Day One Hundred Ten

Today's miles: 24
Total miles: 2277

It was too cold to get up at our usual 6:00 am alarm, so the eight of us slept in another hour until the sun hit our tents. I packed up and got ready, postponing putting on my shoes as long as I could. They hadn't dried even a little bit last night, and since it was so cold, putting them on was like dunking my feet in ice water buckets. I jumped around to stay warm and began hiking as quickly as I could, trying to dry my shoes out as soon as possible. It took a few miles to get used to it, and a few more to warm up.

We were hiking through forested areas for most of the day, and once again the terrain wasn't too bad. Every now and again we would climb to a beautiful lookout and enjoy the majestic views of Adams and Rainier. I met a southbounder who had started in Snoqualmie Pass (about 7 days away) and told me I was the 139th thru-hiker he had passed so far. Considering there were over 1,000 people who started this trail in April and May, it was shocking that there were so few left.

I hiked with Treekiller for most of the day, taking breaks every seven miles or so. We were road walking for a while, which was boring, and then came across what we thought was the "last water source in fifteen miles", so we stopped with Wocka, Giddyup, Sansei and Rotisserie to have lunch and fill up our water containers. Rotisserie, Sansei and I caught up on almost two months of adventures we had missed, telling old stories, and reminiscing about the Sierras. It was fun being around them again. Sansei and I started telling that's what she said! jokes again and Rotisserie asked for my latest trail ditties that I made up and sang while walking. After lunch I walked with them for a while, keeping up a steady conversation as we cruised along at three miles an hour. As it turned out, our maps were incorrect about our fifteen mile dry spell, and we ran into streams and runoff from the recent rainstorm every few miles.

Around late afternoon Sansei, Rotisserie, Treekiller and I took a long dinner break. We had decided this morning to stop at a campsite twenty miles away, so we were in no rush today, which was delightful. Wocka and Giddyup were still ahead of us, so we hoped they would stake out a campsite for us. As nice as it was to camp in big groups as we had been doing, it made campsite choices very difficult. There wasn't always a spot that could accommodate seventeen hikers.

Unfortunately, when we reached twenty miles, there wasn't a campsite to be seen, just forest and thick underbrush. Frustrated, we checked our maps and found that the next spot was only four miles further, but we had to gain 2,000 ft of elevation to get there. Since we had been taking our time, it was already 6:00 when we started the climb. Everyone was exhausted, and Treekiller was cranky, but we didn't have much of an option. I took a shot of caffeine and pounded up the mountain, putting miles behind me as quickly as I could. The views from the top, especially at sunset, were beautiful. We paused to look out at Mt. Adams dominating the skyline, and heard far below someone calling out to us: "Ca-caw! Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"
The crow sound was our usual call-and-repeat noise we made to each other on trail, so we could find each other. This time it sounded like Sneaks, who was probably catching up to us after leaving Trout Lake.
"Ca-caw! Ca-caw!" we called back, our voices echoing over the hills.

I reached our campsite just as it grew dark, a small space beside Walput Creek. Wocka and Giddyup already had their tent pitched there, and Treekiller, Rotisserie, Sansei and I managed to wedge ours in, too. There was space further past where Running Commentary, Haggis, Kitty and the others were camped.

We looked over the maps for tomorrow before bed. We were only 27 miles from White Pass, but the next 20 miles went through Goat Rocks Wilderness, which we heard was both stunningly beautiful and incredibly difficult. We weren't sure we could make the whole trek in one day, but we were still on time to meet Sunshine and Katie in White Pass the following morning. I went to bed thrilled about tomorrow: Goat Rocks was a landscape I have been wanting to backpack for some time, and I knew it was one of the more beautiful places on the PCT, a hiker's heaven. I could barely sleep with excitement.

Day One Hundred Nine

Today's miles: 26
Total miles: 2253

It was a chilly night, so I woke up several times to readjust my sleeping bag around me. I heard an elk bugling in the darkness, a deep and haunting sound.

Running Commentary, Haggis, John, Kitty and Lt. Dan had a habit of getting up really early to hike, so they left camp before the rest of us were even awake. I woke up with Wocka, Giddyup, and Treekiller, leaving camp with them before the rest of the seventeen of us struggled into action. Treekiller and I spent the morning hiking with Two Bad Dogs. I told them about my meeting with Hard Tack, the older gentleman who had ridden around the world with them a few years back. Two Bad Dogs said they had gotten the chance to meet up with him, too, and celebrate the end of his thru-hike when he reached Cascade Locks. I was sorry I had missed it.

