Day 156: Mile 2509.7 - 2525.5

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. That's tiring, and also a bit frightening: I'm keeping back all these natural signals, but they're natural signals, they're there for a reason. So just how healthy is it to keep doing so?

But, you see, that's the fear *too*.

And in the end I decided to hike and make miles. Because it wasn't raining (well, not right *now*), and that meant it felt like any other day, and on any other day, after I wake, I go hiking. And sure, my tent is going to be wet when I pack it up, and sure it's going to be raining when I put it up tonight, but hiking is what I do, and given that upon waking the condition was no different than any other time, hiking is what I did.

And I didn't need to make big miles either: today was just about getting to Milk Creek, about 16 miles hence. In between was Fire Creek Pass, but given the weather, I wasn't about to camp at elevation. So go over the Pass, then go down to the bottom, and camp there. That's Milk Creek. And actually there's another Pass right *after* Milk Creek, so it's not like I could go much further past Milk Creek. Just 16 miles.

So I packed up my stuff, for once leaving changing my clothes to near the end. I usually put in my contacts, then put on my clothes, knowing that they'll be damp (with yesterday's sweat) and the best way to dry them is to wear them. But this time because my clothes weren't damp but straight wet, as in very wet, as in when I picked them up they felt *heavy*--heavier than they felt coming out the *washer*--wet, I just couldn't bring myself to wear them so I delayed until the last minute. But they went on, then the tent came down (and it was very wet now too), and I got hiking, albeit very late.

And the hike started on an overcast morning, with the sun teasing through for a couple minutes here and there, just long enough for me to get excited about possibly setting stuff out to dry, before looking up and seeing but a small blue hole in an otherwise gray sky and thinking the better of it. And the hike started in an old growth forest and this, I must admit, was pretty nice. This I enjoyed hiking through. Because this felt *old*. As in Legolas entering Fangorn and saying, these woods make me feel *young*, *old*. And that age is strangely fascinating to me. Given that age, things have had enough time to go their own way, become their own multi-varied things. And so there are so many things going on in these woods, so many different plants, so many different adaptations to grow in base soil, in fallen tree trunks, on bare rock; everywhere I looked, something was going on, something was growing, something was making the best with what it got, and I felt there was so much that could be explored here. And I think *that's* what makes something interesting to me, biome-wise, the ability to explore. And in the desert you can see it because you can look out and see all the places to *go*, and in these woods you can see it because you can look at all the stories of all these different bushes and mushrooms and mosses and trees, all in their own little neighborhoods, and you want to *hear*. It's fascinating and, had I the time, I would explore it, with at least my camera if nothing else.

But I had a place to go and a forecast that said the rain was coming back in the afternoon.

After the old growth forest, the trail started a descent which would have been quick, except that there were tree puzzles, and now newly compounded with stream puzzles at the same time. At the end of that was the Kennedy River, a big surging thing, coming down a wide rocky streambed, the water rushing-white and rapid. And there was a big log across it, but it was high up and the water looked fast and deep beneath it, and it was scary. And I had met up with another hiker at this point--Works Hard--and he opted to cross it not by walking, but by straddling it and then scootching across on his butt. And after watching him, I did the same: sat on it, wrapped my legs around it, and used my hands in front to press down on the log and scootch my butt forward a few inches, sit, and then repeat. All the while seeing the rapids just beneath me, but making sure I never noticed them too much. And so, slowly, I crossed over, and definitely breathed a sigh of relief on the other side.

And on the other side was a climb, the beginning of the ascent up to Fire Creek Pass. And I was slow here, slower than Works Hard certainly, but slower than usual. Here I would climb in and out of cloud, and every now and then when the green tunnel opened up, and the near fog opened up, and the far clouds opened up, I would get to see the far mountains, their peaks covered in patches of (I presume) glacier. And they were quite striking, their sharp shapes feeling so close, just over there, and I could see all the different colors of gray and black and white, all tinged with blue. And this came and went in little spurts until the top of Fire Creek Pass, when I went into a cloud for sure, and the rain started for sure. And that was the end of the sightseeing!--I immediately converted into 10-feet-in-front mode, and just concentrated on hiking. No making the same mistake as yesterday, getting distracted and falling! And it was heads down hiking the rest of the day.

