Day 161: Mile 2592.5 - 2617.3

And I woke to mists swirling around the tops of the trees, but I could see behind them, and behind them was blue, so while it may have been cold, I knew that it was not a problem: this would eventually burn off. Instead, what *was* a problem was the scuttlebutt around camp which was about, of course, the weather. Seems the most current weather report calls for heavy rain this coming Sunday (it's Thursday today) at Harts Pass. Which means there's a storm blowing in on Sunday.

And that's a problem: from Harts Pass (30 miles from Canada) on to Woody Pass (12 miles from Canada) the trail pretty much sits at elevation, usually above 6000 ft. To be caught up there, in a storm?--been there, done that, have the T-shirt, not going to do it again if I can avoid it! 

So: here's the Plan. It's about 60 miles from Rainy Pass to Canada. If I do 25 miles a day for today (Thursday) and tomorrow (Friday), that'll put me within 10 miles of Canada. On Friday, then, I set up base camp at the 10-miles-from-Canada mark. On Saturday, I then slack-pack (i.e., hike but leave things like my tent and stove behind) to the border, tag the border, then hike back--that'll be a 20 mile day. On Sunday, I hastily make my exit, hiking from the 10-miles-from-Canada mark to Harts Pass at the 30-miles-from-Canada mark, and get picked up by Ian. Granted I'll likely be hiking in the rain on Sunday--the storm is supposed to start up around noon--but at least I'll be hiking into "town" and so won't have to set up a wet tent. That's the Plan.

The Plan is the easy part. *Executing* the Plan, that's another story.

I started out of the Rainy Pass trailhead continuing the climb from yesterday--still 5 miles to go!--and still in the mist. But very quickly, after about a mile and change, the mists started to clear out, and in a matter of minutes mountain peaks that had been occluded were revealed, painted a fiery gold color in the morning light, topped by a setting moon. And that was just the beginning. The trail cut around a slope to the right and began its switchback climb up to Cutthroat Pass. And here the green tunnel ended and the views opened up and it was, in a word, spectacular. Towards the top, the scenery looked positively southern California, with rock and dirt and boulder, but here in Washington, there was also bush and conifer, the former going red in season, the latter staying strong and steady at green. And looking up just the slopes, the ridges topped in rock, all yellow and golden in color. And even behind me, looking down, there was a deep valley still filled with fog, a bowl whose sides were carved out of sheer stone, and whose brim was jagged and a spectacle in its own right. But none of this compared to when I finally crossed over Cutthroat Pass and saw the other side.

It was incredible.

A huge vale opened up before me, wide and broad, and on the opposite side, the mountains! Just a ridge line of rock, but with so many shapes and so much topology! And I realized what made these jutting, poking Washington peaks different than the more sedate Sierra peaks: Washington peaks claw their way out of the slopes below, their fingers still extending, still heading into the air above. And here at Cutthroat Pass, you could see that, and see it in a grand, 180-degree view all around you. Cutthroat Pass is the kind of place where Dylan should come, just to stare and dream of climbing and razor-ridge walking (which he can literally do: there are some hidden campsites up the ridge, some even with little windbreak forts of stone built round them). It was absolutely incredible, knock the wind from your lungs incredible. I did stop there for a bit, although it was more to dry my tent (condensation), charge my headlamp (solar panel), and dig a cathole (umm, not going to elaborate on this one). While I was up there, the gaggle--Jinx and Crypto and Mash and Strike Zone and Suave and V-Dubs--all came up and they too were amazed, taking a break down below the trail, breathing in this incredible view.

And it didn't stop there. From Cutthroat Pass on to Methow Pass, the trail walks just below the ridge line of the mountains, in open exposed spaces, and the views are just amazing. Over every saddle, over every crossing, a revelation: a new valley or vale, its sides of mountain stone, arranged in yet more configurations, arresting in yet more ways. And the conifers! Back some time ago, a local had mentioned that when you get about 150 miles north, you'll be in time to see the conifers turn yellow. And they had!: you could see the yellow-needled conifers dappled amongst the still-greens up and down the hillsides, and there were even some on the trail where you could see the transition happening--some branches still green, some turning yellow. This section of trail was simply amazing, and in the clear skies and heat of today, quite a sight to see! Heck, even when I got a chance to look back onto the other side of Cutthroat, the side I'd come from, I could the fog-filled valleys over there, but instead of dissipating, the fog was waking, stretching its arms with the day and climbing up the hillsides! Even that was incredible!