It was a very hilly morning, but with good company it made the day go by more quickly. After ten miles we reached the second road to Trout Lake and found the van from Jeff waiting for us. We waved goodbye to Sneaks, Mudd, Dingo, Horny Toad, and Two Bad Dogs, who also needed to go to town. The rest of us continued hiking until we found a good lunch spot in the trees. Today the sun was almost too brutal in the burned forests, but I kept telling myself it was better than rain and I wasn't sorry for it. We made lunch in a big group: Haggis, Running Commentary, Kitty, John, Wocka, Giddyup, Vince and Treekiller. Wocka and I spent our lunch hour discussing weddings. She said she and Giddyup hadn't figured anything out yet, except that they wanted me to design their wedding invitations. We talked about colors, and the bridal party, and locations. It was strange talking about something so ordinary in so unordinary a place.

We all hiked out together after lunch and tackled several big climbs in a group. I spent time getting to know Kitty, who I discovered was from North Carolina and had never even been camping before she started her thru-hike. She was struggling with some foot issues, but otherwise was in amazingly good spirits for coming as far as she has. Together we reminisced about the east coast and laughed about the differences between there and here.

We slowed our pace through the afternoon and enjoyed some breathtaking views of Mt. Hood, Mt Rainier and Mt. Adams. We were walking in the foothills of Mt. Adams, and with such lovely weather, it was hard not to gape at the views we had missed in the storm.

Mt Hood

Mt Adams

Mt. Rainier

Mt. Adams

Treekiller, Kitty and I ran into a wasp's nest as big as a volleyball hanging near the trail, and so we left a note for future hikers and carefully bended our steps farther away from the PCT to avoid it. If California has ants and mosquitoes and Oregon has bees, then Washington has wasps. It seems the further north we go, the more treacherous our insect life.

After 23 miles we were growing tired and walking into sunset, expecting to cross a small stream and then come upon our campsite a few miles later. Instead what we discovered was a glacial river fed by a very heavy two days of rain. It was at least 100 feet across, and raging. When TK, Kitty and I reached it, we gaped in horror at what we would have to ford without a bridge. Wocka, Giddyup and British John were already on the other side, but too far away for them to offer us advice.

I paced back and forth up and down the river, trying to figure out where to get across. This was not what I wanted to be doing at 6:00 at night. The river was divided into three sections, each broken up by a small sandbar, and in between, the water was freezing and unhindered. I finally resolved that I would have to walk through in my shoes, for there was no way my flip-flops would stay on my feet in this crossing, and going barefoot was too dangerous. Treekiller put on his Crocs and asked if he could borrow my trekking pole to get across.
"Don't worry, I'll throw it back to you," he said.
I wasn't sure how he would be able to throw it that far, but I gave him my trekking pole and watched as he stepped in the flowing river and slowly picked his way across. It didn't seem to be as deep as I had feared, but one wrong step and the current would easily knock him over.
Treekiller made it safely to the first sandbar and then made a motion as if to throw the trekking pole like a javelin. I suddenly realized what a far distance he was throwing it, and I started to cry, "wait...!"
But he had already launched it, and suddenly I was seeing my trekking pole flying through the air toward Kitty and me. It perhaps would have made it, just barely, if no one had touched it. But Kitty, wanting to be helpful, reached out to grab the pole from the air. The pointed end struck her in the palm, bounced off her hand, and launched back into the river.
In seconds my trekking pole disappeared in the water, never to be seen again.
"Oh no!" I wailed, shucking off my pack to try and grab for the pole. But it was gone, and the water was too silty and fast moving to track it down again. Just when I had come to terms with its loss, and how I would have to hike to White Pass with only one pole, Kitty came running up to me in distress.
"I'm so sorry!" she wailed. "I tried to save it for you! It just hit my palm and I couldn't grab it..."
It was then that I noticed the sun gloves she was wearing, and the dark stain that appeared on her palm.
"Kitty, what..." I ripped back her glove and saw her palm covered in blood where the metal tip of the trekking pole had broken her skin. "You're bleeding!"
"It's fine, it's fine," she said quickly, "I'm so sorry about your pole! I'm so sorry!"
"Forget the pole!" I cried, "your hand is hurt!"
I tried to help her clean it off and take care of the wound, but she was more shaken up about my trekking pole and refused to be doctored. I groaned in frustration at her, and suddenly looked up and realized that Treekiller was standing beside me.
"What the hell are you doing?" I cried.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he said, "I'm looking for your trekking pole."
"But you already made it halfway across the river!" I said, "why did you come back?!"
"Because I lost your trekking pole."
"Jesus, forget the trekking pole!" I said. "Kitty's hurt and you're backtracking; it's not worth it!"
Seriously, was everyone crazy today?!

