crazy John to catch the bus. The bus can no longer make it up the road to the campground because part of the road was washed out in last year's floods. Given this, we were surprised to see a white van full of elderly day hikers driving up the road only a few hundred yards after we started. We were even more surprised when the van, now going the other direction, stopped and the driver offered us a ride down to the bus stop.

The van bumped along the occasionally very narrow road. At the washout, the river, whose course was permanently changed last year, covered the road in a foot of water. The driver unhesitatingly drove right through, as though he did it every day, which I suppose he did. Our friendly chauffeur turned out to be the owner of the Stehekin Valley Ranch. He drove us to the ranch, right near the bus stop, and invited us in for coffee while we waited for the bus.

He led us into a large timber frame cabin with sawdust on the floor and a huge wood stove at one end. The guests were just finishing up breakfast and some of them gave us curious looks. Coffee came from a gigantic enamel coffee pot on the wood stove. While we were enjoying the unexpected hospitality, the cook came out and asked us if we would like some French toast. The guests were finished eating and there was plenty left over.

We helped ourselves to golden slabs of "oven-baked" French toast covered in sugared walnuts. This had even the French toast at the Kopper Kettle in Chester beat! We were on our way out to meet the bus when the driver of the Ranch's shuttle asked us if we wanted a ride. "I'm taking these ladies into town. No point in paying when I can give you a ride for free."

The ride turned out to be a sightseeing tour, and I had the distinct impression that we were one of the sights. One of our companions was a spry 96 year old lady who had traveled and hiked all over the world, including a trip to Everest base-camp at the age of 78.

The first stop on the tour was Rainbow Falls, a 312 foot cascade from the mouth of a glacial hanging valley. Next on the tour was the renowned Stehekin Valley Pastry Company. I'm not sure I've ever seen such an enticing display: piles of gigantic gooey sticky buns covered in nuts; flaky, berry laden scones; pies bursting with fruit; croissants filled with innumerable sweet and savory delicacies; cookies, cupcakes, bars, and Danishes in an astonishing array of shapes and sizes. How they managed to sell such a voluminous quantity of baked goods in such a small town is a mystery. I sampled some raspberry apple pie (perhaps the best pie of the trip) and stocked up on goodies for later.

Finally, stomachs full and minds slightly overwhelmed by the welcome and generosity we had received, we arrived in town. All this, and it was only 10 o'clock! We spent the rest of the day picking up packages from the post office, showering, eating baked goods, and basking in the sun. We spread our things out at a picnic table next to the shore of Lake Chelan. The mountains came steeply down to the lake. Snow covered peaks glittered in the distance up the Stehekin River valley. Reports of how beautiful this place is are not overstated!

We rode the bus out of town. Our good spirits were not dampened by the bus driver who was grumpy that we had not patronized him in the morning. The walk along the road, after the bus ride, was beautiful in the evening light. The kokanee salmon were running in the river, and eddies and pools were thick wriggling bodies. A bear cub stood serenely in the river catching his dinner. The trees around us glowed with the colors of fall.

The spectacular scenery, the warmth of the weather and the kindness of the people made me feel more at peace than I have in a long time. But it's a peace tinged with melancholy. I am truly sad that this journey is almost over. This way of living - the freedom of each day, the physical challenge, the surprise of the unexpected, the constant beauty of the mountains - has come to feel normal. I fear that I will have to learn all over again how to go about living a more ordinary life.

-Lexi

September 25, 2004
Back at the High Bridge camping area for a second night, we woke to clear skies and munched on enormous sticky buns from the bakery. Then we began the last section of our hike, to Manning Park. We climbed steadily, clockwise around McGregor Mountain, in the valley of Bridge Creek. We were mostly in the woods, out of hearing of the creek or high above it. It's amazing to write this about Washington, but it was hot, dry, and sunny enough for us to break out the sunhats and sunglasses. I am grateful for the change in weather. It's nice to simply enjoy being in the wilderness, without feeling overly compelled to charge right through it. It's also nice to complete our trek on a high note; those finishing in the rain a week ago weren't so lucky.

