Day 163: Mile 2642.3 - 2653.6 - 2642.3

And today was Terminus Day!

So the idea for Terminus Day is to slack-pack it: declare this place to be base camp, leave the tent set up, and just carry what you need for a day-hike to the terminus and back. Which is an interesting exercise: it's a measure of your paranoia. Be paranoid enough and you'll end up packing your entire bag because it's a long way--the terminus is 11.3 miles from my base camp, meaning a 22.6 mile day, which is long (for me)--so maybe you won't be able to make it back to base camp and will need to camp in the middle. Well, then you're bringing everything!

Me, I was able to trim it down. Medical kit, my just-in-case camera electronics bag (memory cards and spare battery), keyboard (luxury item!), an extra layer (just my hoodie, no puffy), tripod set up (of course--for the terminus shot!). Then the essentials: rain gear (functions as a windbreaker too), poop kit, water kit. And finally, food: I brought along a bunch of snacks, mostly hoping to eat them off to make my pack lighter for tomorrow, when I'll have to hump everything all the way back to Harts Pass.

Having packed up, and having stuffed my sleeping bag into its waterproof stuff sack (just in case!) and carefully placed it at the top of the slope of my tent, with plastic-bagged items underneath, I got out of my tent with my much lighter bag and was promptly greeted by amazement. Because I had come to this campsite in the dark, but in the light of day, I realized I was camped at the foot of the peaks of Powder Mountain, and they were right there. If I wanted--and had the ability--I could have started a day-climbing approach to the summit from right here! Just the stark stone was incredible to gaze up at. And then add to that the meadows down here, the plants going red and ochre among the perennial greens, the sunlight coming through the larches going golden, all amongst these underlying white rocks peeking out from under loam soil except where the stone of the mountain broke through in plateaus and ridges: it was all quite amazing.

But I had places to go!

I finished the climb up to Woody Pass and crossed over to the next valley. From here, the trail crosses walks pretty much along the ridge or just below, passing through alternately little strips of woods or little sections of rock slide (with the trail cut out as a little sloped dirt shelf amongst all the loose stones), until it reaches a viewpoint at the top. And Double Snacks had said that the view from that viewpoint was quite a sight and she wasn't wrong! Looking out from there, at the top of this vast open vale, and beyond the mountains and near shapes were the far peaks, covered in snow and glacier. And again, just a little, I felt that instinct to say, hey, why not walk over to *there*?

From the viewpoint, the trail begins an 8-mile descent to the border. Along the way, it passes by Hopkins Lake--a round pool of turquoise far below--before descending into green tunnel. And here, again, I found myself back in thru-hiker mode: feeting moving swiftly, focus mostly downwards--the trail here can get very loose rock in places, and those require attention when hiking quickly--and though it was only 8 miles, it felt like it was taking forever. Partially this is because I felt I was late: up on the ridge, I had diverted off to dig a cathole--and finding a spot wasn't easy on those slopes!--but when I left the viewpoint to start down, I reached for my trekking poles to help with stabilization, and found they weren't there. And I toyed with continuing without them, but I need my poles to form the tripod, and I need my tripod to take photos of me at the terminus, so I headed back to grab them. Which lost me about half an hour or so.

But I rushed through the last 8 miles or so, feeling late and pressured and all sorts of negative, and the miles seemed to go on and on without reason, until finally I turned a switchback and saw a small break in the trees ahead.

And I was at the terminus.

The terminus is a small, unassuming thing. It's at the edge of the wood, not because the wood ended there, but because the trees have been cleared all along the border: you can see the clear-cut line rising precipitously up the hills on either direction (how did they even *do* that?). So the terminus sits in that clear cut, a little wooden monument right next to the border marker. And there were some other hikers there: of the Gaggle, most had already left but Crypto was still there, and then Double-D came along a bit after me, and HD was there, and a couple other hikers I didn't know. And there was trail magic!: Vertigo had crossed over from the Canada side (it's much shorter from the Canada side to the monument) and brought cookies: Oreo and oatmeal. And I sat there, spreading my rain pants as a sit pad on the muddy little slope facing the monument, and took a little lunch and chatted a bit. And I took my photos, and I signed the book, and that was that!