But Treekiller slowly picked his way downstream, and suddenly he dunked his hand in the water and came out with: my trekking pole!
"Found it!"
I was shocked. It had apparently gotten caught on a pile of tree branches down river.
Treekiller returned my pole to me and then stood for a few minutes with his hands on his knees, leaning over and breathing heavily like he was going to vomit.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just waiting for the feeling to return to my feet. That water is fucking freezing and it hurts."
A feeling of dread rushed over me. There was nothing I wanted less right now than to get my newly dried shoes wet with ice water.
"Do you want my trekking pole again?" I asked TK.
"No, I know the way this time."
Treekiller led the way, Kitty and I slowly walking behind him. The water was mind-numbingly cold, and after only a few seconds walking through it, my feet were screaming like I had dunked them in dry ice. My shoes collected the water and my socks soaked it up, meaning that even when I stepped safely onto the sandbar, there was no relief from the cold.
Screaming, I forded through the next two sections of river, clutching my trekking poles and trying to force myself across faster, despite the current. When I finally reached dry land, my legs were soaked from the knee down and I couldn't strip my shoes off my feet fast enough.
"AHHHHHH!" I screeched, desperately clutching my frozen toes between my palms and trying to work warmth back into them. I couldn't remember a time I had been in water so cold. My whole body began to shake with chills, and even trying to wring water out of my socks was making my fingertips go numb.
"Don't worry," said John sympathetically, "it gets better."
It did, slowly, but putting wet shoes and socks back on was torture. I hated knowing that I would have to walk in my wet shoes until they dried.

As we sat waiting to warm up, we were greeted by a friendly face: a brown pine marten was clinging to the bark of a nearby tree, watching us with rapt curiosity. He was so cute we couldn't help but giggle over him, especially when he scampered up and hid inside the hollow trunk, his head peeping out so that he could keep an eye on us.

"How many more miles?" Treekiller asked.
"Three," I sighed. All of us wished we were in camp already.

We walked as fast as possible beneath the setting sun, enjoying the colors spreading over Mt. Adams. We discovered our hiking companions at a beautiful campsite, run through with a winding river and the mountain majestically in the background. Wocka, Giddyup, Alphabet Soup and Kudu were all camped in one section, so Treekiller and I joined them. We ate dinner together and I learned more about Alphabet Soup and Kudu; they were from Southern California (though Kudu was originally from South Africa, hence his trail name) and had gotten engaged on the trail at Mt. Whitney. I found I liked them instantly; Alphabet Soup and I joked together as though we had been friends for years. She and I had similar humors and it was fun making a new friend.

When it got dark, everyone turned in for bed. I was still gathering stuff to put in my tent, so I stood alone in the darkness, looking up at the stars and listening to the voices of other hikers at nearby campsites. I went to get my toothbrush so I could brush my teeth before bed, when suddenly I saw two bobbing headlamps making their way across the grass. I watched them curiously, trying to run through my head who had been hiking behind us. But I was pretty sure Treekiller, Kitty and I had been the last of our group today.

The two headlamps got closer and closer until finally they stopped right in front of me. It was so dark that I couldn't see their faces behind the lights.
"Bramble!!" a male voice cried.
I blinked in surprise. They knew me?
"Yes?" I asked. "Who is it?"
The headlamps burst into laughter, and my light shone on their faces at the exact same time I recognized the voices.
"Sansei! Rotisserie!" I cried, dropping my stuff as I launched into huge hugs. "How! What! Where! How... how did you get here?! I thought you were a week behind us!!"
I was so blown away that I could barely form a coherent sentence. I was jumping up and down and shrieking, completely beside myself.
Sansei laughed again. "Yeah, we were. But then we realized that if we kept going at the pace we were, we wouldn't make it to Canada before the bad weather set in. So we hitched up to Cascade Locks for Trail Days and then jumped ahead to try and catch you. We're going to go back and finish the miles we skipped later."
"How did you know where I was?" I asked.
"We've been following your posts," Sansei said, "and we've been asking every hunter and southbounder we pass if they've seen you. Most of them said they passed a big group of like twenty people leaving Trout Lake, so we figured you were part of it."
"Every tent we've passed today, Sansei thought he found you," Rotisserie laughed. "He was walking down the trail at one point yelling, 'Bramble!! Bramble!!'"
I laughed. "I can't believe it! This is amazing!"
I was so excited I kept jumping up and down and giving them hugs. "You're finally here!"

From inside their tents, the others were curious about my outbursts.
"Brambs, what's going on?" Treekiller asked.
"Sansei and Rotisserie are here!" I said. "That's Treekiller, and Wocka and Giddyup over there, and Kudu and Alphabet Soup over there," I explained.
"Nice! Well, I'm sure we'll see everyone in the morning," Rotisserie said.

I let Rotisserie and Sansei find a campspot for themselves, and said goodnight as I crawled into my tent. I lay in my sleeping bag with a big grin on my face. I didn't realize until then how much I missed my "trail family", and now that everyone I loved was coming together again, there was nothing that could stop us from reaching that border.

Day One Hundred Eight

Today's miles: 21
Total miles: 2227

When I woke up today, the sun was shining in through the window. It took me a moment to realize where I was, and then I remembered that I was inside out of the storm, but the storm was over. It was such a relief that I was practically giddy about getting back on trail.

