Just going for a walk

Day three of the storm. I thought it was hard getting going yesterday. It was harder today. Granted the storm seems to be abating: it wasn't as bad today as it was yesterday, and it wasn't as bad yesterday as it was day one. But so has been my ability to cope. And by today, I was in pretty poor shape. And I knew I had to move: I only have so much food, and Stehekin is so far away. So taking a zero isn't an option: I need to move. And the move isn't that far, I just need to get to the Suiattle River, just 16 miles away. Granted it's over what's allegedly one of the biggest climbs of the trail--one Guthooks comment called it "hardest type 2 fun on the PCT"--but that didn't matter. I didn't care if it was easy trail or hard trail, I just cared that it would be wet and rainy. Again. Forecast called for rain--40%-50% chances--all day. And I just didn't want to hike in the rain anymore. More than anything, the thought that the storm was supposed

Day two of the storm. And I slept until I couldn't sleep anymore, and then I got up. And I will say this: there is something to be said for a good night's sleep, or at least a complete night's sleep. There's a story I tell involving Mike Wiemer about this very topic; I'll put it in the notes below. But this morning was my lone taste of what (I imagine) is the freedom that Ismael and Martin speak about: I woke up and didn't have a mad rush to make miles, didn't even have a decision as to whether to hike, just woke and then set about thinking about what to do. Because heading out today, in day two of the storm, was a tough thing to do. I still remembered yesterday, and as soon as I put on the thought of heading out, I was immediately exhausted: not only was yesterday physically exhausting, but it was mentally as well. Just to have to impose all those suppressions again, all the mental energy to keep back the fear and its subsequent paralysis, to keep moving. T

Day one of the storm. I woke late--makes sense, I didn't get much sleep the night before--but I woke to a dry tent. (Well, mostly dry: some drops on the rain fly but those were cleared up with the Shamwow.) Packed up and got going around 8am. Stopped a bunch in the beginning because I had camped in a copse of trees, but out on the trail, without canopy, the rain was starting. So I started putting on rain gear, eventually ending up in full regalia: rain pants, rain jacket, pack cover, umbrella, Ziploc bags on feet (waterproof socks), tightened laces (so Ziploc'd feet don't slip), the whole deal. And that worked for most of the morning, when the rain remained a light rain. I still took time to stay out of puddles and keep my feet dry nonetheless, though.  Yeah, that didn't last. I will say that this section is probably really beautiful. Even in the rain, when the trail would open up into these large Washington meadow-slopes, I would look out over the valleys and vales bel

You'd think that by now I might be use to early mornings: I should wake with the sun, after all. But today I had to get up at 5am, because my ride out of town to the trailhead was at 6am. I guess that folks will try to hitch out of town, but for me, there's a lady--Susan Hermann--who offers rides from town to the trailhead, albeit at a cost of $75. But as I would tell Echo and Cowboy later that day on the trail, that's what money gets you: it gets you *certainty*. Unlike a hitch, I *know* that I'll get a ride, and from where, and when, and that's worth $75 to me. I wish it weren't so early in the morning, but beggars can't be choosers. (It turns out it's so early because Ms. Hermann is taking a bunch of classes, her first class today starts at 8:30am, and it's an hour drive from Leavenworth to the trailhead. The other option she gave me was 1pm, but I wanted to get a full day of hiking in.) Ms. Hermann, by the way, is a pretty interesting character h

Woke to the wind howling outside, a great big noise, something large and strong and violent going by, but in my tent only the flutter of the rain fly as it passed. That's the benefit of tenting among trees! Of course, the disadvantage is that big fat drops are continuously dropping on the tent, so the fly's going to be wet. And the ground sheet was already wet, so now the inner tent's going to be wet too as soon as I roll it up. So *all* of it's going to be wet. Well, at least I'm going into town today! And I did: just a short hike--a bit over 4 miles--to Stevens Pass. Half in the rain, half in the rain starting to clear but the fog and mist still persisting. Then to the Stevens Pass parking lot E, and I stood by the side of the highway with my thumb out for about 20 minutes. Finally, I saw another hiker get dropped off on the other side of the road--probably getting back on trail from Leavenworth--and as I turned back to say hi to him, I noticed that an SUV was bac

So if the pattern holds, today it should be raining. And I woke, and there was sunlight illuminating my tent. And I went outside and not a cloud in the sky. Just the towering spires of Cathedral Rock up above, and I realized in the light that it was an apt name: they do tower right above you, and they have a certain bulk and blockiness to them, yet still a certain soaring elegance, and that resembles cathedrals. I just don't know if, when you look down from below, they make the shape of a cross! But I got to hiking--downhill to start with since I had finished the climb yesterday--and the day was warm in the sun, cold in the shade, which has been the trend the last few sunny mornings. And the trail curved around Cathedral Rock, offering views from both the east and then the north, but wistfully turning away and heading on its way along a shelf-trail going north. And after a bit it came to a Cascading Stream (so called on Guthooks), which felt to me like it had the strength of a rive

Yesterday night, in anticipation of rain, I had chosen a campsite under the trees, had placed my tent on a slope to prevent waking up in a lake, and had tightened down my guidelines to keep my rain fly taut. And this morning, I woke up, got out of my tent, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. (Well, except for some desparate wispy clingers on the mountains across the valley, but they were gone in less than a hour.) In fact, the rain of yesterday was so completely forgotten that even the leaves of the bushes were dry, with not a drop of moisture remaining on the ground-low plants. So: rain the day going into Snoqualamie, clear skies the day of Snoqualamie, rain the day after coming out of Snoqualamie, clear skies again today. Hmm, I'm guessing it's going to rain tomorrow. Started the day finishing the climb from yesterday--about a mile more to go--and I was slow. Real slow. Granted it usually takes me some time to warm up, maybe 20 minutes or so. But even after getting warm

Today I woke up pretty late--around 7am--because I had tucked my head under my sleeping bag in the night and missed the lightening of the dawn. And I poked my head out and heard: rain. And I looked up and, yep, rain droplets on my tent fly. It was raining. And it came in waves, first the little tappings, then an actual rain, with distinct drops, and even little trails of water starting to meander down my tent fly, then back to the little tappings. Well, that's not encouraging. Everything's going to get all wet! And I didn't want to get out, and even after I decided to get started packing up and got moving a bit, I got discouraged again and crawled back into my sleeping bag. And I remember Spielberg commenting on this on the AT, how much he hated tearing down in the rain, and he would debate whether to get it over with or wait it out, and he would decide to wait it out, and then it would be 10am and still raining and, curses (he used a stronger expletive than that), but he&#