As he left, Double-D noted, well, I didn't cry, and I think that was indicative of the terminus experience. I certainly didn't cry, didn't feel much of anything at the time really. While hiking through Washington, I speculated I'd maybe feel a sense of relief, but not even that really happened. Granted, I'm not a very celebratory person, so perhaps I wouldn't feel the elation even were it there to be had. I will say that my strongest feeling actually was inspired by something Spielberg had said. Back on the bench at Cascade Locks, he had said the trail was like life: the desert was childhood, the Sierras college, northern California and Oregon working life, and Washington retirement. But then he said, then you reach the terminus and you die: you're not a thru-hiker anymore. And that's what I felt: when I touched that monument, I wasn't a thru-hiker anymore. I was just a day-hiker with a tent.

And *that* was an incredibly freeing feeling. On the way back--which others were dreading, ugh, an 8-mile climb!--I wasn't bothered at all. Because it became for me another Saturday day-hike. And those, it doesn't matter how long they take--I'm ok with night hiking--because in the end there's a car (or here an already set up tent) waiting for me. And even tomorrow: as hikers we're always discussing the weather, and the most recent forecasts called for rain starting tomorrow afternoon, becoming rain and possibly snow the day after, and some folks were pushing miles today or early early tomorrow to get to Harts Pass ahead of the rain. But I thought: why? Rain is terrible if you're a thru-hiker: getting into a wet tent, sopping water and wringing it out, trying to warm up in your sleeping bag without getting it wet. But it's fine if you're a day-hiker: you have a warm, dry car to get into at the end! So I didn't care about the rain tomorrow either.

And as a day-hiker--now even without a tent--the hike back was nice and comfortable. No need to rush, I could take the time as it came. And if I wanted to push the pace because I wanted to see what my body could do and revel in the joy of movement, well then that was ok too. And what had been technical and tricky and aggravating coming down, was just careful going up. And I wondered: why haven't I been hiking like this before, just free and easy and photo-happy? And the answer is, I have, just back in the desert. But from the Sierras on, it changed: when I started recognizing just how many more miles there were to go, and how slow my pace was, it changed from free and easy to more go go go. And I'm not sure if that was the wise thing to do--certainly free and easy is more enjoyable, as I was now remembering! But without go go go, would I have made it in time? And the counter to *that*: heck, even *with* go go go, would I have made it in time without the Dixie fire closure and the 300-mile skip?

So I don't know; it's hard to say what would have been the best way to do it. I just know the way I *did* do it, and I know that I sincerely missed free and easy.

The climb up to the viewpoint, and then from there to my campsite on the far side of Woody Pass, was pretty relaxed. Some folks I had passed yesterday had mentioned that it was strange going back over places they'd hiked before, but I found Eric Barrett's advice here more true: he had mentioned that he didn't mind out-and-back hikes, since he found that the same trail looked different going this way versus that way. And that was true to an extent here: there were plenty of spots that I had rushed through on my way to the terminus that I now got to see in a more relaxed way. And that held up until night came, where I was hiking in the dark for some tricky technical sections across slides. But I have a rule when day-hiking: if I have to night hike, it's fine as long as I've gone over the trail once in the light. That way I've seen it once in the light and know what it's all about. And that was the case here, so the tricky bits weren't all that tricky and I got through them with maybe breaking stride in a couple of step-over parts, but otherwise at full speed.

And so it was in the dark, in the wind, that I finally got back to the tent, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there and hadn't blown away, and jumped on in. And did the usual chores, and made the usual dinner (a ramen dinner--my on-trail comfort food!), and even put on Peaches en Regalia and bopped and swayed in my tent to the sheer elation of it. And then splurged and played some Stanton too.

And that was the hike!

