Today's miles: 0
Total miles: 2580
Today was the strangest zero we've taken on trail, and also the most chaotic. We were planning for the unknown, but determined to do so.
Sansei and Rotisserie left early today with a friend of Sansei's to drive down to Eugene and pick up winter gear. They were planning to meet us again tomorrow to go back to the trail. Sansei was anxious about getting all his stuff in time, but the rest of us insisted that if we could do it, he could do it.
Sunshine had some friends in the Portland area, so between bumming gear from them as well as borrowing gear from my friends Jason and Elizabeth, he was able to cobble together enough stuff to add to his pack. I dug through my bins of winter clothing and gear, and together we added the following items to our supplies:
- Waterproof boots
- Heavy winter socks
- Waterproof gaiters
- Warmer sleeping bag (I switched back to my 20 degree bag)
- Waterproof stuff sacks for my sleeping bag and clothes
- Another layer of wool clothing
- Warm hat and balaclava
- Heavier rain jacket and waterproof pants
- Waterproof gloves
- Snowshoes
- Micro spikes (traction for the bottoms of our boots)
- Extra food (in case the snow slowed our mileage)
With all the added gear, my pack weighed a lot more than it ever had on trail. I was more confident about my chances in the weather, though. The only thing I worried about was how my lightweight tent would fare in such cold, snowy conditions.
Since Treekiller and Vince didn't have to prepare for returning to the trail, they were more laid back and enjoyed their time in town. Treekiller made us two more of his specialty cheesecakes, one Key Lime and one Peanut Butter Oreo while they watched movies.
He and Vince both had trains to catch today, so Sunshine, Tanner and I drove them to the nearest metro station later in the afternoon. It was hard saying goodbye, knowing it might be a long time before I would get the chance to see them again. Vince, after all, was going to India soon, and Treekiller lived in the midwest, too far away for a casual roadtrip.
After big hugs, we let them go and quietly drove home through the pouring rain. Now Sunshine and I were the only two left.
We kept in touch with our hiker friends, trying to figure out the best time to meet. We decided we would get together at Rainy Pass tomorrow evening - Watson was going to drive Wocka, Giddyup, Kazu and Sneaks there after work. We had initially planned on meeting in Stehekin again so we could hike out from where we left off, but Stehekin is a difficult town to get to. The only way in or out is by foot or ferry, so it was inconvenient to try to hike out from there. Instead, we opted to skip twenty miles of trail and start from Rainy Pass, which was the next closest road crossing.
Sunshine checked in with Rotisserie, Sansei and Katie before the day was out. Katie was still worried about the weather and decided she didn't want to go back to the trail, and Rotisserie and Sansei were in the process of securing a ride to Rainy Pass from Eugene. They thought about taking the train up to Seattle, but didn't have a good way to get from Seattle to the trail. We were only taking one car back up to Washington, so with Tanner, mom, Courtney, Sunshine and I in the car, there wasn't room for two more. It was a mess, overall.
Our friends Toots, Tears, Fun Size, Cuddles, Lighthouse and a few others were currently in the small town of Winthrop, near Rainy Pass, and also planned on hiking north from there on Tuesday. We hoped by meeting up with all of us together that we could plow through the snow and the weather no problem. We felt more secure about our decision knowing others would be traveling the trail with us.
News was still circulating around the web from the rest of this year's hikers. We kept in touch with each other via a Facebook page for 2013 hikers, and had been giving each other trail updates and tips throughout our journey. In the past few days, the Facebook page had become a jumbled mess of news and weather updates from frantic hikers, all of us trying to finish the trail in time. It sounded like no one had reached the border since the storm began, and everyone was trying to figure out the best way to get there. The rain and snow had frozen everyone in place. We were part of a big group stuck in Stehekin, and there was an even bigger group stuck in Steven's Pass at the Dinsmore's, including Sweet Tooth, Hot Tub, Dance Party, and Focus. They were unable to hike north because of the large amounts of snow dropping on the 100 miles from Steven's Pass to Stehekin. Remembering my soggy, foggy journey through those same 100 miles, it was strange thinking about hiking that entirely in snow. I was glad we had gotten through it in time.
Reading the updates from my stranded friends online, I was reminded of what a tenacious group of people thru-hikers are. Despite worsening weather and crazy conditions, everyone was determined to keep hiking. No one wanted to admit defeat; no one wanted to give up after 2500 miles. Weather and warnings from locals didn't deter us; we were going to hike until we physically couldn't anymore, and even then, we would still be looking for a way North.
With bags packed and our courage summoned, we went to bed one last night in Portland before returning, for better or worse, to the trail tomorrow.
