Day 136: Mile 2139.6 - 2147.6

And today I arrived at Cascade Locks! For those who don't know, Cascade Locks is a town at the border of Oregon and Washington. Tomorrow I'll cross over the Bridge of the Gods--which crosses the Columbia River--and enter into Washington, the third (and final) state of the trail.

And I admit, it is with some trepidation that I enter Washington. Look at the elevation gain in Washington and it's greater than that of the Sierras (so I'm told). Look at the average slope in Washington and it's greater than that of the Sierras (so I'm told). And look at the weather of Washington--well, from what I heard in Oregon, fall is coming early this year, which means winter can't be far behind--and it's going to be more cold and more wet. Tougher hiking, tougher weather. The only solution to that is longer miles, but I did the best I could in Oregon and still topped out around 22-23 miles a day--from what I understand, Washington isn't going to be better! (And indeed, I adjusted my estimates down to 18 miles/day in Washington.)

So now the Race--which has always been in the back of my mind, ever since Splinter's Cabin way back in the desert it seems--is on. Get to Canada before the snows hit. And honestly the Race has been one of my biggest pitfalls on the trail: I have always felt that I'm behind, always felt that I need to go go go to make it in time. And the end in sight has only made that anxiety stronger. Now I feel I'm much farther behind, and I feel that the hikers around me are so much stronger than me so I'm being left behind too--it's all emotional and nothing rational, but for me it's still a tough mentality to cope with. I had texted with Dylan a few nights ago when I managed to get a little signal at camp, and he had asked "are you still excited to hike everyday or just looking forward to being done?" And my honest answer was the latter. And I think this pressure of finishing in time just adds to that: it's hard to get excited when the weight of the Race is just pressing down on my mental shoulders. I was talking with Double Snacks and Spielberg today, and they have a different feeling: they still get excited. For example, for Double Snacks even if just one thing, one moment, is amazing, her day is good, and that one thing happens nearly every day. And for Spielberg, he's amazed every day because he doesn't know what's going to happen, who he's going to meet; all he knows is he's going that way. And those two perspectives are true, and I should probably incorporate them into my own practices. Because the mind sitting in the Race all the time, every day, I think will just grind me down.

Oh, I should mention: this also marks the end of my time hiking with Double Snacks. She's going to skip ahead to White Pass, meet up with Brett and another friend, and hike with them up to Snoqualmie Pass. She's hiked the section from here to White Pass before, so she's already seen it, and this is a chance to hike with her fiancee and friend, so it makes sense to grasp that opportunity. White Pass is about 150 miles north of here--about a week--so it'll be  very hard to catch up, and there's a good chance I won't see her again. And Spielberg is taking an extra zero here in Cascade Locks--to work on his videos, and to sort out a package snafu--and he's faster than me so he'll eventually pass me, but we all hiked together since Timberline Lodge, and that time is coming to a close. It's bittersweet: it's sad to leave folks you've been hiking with--I basically hiked all of northern California and Oregon with Double Snacks--but I've always said the trail will sometimes give you time with people, and sometimes time by yourself, and you can't begrudge either but just have to roll with it.

But that explains why, after having dinner together at the Thunder Island Brewery, we ended up on a bench on the side of the road, eating melted Klondike Bars, and just talking. And sitting there, under dim streetlamps but still able to see the dipper up in the sky ahead and just a bit up, for the first time I felt a bit of the sadness of the trail ending, and for a moment the Race wasn't pressing. And we talked perhaps a bit more philosophically than usual, and Spielberg had a couple of ways of looking at thru-hikes that were enlightening. In one metaphor, he said that there are three parts of a thru-hike: the body, the mind, and the spirit. The body is getting the body in shape, the mind is the mental side of it, and now we were entering the spiritual side. And in another metaphor, he said you can see thru-hiking like life: the desert is childhood, where memories are happy and you're making new friends and things are playful. The Sierras are like college--nuff said. NorCal and Oregon are like working--everything just seems to go by in a blur and before you know, it's over and you didn't even feel like you did much. I mean, where did those 40 years *go*? And now we're at Washington, and this is like entering retirement. And when we finish, when we reach the Northern Terminus, that will be death, because we won't be thru-hikers anymore, we'll be returning to the other life. Both are good metaphors, both are informative and, my gut says, lead to further realization. Something to chew on as I hike, I guess!

So yeah, today was a good day--reached Cascade Locks, ate some town food, finished the usual chores (laundry and shower and charge and wash and resupply and pick-up boxes), and spent some time with Double Snacks and Spielberg just hanging out and talking. And maybe realizing that I shouldn't be so obsessed over finishing, so weighed down by that pressure, that there are other things Out There that are happening and worth paying attention to, and one of those is that endings are sad and this ending is beginning.

(I feel there is a lot more to say about today, but I can't come up with the words for it. Maybe I'll refer back to today and some of the conversations in later posts, but right now, I don't think I *can* process it all completely--there's no perspective yet, and so hardly any words to hang from it. Will mull it over the next couple days, and see if anything emerges.)