I remembered what Becky had told us about breakfast, so I got ready, packed up my gear, and went upstairs to the cafeteria to heat up some food. What I discovered instead was Becky, Jeff and two of their daughters busily clanking dishes and pans of food around in the kitchen, preparing us a hot meal of breakfast burritos. I couldn't believe it; it was supposed to be their first day off in months, and here they were up at the crack of dawn to make us breakfast!

The seven of us congregated upstairs, voicing our thanks and subtly slipping donations into the jar.
As we ate, a bus full of people showed up outside, and pretty soon the cafeteria was full of hikers: we were rejoined by Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks, Mudd, Dingo, and the others, who shared with us stories of their wonderful hosts for the night. They had breakfast with us, and as we ate, more and more people showed up. Everyone was beside themselves for the generosity the Ministry was showing us. Jeff even brought up boxes and boxes of Mountain House dehydrated dinners that he had stored downstairs for their camping trips and offered them to us for free. It was very rarely that we indulged in Mountain House dinners; they were very expensive and bulky, but a free gift of them was an amazing change of pace in our dinner routine.

Jeff gathered us together and asked if he could say a prayer. We bowed our heads and he asked God to look out for us on our journey north, to make sure we stayed safe, and to thank Him for bringing us to his doorstep yesterday in a time of need. By the time he was done with his prayer, all of us were crying.

"Who needs a ride back up to the trailhead?" Jeff asked, and half of us raised our hands. He offered to give us a lift in his blue school bus, so we piled in after giving big hugs and thanks to Becky and her daughters.

We were all chatty and delighted in the bus, amazed at how wonderfully this night had turned out. As Jeff shuttled us back to the trail, he asked if any of us were coming back into Trout Lake tomorrow. Apparently there was another road which was closer to town, and hikers often used it to hitch in for supplies. Mudd, Dingo, Sneaks and Horny Toad needed to come back to town in order to pick up their resupply boxes which hadn't arrived in the mail, yet. They said they expected to cover the 30 mile distance to the next road by tomorrow at lunch.

"How about this," Jeff suggested. "I have a white van that we use to shuttle our camp kids around in the summer. What I can do is drive it up to the next road, hide the keys under the wheel, and leave it for you to find when you get there. Then you can drive the van back into town and resupply, stay with us for the night, or just stop by. How does that sound?"
We were all so awed by this selfless act he was performing for perfect strangers that we were stunned speechless. Jeff heard our silence and added carefully, "I'm afraid that's all I can do for you..."
Immediately we were all talking and clambering, "Oh, no, that's perfect..."
"It's so unexpected..."
"You've done more than enough..."
"Thank you so much!!"
He looked pleased to be of help once more.

When Jeff dropped us off, we gave him hugs and thanked him over and over for everything he had done for us. In turn, Jeff seemed excited by the prospect of being a trail angel each year as PCT hikers made their way into Trout Lake.

Left, front to back: Kitty, British John, Treekiller, Giddyup (and Wocka), Sneaks
Right, front to back: Hummingbird, Haggis, Running Commentary

The group of us began hiking up the trail: Haggis, Running Commentary, Lt. Dan, British John, Kitty, Horny Toad, Hummingbird, Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks, Mudd, Dingo, Treekiller and I. I stuck with TK and the two of us made good time over easy terrain, thoroughly enjoying the beautiful weather. I couldn't believe how in love with the sun I was today. What an amazing difference it made! I wasn't stressing about the rain, or my gear, or trying to stay warm in unknown circumstances.

This storm had taught me an important lesson, however. I knew I would have to outfit myself more properly if I was to make it through the rest of Washington in one piece. No longer could I pretend that we would have "great weather" the whole trail. This unexpected storm had taught me otherwise. I sent a note to Tanner asking Sunshine to bring me rain pants, boots, and an umbrella when we met in White Pass in a few days. When next the weather broke, I would hopefully be more prepared to deal with it.

We saw few thru-hikers on the trail today, but it was a popular spot for day and weekend hikers. There were several beautiful lakes we passed beside, and everyone we talked to commented on how wonderful the weather was today. Treekiller and I stopped for lunch at Blue Lake and waited for the other thru-hikers to catch up, but no one did. I dug through my food bag for my usual tuna-cheese-and-tortilla lunch and realized that I had left half my supply of tuna packets on my table at home before I left Portland, and now I was out. Grumbling to myself, I realized I would have to spend the next four days cobbling together food for lunch and hopefully wouldn't run out. It was a blessing that I had picked up one of Jeff's Mountain House meals today.

Throughout the afternoon TK and I hiked mostly alone, though British John and Kitty caught up to us a few times. We arrived early to our destined campsite, a flat space near Mosquito Creek, at 6:30. While I was trying to decide if we should push further or camp here, I glanced over and saw that TK had already set up his tent. I laughed and said, "I guess we're staying!"