Day One Hundred Twenty Nine
Today's miles: 0
Total miles: 2580
I woke up in a hotel room in Wenatchee, my first thought being that I wasn't on trail, and I didn't know if I would be again.
The morning was slow. The thirteen of us (Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks, Kazu, Katie, Sunshine, Alphabet Soup, Kudu, Rotisserie, Sansei, Vince, Treekiller, me) got ready for an unknown day, doing laundry, packing up, discussing options over a continental breakfast.
Decisions were finally made. Everyone was choosing the path that was right for them, but unfortunately, our choices took us in many different directions.
Katie, Treekiller, and Vince decided they were done (for now) with the PCT. Katie's mom was driving up today to pick her up and take her back to Portland. Treekiller's bus to San Francisco left from Portland in a few days. Vince, as a section hiker, had less desire to reach the border than the rest of us, and his plans to travel to India in a few months were occupying his thoughts.
Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks and Kazu were going to Seattle for a few days to gear up. They would stay with our friend Watson, buy winter hiking gear, and hopefully return to Stehekin on Tuesday to meet everyone else when the storm cleared up.
Sunshine, Rotisserie, Sansei and I were going to Portland for a few days (along with Treekiller and Vince, who needed to get to Portland, too). Tanner and my sister were bringing up two cars today to take us home so we could gear up there and, ideally, return to the trail with Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks and Kazu. Rotisserie and Sansei would try to get from Portland down to Eugene, where Sansei lived and could pick up his own gear.
Alphabet Soup and Kudu were the only two undecided parties. They wanted to get back on trail, but they were worried about the gear they currently owned and had no way to get the rest of their gear from home. They decided they would wait out the storm in Wenatchee for a few days and make a decision after that.
With choices made, we checked out of our hotel and waited for Katie's mom to arrive. She would be taking the first crew of people to Seattle to drop them off before returning to home to Portland. She had left early this morning, so she arrived just before lunch, and we all walked through the drizzling rain to a nearby Applebees to eat together one last time.
The thirteen of us took over the entire bar, and the bartender looked vastly amused to have so many strangely-dressed people at his section. We chatted with him about the trail, ate plates of pasta and talked and laughed together, pretending it wasn't our last moments together as a group.
Before leaving for Seattle, we gathered in front of our hotel again and took a group photo. We laughed about creating the Monument out of beer cans, or backpacks, to symbolize the end of our journey. But then again, we didn't want to act like it was the end of our journey, so long as there was still hope and a trail to hike. In any case, taking a photo in a parking lot just wasn't the same as one in the deep wilderness, standing at the border of the United States and Canada. But it would have to do.
Left to right: Sneaks, Wocka Wocka, Giddyup, Kazu, Sunshine, Katie, Vince, Rotisserie, Kudu (behind), Sansei, Alphabet Soup (behind), Bramble, Treekiller
We hugged Sneaks, Wocka, Giddyup, Kazu, and Katie farewell, hoping fervently that we would see them again soon. We made empty promises: we'll meet back in Stehekin on Monday night. We'll see you then so that we wouldn't have to say true goodbyes. After all, there were no goodbyes on the PCT, only see you down the trail....
And then there were eight.
And so we waited.
Tanner and my sister Courtney left at 7:00 from Portland, and it was supposed to be a five hour drive, but because of horrible weather, it took them nearly eight hours to reach Wenatchee. It seemed the dreaded storm had finally arrived.
Two cars pulled into the hotel parking lot at 2:30, and since it was still pouring, we barely had time to say hello! So good to see you! before we gave tight hugs to Alphabet Soup and Kudu and loaded Vince, Sunshine, Treekiller, Rotisserie, Sansei, and me back into the cars with Tanner and Courtney and drove off for Portland.
It was a long car ride, fraught with rain, hail, and strong winds that drove us off the road. But after another seven hours, we were safely back in Portland at 9:30pm. My mom had cleaned the house and put out a bowl of candy to welcome us home. Courtney made us tacos for a late dinner and then we turned in for bed, all of us exhausted. My living room turned into a indoor camp-ground, with Vince, Sunshine, Treekiller, Rotisserie and Sansei lined up on their sleeping pads. It looked so cozy that I wanted to join them, but I had my own bed tonight. My limbs felt heavy as I fell asleep, for though I was excited to be home and to see Tanner and my family, more than anything I also wanted to be back on trail, headed for Canada.
Day One Hundred Twenty Eight
Today's miles: 8
Total miles: 2580
4:30am came much too early. I knew I didn't have time to lay in bed, because we had a bus to catch by 9:00am. It was freezing in the pitch blackness of my tent, so I rapidly got dressed, bundled up, and packed away my gear.