This continued until Methow Pass, where the trail then started its switchback way down into one of the valleys. And here it converted back into a green tunnel, which was fine because I needed to get miles and this was downhill and without views--a double whammy! The trail flattened out near the Methow River, but stayed in the green tunnel. It continued on to Brush Creek, and as it did it became more overgrown and rustic--more reminiscent of the wilder trails I've hiked in southern California. It came to Brush Creek--a small bridge over a creek, with some campsites scattered on the damp soil and under the eaves of the crowding brush--and then it began the final climb of the day.

There's a sort of symmetry in beginning the day with a 5-mile climb, then ending it with a 6-mile climb. This final climb switchbacked back up towards the high ridges via Glacier Pass. Glacier Pass itself was admittedly unimpressive: just a small woodsy section about half way up marked more by a sign than by any geography per se. But the climb itself! First, it was long and at the end of the day, so my pack felt so heavy! But second, in the first half it remained brushy although the brush was low enough that you could see the high walls of the mountains about you. But in the second half, past Glacier Pass, this climb came into its own. Because now I was climbing an exposed region, the foliage nothing but meadow brush, all turning red. And this, I realized, is what I must have missed on those storm days. This: climbing switchback after switchback (18 in all this second half) (and, yes, I counted--it's something to keep the mind occupied!) up an exposed slope, looking out across the valley to the mountains just over there, jagged and jutting, and looking up the slope to see the colors decorating the ground, patches of red leaf and yellow grass, with dots of green conifer scattered about. It was all very pretty, and part of me wanted to stop and just enjoy it for a bit. But it was getting late, and this was a climb so it wasn't an "easy" late, so I kept going.

All the way until I reached the top of the ridge and this, again, was beautiful. Because here the trail became this little thing, on a narrow ridge, a path dipping and diving and turning, flanked by yellow conifers, and paved in red ground-plants, all while the shades of a setting sun played with the colors. I stopped up here to do the sensible thing and re-layer: I had been hiking in shorts and effectively a T-shirt all day, but the sun was setting and the next part was a descent, so I reestablished the long pants, added the rain jacket, put on the gloves

And so it was, all bundled up, that I finished off the final mile and a half on the day, gradually descending now in the waning light. And there was one bit where the trail was a shelf over a large dirt wash, and that was reminiscent of the Baldy bowl, but other than that, I mostly concentrated on getting to camp. Which I did arrive at, just after sunset. This campsite is actually a pretty big place--lots of spots scattered about, with multiple fire rings--so I found one at the end, under some trees, and set up my tent in the dark. And here I am! 

And that was the hike! Today was a gorgeous day--the views from Cutthroat Pass would make any day a gorgeous day!--and I managed to execute the first part of the Plan: nearly 25 miles on the day. I always say, though, that the point isn't doing big miles *today*, it's doing big miles *tomorrow*--it's whether this big thing is *repeatable*--so we'll see how I feel tomorrow morning and whether I can do it again.

Throughout the day as I was pushing for miles, I did think about the fact that often I feel like I'm the grasshopper in the fable about the grasshopper and the ants. How the grasshopper fiddles and flitters away the summer, whereas the ants work, so that when winter comes the grasshopper is out of luck and in the cold, whereas the ants are warm and happy. Should I have gone faster in the beginning? Should I have pushed the miles, taken fewer zeroes? And of course the answer is yes, but also, the answer is no. Because if I had, would that mean that I wouldn't have gotten to spend as much time with Runts? With Dylan and Uno? With AC/DC and Outlast, Lux and Khaleesi? With Double Snacks? With Spielberg? In fact, for the chance to spend more time with them, I would take more of these driving days here at the end in a heartbeat. Heck, I might even take a few storm days--I think the trade would be worth it. So am I the grasshopper in the story? I certainly think so. But would I trade to become the ants? If it meant losing my time with all these folks then, no, I wouldn't. And so I may know the fable, and may even use it to think about my decisions, but clearly I haven't learned its lesson!

Oh, and finally: big news! Today, yes today, Double Snacks reached Canada! As the Singaporeans say: Wah-lau! I sent her congratulations via inReach, also conveyed congratulations from Wetfoot (who I also contacted on inReach and is planning to reach Stehekin on Saturday). Double Snacks didn't get to do the slack-packing idea in full--schedule just didn't work out that way--but evidently she got about an hour this morning at the Monument, by herself, and enjoyed that immensely! (She also mentioned that she had passed AC/DC who was on her way out, having tagged the border yesterday! So congratulations all round!)

