Day 162: Mile 2617.3 - 2642.3

And I woke to brilliant sunlight filtering through yellow conifers, and I packed up faster than ever--might I, at the very end, finally figured out how to do this?--gathered water at the nearby creek with a startling efficiency, even dropped by the camp of the gaggle to say good morning, and headed out. All quick and clean and starting to think, yes, maybe I *have* figured out how to do this. And then at one of the turns I clear my sinuses as I do every morning, and promptly blow a snot rocket straight onto my pants.

Nope!--still don't got it!

But today, trail-wise was beautiful. There was a green tunnel section in the middle of the day--saved me, actually, because without it I doubt I would have made miles, instead would have spent the day stopping every few steps to gawk with the camera. But the other spots! The morning on the ridges under Tatie Peak, gazing out at the slopes and peaks just across the vale as you negotiate a shelf trail. And then the trail turning from eastward to northward, and looking out east at the corner, and on a morning like this one, sunny with just wisp of cirrus above, seeing blue ridge after blue ridge tessellating into the horizon, and I thought, I just want to keep going. I just want to go *there* and just walk and walk forever.

But the rationality intervened and said, sure, but how about we get to Harts Pass first, ok?

And we got to Harts Pass, and from there, the to Buffalo and Windy Passes, and those passes, again, the views! Ridge walking again, but gazing out west now, and now in the distance not blue ridges, but full mountains, their peaks black and gray and covered in snow and massive glacier fields. And in the near, the larches--those are the yellow conifers, I found out--the larches turning the hillsides a dappled deep green and light gold.

Then a descent down to Holman Creek, and the green tunnel slowly creeps back in and even here, I look up and see scenes I've seen before, in southern Washington, an open-vault green tunnel, but here for some reason they take on an extra poignancy. I've seen them before, just an everyday part of getting from here to there, but noticing them today, they didn't seem to be going anywhere anymore, they simply were there, and by being there, were beautiful in their own way.

(I think what I'm saying is that they weren't thru-hiking scenes anymore, they were day-hiking scenes, and there's a reason I take so many more photos on day-hikes rather than thru-hikes: on day-hikes, everything is more vibrant--this is your only chance to see this!--whereas on thru-hikes, trust me, you'll see a lot more of this!) 

And then the climb out of Holman Creek up to Rock Pass and Rock Pass, towards the end when it gets out of the woods and expands to the meadows and ridges, was stunning. By now the later part of the day, by now the sun already disappearing past the sharp peaks to the west, but the scenes from Rock Pass. Another vale, but looking out south it seemed to course on and on, and in the far distance the mountains were still blessed with golden light, and above them the sky was turning from blue to purple, dashed with uprising cloud. And just all the colors, from the yellow of the meadows, to the red of the autumnal swaths coursing through them, to the green of the conifers, the golden ochre of fading sunlight on the far mountains, the blue of the sky above, the purple of sky away, it was simply incredible.

And past Rock Pass, the trails dips down before climbing back up Woody Pass, and by now I was in the dark. And the going now was tough. You let me walk places like Rock Pass where my heart can soar and I forget how badly I feel physically. But you put me in the dark, climbing steep slopes with a pack on my back, looking for an empty campsite since they're all taken, and I remember. But I did find a campsite, and I did manage to set up camp, and here I am, about 3/4 of the way up Woody Pass, and about 11 miles away from Canada.

There are two questions that have come up about Canada. The first is am I ready to be done. The answer to that is yes. Everything at this point is breaking down, honestly.

* The body--my shoulders and neck are sore at the beginning of the day rather than at the end, the sore on my left hip starts barking as soon as I put my pack on (it used to wait until at least mid-morning), the backpack now never feels comfortable while hiking. And I think this is aggravated by the fact that I haven't taken a zero since Bend which was, what, Day 130 and today's Day 162? I probably should have, because the wear and tear has added up and is coming home to roost! And when there isn't something beautiful to look at, the hiking has become a bit brutal, and pushing this crazy schedule of 25 miles yesterday, and 25 again today--big miles for me--certainly isn't helping! (And I'm beginning to wonder if a 20-mile slack pack, then a 20-mile day-hike out, might not end up being the reprieve I thought they would be, if they might end up being pretty tough as well.)

* The gear--my inner tent zippers are pretty much gone at this point, and in general, I regard my gear much differently now. Rather than investing in the long term, right now everything is--well, sure, it's broken or ripped or torn, but it only needs to last a couple more days so just deal with it. There's a hole in my right pants pocket--where I normally keep my camera--large enough that I'm worried I'll pocket my camera and it'll fall straight down my pant leg to the ground! Normally I'd patch it, would *have* patched it, but it only needs to last a couple more days...