At 5:30, we reached the picnic area at Rainy Pass. We had time and energy to continue, but with no sure places to camp on the climb ahead, we opted to stop. I repaired my shorts for the 47th time; they'll get replaced at our first opportunity. We found a nice clearing to camp in. Clearly it had been used by thru-hikers before. Dave T and Crazy John came in just at dark and settled for the edge of the parking lot.

-Dave

September 26, 2004
First thing this morning, we completed the 2000 foot climb up Cutthroat Pass. Near the top of the pass, we entered a spectacular alpine bowl. Huckleberries and larches glowed red and gold in the early morning light. Nearby, steep granite towers made us yearn for more time to explore their vertical routes. Glaciated peaks sparkled on the horizon.

The patchwork of colors and rocks extended around us as we traversed on a steep dynamited trail from Cutthroat Pass to Granite Pass and finally to Methow Pass. Crazy John and Dave stopped often to take pictures. I just tried to soak it all in and remember it for later. Being in such a spectacular environment filled me with peace. I felt confident that returning to finish the trail was the right thing to do. These last days here will give me a strength that I can draw on then I return home.

At the top of Methow Pass, Dave, Dave T, Crazy John, and I all took a long break basking in the sun. From there, we started a long gentle descent down the Methow Valley. Near the end of the day, we started up again: 1200 feet up to Glacier Pass, and another 1200 to the top of the ridge.

Both Dave and I are pretty worn out, and completing such a long climb at the end of the day was hard for us. I find, after taking a break late in the afternoon, that my feet are incredibly painful. It takes 10 minutes or so for the pain to subside. In that time, either my feet warm up, or they're beaten into numbness. I'm not sure which!

At last, we came to our destination for the day: a lovely campsite in yet another sub-alpine bowl. The site is ringed with alpine fir and spruce. A red and gold meadow near by has a small stream for us to drink out of. We watched a nearly full moon rise through a pink sky over purple mountains and were content.

-Lexi

September 27, 2004
Although dawn comes late these days (6:30), since we're camped in a small basin on the eastern side of a nameless ridge, the sun comes quickly. In the cool morning light, the curly branches of the sub-alpine larch are a soft yellow, when the sun hits them, they electrify and glow. The air is cold. I expect to find frost on the bilberries and ice on the ground, but there is none. The warmth of the sun is impressive, and it only takes a few minutes of walking for us to get down to shorts and t-shirts.

All morning we traverse sparse, scrubby ridges. An area burned in August reminded us of California, where such a sight was common. Here, it is a new combination to have the acrid smell or char in cool humid air. The vivid foliage of dwarf berry plants makes the hills seem yet aflame.

Nearing Indiana Basin, we spied a large pink yurt far below, perched on an enormous slope dotted with clumps of trees. Looking past crunchy yellowed remnants of summer's grasses and flowers, all we could see was a vision of endless backcountry skiing. From the tip of an isolated peak, it would be a clear run down the open south face and through perfect glades past the yurt, deep into the valley. Steady later told us that the yurt was 30' in diameter, perched on stilts in anticipation of deep snow, unlocked, well supplied with firewood, and furnished with a woodstove, propane stove and lights, a nice kitchen, and beds for 8. It won't be long before skiing is possible here.

Yet again as the afternoon wore on we were faced with a big climb back above tree line. Rich golden light bathed the alpine meadow. Cresting Rock Pass, we switchbacked down into blue shadow, and back up towards Woody Pass. With fading light we made our last camp on a comfortable bench. It felt simply ordinary and yet poignant to cook our last meal with the last of our fuel, and to snuggle deep in our sleeping bags for the last time. After our return to civilization, I hope that we will soon return to the comfort of our trusty sleeping bags and green nylon house.

The Big Dipper hovered just above Woody Pass, framed by open ridges. The full moon rose, a beacon of peacefulness. Cool light brought texture to the nearby scree slope, low shrubs, and lonely larches. I lay in silence as if in meditation, trying to imprint this image, this moment on my brain. Every night we have contemplated the next day's destination, but tomorrow we'll eat the last of our food and finish. My thoughts are racked with noise. I look back at the moonlit larches for one more bit of peace.