Katie made a hot batch of oatmeal and instant Carnation breakfast which she shared with Sunshine, Kazu and me. Feeling warmer, we donned headlamps and trundled off into the black.
It had been so long that I had hiked in the dark that it was a strange experience. My limbs were heavy with fatigue, but I had to keep moving to stay warm. My headlamp was running low on batteries, so its light was dim and nearly useless. The four of us stayed in a compact line, heel to toe, and the only words spoken to break the silence were bits of warnings.
"Tree branch."
"Root."
"Rock."
The warnings were passed back, one by one, through the line, and heard just in time to avoid the inevitable obstacles. It seemed to take hours for the darkness to break. It was 6:30 before the sky was tinged with red, and another hour past that before we could see clearly enough to turn our headlamps off. But those hours dragged by. The terrain was frustratingly deceiving today. We checked the elevation profile last night and saw that the eight miles to High Bridge were all downhill, so we expected an easy walk. What we didn't realize was though the overall elevation was downhill, there were some very short, very steep staccatos of climbing thrust into the terrain. They didn't last long, not even long enough to register on the elevation profile, but they were so demandingly steep that I was quickly out of breath and cranky. Having expected an easy stroll to town, I was not amused by the PCT's final attempt to kick my ass.
As such, I was in an anxious mood all morning. We were running behind, having not gotten out of camp until almost 5:30, and we knew we had no time to stop for breaks. We wasted time clumsily tripping through the darkness, and even more time stopping to take off our warm layers when the morning chill seeped away. There was no time for snacks (not that I had any food left, anyway), or chatter, or even a pit stop. We were focused on reaching Stehekin on time, and with the sudden, rough terrain, it made our hike unenjoyable.
"I hate town days," I grumbled.
We reached High Bridge at 8:30, my mood permanently shifted to hunger, exhaustion, and crankiness. But we were here, at last, and for that I was grateful.
Even better: as we crossed the bridge toward the ranger station, I saw familiar faces sitting outside: Wocka, Giddyup, Sneaks, Coincidence and Horny Toad! We hadn't seen them since they took off into the rain, and it was good to reunite and share hugs. I realized that deep down I had been secretly fretting about all of them all week, and I was so relieved to see everyone safe and sound and back together.
"Where's Treekiller and Vince?" I asked, suddenly noticing that they were missing.
"They went into Stehekin last night," said Wocka. "We camped pretty close. Giddyup and I stopped since we were exhausted, but they kept going and caught the last bus in. Where did you camp?"
"Eight miles back, at Swamp Creek," I said.
Wocka checked her watch in surprise. "It's only 8:30!"
"I know," I groaned. "We've been awake since 4:30. I'm exhausted."
"Well, I'm glad to see you guys," she smiled. "We missed you."
"I missed you, too," I said. "I was worried about you in that storm."
"Yeah... we almost turned around," she said. "Actually, we did turn around. We kept meeting hikers who were quitting because of the snow dumping on Red's Pass. But we didn't really want to quit, so we ultimately just camped it out. And then Treekiller and Vince caught us, and I was glad to hear you guys took a zero, too."
"Me too."
"Have you seen anyone else this week?"
"Oh, yes!" I said. "There's a big group behind us. About twenty people, overall. But I'm not sure if anyone took that shortcut to Stehekin or not. We camped by ourselves last night."
It was then that I noticed Lighthouse sitting at one of the tables, and he had definitely been behind us yesterday...
"Lighthouse!" I said in surprise. "How did you get here before us?"
"I hiked after dark last night," he said. "I think I passed your camp around 8:30? But I didn't see anyone."
"Oh... yeah, we were already in bed," I laughed. "What happened to everyone else?"
"They camped like two miles behind you," he said. This was surprising. We had all assumed that everyone had taken the shortcut, and now we knew they would probably catch the noon bus behind us.
Waiting at the ranger's station. Click to see larger. (Photo by Sunshine)
Right on cue, the bus to Stehekin showed up at 9:00am. We paid $7 and rode it into town. The whole drive all of us were talking anxiously about only one thing: weather. No one knew the latest, our report being seven days old, but rumors had been flying and they made us nervous.
"I talked to one lady who said the snow level would be at 9,000 feet," Horny Toad said hopefully.
"9,000!" Sneaks said, "that can't be right. It was at 5,000 feet all week!"
"Well, I heard a southbounder say it was going to rain for five days," Katie said. "Like, heavy downpour rain."
"Does the trail after Stehekin drop below 5,000 feet at all?"
