Harts Pass to Woody Pass
Miles: 20
My mom and I drove up to the trailhead this morning from our motel in Winthrop. Well fed and somewhat rested from a short but fit full night of sleep, I was nervous and excited and cautiously optimistic about the trail. We drove our rental up the sketchy roads to the trailhead and, due to construction and a leisurely start, arrived around 10AM. There was a bustle at the trailhead of cars arriving, day hikers asking folks for advice, and thru hikers rolling into the pass from their pilgrimage to the border. It's all south from here for them.
The first thru hiker I met was named Whistler. About 17 years old with a balaclava pulled up over the back of his head and dark brown tanned legs, he fully looked the part. I said hey and we chatted for a moment, but it wasn't until my mom started offering him all our excess food from the car that he really lit up. In all, she gave him and he consumed on the spot:
1 frappucino
1 banana
1 pint of green superfood juice
1/2 lb of steak slices straight from a ziplock bag
We chatted and he gave me some intel about the total lack of snow, the mosquitos, and the beautiful sights between us and the border. I checked the trip registry notebook, Whistler had written his name, the date, and "eat ass, smoke grass." My dive into the thru-hiker world has begun.
My mom and I drove a little ways up the road to another trailhead, I prepped my pack, we took some "before" pics, and said our goodbyes. She's really nervous about the trip, understandably, so I reassured her a bit more. Finally, at 10:45AM (when many hikers will have already put in a bunch of miles) I hit the trail. My initial feelings were shock, a bit of fear, and that weird spooked feeling you get when you're fully alone. I've cut the lifelines but what if I need help? What if I fail because I just hate this and I quit? What if everyone else hikes faster than me? What if I do everything right but then get shin splints or some other nagging injury that forces me off the trail?
I hiked ten miles before I stopped for lunch. The fears had only lasted a mile or two before I was overcome with the euphoria of being in an incredibly beautiful place and finally diving into my dream trip. I had cruised on my Day 1 adrenaline and hiked at a 3 mph clip all morning. Those first ten miles were all along ridge lines with enormous views of the Northern Cascades and the valleys between the mountains. The elevation change was minimal and a tiny voice said to me, "maybe this will be a breeze."
I ate a lunch of my final homemade sandwiches (dry food from here on out) beside a stream along with three other thru-hikers headed in my same direction. We all ashamedly introduced ourselves using our real names as none of us yet have trail names.
After lunch, I ran into another thru-hiker sitting next to a stream. The air around him was thick with pot smoke and, over the course of our three minute conversation, he told me his trail name is Hurlgoat, as well as the story that earned him that name. I was jealous of his trail name, even though he's named after a long night of drinking that ended with him throwing up goat-tamales.
The afternoon was tough. I was very careful to eat and drink enough but I still just vacillated between too full of food/liquid, and parched/ravenous. I think that nutrition and hydration is going to be a major learning area during this trip. In the afternoon, I hit the big elevation changes. First came the downhill switchbacks covered in fist sized rocks that tweaked both knees and ankles with every step. Then came the grueling uphill switchbacks that left me sucking the thin air and, first, finding a good spot to sit next to the trail, then plopping down anywhere beside the trail to catch my breath, and finally simply crumpling in the middle of the trail. I downed water and swatted away mosquitos with a bandana. I also started noticing blue marks on the outer sides of my calves but couldn't find the source; until I realized that the tops of my barely worn in new shoes were melting off onto my skin. Haha! Adventure!
Eventually, I put in my earbuds to listen to soothing Andrew Bird and I ate a Gatorade branded protein bar the size of my forearm. It was really just a snickers bar in disguise, which was exactly what I needed.
With the uphill struggle of miles 13-17 came doubt and worries again. What if this sucks and everyone who said that they would never do something like this are right? What if I hate this but have to pretend that I love it since I so publicly declared my intentions? What if every minute of these 2.5 months is dragged out to feel like an eternity?
Then I started walking downhill, the view opened up again, and I saw a marmot. Full 180 degree switch back to the "this is the most amazing place and adventure" mindset. The marmot, which had a sweet looking brown and white and black coat, ran away from me then posed on a rock and gave me side eyes as if judging me for my earlier loss of morale. I'm sorry mountain marmot, I won't let myself get down this early in the game.
I camped with Hayden the Australian who's thru-hiking even though he's never backpacked before.
I could barely choke down my first dinner of re-hydrated mashed potatoes and tuna, but I got to brush my teeth with a sunset view of craggy peaks and a steep evergreen valley. Some tough, some incredible. I think I'm figuring it out. Or maybe, Whistler is right after all.