-Dave

September 28, 2004
We woke from our last campsite on the trail: a sparsely wooded ledge just below Woody Pass. From our perch, we could see down along the Rock Creek Valley a thousand feet below us. A steep rock gully near our camp had a stream that gave us water, and was the source of occasional rock fall which we had heard throughout the night. We watched the sun rise over the mountains and reluctantly packed our things.

A quick climb brought us to the top of the pass from which we traversed around and up to Lakeview Ridge. From the top of the ridge, the highest point on the PCT in Washington, we had views all around. Near by, craggy Three Fools Peak rose above the adjacent valley. Above, the sky was clear and brilliant blue. To the east, the mountains slowly became hills and then desert. To the west, Mt. Baker, Mt Shuksan, and other glaciated peaks glittered in the distance. The snow attracts us, as it did 5 years ago when we climbed those peaks, at it did on Mt. Shasta, as it always does.

From the top of Lakeview Ridge, it was all down hill to Canada easy walking, slowly descending down into long valleys through fir forest and huckleberry and vine maple scrub. We said little as we walked. I tried to cling to the magic of the moment, trying to imprint the feeling of freedom, peace, and beauty on my brain so as to never forget it. But even as I walked, a heaviness began to weigh me down. Thoughts of what this fall will bring began to creep in. I tried to push the future off for just a few hours longer.

We came to an open spot and stopped for a moment. Suddenly we saw, just a few hundred yards ahead of us, a laser straight clear cut 20 feet wide and stretching to the horizon, a line slicing through the forest unbent by rocks or ridges: the border. My heart sank. So soon? I hadn't expected it to come so soon. We must have been walking fast.

A few quick switchbacks, and we were at the fabled monument 78 standing in the border swathe. Next to the monument stood the PCT terminus marked by several square wooden posts of various heights. It mirrors the terminus marker on the Mexican border where we started this journey 5 months ago. We pulled the register out of the monument. Lifting off the 30 pound top of the cast aluminum monument was actually rather difficult. At first I didn't believe Dave that it actually came off. I sat quietly reading other folks entries filled with joy, wisdom, silliness, drunkenness, or anticipation depending on the writer. Dave and I had our own celebration of vintage Port (which we had mailed in a flask to Stehekin) and chocolate pudding. We sat for a couple of hours, Dave drawing, and I contemplating. At last, the afternoon started to become chilly, the shadows lengthened, and we could put off the inevitable no longer.

We walked the easy 7 miles to the trailhead in Manning Park and got a ride to the lodge from Dave's parents who were waiting there for us. We ate dinner (always a thru-hikers first priority!) and then stayed up late drinking lousy beer with Crazy John, Steady, and Spirit. Steady told us of his adventure crossing the Napeequa and attempting High Pass. It made me sad that we hadn't been able to do that, but each of us has had a different journey with different adventures.

I am sorry that we haven't spent more time with Spirit and Steady and gotten to know them better. Those two seem to have such wisdom and joy. After our week off, we had assumed that we wouldn't know anyone that might chance to end with. Seeing folks that we care about, as though perhaps they had been waiting for us, was an incredible gift. Every now and then, Crazy John left for a smoke outside. He has promised he will quit smoking after he leaves Manning Park. I've threatened to send him harassing emails to keep him honest. The 5 of us shared stories, swapped hopes and fears for the future, and let the conversation wander. It seemed like the perfect way to end.

And so this journey ends, and yet I fear that the hardest part has only just begun. There are countless things on this trip that have contributed to my deep sense of peace: the intense beauty of the mountains; the physical feeling of pleasure that comes from pushing my body; the quiet; the time and space to let my thoughts and my brain empty; the strength and resourcefulness that allows me to overcome obstacles while I am hiking; the freedom to go where and when I want; the sense of purpose of having a difficult but achievable goal; the love of my husband; the support of my friends. I know that I cannot always be walking. There are many situations I will encounter that I cannot control or predict, but many of the pieces of the list above, I can seek out in any time and place. I think that is what I need to remember most in the coming months. This has been one journey, one adventure, but it will not be the last. I have so many other dreams and plans that I know I can keep my mind and soul busy.

-Lexi