I set up my tent, too, and pretty soon we were joined by everyone we left with this morning: Wocka, Giddyup, Mudd, Dingo, Sneaks, John, Kitty, Running Commentary, Hops, Haggis, and Horny Toad, plus some new and old faces joined us: Two Bad Dogs, Alphabet Soup, Kudu, and a section hiker named Vince. By the time darkness shrouded us, there were seventeen people with tents crammed into a five-tent space! It was an impressive feat, and a very entertaining one. It had been quite some time since we had camped with so many people.

We made dinner together in the middle of the tent pile and laughed and talked about the weather and the trail. The section hiker, Vince, who had started a few days ago and planned to do all 518 miles of Washington, was a little surprised to be among so many people.
"I was told I'd be hiking alone through this stretch!" he said.
We laughed and told him that this was unusual for us, too. But as we reached the end of the trail and there were fewer and fewer thru-hikers left, we banded together in groups and stayed much more tight-knit than we ever did in the desert.
I discovered that Vince used to work with Katie and Tanner, and he was surprised to learn that Katie would be joining us in a few days, and that I was Tanner's fiancee.

We went to bed surrounded by good people, good memories, and good stories to tell.

Day One Hundred Seven

Today's miles: 12
Total miles: 2206

The sound of the pounding rain never ceased last night, and I didn't sleep well at all. I woke up this morning to a steady drip of water plinking on my forehead like some form of Chinese water torture. Water was slowly gathering on the hub of my tent poles and then dripping down through the tent mesh onto my face. I groaned and put a handkerchief over my face to catch the water, and went back to sleep.

When I woke again, it was still pouring cats and dogs. Usually in the morning I listen for the stirrings of my hiking mates so I know when to get ready for the day, but the rain was drowning out any kind of sound. I checked my watch and realized the rain wasn't going to get any better, so I had no choice but to get ready to hike in it.

As I started to pack up, I noticed that the excessive amounts of rain had caused water to puddle beneath my tent, and the pressure of my sleeping pad lying on those puddles all night forced the water up through the tent material. When I got out of my sleeping bag, I realized I was literally floating in a pool of water. My tent was soaked.

Survival mode kicked in, and I knew the only way I could survive a potentially long rainstorm was to keep my down sleeping bag and sleeping clothes dry as long as possible. They were the only things that would keep me from hypothermia if the shit hit the fan. Currently my inflatable sleeping pad had saved me from the two inches of rain I was lying in, so I balanced on it carefully while I packed up my sleeping bag in its stuff sack. Then I carefully reached into the vestibule of my tent and tried to pack everything into my backpack without getting out into the rain. It was a challenging endeavor; the Fly Creek tent has a very small vestibule, and because the ground was soaked, my pack and food bag had gotten very wet, too. I had a waterproof liner and a pack cover for my pack, and I hoped it would be enough to save my gear from the rain.

When I finished packing, I dressed in my raincoat and put a trash bag around my waist to act as a rain skirt. It only came down to my knees, however, and my pants stuck out below it, undoubtedly to get very wet. I finally emerged into the rain and had the very unpleasant task of packing up my sopping wet, freezing cold tent, which was now soaked inside and out. I looked around and realized we had all pitched our tents in a depression, meaning water had spent all night collecting on the ground and there were large puddles everywhere. It would have been a miracle if anyone stayed dry last night.

Nearby, Treekiller was packing up, too. Our other friends had left earlier this morning, but Wocka and Giddyup were still inside their tent, wanting to wait out the rain a little longer before they started hiking.

"A mouse ate through my tent last night," Treekiller told me, showing me a large, ragged hole near the head of his tent.
"What!" I said. "How did that happen?"
"I was using my food bag as a pillow," he admitted. "I think it was too close to the tent wall, because the mouse chewed through my food bag, too. Got into my snacks. It was raining so hard I didn't even hear him."
I shook my head pityingly. A lot of my hiking friends slept with their food bags, which I always thought was a poor idea, since mice and rodents have no qualms about chewing through a $400 tent to get to your food. My food was in a bear-and-rodent-proof bag, but I always kept it outside my tent in my vestibule, just in case, and hadn't had any problems so far.

Once Treekiller and I were packed up, we didn't want to stand in the rain waiting for Wocka and Giddyup, so we told them we were heading out. We still had the last half of the climb we started yesterday, and the physical exertion was in our favor, for it kept us warmer in the freezing rain. It didn't take long before we were soaked completely; Treekiller and I were both wearing trash bag rain skirts but mine was doing absolutely no good, as it was dripping down onto my already soggy pant legs. My mesh trail runners were soon soaked through, my socks sopping up water like a sponge. I felt like I was walking through a swimming pool. My raincoat was keeping me mostly warm, but I still felt drenched beneath it. My wet hair was plastered to my wet face, and my pack was getting pounded by rain even with its rain cover over it.