"Only once, fourteen miles after Rainy Pass. But everything after that is closer to 6 and 7,000 feet. If it snows, there will be no avoiding it."
Discussing gossip only served to make us more anxious, and we knew the real answer wouldn't be clear until we reach town. We dreaded learning the truth.
Our bus driver was very friendly; he was accustomed to seeing PCT thru-hikers, and so before getting to Stehekin proper, he took us to the one place he knew we wanted to go: the bakery.
"THE BAKERY!!!" we were all cheering, jumping up and down. It was the one thing that had the power to cheer us up. We had heard legends of this bakery since our early days in the desert, and after 2580 miles, we had finally made it. I think that warranted a pastry, at least!
In fact, it warranted much more than that. The driver said the record amount of money spent by a thru-hiker at the Stehekin bakery was $95. It wasn't hard to see why. Everything smelled and looked delicious. And who was waiting in the chairs beside the door when we came in? Treekiller and Vince!
I let out a squeal and tightly hugged them both, so happy to see them again. They had already eaten at the bakery twice since yesterday and were now waiting for the bus ride back to town. Once everyone had been through the line (I bought: a lemon tart, a huge iced ginger cookie, a piece of pumpkin pie, a marionberry crumble and a chocolate milk, and later regretted not buying the giant, fluffy cinnamon roll, too) we loaded back up in the bus and rumbled to Stehekin.
The town was adorable. We had heard it was the best trail town on the PCT from more than one veteran hiker, and on a sunny summer day, I would have wanted to spend multiple zeroes here in the small cabins beside the lake. But today it was overcast and threatening, and we had heavier things on our minds than enjoying the pleasures of town.
Our first order of business was to check the weather report. Stehekin, unfortunately, was so remote that it didn't have internet or cell service anywhere in town, not even a land-line. The only place we could check the weather was from the ranger station, who had access to satellite reports. The news was not promising. She told us that a heavy snow storm was supposed to dump starting tonight, and the forecast predicted it would last until Tuesday, October 1 - four days from now.
"That was supposed to be our finishing date," I sighed heavily. It was supposed to be a huge celebration with all the hikers we had been walking with for so long - and now nothing was certain.
"I don't recommend hiking out in this," the ranger warned. "The forecast shows snow above 5,000 feet, and it's supposed to rain 2-10 inches here, which could mean up to ten feet of snow on the trail."
We were horrified. This was not good news. We looked down at our thin rain pants and shabby, mesh trail runners, and we knew we were not equipped for this turn of events.
Only seventy miles from the border. What can we do?
We stepped aside and gathered in a small circle around a relief map of the PCT, Wocka, Giddyup, Katie, Sunshine, Vince, Treekiller, and me. For a moment we stood quietly, our brows furrowed with weighty decisions. For an hour we talked. We discussed our options. We battled both sides of the argument. We flew rapidly through the five stages of loss: denial, anger, bartering, grief, acceptance. But we wouldn't fully accept the reality of the situation. We didn't want to give up. But our group was divided on the outcome.
Katie didn't want to go out in the storm. Wocka, Giddyup and Sunshine were willing to walk through the storm before they gave up the trail. Treekiller and Vince decided the PCT ended for them here. And me?
"What do you want to do, Bramble?" Wocka asked. I had been silent for most of the debate, fighting an inner battle. It felt like all our plans, all our dreams, were shattering apart piece by piece. And all I could think was, I was so frustrated walking those eight miles this morning. And what if those are the last eight miles I walk on the PCT? What if that's my last memory of the trail? The thought was heartbreaking.
"I want to finish the trail, if we can," I said. "I'm not ready to give up. I can't give up. I just don't know how."
"What if we took a few days off?" Wocka suggested. "We could go into Seattle and get some winter gear, and come back out after the worst of the storm had passed. I think with snowshoes and good boots it's still doable."
"And if it isn't?" Katie asked. "What if the storm drops five feet of snow? Or if it keeps going past Tuesday?"
"We can't wait forever," Giddyup admitted, "but we can still try for a few days. There's always the road option. I heard another hiker talking about road walking to the border on another trail that's lower in elevation. Hopefully the snow won't affect it as badly."
"I don't want to road walk," said Katie, "I'd rather hike the trail next year in good weather than road walk this year in bad weather. You can't see anything anyway, so what's the point?"
The point is that we hiked the PCT this year, I thought, and we're not ready to give up yet.
"Let's get something to eat," Giddyup suggested heavily. "It's been a long week and we just got to town. We should sit down and think about our options."