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Some notes:

-- Rainy Pass Trailhead > Cutthroat Pass > Methow Pass > Methow River > Brush Creek > Glacier Pass > Campsite

-- In the morning, I was the second one from our campsite to set out: Pothole set out a bit before me. And about a mile in, I suddenly see her coming back the other way. Wait, are we on the right trail?, I asked her, now nervous. Yes, this the right trail, she said, I just got the message that my group got a hitch in Mazama, so I'm heading back. And she was disappointed. I wanted to push for 25 miles today, she said, but now we're going into town. And off she went. I'm not sure what their plans are: they had discussed the possibility of hitching to Mazama and then somehow getting a ride to Harts Pass and tagging the border before the storms hit. Or maybe they want to go to Mazama and wait out the storm? Anyway, Pothole headed back and inevitably out, and I think Dirty Jobs and Paparazzi went too, because I didn't see them all day and they're faster hikers than me!

-- I will say that although today was hot, this isn't necessarily good. It just means the weather turned up the amplitude of the sine wave: the peaks get higher (hot!), but also that means the troughs will be deeper (cold!). Personally I agree with the camel of the fable: I prefer the flat road--little amplitude--to the hill road or the valley road.

-- For those interested in seeing Cutthroat Pass with their own eyes, I will say that it's not far: a 5-mile hike from the Rainy Pass Trailhead. Hike on up, making sure to look out whenever the green tunnel opens up in the beginning, and making sure to look back to the *other* valley as you climb the switchbacks, and when you get to the top, stop and enjoy the view! If you're going to be a while, and it's weathering, hike up the ridge to your left and shelter in one of the windbreaker forts. This is the most magnificent view of this section, so savor it. From here, you can head on down--that would make a 10-mile hike, perfect for those that don't hike often. Or, if you're more robust, continue on the PCT route that goes along the ridge (and *not* down into the valley). Methow Pass is about 5 miles further, and you can wander out that far--Methow Pass itself is pretty flat, with a beautiful little campsite to take a break--but you don't necessarily have to go that far. (There are a couple of streams that, if they're flowing, are pretty fun to watch as they trickle down the rocks of the mountains.) Just wander as far as you like--knowing that after Methow Pass the trail will start descending down a green tunnel and the views will become much harder to come by--then eventually turn around and head back! If you go all the way to Methow, it becomes a 20-mile day, and there will be some climbing to get back to Cutthroat from Methow. But the views are, likely, worth it!

-- The other things I thought about today were some books on my shelf at Lucien's Library (in the Dreaming) (it's a Sandman thing). And I actually took some down today and played with them, adding actual words. And I'm not sure why, but 47 and 61--those are the titles I gave them--came down and got fleshed out some more. Mostly the beginnings and endings--that's what all those stories start with, just beginnings and endings with nothing in the middle. And I thought, wouldn't it be nice to actually write up one of these, partially to have done it, and partially just to find out what happened in the middle. But in so doing, they'd come off the shelf, and wouldn't be in the Library anymore. But maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. And maybe I should take my own advice, and believe the creative creed, and know that even with those off the shelf, more will come to take their place. That, if anything, if I want to hear more--maybe 34 or 23 or even, oh, 42--then I *have* to take these off the shelf, to make room.

-- Mostly today was a pretty empty trail--mostly I was just by myself, although constantly leapfrogging with the gaggle. (They hike a lot faster than me, but also take breaks, whereas I'm always on the move--it's the only way I can make miles. I think I stopped four times today: at the top of Cutthroat to dry and dig and a cathole, twice at streams to get water, and once more to dig another cathole--the savory croissant I had at the Bakery was filled with Swiss cheese, and that's come back to haunt me a bit today. Other than that, gotta keep moving.) But there were some random folks: some folks hiking south (passed a couple of PCT hikers doing the flip), some folks section hiking (passed and had a brief but friendly conversation with an older couple camped out near Brush Creek) (they were doing Harts to Rainy Pass, doing about 10-12 miles a day, and I wished them the best because they were getting out on Saturday, while the weather was still good, and the views should be spectacular; and they wondered why I was coming back and exiting at Harts Pass--isn't that a lot of miles to turn around for?--and I explained that Canada was closed due to COVID, and how an 8-mile extra hike now becomes a 30-mile extra hike), and a few scattered individual hikers. Which is too bad: given this reprieve in the weather, with its bright sunny days, you'd think more people would be out here, enjoying all this, even if you have to backpack to see some of it!

-- Camping cohort: well, technically the gaggle--Crypto and Mash and Strike Zone (Spaceman!) and Jinx and Suave and V-Dubs--are camped here, although they're at another fire ring, closer to the spring and not as deep away from the trail. I'm at a fire ring but pretty deep away from the trail, and pretty much by myself. So technically there's a cohort, but practically, it's just me tonight!