The hike was a struggle. For once I barely even noticed the difficult terrain and was completely focused on the driving, relentless rain. I plodded along the trail behind Treekiller, quickly and thoroughly miserable. Even worse, my mind was racing with what-ifs: what if it doesn't stop raining today? What if I have to set up my wet tent in the rain tonight? What if I can't keep my sleeping bag dry? What if it never dries out? These thoughts sent me into a panic.
I dayhike all the time in the rain of Portland, for you go stir crazy in the winter if you don't go hiking, and it's always raining. But the difference with a dayhike is that it doesn't matter if you get wet. You can get drenched and simply go back to your car, go home, and take a warm shower. Out here, you don't have that option. You have miles and miles and miles of forest and trees and open trail. There's absolutely nowhere you can go to get out of the rain, and that realization is slightly terrifying. It's amazing how important shelter can be in bad weather.

As we walked, Treekiller turned back now and again to fix me with a concerned stare, asking earnestly, "how are you doing?" I think he was remembering his promise to take care of me, and was doing his best to keep my spirits up.
I responded to him honestly every time: "I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm miserable."
"Me too," he admitted.
We walked below tunnels of trees, but even the trees offered no respite from the rain. In fact, they made it worse. The branches and leaves collected the rainfall and dumped it even harder over our heads. I was starving but I couldn't stop for a snack because I was too cold to pause, and opening my pack meant I would be subjecting it to the rain. Everything was more difficult in poor weather.
And so we pushed on.

As we reached the peaks of our climbs, we paused to look out into the great white abyss. Treekiller kept climbing up into cleared areas of the trail, to "check out the view!" as he put it. But that was the joke, for there was nothing to see but a blanket of white.

The trail began to go downhill and the wind picked up.
"Does the wind make it better or worse?" Treekiller wondered aloud, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully.
We felt the wind blow straight through us, cold and punishing, and I cried, "Worse! Worse! Definitely worse!"
It began to hail. We hurried through it, pelted by the freezing rain and shivering inside our rain coats. We had to keep moving to stay warm. I despaired of ever being dry again. I could now understand why people who have walked thousands of miles in a thru hike could be driven to quit by days of relentless rain. In my head I was making ridiculous barters with myself: I would walk two weeks in the 100 degree desert again instead of this. I would walk through the worst mosquitoes of Yosemite again instead of this.
In each case, there was always an escape. Even in the desert, the sun would set and the heat would abate. Even in Yosemite, setting up a tent would offer respite from the mosquitoes. But rain? There was no escape. My shelter was already soaking wet. My gear was soaking wet. My clothes were soaking wet. My shoes and socks were soaking wet. And I had no way to dry anything out. It was a feeling of utter helplessness.
God, please let something good come of this, I prayed. Keep us safe in the storm.

The trail soon became a river. Treekiller and I did our best to dodge the big puddles, but soon it was unavoidable. We sloshed through water as deep as our ankles, our feet turning cold and pruney in our shoes. And still it rained. Pouring, pouring, pouring. Not a single inch of us was dry.
I checked my maps desperately for any kind of respite: a ski cabin, a shelter, an overhang. There was nothing. And then... I found a road crossing, twelve miles from where we camped last night. My maps indicated that it might have a primitive outhouse next to it. That outhouse became my savior. If nothing else, I was going to make it to that road by lunch and I was going to cook a warm meal sitting on the toilet. I didn't care how dirty, how smelly, or how dark it was. It had a roof, and that was enough for me. I was excited about the prospect. Practically giddy. I'm going to have lunch in the outhouse! Lunch in the outhouse!! Best news all day!

Treekiller and I didn't stop all morning until we came to that road crossing. We hiked twelve miles in four hours and when we reached the outhouse, we discovered it had more than just a toilet under a roof: it had a very tiny covered porch. And fifteen people crammed beneath it.
Haggis, Running Commentary, British John, Kitty, Hummingbird, and Lt. Dan were already there, dancing wildly to music under the roof in order to stay dry. And there were more: Mudd, Dingo, and Sneaks were crowded in there, too!
"I thought you guys were way ahead of us!" I said in surprise. They had left Cascade Locks a half-day in front of Wocka, Giddyup, TK and I.
"Yeah.... we got here last night," Sneaks admitted. "We didn't feel like walking in the rain."
"So now what?" I asked. "It's not like it's going to get better. It's been raining since yesterday afternoon."
"Well, we learned this road is like twenty miles away from a town called Trout Lake," Sneaks said. "We were thinking of hitching into town for the night."
"How?" I asked. The road was obviously infrequently used; mainly as a thoroughfare for campers and hunters in the area.
"Hops called his mom and she already came by once to pick up a group of people," he said. "He was going to stop by the general store there and see if the woman who runs it could bring out another car. We hear they're PCT friendly."
I turned to Treekiller. "What do you think? Should we go into town?" The very thought of it was making me giddy.
"I don't know," he said. "What would that accomplish? It might be raining again tomorrow."
"But we'd be able to dry out our gear," I said, "and that would be huge."
"And next time this happens?" Treekiller asked. "We can't bail out in town every time the weather turns bad."
"No, but we can get better gear," I admitted. I already had a running list of things I wanted Tanner to send me.
Rain pants. Waterproof boots. Warmer rain coat. Trash bags.