If you read the comments on Guthooks, this section--from the top of Fire Creek Pass and on down--is supposed to be some of the most beautiful trail on the PCT. People breathe that it not only rivals, but surpasses, the Sierras. There's a lake, Mica Lake, that's glacier melt and supposed to be such a turquoise blue that it makes your heart sing. And there are supposed to be streams here, and greenery, and the peaks, and it's supposed to feel like some Swiss dream. And I believe it. But I didn't see it. I did look up and see the peaks at one point, and they looked to be carved granite, but spiky and young, new-sheered and just-shorn, and unlike the Sierras *near*, right over *there*, and not far and inaccessible. And had I the time I would have stopped to gawk more, and take photos, but I didn't have the time because I needed to concentrate on hiking, and so caught but the barest of glimpses. But this is ok: in the morning, I had received a text from Double Snacks--she is heading out of Stehekin today, headed for Rainy Pass--and in passing she commented that it had been "super rainy" the day she got into Milk Creek. And that was reassuring for me, pretty much all day. Because when I woke, I was by myself, and on that ridge yesterday, I had been by myself, and so felt very much alone. But to know that someone else had gone through today in similar fashion--in the rain--that was comforting. And I appreciated it, even if it was just such a simple comment.

Anyway, the trail descended down into the tree line--thankfully so, because the wind was starting to pick up up above!--and now began a section of lots of little streams crossing the trail, and more downed trees. More tree puzzles! And in the rain! On a narrow shelf-trail on a steep wooded slope, overgrown in some places, tree puzzles are not fun. And the day was getting into the late afternoon, which meant it started getting cold, and downhills are not good for cold--you can't build up body heat. So this descent, which could have been tricky but doable and swift enough in good weather, ended up being very slow and long, and even though it was only 4 miles, by the end I was definitely looking for the end. By the end, I just wanted to put up my tent, get out of my wet clothes--which were now soaked through all the way again--and get under my sleeping bag. And there's a tentsite just before Milk Creek, a bunch of flat spots under the trees, up along this slope, but when I got there, pretty much all the spots were already taken. I managed to find one spot, very slanted even by my standards--going to sleep tonight worried about sliding off my sleeping pad it's so slanted--but I could make it work, and I didn't know if there were more sites ahead, so I would make it work. And I did, more or less.

So here I am, at the end of day two of the storm, in my tent. Tired, certainly, even though it was just shy of 16 miles, and mentally pretty tired too. It turns out I don't like hiking when I'm cold and wet and tired! And I don't like camping when everything's wet and I'm trying to manage all the extra chores and protocols that come with that! But I'm here, and that's a win. Yesterday was about going through a harrowing experience and not thinking about it. Today wasn't as harrowing, and started off free and easy, but ended up tough and miserable. So today was about that change, I guess, going from a nice enough day, to a poor day, and handling that mentally. It's a slog right now, and tomorrow is forecast to rain all day--so not even the brief morning reprieve I got today--so the slog will continue for at least one more day. But tonight, let's just get some sleep, try our best not to roll off the side of this slanted sleeping pad (since all the wet stuff is on the downhill side and I do *not* want to get my sleeping bag wet!), and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow!

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Some notes:

-- Baekos Creek > Kennedy Creek > Pumice Creek > Fire Creek Pass > Mica Lake > Milk Creek

-- So Mike Wiemer was a fellow EE undergraduate, and in the beginning he was middle of the pack, just like the rest of us. But then, I think maybe sophomore year or possibly earlier, he decided that sleep was important and that he was going to get 8 solid hours every night. Whereas the rest of us would try to do that, but invariably fail as I, for example, worked late into the night on problem sets (rather than stopping, sleeping, then waking early and finishing them). But Mike kept to this 8 hours a night thing, and promptly catapulted to this super genius level output. I mean, when we took the PhD qualifying exams years later, he ranked 4th--4th!--amongst all the PhD candidates. And that included the crazy Singaporeans who took Quals (and who always messed up the curve in class!). And if you ask Mike, he will attribute his success in no small part to--getting 8 hours of sleep a night. 