* The mind--we believe there's a dichotomy between the mind and the body, and there is some separation to be sure, but they're not two different things. Pressure the body enough--make the hiking tough, make the bag seem like it's full of lead, make the shoulders and hips and legs sore enough that they no longer recover with a single night's sleep--and the mind will start to complain too. But luckily for me, so long as I concentrate on something else, I can push it for at least the next couple days. Mostly today, when in the green tunnel and when the pain starts to encroach, I took books off the shelf in Lucien's Library, and toyed with those. And did some work on 47, and also some on 61, and even discovered a new book--12--hiding in the back, which was a happy thing.

So am I ready to be done? You bet. And I had thought about possibly going back to hike some of the Dixie Fire closure after this--I hear it's opened up--but I doubt that now. I think with this final big push, after these final couple days, I'm done--at least I should take a zero or two!

And the second question is: are you excited? And the answer to that is, no. And I admit I'm not an excitable person to begin with--I get "down" pretty easily as this blog can readily attest, but I don't get "up" that much ever. But I'm also a person who has trouble seeing the future, who has trouble preceiving what things will be like ahead, who lacks vision. I don't get excited because I simply have no idea what tagging the border will be like. If anything, it's a bit fearful: it's supposed to be a *big* thing, so probably I'm supposed to do something special, but I don't know what that is, so am I going to miss my chance at something? But that way madness lies--well, for me at least--so I treat it as I do all my fears: I think about something else. So am I excited? No, not really. I'm tired, and I'm concentrating on executing this crazy plan I've come up with (and I checked the forecast, and I most definitely am going to get rained on Sunday, the only question is how badly), and that's taken up all my emotional bandwidth, really. I will say that it's beautiful out here up at the passes, and there are plenty of those in this last little bit, so that helps raise the spirits. So when I'm not just hiking, but can look out, then I feel pretty good!

And that was the hike!

There's one more big aspect of the day that I haven't mentioned and that's the *people*. And that's probably the most important part. But I'll put those in the notes below.

Previous   Next

Some notes:

-- Campsite > Harts Pass > Buffalo Pass > Windy Pass > Holman Creek Trail Junction > Rock Pass > Campsite

-- There were lots of people on the trail, mostly going south, finishing up hike. And all wishing congratulations as they passed. And I definitely felt like congratulating them--they'd tagged the border!--but felt a bit awkward getting congratulations from them, but that's the spirit of the trail and I went with it. And it does build a certain sense of camaraderie, a certain sense of community: you start to feel the tribe that is the PCT as these even strangers congratulate you genuinely, and you congratulate them genuinely in return. There's nothing in the way anymore, there aren't miles to push for, there isn't a town to rush to, there aren't differing schedules and agendas leading to different speeds and paces and outlooks. Everyone's in the same boat, and that's the boat coming back from Canada, and everyone's happy and just getting to Harts Pass on their own, easy time, and it's all good.

-- And I met Runts, at Harts Pass, where she was waiting for her ride out. I was signing the register and hear an incredulous, is that charlie?, and there she was! And she had gotten off trail for a bit with a leg problem--a twisted tendon--and been in a bootie and crutches for a bit. When she got back on, she skipped Oregon to keep on schedule. But here she was! In pain--without the compression sleeve she was wearing she couldn't walk--but here she was! She had tagged the border a few days ago, then taken her time getting back from there to Harts since her ride wasn't scheduled to come until today anyway. And she had been up at Harts during the days of the storm, hunkered down especially the second day, and it seems it had snowed the third day. But she had lots of stories, lots of news, and we talked and chatted about the trail, and commiserated on being so far behind on the photos and Instagram (she's at least in the Sierras, I'm on Day 10, I think?). And she gave me a preview of what's coming up, about where to get water (even though Guthooks says it's dry), and where to camp for slack-packing (Woody Pass is better than Rock Pass--AC/DC had slack-packed from Rock Pass and worried because it was 30 miles to the border and back and she hadn't done a 30 mile day yet, so Woody Pass would alleviate that anxiety). And she was happy, and she was done, and flying back down to San Diego soon.

-- Oh, and while I was talking with Runts about the storm, Mash overheard, and his comment was: the storm wasn't that bad, I've been in worse. Well, he's definitely made of sterner stuff than me! For me, the storm was pretty bad, and not least because it was the realization of my worst fear coming into this whole trip: being cold and wet in the rain (I didn't even think of the wind back then). That's what I most feared, and for that reason always looked ahead to Oregon and Washington with some apprehension. And my standard solution for weather didn't work! That standard solution?: walk out of it. That's what I did at Mike's, that's what I tried to do out of VVR, that's what I did going into Snoqualamie, that's what I considered doing going into Stevens Pass. Hike out of the weather. Only this time, I couldn't: as long as I kept going north, there were simply too many miles to get out from it, and simply too large a storm to get to the edge. So the storm got to press all my buttons, and--as you can read--I didn't react to it so well!