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Some notes:

-- Campsite > Teakettle Spring > Cascade Locks > Marine Park Campground

-- Oh, I did hike today. Short, just the 8 miles down from campsite to Cascade Locks, but there were some notables. The trail was steeper than much of Oregon--a preview of what's to come in Washington, I believe. There were these cute orange and black catepillars out and about--so fuzzy!, they really put the mao mao in mao mao chong (ask your Chinese friends)--and they seemed to freeze whenever I stepped by them and wouldn't move for a while. For a section of the trail--maybe about 2 miles and change--there was a lot of poison oak, often on both sides. The poison oak is going red now, so it's easier to identify, but when about 1/3 of the trail has it, it's still hard to avoid. Oh, and there was a campsite, slightly further down the trail, that I was considering last night--it wasn't an official campsite, but was mentioned in a Guthook comment. Well today I passed it and, let me tell you, primo campsite--much better than what I camped in last night. No widowmaker, for one! But yeah, the hike today was short and mostly just about getting into town. I started late because I was up late--writing as usual--and I moved fast because it was downhill and there are always so many chores to do in town, so it was mostly a blur. Some nice views of the Columbia River from above, lots of day-hikers with their dogs as I got nearer to the end, but nothing much noteworthy beyond details.

-- There are plenty of hikers in town! When I got in, walking down the main drag, someone called my name, I turned, and who was there across the street but Cookie Pie! And she crossed and said hi; she's heading out today. Walk a bit more and who's crossing the street but Wetfoot, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend Cameron. And she said hi; she's heading out today. And in the evening, near the ice cream place, there was a gaggle of hikers--over a dozen I think--and who was among them but Jailbreak and Emily. And I patted Jailbreak on the shoulder and said hi as I passed on my way to dinner, and I'll have to see if they're around tomorrow. But lots of hikers in town!

-- So Spielberg and I went to the Ale House to pick up our packages. And the Ale House was understaffed today--just one guy handling both the front of the house and the waitering. Anyway, we give him our IDs and he goes in the back to find our boxes and comes up empty. That's 3 boxes for me, 2 boxes for Spielberg--he's got nothing. Then he calls over the busboy, and they go check again, and now he comes back with 3 boxes for me, but just 1 for Spielberg. And that 1 for him had his new shoes. So that complicates things: tomorrow he'll check to see if maybe the box is still at the post office (unlikely--it supposedly got delivered a couple weeks ago), then is considering possibly going into Portland and an REI just to buy new shoes. A pain in the neck, to be sure. But I think another thing to add to Gavin's List of Things-That-Will-Happen: one (or even more) of your packages will get lost. (The others in Gavin's List: your CNOC will get a hole; you will break a trekking pole; you will get a blister.)

-- So many stories told, at dinner and on the bench, with Double Snacks and Spielberg. Here's one: I learned that yesterday, when we had gone our separate ways, Double Snacks had arrived at Indian Mountain and actually taken a break there for a while, eating a snack and taking in the view. Because it was here, back in 2017, that she experienced the solar eclipse, which had been pretty awesome, and she was reminiscing about that. And waiting to see if I would come along, but I didn't (at least not in time), because I talked with Nico for so long. But Spielberg did come along, and evidently passed by quietly, because he saw Double Snacks enjoying the moment with such quiet bliss that he didn't want to disturb her.

-- Another story, that I told, was the Otter story from Mammoth Lakes. I don't think I've told it here in the blog (no cell service so I can't check), but:

In Mammoth Lakes, Dylan and Uno and Otter and I all shared a hotel room. And on the morning of the zero day, we had been looking ahead and planning where to go to eat or buy gear or something like this, and we didn't know if the store would be open yet. And I said, well, there is a way to find out: we could call. And--silence. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Until finally Otter said, we're all introverts here, right? Tacit agreement around the room. Phone calls are scary, he asserted. Yeah, I said, and phone calls to strangers...and then I trailed off. And there was more, tacit, agreement. And *that's* introversion for you: do you have any idea how hard it is for me to pick up a phone and call somebody I *know*, let alone a *stranger*?

And I told this story to Double Snacks and Spielberg and Spielberg said, oh my goodness, that's so true! It *is* scary to call people! And for years, when I worked for non-profits, that was my *job*! And Double Snacks agreed too. So it seems my makeup is not unique--there are lots of folks who find making phone calls a tough thing to do--and evidently a lot of them are on the trail!

-- Sitting on that bench, we discussed a lot of things. One other thing was whether to add our names to the 2600-mile List on the PCTA website. And in the end, we concluded that we should, even though we skipped so many miles. And my reason was because it's like a yearbook: you put your picture in there so other people can remember that you were there and can look you up afterward if they're so inclined. And Spielberg's reason was more organizational: you put your name in so the PCTA knows that people are still out here hiking, and hiking the whole thing, especially after the fallow year of 2020. And he also mentioned that in some of the PCTA's literature, it seems like they're migrating to suggesting folks section hike the trail rather than thru-hike it. And you can see the progression over time: from full thru-hiking, to continous footpath, to now possibly section hiking--all reactions to the practical reality of fire closing large parts of the trail every year. It's sad, but it's also the reality.