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Some notes:

-- Campsite > Woody Pass > Viewpoint > Hopkins Lake > Boundary Trail Junction > Northern Terminus > Boundaray Trail Junction > Hopkins Lake > Woody Pass > Campsite

-- The other big thing that changed on touching the monument was appetite: suddenly the thought of eating a bunch of bars and dried fruit and nuts just wasn't that appealing anymore. Suddenly my body just started craving fruit, and then vegetables, and I realized more fully the rumblings that Freewalker had mentioned. No more trail food. I mean, I will: I only have trail food for tomorrow and I'm pretty sure hunger will get the better of me. But that's a rational response; my instinct is to stop and start moving on to the post-hike diet!

-- Met a bunch of folks on the trail today, mostly coming back from their own tagging of the border.

* And I bumped into Poppy and Biergarten between Woody Pass and the viewpoint, and congratulated them. And I somehow ended up talking about (my beloved) Santa Anas, and Poppy remembered that I was in southern California and said that maybe we should do something down there, since we'll all be around. Maybe the Channel Islands--which I would be up for. And maybe that's just a reaction to the trail ending, but I will say that there's still plenty to do in southern California when I get back, from the Channel Islands, to the TCT (which I still need to finish), to Joshua Tree--lots of places still to see down there!

* And I bumped into Treebeard and Bloom on the way down to the terminus, and they asked me if I had any profound revelations here at the end of the hike, and all I had was that I wasn't a thru-hiker, just a day-hiker with a tent. And they noted that someone else had mentioned that same sentiment, only they had said that they were just a camper: thru-hikers just hike and sleep, whereas they wanted to have campfires and gather round for stories. And Bloom noted that, yeah, she wanted to have a hike where it was only 10 miles a day, and you could relax and take it easy, get started late in the morning, make camp early, and eat and talk with people whose company you enjoy. So that sense of longing for a relaxed backpacking trip: it's not just me!

* And on the way back from the terminus, I passed J-Pro going the other way, and we caught up on our respective timelines. But it was good to see that he was here and so close: I remembered back in Snoqualamie, we had both been worried about the snow coming and whether we'd make it in time. (Although for him, he could just engage that afterburner and make those ridiculous high-mileage days if he needed.)

* And also on the way back from the terminus, I passed Fedex, who I hadn't seen since the desert! And then I encounter him again here, at the end! And Fedex noted that he wanted to keep going--he wanted to go on forever--but for the fact that his feet were falling apart. Because this wilderness--and, yes, Washington is much more wilderness than, say, Oregon--he loves this. It reminded him of the Alps, but the Alps 50 years ago, before everything became civilized and things were still wild.

* And towards the end of my day, as dusk was coming on, I passed by Tyler "Nomad", who wasn't a PCT hiker--he had done the trail, but back in 2015--but now was working as a volunteer for one of the Washington wilderness departments and was carrying a jar full of 500 trout in his backpack! He was heading to Hopkins Lake to release them--evidently the state restocks the lake every 5 years, and relies on volunteers to bring the fish over. He was just hiking from Harts Pass to Hopkins, would camp there, then head back to Harts Pass tomorrow. And I thought that was pretty cool: backpacking with 500 trout in your pack! And he mentioned that I was the 65th hiker he'd seen on the day, heading back from the terminus. And I found that surprising, because I hadn't seen but a handful of folks on the trail today, but that just goes to show that with just a little space between them, even while in the midst of (evidently) a whole crowd of hikers, you can still feel isolated and alone.

* And after crossing Woody Pass, I happened to bump into Seth, charging up to one of the campsites at the top of the pass (whereas I had camped at one of the sites maybe 3/4s of the way up to the top). And he commented that Marina and Rally and Matt were just behind, maybe a mile, and I had seen headlamps starting down the dip in the dark, and likely those were them. And Seth said it was too bad we didn't get to hike more together in Washington, which was true, but that's also how things work out: by this point, their pace and style was their pace and style, and mine was mine, and they were different and both sides were unlikely to change. So it didn't work out. But it was nice to see him, relay some advice on the campsites coming up for him, and congratulate him in advance!

-- Camping cohort: just by myself again tonight, just me and the wind. But the wind isn't that bad: I'm sure that the tent can handle it, and that I'll be fine!