-- Today I met Works Hard, who had actually camped on the other side of Baekos Creek last night, and who passed me as I was taking down my tent. He wanted to go farther today--wants to make it Stehekin by Monday--whereas I was content with just Milk Creek (which puts me in Stehekin by Tuesday) (and it's a bit liberating how, in this weather, I no longer care about how long it'll take me to get to Canada--I'm just concerned with making it to the end of the day!). And I would catch up with him throughout the day (he hikes slightly faster than me, and certainly climbs faster than me), and we would do some tree puzzles together, and some dicey river crossings together. Works Hard had done the ridge yesterday too--been part of his 26-mile day yesterday (!)--but was taking it easy today, and would end up at Milk Creek too. He was born in New York City, and has that combination of extreme optimism and extreme pessimism that comes with that place (join the club, I said). He's retired now, but had worked with Orbital Services out of DC, and started as as real-time software engineer, but converted over to a software systems engineer as he got older and the younger kids just wrote code faster. Oh, and his trail name--that's an awesome trail name I said when I heard it--his trail name is evidently meant to be ironic, but from what I saw today, and from his 26 miles yesterday--and in the storm!--it seemed pretty fitting to me.

-- But Works Hard is a hoot to hike with. He still has a bit of that big city snark: I was want to finish this f**ker, he said. And when I'm done with this, I'm never coming back, he said, that's what I said when I finished the desert, that's what I'm saying when I finish Washington. He thought Washington was beautiful no doubt, but, yeah, no desire to come back! He does the engineer thing: look, as soon as I took my gloves off it started to rain, shouldn't have taken my gloves off, that's what did it, he would say. And he plays the stock market, mostly for fun, jokes that he knows how to buy and hold, but not when to sell. But has done well enough that he could retire. I didn't get to talk with him extensively--too much energy just hiking the trail in these conditions--but it's clear he's one of those guys who, even if he had a pretty "normal" life, it would be fun to hear his take on it!

-- Works Hard would come into the Milk Creek area that I'm camped in--we came in together--but could't find a spot for his tent, so he moved on to look for other spots. I hope he finds one! I was more conservative, and wasn't going to trade a sure but below average thing for the possibility of a good thing, so I stayed here. But, yeah, I hope he found a good spot!

-- And oh, Works Hard reminded me of an old trick. I've been having problems with my phone working in the rain--the extra water interferes with the capacitive sensor on the touchscreen--but Works Hard wraps his phone in a Ziploc. And that's a trick I'd used on day hikes but since forgotten. I'll try it out tomorrow and see if he helps make the phone more usable when it's actively raining and water is dropping onto it.

-- I did slip and fall today, once. It was on a tree puzzle, and this one was two trunks atop each other, so there was no way to go over. Instead, there was an uphill route around that was pretty steep. And after passing the tree, it was even more steep on the far side, and in the rain, that just became slick mud. I watched Works Hard traverse it, very slow, but he managed to get down, and when I went to do it, it was going good at first, but then it started to slide and then it was over and I was just sliding down the mud hill on my side. Got down to the trail, though. A controlled slide, I joked afterward. But still a slip and fall.

-- Camping cohort: there are lots of folks out here; I counted at least 6 other tents? But I don't recognize any of the folks (well, at least the ones that still had their tents open so I could see the people inside, which was few). In this section in general, I don't know people. All the people I knew are up ahead--Double Snacks and AC/DC, for example--I'm just bringing up the (far) rear. I did ask Double Snacks if she'd she either Wetfoot (who left Cascade Locks a day ahead of me, and does have afterburner ability), or Spielberg (who left Cascade Locks a day after me, but also hikes much faster than me), and she hadn't. So there are folks out here, and I met Works Hard today for example, but I do still feel pretty alone out here. And that's tough--to be alone in a crowd--when the day is miserable on top of that. Eh, but what can you do?

-- Oh, one more visitor: as I was doing chores, a mouse ran up to the edge of my tent, thought it was hiding just under the rim. But I could see it: it was right in my headlamp. So I tapped the flap and it scurried away. Then came back, at the edge of my vestibule. And it looked at me, and I at it, and we stared each other down for a little while, then it got bored and scurried away again. But that's a bold mouse!