-- And I met Double Snacks, just a bit outside Harts Pass, and we stopped and looked out west to the gray and black mountains topped with snow and glacier, and we did what we always did, which was gaze in wonder and then talk about it. That glacier out there must be huge, she said, and she mentioned the larches being so beautiful, and I remembered that what I missed most about hiking with someone is just having someone to stand beside and say, that looks amazing! Just such a small thing, but it's worth a lot. She was heading to Harts Pass to be picked up by Brett, and happy that she got such a beautiful day to end the trip. And she has about three and a half weeks before she has to start work, and she thought this a good amount of time: long enough to relax and recover, but short enough that she won't get antsy--she has plenty to do! Recover from hike, then find a place to live down in the Bay Area, move in, and get everything running again for normal life. She'll be up here in Washington the next couple days--Brett's mom lives up here--so maybe we'll get to see each other in Seattle while I'm there, but I imagine she'll also be busy with Brett's family and meeting some of his friends, so we'll see.

-- And I met Mel, who I hadn't seen since San Jacinto, and she recognized me and said, is that charlie?, and then, man, you really *do* see everyone again! And our meeting was brief--she was just amazed to see me--but she was beaming and happy and only a bit out from Harts so almost done. And it was good to see her and, indeed, you *do* see everyone again--the rock slide was, what, Day 15?

-- And I met Moss, and we chatted a bit. It gets more beautiful the more you go, he said, and that was something to look forward to. And he was looking forward to the cruise he's going to take with his girlfriend, down in Florida, right after this trip: he flies out tomorrow or the next day, and is on the boat soon after. And as he walked off he turned and said, oh, and work on that chip shortage thing will ya? I want to buy a car! And I laughed and said I'll try my best!

-- And I met Works Hard, and this was further on in the day. (I met a lot of folks in the morning and early afternoon--this was the Harts Pass crowd--then there was a long dry spell, then a bunch of folks in the evening--this was the slack-packing Canada crowd. Works Hard was part of the latter.) And he was looking good, finishing a 29-mile slack pack to the border. But he was happy and smiling and shook my hand to congratulate me, and I was surprised how comfortable it all was given that we'd only really known each other for a day, but that day was day two of the storm where we hiked together, so maybe adversity really does bring people together. And he, ever practical, liked the Woody Pass slack-pack idea--29 miles is long!, he said--and gave good advice on the water up ahead (in the dip there are two sources, it crosses the trail in two places, and one is easier to collect from than the other, but it's good water, get it there and it'll be a while before the next). But it was good to see him and in good spirits and happy, big beaming smile visible even under that bushy white beard. And we said congratulations again, and we headed off our separate ways.  

-- There was a bit of internal debate as to how far to go today. I was considering two candidates: the campsites right before Rock Pass which are 15 miles from the terminus, and the campsites right before Woody Pass which are 12 miles from the terminus. How to think about this? Well, one argument--and this is Nico's original argument--is to camp as far from the terminus as possible. This assumes you're slack-packing. In that case, you maximize the distance slack-packing, and minimize the distance backpacking when heading out the next day. The other argument is that a 15+15=30 mile slack-pack is still a really long way! Back at Harts Pass, Runts had mentioned that AC/DC felt that way, and had fretted after leaving camp: 30 miles would be her biggest day yet, and she wasn't sure she could do it (she could) nor that she could do it and finish by sunset (she brought her headlamp). For me, I think 30 miles would indeed be pushing it, and yield a not particularly relaxed terminus day. So I split the difference and went with the Woody Pass option. That gives 12+12=24 slack-pack miles, and 20 backpack miles back to Harts the next day (versus 30 and 12 if camping right before Rock Pass). This seems like a more reasonable balance to me.

-- Camping cohort: so I'm camped part way up Woody Pass, and I got in pretty late, well in the dark, and couldn't find a site. Eventually wandered off towards the Gaggle--they have a mark they leave on the trail so they can re-gather at the end of the day--and found them over a little ridge. Are there any open campsites?, I asked. And V-Dubs said, yeah, I saw one, off to the left, and so off to the left I wandered, going around a little hillock, then wandering down that hillock towards where I could see black streams--I'm guessing that's water?--but not finding anything. Until a few minutes later I see a headlamp up above, and it's V-Dubs, and she says, up here, and I go and there is a little site, almost flat but flat enough, even if it is over some stub grasses rather than bare mineral soil. But I set up here because it's late and because V-Dubs recommends it and I trust her--she's a true thru-hiker in my mind. And this will be base camp, and--as she points out--it's probably hidden enough that I can leave the tent up tomorrow and come back to it (they, on the other hand, will be slack-packing then coming back here, getting all their gear together, and hiking back to the campsite before Rock Pass, about 15 miles from Canada--makes for a shorter walk out tomorrow). But, yeah, camping cohort? Well there's the Gaggle on the other side of the hillock, and some other tents and groups scattered here and there on these slopes, but pretty much, I'm alone tonight.