Ups and Roars

The climb up to the ridge of Old Snowy Mountain progressed as if I was stuck on a stair master machine without a stop button. At the same time, wildflowers decorated the landscape around me as if I was walking through a slanted botanical garden. I traversed another snowfield on this July day, thinking of all the ridiculous promises I'd have to follow up on if people held me to it. Finally reaching the junction for the summit, I left my pack behind a rock and split off from the PCT to bag my first peak in quite some time. Every step on the loose shale rock sounded like I was surveying the aftermath of a China Shop accident. Eventually I had to use my hands to lift myself along the knife edge, with Mt. Rainier behind me tracking my every move. As I reached the summit and overtaken by 360 degree views, I let out a victory roar to show the Goat Rocks Wilderness who was boss. The rest of the day was equally spectacular and mine to enjoy, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Northern Washington heard me roar and vowed not to go down as easily.

Coming down into White Pass, I hurried to the Kracker Barrel Convenience Store that didn't at all resemble the quaint and friendly country stores and restaurants quintessential to an American road trip. Because of their limited resupply options, I picked up a food box I had mailed to myself and sat down like I had never seen a chair before to sort it out. Seeing me in my raggedy state, a section hiker invited me to take a shower and hang out in the motel room he had rented across the street. A young guy from Vancouver, BC, he reveled in the idea of pretty much hiking home and wondered what New Hampshire was like. I told him about our tiny little hills and whoopie pies, which made me want to go back to the convenience store for some snacks. I didn't realize quite how tired and delerious I was after that day until I struggled to remember which room he was in. Eventually though, my memory came back and I hung out some more until setting up camp in a secluded spot and passed out. For some reason the next day, I felt really good and ended up doing 31 miles, my biggest day yet. It felt even bigger when a section hiker came up and asked to interview me on my thru hike, which I tried to look remotely professional for in front of his camera. In spite of my longest day yet, I had trouble falling asleep to the sound of families with screaming children camping near me. I guess you never know what you'll get on this trail.

Going over a pass the next morning, I saw clouds billowing over a nearby ridgeline like a waterfall while hearing a pack of coyotes howling down in the valley. It was pretty much a sign that today would be a good day. I called my folks and enjoyed an easy ridge walk to a shelter, built in honor of a trail maintainer whose ghost watches over it according to a poem above the door. Being sure to leave it cleaner than I found it, I explored around and found a cooler stocked with beers and fresh veggies specifically for hikers. I gladly used a jalapeño in my mashed potatoes and shared stories with some southbounders. The next day however, I felt zapped of energy and struggled to make it even 18 miles, my smallest day in a while. Adding insult to injury, I seemed to pass several southbounders moseying downhill while I slogged uphill throughout the day. I felt better the next day and made it to Snoqualmie Pass, where I resupplied and got lunch from a food truck that's popular with hikers. Though it was delicious, it wasn't too popular with this hikers stomach as I climbed 3000 feet out of the pass.

The next couple days were especially scenic with jagged peaks, glacially carved valleys, and pristine alpine lakes. However, the trail made me work real hard for it, sending me up 3000 foot climbs and dropping me back down just to do it all over again. The trail occasionally took us across unstable rock slides which could hold a hiker, but I couldn't imagine how a horse would get across. It seems like whoever designed this section of trail has a personal vendetta against horses. I got to a raging creek three days in which I was able to jump across from a hanging rock, but a southbounder had to ford it downstream, getting wet up to his mid thighs. Besides not having to start my trip in brutal Washington, there are moments that I appreciate being a northbounder. Another reason is being able to hike only eight miles into Canada to finish rather than having to start by hiking thirty one miles from the last road in the US to the northern terminus. Of course, I could only do it if my application to enter Canada were to be approved, and with my entry date coming up soon, I started to worry if it would be denied. The last thing I wanted to do would be reaching the terminus and having to backtrack thirty one miles.

As I got closer to Stevens Pass, the gum around one of my wisdom teeth started to become swollen, making it hard to eat. A section hiker I had met carried hydrogen peroxide and let me gargle a little bit, but even that didn't do the trick. As I got to the pass, I accepted that I would need to visit a walk-in clinic and get an antibiotic prescription. Not the way I envisioned spending a rest day. After a hitch to town and waiting for the doctor though, I was surprised when a nurse came in with a plate full of snacks that the clinic workers all pitched in for. I was very grateful for it, and I picked up my antibiotics and hitched to a trail angel's house owned by the Dinsmores. I spent the rest of the day watching movies and even caught the official season premier of my favorite show Rick and Morty, which was a special treat. The next day getting back on trail, I was greeted with even more uphills, but Washington decided to throw heat, humidity, and copious amounts of bugs into the mix. Some days were so bad that I couldn't stop for more than a couple of seconds without the bugs starting to gnaw at me. Eating and drinking through my headnet while hiking became the name of the game, and as much as I wanted to savor the rest of Washington, the bugs would end up rushing me to get done.

Going through the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the heat and humidity made uphills twice as laborious. For the first time this trip, I ran out of water halfway up a mountain, and I worried if I would have to go back down just to get more. Thankfully, a section hiker spared a couple of sips, and I made it up to the first snow pile where I sucked out water like my life depended on it. The next day brought me deep into a valley and far out of the way so we could cross a river on a new bridge. As frustrating as the detour looked on my map, I was thankful for the bridge when I saw just how raging the river was. The rest of the day slapped me with severly overgrown trail (apparently called horse heaven, but i called it hiker hell) and rocky terrain, bringing a near end to literally the most difficult section of the PCT that I've experienced thus far.

I woke up early the next day to hike a couple miles where I picked up a shuttle to get into the charming town of Stehekin. The town is only accessible to the outside world via ferry or float plane and is know for its amazing views across Lake Chelan. Because of recent forest fires in British Columbia however, it was hard to see even a hundred feet away. If it were any smokier, it surely would've been hard to breathe. In town, I showered and washed my clothes (yes, at the same time, don't judge), printed out my approved permit to enter Canada, and gorged on an all-you-can-eat barbecue dinner.

Getting back on trail the next day, I saw the first bear of my trip just minding his business crossing the trail in front of me. Nevertheless, I spent the next couple of minutes talking loudly just to be safe. I munched on huckleberries and found an incredible campsite in a glacial bowl. As I was cooking my dinner, I was startled by a roaring sound and saw a couple of rocks fall not too far from me. It only ended up happening once, but I took it as Washinhton telling who was boss. I gained a whole new respect for the state and wondered what the rest of the trail would be like in comparison. I can honestly say that in all my years of hiking, I'd never been mentally challenged as much as I had in the past week, and I hoped that I would be able to keep my sanity for the rest of the trail. I realized that out of all hardships, bugs were what had gotten to me the most, and I was more than ready to bid good ridden to them and Washington. And that was right when I got to the Canadian border.