We walked next door to the North Cascades Lodge and ordered the infamous PCT burger - two half-pound patties, bacon, cheese, ham, two fried eggs, lettuce, tomato and onion on a bun. Ridiculous. It would have been PCT hiker heaven if we hadn't been so melancholy and without appetite. Instead, all we could do was pick at our food.
After lunch we wandered to the post office to pick up our final mail. I was given the resupply box I packed so long ago, as well as a postcard from my aunt, which read, ironically, YOU DID IT!!
I clutched the mail desperately. For some reason, seeing that note and my food box made me achingly, horribly sad. I had hiked so far to get to this point; I had hit horrible weather and run out of food walking from Steven's Pass, and now here I was with a notecard praising the end of my journey and a full box of food for my final stretch of trail, and I wasn't even sure I would get to use it.
As I started to leave the small mail room, the postman said, "wait, there's one more...."
It turned out to be a postcard from Sunshine, who had sent everyone in our group something from Portland while he was staying there with Tanner weeks ago. Mine read: Brambles! You're awesome. Period. Your constant upbeat/ positive/ happy persistence has made my hike worthwhile these past weeks, and I love being around you! Thank you (and Tanner) so much for helping me in Portland. Seriously. Sunshine.
I felt like crying as I hugged Sunshine.
This can't be the end of my journey, it just can't. I wasn't ready to say goodbye, yet. To the trail, to my friends, to the journey.
I flipped through pages of the post office's trail register, woefully looking over the names of hikers who had arrived here in the past month. Their notes were all full of hope and excitement, and I knew many of them had reached the border already. Some of them, like Mudd and Dingo, were here only a day before us and would likely reach the border before the worst of the storm hit.
Life is funny that way, how just a day can change a person's whole fate.
Our quiet moods were soon cheered up by the arrival of friends. The rest of our group: Rotisserie, Sansei, Reason, Games, Toots, Tears, Alphabet Soup, Kudu, Pony and St. Alfonzo showed up on the noon bus and were quickly briefed on the latest weather news. All over Stehekin, hikers were having the same conversations, discussions, debates and frustrations. There was just one question in everyone's mind: where do we go from here?
More than anything, we knew we needed connection to the outside world. On any other day, the remoteness of Stehekin would be a nice break from reality, but we were desperate for weather updates and most of us needed to call home. The rumors were swirling fast and furious, now: snow was predicted at only 2,500 feet. Stehekin was under a weather advisory for mudslides. It was possible that the surrounding area would be evacuated. Ten inches of rain was still predicted for the weekend. Feet of snow on the trail. But how much would be hype and how much would be true? We didn't know, but one thing finally became clear: we needed to leave Stehekin. We had to take this journey one day at a time, just as we always had. A town called Chelan was the closest thing accessible from where we were; it was on the opposite end of the very long, winding Lake Chelan, and the only way to get there was by ferry.
So we bought a one-way four-hour ferry ticket and boarded at 1:00. It was a difficult scene. Most of us were going to Chelan, but others, such as Toots, Tears, Lighthouse, Games, Reason, Pony, St. Alfonzo, Cuddles, and Fun Size were staying in Stehekin for the time being. They were contemplating hiking the twenty miles to Rainy Pass to the next road crossing before making a final decision. It was so hard to say goodbye. No one thought we'd have to make these decisions so early. No one thought the final seventy miles would be so fraught with chaos. No one thought that winter would arrive at the end of September - hadn't we been playing it safe? Hiking big miles in order to beat the snow? But here we were, hugging and crying and not knowing if it would be the last time we would see each other, or the trail.
This isn't how it's supposed to end.
Boarding the ferry. Back row: Vince, Sunshine, Sneaks, Giddyup, Kazu, Horny Toad, Bramble, Coincidence, Treekiller, Honey Bunny
Front row: Rotisserie, Tears for Beers, Toots Magoots, Drop Biscuit, Wocka Wocka
On that four hour ferry ride, all we could think about was that one perfect dream still in our heads: hiking those final miles, reaching the monument together, taking photos and hugging and drinking champagne. Toasting to a trail fully accomplished. Saying goodbye at the proper time, with no hurry or weather to fret about. Reminiscing about a wonderful summer spent in the woods. But it felt like the dream was slipping away, like smoke, leaving behind a hollow echo as reality crept in.
We called home from the ferry. I talked to my mom and Tanner and unleashed a week's worth of emotions in one breath. They would no longer have to meet me at the border on October first. I wasn't even sure if I could make it there. They were sympathetic; they wanted me to be safe, to not make any rash decisions, and I promised that I was in a group of people I loved and that we would make good choices together. I told them there was the possibility of going to Portland to get winter gear and they offered to come get me. I told them I would call again when I knew more, but I wasn't sure if any decision we made today would be the right one.
