Reunion Hills

Guess who has 1,200 PCT miles and an entire state to his name? Yesterday, powered by an abundance of blackberries, I cruised through the last few miles of Washington on the PCT, crossed the Columbia River over Bridge of the Gods, and entered Cascade Locks, Oregon. Another section of the PCT done.

This is a milestone to be sure and I’m proud to have completed what is arguably one of the hardest sections of the trail. At the same time, it didn’t quite have the same resonance as walking into Kennedy Meadows in June before I flipped to Hart’s Pass, and this is interesting to me. My hiking is the strongest it’s ever been. My body is probably the most free of pain it has been since the end of the first week. I can now expect the progress from myself. I don’t know that ability diminishes achievement, but it certainly seems to change its interpretation.

In any case, I get the sense that whatever I needed to prove, I proved in the desert. Now I’m out here because being out here feels right. There’s a distinct lack of pressure. Impelled, not compelled.

A little over two weeks ago, milkshake in hand, I hitched out of Leavenworth and climbed back into the wilderness. Stunning lakes. A lot more forest. The section had a feel. Some sections of the trail are so stunning as to underline the moment. Here, it was immersive. I leapfrogged with Wonka, Dutchess, Sunny Wash and Double Dip. I met Fireball for the second time when she pitched her tent after I was in my quilt and talked tent to tent for a couple of hours. There’s a certain openness in conversations on the trail. Revelations and honesty. This was heightened in this set up.

Along the way I met a lot more hikers than usual–folks out for a few days or a few weeks or for the entire state. (There’s no official definition, I don’t think, but hikers out for at least a few hundred miles are known as LASHERs: long ass section hikers). Washingtonians get out there!

I also ran into a day hiker in some level of distress. He was unprepared, lost, out of water, food and power. I gave him some water, some power, some purification tablets and directions and sent him on his way. He had 5 miles on one to his trailhead, plenty of day hikers around and plenty of daylight. Apparently, I had underestimated his sense of distress. I later learned that he ran into Fireball and at this point needed more water and food and more help to get back to his trailhead.

This got me thinking. When someone is unprepared in the outdoors and needs to rely on others’ resources their margins for safety can get narrower. There’s a lot of talk online about the 10 essentials–effectively the basics of what one needs to be safe outdoors–but this was the first time that I really thought of this as not just a matter of personal safety, but as an obligation to others. Now, I wouldn’t have given more than I could have, but I also would have hiked this guy back to his trailhead if I thought it had been necessary, even if it would have meant needing to get off trail to resupply. Thankfully, it wasn’t that kind of situation and Fireball did get him in touch with some friends. A trail runner heading to the same trailhead did decline to take him there, an unusual lack of the general outdoor ethic I’ve experienced. Even though I’m sure this ended well, I don’t like not knowing for sure. This is interesting. I hadn’t realized it was on my mind.

In the moment, I simply went on, relieved that even though the elevation gain and loss was the same as the Glacier Peak Wilderness between Stehekin and Steven’s Pass, the trail conditions were much better. The section ended spectacularly. Rounding a descent there was suddenly the first good views of Mount Rainier. A mountain goat was thoughtful enough to graze just under the mountain. It was stunning. In a cruel twist, these views overlapped with miles of hiking over rocky trail, requiring everyone to look at their feet rather than these views. In one moment, I had to look up. I heard the roar of a fighter jet, the first I had heard since Walker Pass which was near one of the Naval air bases that is or is the basis for the Top Gun franchise. I looked up. No plane. But it was so loud! I looked up more. No plane. I looked ahead. Holy shit! The jet seemed to be a thousand feet away at the most, screaming vertically out of the valley. Get me some lasik and a time machine. I want that job.

Rueing my career choices, I traipsed along, eventually arriving at Snoqualmie Pass where the Washington Alpine Club (WAC) opens up one of its cabins as a summer hostel for PCT hikers. Meals. Beds. Showers. Laundry. All hosted by volunteers. Everybody was there. Lucy, Naked Dave, Fireball, Feral (a sexagenarian Triple Crowner), Valentine, Anton, Pockets, Fletch and more. Pockets and I put it together that she had babysat friends from grad school (Hi, Georgia! Hi, PJ!) It was good vibes only. And to gild the lily I was set to head into town the next day to resupply and spend the night with my friend Ross and his family. Even though WAC was anything but, times on trail still felt hard overall during this stretch. To eat dinner with a family, a friend’s family, and to stay in a home really helped keep me going until my mindset evolved. Ross really seems to be thriving and it was great to share in that energy and home.

Back on trail after my time in Snoqualmie, I was feeling good in mind and body. I was in new shoes once again thanks to a consult at Capra Running in Squamish in late June. Even though Zappos had sent the wrong width, the ankle pain that had been plaguing me since the flip got a little better every day. Ahead was a reunion with the Ride Bride Five, a trail family I’d met at the Lion’s Den and 30 miles of super buttery trail.

The next two days overlapped with a 30 mile stretch of trail being used for the Cascade Crest 100, a one hundred mile trail race for which the trail had been completely cleared of blowdowns and groomed better than the Westminster Kennel Club. May the road rise up to meet you. Every six miles there was an aid station that welcomed hikers. There were PayDays. There were pickles. There was soda. There were port-a-potties. Port-a-potties in the wild. I left no amenity unenjoyed. Was overlapping with the runners inconvenient? Sure. But it was also inspiring. The attrition rate for the race was something like 80%. They all felt like winners to me. They told us we were nuts. We told them they were nuts. We all agreed we were nuts.