At that moment, Wocka and Giddyup showed up, the two of them toting their sun umbrellas that they've carried since the desert. I was jealous of those shade-makers in the desert, but now I was even more jealous of them in the rain. Wocka and Giddyup barely looked wet except for their feet, while I felt like a drowned rat.
Umbrella, I added to my list of things I desperately wanted.

After a reunion with Sneaks, Mudd and Dingo, we relayed the latest news to Wocka and Giddyup, and they decided going into town might be a good idea. Treekiller came around to the idea, too, and so we debated our next step: how to get there.
"We think there's a car coming?" Giddyup asked.
"Supposedly," agreed Sneaks, "but it takes about 20-30 min each way to drive there."
"In the meantime, Kitty has been trying to hitch," Haggis said. "She's been running out to talk to the hunters who drive by. No luck so far."

Just then, a huge black truck came barreling up the road, stopping just outside our outhouse. Stunned, the group of us stared at the car, wondering who was coming up here in this weather. Someone jumped out, and we all realized who it was at the same time:
"Wagon Wheel!"
"Hey, guys," he grinned.
"How the hell does a thru-hiker have a truck?" Treekiller cried.
"It's not mine. The woman at the general store in town owns it. She heard you guys were up here in the rain and told me to come pick you up."

We were stunned, but extremely grateful for this ticket into town. The truck was big enough to cram five of us in the front and ten more in the trunk with all our packs. I climbed in the front seat with the other girls and enjoyed the amazing feeling of warm air coming from the vents.

We rumbled our way down the road, arriving at the small community of Trout Lake a half hour later. The woman at the general store, Betty, was waiting outside, and her mouth dropped in shock as all of us exited clown-car-style out of the truck.
"So many of you!" she cried. "How did you all fit in there??"
We smiled and told her that cramming people into cars with packs was a thru-hiker super power. (True story.)
"Poor things!" she cooed. "You all look so wet and miserable. Come get out of the cold."

Surprisingly, it wasn't raining in Trout Lake. We had dropped a considerable amount of elevation, and were told that most storms break when they hit the mountains in Indian Heaven, where we had been hiking. Still, this storm had been raging for a few days and we learned that it was biggest rainfall Washington had had this early in the season in several decades.
"This is very unusual this early," we were told, which assuaged our fears a little.
Inside the general store, we bought snacks and asked about hotels in the area.
"We don't have many," Betty admitted, "and they're all full this weekend because there's a wedding in town."
Discouraged, we glanced at each other, trying to figure out our best option. There were at least twenty hikers here, now, and surely more on the way.
"There's a camping area nearby," Betty suggested, "it's free."
"It's not that," Treekiller said, "we just need someplace to dry out our gear. Everything is wet from the storm. Is there a warehouse or a garage we could sleep in for the night somewhere? We're happy to pay for something."
"Oh, dear," said Betty. "I'm not sure. You poor things. Give me a minute; I have a list of people in town who have been trail angels in the past for PCT hikers. Let me call them and see what I can do."

She disappeared into the store while we waited patiently, talking amongst ourselves on the porch. What happened next was a bit of magic that, looking back, I'm still awed over.
People began showing up at the general store. Men, women, families, townsfolk. They answered Betty's phone calls, heard about our plight, and they drove right down to the store to pick us up and take us home. They loaded us into their trucks, carted us to their homes, fed us, gave us warm places to sleep for the night, and asked for nothing in return.
In small groups the hikers began disappearing: as each trail angel showed up, they took three or four hikers home with them, like adopted puppies. The word spread quickly that there were PCT hikers in town, driven in by the storm and needing a place to stay the night, and the people of Trout Lake came to help us. It was amazing to see.

Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks, Horny Toad, Mudd and Dingo went with the last of the townsfolk, and now there were just seven of us left: Treekiller, Running Commentary, Haggis, British John, Lt. Dan, Kitty and I. Betty came bustling out of the store and gave us the latest news: there was a youth ministries camp just down the road that usually had campers staying over the summer, but the last of their programs for the year had just ended, so they had bunkrooms and showers available to us to use for the night. Delighted, we jumped back into Betty's truck and she took us down to the Jonah Youth Ministries camp, which looked as though it had been renovated from an old elementary school. The youth director and owner, named Becky, came out to greet us and show us around.
She had already put up signs on two of the bunkrooms, saying "PCT girls" and "PCT boys." The camp staff were cleaning out the bathrooms for us and she said we could use the laundry facilities and borrow towels for showers if we needed them. We were in awe of her generosity on such short notice, and thanked her over and over.
"May I ask a question?" I asked tentatively. "Is there somewhere like a garage where we could lay out our gear and let it dry?"
"Of course!" Becky showed us into the large gymnasium and told us we were free to use the space to lay out our stuff.
The seven of us stood quietly in a huddle, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Is everything ok?" Becky asked.
"This is so nice," British John spoke up, "but our gear is very dirty with rain and mud... we don't want to ruin your gym."
Becky laughed. "It's no problem. We haven't cleaned in here yet, so I'll just have the staff hold off until your stuff is dry. Don't worry about getting it dirty!"

After much persuasion, we finally thanked her and gathered chairs in the middle of the gym. Then out came all our gear: wet tents, sleeping bags, pads, clothing, packs. I discovered I wasn't the only one with ruined gear. Several of our group had their tents collapse on them last night in the rain and had soaking wet down sleeping bags, completely ruined for another night of sleep. This refuge was truly a God-send and probably saved the life of more than one hiker.

Pretty soon the whole gym was covered in gear draped over every surface. We set up tents to dry, lay bags over chairs, and stripped our feet of our wet shoes, pulling out the insoles and stuffing the toes with paper towels. My feet were ghostly white and wrinkled with rain from standing in cold puddles all day.

We took hot showers and moved the rest of our stuff into the bunkrooms, which were stacked three bunks high into the walls. Running Commentary and her wife Haggis picked out two bunks near mine and Kitty on the other side. The boys: John, Lt. Dan, and Treekiller were next door. Treekiller and I joked that it felt strange being segregated, since we had all spent so many nights in close, comforting proximity to each other, but we were happy to obey the rules of the establishment.

After my shower, I started a load of laundry with Treekiller and spent some time with Becky, thanking her and her staff for all they had done for us already. Becky was keeping busy making sure we had everything we needed, and asked me, "What are you all doing for dinner?"
"We brought food with us," I promised. "And we're happy to walk downtown to get some food from a restaurant or grocery store."
"We have leftover food here from the camps," Becky said. "If I brought it out, would you eat it?"
"Of course," I said, "but you don't have to do that. You've been a huge help already."
"It's no problem!" she said, "we have lots. Let's say 5:00? I'll have the food out for you guys in the cafeteria. Will you spread the word?"
I agreed, and passed it along that Becky was feeding us tonight.

When we gathered in the cafeteria later that evening, Becky's husband Jeff and their daughter were bustling about the room heating up plates of goulash, salad, corn bread, soup and pie for us to eat. We were astounded by the amount of food before us, and eagerly gobbled it up, feeling warm from head to toe. Jeff sat with us and asked us questions about the PCT; they knew about the trail but hadn't had much experience with hikers in the past. We explained to them what trail angels were, and how their generosity had certainly earned them the title.

Though we asked to help do dishes, we were turned away, and Becky's family did all the work cleaning and putting away our dinner.
"We can have breakfast for you tomorrow, too, is that okay?" Becky asked.
"That's... that would be wonderful," we stuttered.
"Nothing big," she promised. "It's our first day off since the camps ended, so we were hoping to sleep in and get some work done later in the day. But I can leave out some food for you guys to heat up in the microwave when you wake up, would that be ok?"
"Perfect," we promised, "we don't want to bother you on your day off!!"

Treekiller and I learned that our hiking friend Cuddles, who bounces his cello from town to town, was playing a concert tonight in Trout Lake at 7:30. Becky let us borrow her van and a few of us drove downtown to the local church where he was playing. The house was packed with townspeople and hikers alike, and the church minister gave a wonderful speech about PCT thru-hikers.

"These men and women come through every year, having walked some 2,200 miles from the border of Mexico with only their packs on their backs. Sometimes they need shelter from the storm, or a ride to the grocery store, or a kind person to give them a bed for the night. They come into town expecting none of these things; they know how to care for themselves and they are strong, independent young people. But if you take the time to show them kindness and generosity, I promise you will be rewarded with meeting some of the most amazing people you've had the privilege to be in contact with. Thanks to all of you who have helped out this latest group of hikers as they have found their way to our small community during this storm."

The minister had us all stand up while the town cheered for us. I was blown away by the warmth and generosity of these people, and I couldn't remember being in a town where I had been so grateful for the kindness of the human spirit as I had here.

The concert was lovely, and afterward Treekiller and I stayed to greet old hiking friends: Tears for Beers, Toots Magoots, Safety First, Fun Size, and others who were in town for the night. Then we returned to the Ministry, where we settled into our comfortable bunks and felt truly blessed that we were out of the rain tonight. My last thought before I fell asleep was how terrible this day had begun, and how wonderfully it had ended. The PCT is like that. It always provides, in one way or another.