When we arrived in Chelan, we caught another bus to the town of Wenatchee, an hour away. The bus was full of hikers, quietly talking amongst ourselves as the sky grew dark. The landscape was stark and rolling, with sun-burnt hillsides and low brush. It reminded me fondly of the Southern California desert. So long ago.
The man sitting in the seat in front of me swiveled around and asked conspiratorially, "So, what's going on, here?" Clearly he was amused by a full bus that was probably often empty.
"We're thru-hikers," I said, "hiking the Pacific Crest Trail."
"Oooooh!" his eyes lit up. "So that explains why it smells like campfire in here."
I laughed. "Better campfire than what we usually smell like!"
"How come you're going to Wenatchee?" he wondered.
Slowly I unraveled the whole tale of the past week, explaining the distance we've traveled, the weather we've encountered, the storm that's threatening our final miles. He was deeply sympathetic and slightly awed by the tale. I learned he owned a business near Stehekin taking tourists parasailing on Lake Chelan, and having been here some time, was surprised at the sudden, winter weather.
"It's usually warm and sunny here until mid October," he insisted. "This is so unusual."
"Yeah, rotten timing," I sighed.
"I wish you the best of luck," the man said sincerely as he got off the bus at the next stop.
"Thank you," I said, and meant it.
We got dropped off in downtown Wenatchee, which was definitely not a trail town. We felt lost and out of place in the bustling, busy streets. We walked the sidewalks, clutching our boxes of food and feeling more like homeless hobos than thru-hikers. Tired and cranky, we finally found a hotel nearby and rented a few rooms for the group of us: Giddyup, Wocka, Sneaks, Treekiller, Vince, Rotisserie, Sansei, Sunshine, Katie, Alphabet Soup, Kudu, Kazu, and me.
"You know what we should do?" Wocka asked, breaking the solemn mood. "We need to get drunk tonight."
And so we ordered pizza and bought bottles of rum and cokes, spending the night laughing and reminiscing together. This morning we had woken up at 4:30, not knowing it might be our last day on trail, and tonight we were far away from home, trying to ignore the difficult decisions we would have to make tomorrow.
For tonight, we had each other, and for now, it was enough.
Left to right: Acid Glasses, Coincidence, Hummingbird, Horny Toad
Vince, Giddyup, Sunshine, Toots Magoots
Tears for Beers, Treekiller, Honey Bunny, Wocka Wocka
Bramble, Drop Biscuit, Sneaks, Lighthouse
Day One Hundred Twenty Seven
Today's miles: 23
Total miles: 2572
Last night was another very frigid night of sleep, and we were again awake and on trail before dawn. It was somewhat of a jigsaw puzzle getting everyone out of camp, but fortunately the earliest risers - Toots, Tears, Kazu, Sunshine, Katie and me - were camped closest to the trail and made a quick getaway.
We had two options for our route today. The PCT crossed over the infamous Suiattle River, which was a notoriously difficult and scary log crossing until 2011, when a new bridge was built upriver. Unfortunately, the new bridge detour added five miles to the PCT. We had the choice of safely crossing the bridge and adding two hours to our hike (thus affecting tomorrow's miles: we would catch the afternoon bus into Stehekin rather than the morning one) or we could take the unmaintained old PCT and chance it across the log, which hovered six feet over a rushing river.
Katie and I discussed our options last night. She was for the log route, but knew how I felt about heights and river crossings, and so she offered to take the new PCT bridge, instead. But the idea of saving five miles and two hours of our journey was huge in the grand scheme of things, so ultimately I swallowed my fear and opted for the log crossing.
The rest of the group was divided on the issue. Most of them went the old PCT route to save time, but there were a few hikers, such as Toots and Tears and TwoBadDogs, who loved a good, safe bridge, and didn't mind walking a little farther to utilize it.
The trail split not too far after camp, and Katie, Sunshine and I veered right, passing the sign that read: TRAIL NOT MAINTAINED. HIKE AT YOUR OWN RISK. We had a shallow, freezing river to ford, and then we disappeared into the trees, following the old PCT.
In some ways, it was like going back in time. This trail had been utilized not two years ago, but in that short time, the forest was already trying to reclaim it. If I thought the deadfall on trail had been horrible the past few days, it was nothing compared to this. We crawled over trees and branches. We kicked our way through dense shrubs. We scrambled up hills and back down them. We lost the trail and then found it again. As we delved deeper and deeper into the forest, it seemed we were losing the last shreds of civilization entirely. I felt like I was discovering a new planet, bushwhacking through brush and pushing aside lazy branches in search of a dusty span of trail that was no longer there. The forest was eerily quiet, as if the woodland creatures were watching us curiously from their perches, whispering to each other, there are humans, here. There have not been humans in these woods for many moons...