-- Oh, and a quick context thing: it turns out Spielberg's father is a minister, as is one of his brothers, so that explains why his invoking of a spiritual aspect of the trail not only makes sense, but feels pretty natural when he says it!

-- Before we headed to the bench, we did drop by the convenience store one last time before it closed. And who should we see there but Sheldon! And I told him, by the way Sheldon, your mother's banana bread is really good! He had just gotten into town and gotten a hotel room, and was considering taking a zero and then heading out after that. He was also carrying a, what, 12 pack of beer? Don't worry, he said, in that deadpan way of his, I'm not going to drink it all tonight. (And likely he was going to share it.) But it was nice to see him and talk to him some, standing outside the convenience store, under the streetlamp, as one does. He's doing well, his family is doing well, and I think--and this is just my opinion--but I think he's going to make it to Canada. Just after a bit of liquid relaxation!

-- Here are the things I'm mailing back:

* My Topos (i.e., shoes). I got a new pair--the old one has 500+ miles on it so is pretty much done--but I'm choosing the mail back the old ones so I can use them around town. These trail runners are fine for jaunts to the grocery store, or (if I had one) working in the garden, they're just not good for 20+ mile hikes anymore. So I tend to send them home for that use. (Will have to buy a de-odorizer for them when I get back though!)

* Old leukotape spool. I was running low, so had Ian send my bigger replacement spool. I'll send this now smaller spool home, use it for day hikes.

* Sunshirt. This is the Airism long sleeve I wore through the desert, Sierras, NorCal, and Oregon. Weather's getting colder, though, so I upgraded to a Heattech long-sleeve; sending this one home, sun-bleached discolorations and all.

* Osprey pack cover. Bought it in Bend, but turns out it's too small for my ULA backpack + tent on top. Ian sent a ULA pack cover--will see if that's better.

* Sunglasses. I only ever use sunglasses in town--the concrete and building can become too bright. But out on the trail?--never been a problem.

* Black sharpie. Ostensibly for signs and writing on shipping boxes, but never used it except to use it.

* Krazy glue. For the med-kit, to seal wounds. Use band-aids and leukotape instead.

* Chapstick. Bought this back in, gosh, Mount Laguna? Haven't used it since the desert. Incidentally, I also dropped my sunscreen back in Bend: hadn't used that since the desert either.

* Smooth move tea. Reduce from 4 to 2--if anything, I tend to have the opposite problem on trail: digging too *many* catholes!

* Backup Sawyer o-ring. My gasket from Ace hardware should never fall out--it's jammed in there pretty well. So let's go all in on that bet.

* Sawyer drinking nozzle. This is a nozzle I used to drink directly from my Sawyer. Started out with it in the desert, but since getting the blue-ring attachment way way back in the day, haven't used it since.

* Max Deet. Used it in the Sierras, then never again. From here, I'll just wear my rain gear with the hood up to keep the mosquitos at bay: I'd probably do that anything just to stay warm!

* Aveeno moisturizer. I had a problem in the smoke regions where the skin on my legs would get really dry and itchy, and if I'd scratch I'd get these little spots where the skin would bleed. So I started wet-wiping my legs then moisturizing at night. Seemed to work well. But the fires are behind (fingers crossed), and the air is getting less dry what with the mist and fog and rain, so this shouldn't be a problem.

*  Therm-A-Rest patch kit instructions. I got another Therm-A-Rest patch kit--just so I could get more patch parts--so am sending these extra set on instructions home. 

* SanDisk 256 GB memory cards. I severly misestimated how many of these I'd need. I'm on my 5th right now, and that's with shooting everything in triplicate (via exposure bracketing)! So I'm keeping 2 to handle the rest of the trip, and sending 5 extras (!) home.

So the amount of stuff I'm dropping is not a lot, honestly--weight-wise, it's a drop in the bucket. But I did do the once through all my gear, consider each item, and choose, and it's the exercise (as much as the result) that matters. My pack is still way too heavy, though! Spielberg strapped it on today--he's considering buying a ULA pack so wanted to see how it fit--and as he pulled it on exclaimed, oh my god charlie, how do you carry this much! Yeah, it's pretty heavy, and I'm a bit embarrassed by that: I have "ultralight" gear, but I always pick the heaviest of the ultralight, so in the end, it's all still pretty heavy! But at this point I'm not changing out things like my sleeping bag or tent or stove system, so it is what it is.

-- Oh, and also: I added my sunshade umbrella back into the mix. Mostly this is to forestall rain: I figure if I carry it, it likely won't rain, whereas if I don't, it most certainly will!