It was sad to go back to regular trail, but thankfully this stretch was really just a preview of what was ahead. More and more forest meant more pine duff covered trail. This was also the beginning of what I’ve been calling the Reunion Hills, a stretch where I’ve been running into friends and acquaintances from then desert.

Just before my first real burn section, I unexpectedly ran into Lloyd and Tanya, two Canadians I’d met on San Jacinto as we politely raced each other to the last remaining tent sites between a stretch of blow downs. Lloyd and Tanya have the better part of two decades and about a mile per hour on me. I had thought they were back in Canada! It was a great surprise and just the beginning! Over the next stretch, I would run into Couscous, Moses, Roy, Pickles, Walrus, and Rat Strap (erroneously Rat Tail in Highs and Lows on a Sky Island).

When Rat Strap and I parted ways after crossing the Whitewater River I thought I’d never see him again since he was crushing big miles every day. He wasn’t so sure and he was right. I even got stopped by a few people who remembered me from random trailside conversations. I ran into Snackzilla snacking trailside and I was doing laundry at the White Pass Kracker Barrel when Sam barged in tired, hungry and windswept after night hiking to resupply after running out of food. I even ran into Martin who, upon hearing that I broke a trekking pole on San Jacinto, tried to give me one of his. We had met twice.

Disco Daddy who I shared a room with in Idyllwild got a big hug as he neared the end of his climb out of Cascade Locks. And right before the Goat Rocks Wilderness, another spontaneous reunion with Rumor, Gourmet and Low Bat who I hiked with from Julian and also stayed with in Idyllwild. We had kept in touch and knew it was coming but it was still such a surprise. The heart was very full over these days.

There was still one reunion I was hoping for more than any other. Kylker and Trevor and I had been keeping in touch, hoping for a zero together in Trout Lake and then, instead, an on trail zero at Goat Lake. With the vagaries of the trail, it was looking like it might not happen by a hair. I blamed the several extra hours it took me to get back on trail after Ross dropped me off at Snoqualmie Pass and it was heartbreaking.

I still don’t know if it was circumstance or serendipity, but the bond from those first few days was incredibly strong and incredibly natural. As Trevor said, “On day three we started hiking together and didn’t stop talking for a week.” Even months later, having not hiked together since the very beginning of the trail, it felt as strong as ever. I left White Pass thinking that it just wasn’t going to happen. And then, right as I was about to get back on trail my phone buzzed. I had forgotten to put it in airplane mode. A text came through that I didn’t get when connected to WiFi. Kyler, Trevor, Amelia and a few others were going to leave Goat Lake early. The plan was to stop and camp together when we crossed paths that day. I was elated.

I started climbing out of White Pass. I descended. I passed water sources and camp sites. No Trevor. No Kyler. I started climbing again. More campsites went by. The possible sites to meet up kept going by. Three left. Two. And there, at the very last campsite before a massive climb that would have to wait there was a huddle. At 6’ 7”, Trevor is hard to miss. I was home.

We pitched out tents and had dinner together. It felt like old times. Unsurprisingly, the folks who had joined up with my friends were people I would have loved to have been hiking with. Maybe that original connection was neither serendipity nor circumstance. The positive mindset that had been building was buttressed. I would hike on the energy of this one night for a while and other good nights would come from it.

These guys mean a lot to me. Kyler is half my age but seems to have wisdom from lived experience that helps him navigate through the world in a deeply considered way. Trevor is a touch older and has an enthusiasm for nearly everything. He seems to be the improviser’s ethos of “Yes, and…” personified. They’re both deeply considerate of those around them. I’m excited that these friendships feel like beginnings.

I slept in the next morning and walked backward with the crew for water before ascending into the Goat Rocks Wilderness, traversing the famous Knife’s Edge and taking the old PCT alternate on Old Snowy Mountain with stunning views of Mount Adams, Mount Rainier and Mount Saint Helens, a childhood favorite. My progress was slow but this was stunning country. People often rate Goat Rocks as one of, if not, the best or favorite section of the trail. It is odd, in a way, to rank nature. How can one possibly evaluate? Who knows? But I do it, too. The Glacier Peak Wilderness felt akin to a religious experience at moments. One of the best days of my life.

The day after Goat Rocks I camped in a meadow full of wildflowers, drank from an obscenely picturesque waterfall and, from my tent, watched the red light of sunset bathe the glaciers of Mt. Adams. A day later I walked to the road that leads into Trout Lake where the local pastor’s wife drove a few hikers into town. The wife of the local pastor who, when she needed to care for her parents and had to revise her schedule, started going to synagogue. The synagogue-going wife of the local pastor who learned how to play Mahjong from her new friends. The Mahjong-playing synagogue-going wife of the local pastor who, upon moving to Trout Lake, Washington started teaching her new friends how to play Mahjong so she could keep playing. And they say you should stop at Trout Lake for the Huckleberry Milkshake.

I left town just ahead of Big Daddy, Maverick and Jai of and associates of the Ride Bride 5. We kept pace for a few days as we sprinted over easy country toward Cascade Locks. (Some of us may have traipsed rather than sprinted). We took a long break at Blue Lake, which was stunning. Somehow, I still managed my biggest day, just a half-mile short of a marathon. And then, after two more days of long miles with the head down there was the Bridge of the Gods. As I crossed it, an Osprey landed on its nest, talons clutching a prize.

Describing it here, the saturation of these last days feels overwhelmingly rich. It’s almost enough to make me want to turn around and walk back to Canada.

Lightning in the Air

Seekin’ Stehekin, The Hard Hundred and Other Tales from the Evergreen State