I felt out of place in this forest, and yet, completely enveloped by nature. I felt like I had stumbled straight into the heart of FernGully, and expected to see fairies and glowing ponds around every corner.
At last the trail dipped down a cliff and we could hear the river raging on the other side of the trees. But as we grew closer to the valley floor, the trail suddenly disappeared entirely. Trees, marsh, deadfall and rocks obliterated any view, and there were no obvious paths for us to take. For a while we stood there, and then walked in circles, ducking under trees and scrambling up hillsides to find the trail. But it was gone completely. We would have to find our own way.
We could still hear the river, and through the dense trees we could see the sandy beach that ran alongside it. The only way out was through, and so we squelched through marsh mud up to our ankles, pushed through rough branches that snagged our clothing, and got thoroughly filthy in the process. But, at last, Katie, Sunshine and I broke through the trees and emerged on the beach.
It should have been simple from there, but it wasn't. There was still no sign of the old PCT, and the wayward cairns were no help. We wandered up and down the river bank, looking for an appropriate crossing. We found Kazu doing the same; she had arrived at the river before us and had gotten lost in the sandy dunes. I checked my maps, trying to pinpoint our location, but it kept leading me in circles. Finally Katie spotted a large log spanning the river, and we climbed over piles of rocks to reach the spot.
At first glance, it didn't look too bad. The log was wide and sturdy, and I had no intentions of walking across it, anyway. I watched first as Katie straddled it and scooted slowly and carefully to the other side, where she pulled herself up. I followed next; I strapped my trekking poles to my waist and crawled out onto the log. I balanced my weight around it and slowly began inching forward, using the flats of my palms to lift myself into the air and slide forward a few inches at a time. It was easy at first. I wasn't directly over the river and the movement, though slow, was effective.
Then the log grew wider, and there was a branch in the way. I paused to try and lift my leg around it, but the second I moved my leg, my equilibrium was thrown off and I knew I would slide off the log and into the water. Annoyed, I fussed with my movements for a few moments before I discovered the solution: I inched myself forward, ignoring the branch, and simply dragged my leg over the top of it as I went. My pants caught on the rough bark, but I wiggled myself loose and kept moving forward. Now I was directly over the rushing water, and the effect it had was astonishing. The movement gave me a weird sense of vertigo, and the fear of falling was even greater, even though the log was no less sturdy than it had been. I kept my eyes planted on the log ahead and scooted quickly to the end of it, where I pulled myself up on its roots and scrambled up onto the bank where Katie was waiting.
Sunshine and Kazu followed behind, and when we were all safely across, we took a moment to eat a quick snack. We saw Alphabet Soup and Kudu on the beach and called to them, showing them the way. Kudu came right up to the log and started to immediately walk across it.
"NO!!" Katie and I screamed, holding our hands out in horror.
Kudu froze, staring at us, questioning.
"Sit! Sit! Go back! Don't walk!" We chorused at him.
Confused, he was doing a kind of stunted dance - stepping forward, stepping back, stepping forward, stepping back - as we yelled at him. But finally he gave a laugh and strode forward with total confidence, walking across the log in a matter of seconds. I couldn't believe that someone so tall would ignore his center of gravity so easily. I would have fallen off the log.
We saw Rotisserie, Sansei and Lighthouse coming up behind, but we knew we had to keep hiking. Sunshine, Katie, Kazu and I turned our sights to the trail again, but, alas - there was no trail. Frustrated, we pushed through the trees, looking for some sign of the old path.
"There!" said Sunshine, pointing up.
We followed his gaze and saw the PCT cut plainly into the mountainside. Unfortunately, it was 100 feet directly above us, and we could see no way to get up there but straight up the hillside. Katie, Kazu and Sunshine began crawling up through the moss, slipping and sliding as they went. They made quick work of it and called back down to me, where I was struggling with the hill.
It was steep, and covered in soft, loose moss and dirt, so every step I took made me slide back down the hill. I planted my feet sideways into the dirt, digging my fingernails into the moss, trying to crawl up to the trail. I felt like I was summiting a mountain, trying to grapple with soft snow instead of this loose dirt. I held on to roots and rocks, pulling myself bit by bit, until my fingers touched the bottom edge of the PCT. Sunshine and Katie leaned down, grasped me under the armpits, and hauled me up onto the trail.
As I dusted myself off, Sunshine looked around and said,
"This must be where the new PCT meets up again."
The trail was beautiful; we were back on our two-foot-wide swath of dirt, leading us north.
"I will never complain about the condition of the trail again," I rolled my eyes. Even on the worst days of the PCT, trail crews kept it nicer looking than anything we had just been hiking. Amazing what nature can do in two years. Next year, hiking the old PCT probably wouldn't even be an option.
From there, we had eight miles of uphill climbing. We were quiet and steady, taking our time through the green trees and rushing rivers. The sky overhead was cloudy and dark, and we worried that it would start raining again. We stopped for lunch near the top of the climb and Katie consulted her guide book.
"There's a trail in two miles that would give us a shortcut to Stehekin," she said. "It's a ten mile trail to a small town, and from there we could take a bus to Stehekin, if we wanted. We could be there tonight."
The thought was enticing. My food bag was empty, now - all I had to eat tonight was a granola bar and a tortilla. If we didn't take the shortcut, the earliest we could get into Stehekin would be the noon bus tomorrow. Could I go that long without food?
Sunshine didn't want to go in early, though. "There's no point," he said. "I have enough food to share with Brambles tonight, and it just means we'd spend more money on another hotel. We'll be there tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just stick to the PCT."
So we kept hiking.
In the end, the views on this last stretch of trail were beautiful, and we were glad we skipped the shortcut in favor of them. Hunger was making me tired, though, and the cloudy skies were making us all gloomy and fretting about the weather. Katie and I discussed our options as we walked. After Stehekin, there were only 70 more miles to the border; that was a three or four day journey. We knew from talking to southbounders, however, that another storm was on its way. What we didn't know was how bad it would be, and whether it would rain or snow. The trail after Stehekin mostly stayed above 5,000 feet, and in our experience this week, it would be snow at that altitude.
Katie asked me if I would want to keep going if it snowed. I said yes, stubbornly. I wanted so badly to finish the trail. It was like a sickness, a desperation inside me.
If I can still make it to that monument, I want to. I have to. As silly as it sounded, I wanted my photo taken there, and I knew I wasn't the only one who felt that way. But Katie was apprehensive about the conditions, and she was adamant about not hiking in bad weather, despite my conviction.
"What if we waited it out?" she suggested. "It's September 26 today. Instead of getting to the border on October 1, as planned, we could wait it out the storm this weekend, start hiking from Stehekin on the 1st, and get to the border around the 4th or 5th."
I frowned. "Yes, except that my family is coming in town, and they'll only be here a short time. They still think they're meeting me in Canada on the 1st. And if we wait it out and hike later, I won't get to see them at all while they're here."
"It might be our only option, though," Katie said.
"Wocka and Giddyup have a plane to catch next week," I added, "and Treekiller has a bus to San Francisco on the 2nd. It might upset more than one plan."
But as much as we discussed our options, there didn't seem to be a good solution. All we knew was, this storm was threatening our hike, and until we had cell service and an updated weather report, we had no idea what was going to happen. It weighed on our minds and occupied our thoughts. All we could do for now was walk to Stehekin, a seemingly simple five day goal that had taken us seven difficult days to accomplish.
The final eight miles of the day were all downhill again, and we wound down off the ridgeline and into thick forest. We reached our camp beside Swamp Creek at 6:30, just before dark, and were delighted with a wonderfully large, flat space. It was plenty of room for our huge group of nineteen to camp for the night, and hopefully make a final bonfire before reaching town tomorrow.
"I have an idea," said Katie, "we have eight miles to cover to High Bridge tomorrow. If we get up at 4:30am, we could potentially make it there for the 9:00am bus tomorrow rather than the one at noon. It would get us into Stehekin three hours early, so we can have more time to figure out what we're going to do next week."
We all agreed to this plan, deciding to get to bed early tonight to make sure we had enough sleep. Kazu, Sunshine, Katie and I set up our tents and made dinner. Katie and Sunshine donated the last of their food to me so I could eat tonight, and we waited for the voices of our friends to ring out around the bend. But the later and darker it grew, the more we realized no one was coming.
"They were behind us all day," I said carefully, "maybe they stopped early at the campsite before this one."
"Maybe," sighed Katie darkly, "or maybe they took that shortcut into Stehekin."
We sat glumly in a circle, bundling up as the night grew colder. It was lonely in camp without everywhere there laughing. It felt empty and foreboding.
We said goodnight and slipped into our tents at 8:30. I wrapped myself in my long underwear, jacket, hat and mittens, shutting out the cold night air. I curled up in my sleeping bag and tried to sleep, but dreams about the final monument haunted me. It felt strangely like the end of an era, and I wasn't sure I liked it.