Mile 2,480 to Stevens Pass
Miles: 18.5
What a whirlwind day, a very good whirlwind.
Got up at James o'clock this morning, AKA 4:30AM. Since I needed to get to the Skykomish post office by 3:30PM when it closed for the weekend, and there were 18.5 miles of hiking and a long hitchhike between me and the post office, it was an early day.
Started the day with a 1,300" climb up Grizzly Peak. The trail notes on my maps read "in a rare occurrence, the PCT passes over a mountain peak." Great. No grizzlies in sight, thankfully, but came upon a young buck grazing at the peak. The animals aren't on the lookout for you this deep in the backcountry, in their territory. The buck glanced up at me, continued to graze next to the trail, just moving enough to keep 40 feet between us.
Descending Grizzly Peak, I happened upon James standing in the middle of the trail, typing notes into his phone, and bumping some iPhone tunes. I said "hey" and spooked him. Neither of us had seen another human being in a while. He was without his five foot long carbon fiber hiking staff. He told me that he had let Jabba break it the day before while Badger filmed. I asked him why he had let Jabba break it. "Because he said he could. And we made a cool video." Ah, of course. Sure thing. It was a stark reminder to me that this entire trip is about saying "yes" to any and all novel experiences. The novelty is reason enough to do it. "Because I can" is the only explanation necessary. James also let me know that he had used his sleeping pad to sped down a snow covered hill and into a icy lake in his skivvies. "It was fucking cold." Yeah, it's on a mountain top and there are huge chunks of ice floating in it. But he got a cool picture of it, and he's going to buy a new sleeping pad soon that's not so worn out. That makes sense.
We hiked together the rest of the way to Steven's Pass. A couple hours in we paused and James made coffee for the two of us. It was my first warm food or beverage in five days and, though I drank it out of my single food dish which is actually just a screw top ice cream pint container that now imbues everything with chicken ramen flavor, the coffee tasted sublime. Apparently after James planned out the staff-breaking movie, Badger bestowed upon him the trail name "The Director." James seemed indifferent about the name. I was again jealous that another of my rookie thru-hiking peers has a trail name before me. Well, when I tell folks my real name, most of them assume that it's a made-up trail name anyway, so I guess I have that going for me.
We hiked fast and at noon only had three miles to go before Steven's Pass. Descending the mountainside toward the Pass, I could see the highway and hear the roar of traffic. I had forgotten about the baseline noise of cars and cities and regular life. From behind me, The Director announced that he had cell service and immediately dropped back to send messages and make calls. The tranquility of the wilderness was pierced so quickly.
My tranquility persisted because Sprint's cell coverage sucks.
I powered into Steven's Pass, refusing to slow down until I was sitting at a picnic table at the entrance to the ski resort. On an adjacent picnic table was an abandoned pizza box containing four slices of veggie supreme pizza. I wanted to eat the pizza. I did not eat the pizza.
The resort was abuzz with a bow hunting convention. People milled around outside in casual camo, casually carrying compound hunting bows with arrows mounted onto them, ready to fire. I gave them weird looks. They gave me weird looks.
I went into the bathroom and saw my reflection for the first time in a week. I made some faces at myself, remembering what I looked like. My whiskers were longer than they've ever been, my hat was filthy, and my legs were covered in scratches some of which had blood smears near them because I had scratched a nearby mosquito bite. I looked feral.
Walking out of the bathroom, I saw the convention organizers setting up hunting dummies in the ski resort courtyard. I let out an involuntary guffaw directly into an armed bowhunter's face. Not my best move. He glared at me. I tried to stifle my laughter but couldn't stop giggling. The twenty or so dummies were tired old unnatural foam models of deer, elk, and a wolf. They were full of arrow holes. Much of their paint had worn off and their revealed orange foam insides made them look like Game of Thrones victims. They were planted in the ground by stakes extending from their legs, except the convention organizers had set them up quickly, so not only were they each listing randomly to one side, but their stakes weren't fully planted giving them all the appearance of levitating six inches off of the ground. The levitation merely enhanced the zombie ghost effect.
Checking my phone for messages, I saw a text from my mom letting me know that my wallet, which she had mailed to the Skykomish post office, had been returned to her house. Undeliverable for some unexplained reason. She has also left me a voicemail message. I listened to it and my jaw dropped into a gaping grin (the bowhunters were giving me a wide berth at this point so no one took offense at my odd behavior). My mom was driving up to Steven's Pass to hand deliver my wallet, and food, and company. I called her immediately, told her to cut her apologies short since I was overjoyed at the prospect of a break from the trail and a visit (and homemade food).
Knowing that I was soon to be reunited with my wallet, the twelve dollars that I had remaining from Hayden's loan began burning a hole in my pocket. My emergency cash was now spending money. I ran-limped into the resort grill and purchased the best thing that you can get for twelve dollars: a large order of onion rings with a side of ranch. I also found mayo packets at the condiment station (free, duh) and shoved six in my pocket. Free calories? Yes please! Maybe I can squirt these into my cold ramen and turn it from Manhattan Ramen into New England Ramen. Major upgrade.
I returned to the picnic table and distributed several of my abundant onion rings to grateful thru-hikers. I was momentarily the Godfather on his daughter's wedding day. No need to thank me, but now we are brothers, and there may come a time when I come to you asking for a favor. Fraternal back pat. Nod to enforcer in corner. Offer of ranch dressing.
My mom arrived an hour later. Jabba, Badger, and Moose, the thru-hikers who had rolled into town shortly after me, had been trying, unsuccessfully, to catch a hitch into town. Three dirty guys with scraggly beards and sunglasses can't get a hitch on a 60mph curvy two-lane mountain highway through a ski resort town? Whudathunkit. We were headed in the opposite direction, so we couldn't take them but we raided the ice chest and gave them frappucinos and bananas. We drove away as they each held bananas in one hand and continued sticking out their other thumb at passing cars.
We drove forty minutes to the Steven's Pass motel in Gold Bar, Washington (nearby towns are Startup and Sultan, can't make these names up). I immediately showered then soaked in the bath for an hour, my joints finally unlocking and my the aches in my feet lessening. I put pop music on, for the first time choosing music because I wanted to listen to it and not simply because it had a fast beat that would help me hike faster.
We made dinner in the hotel room: sliced tomatoes, pesto, toast with Gorgonzola, marinated shortribs. Everything was entirely unlike wheat thins, plain tortillas, and tuna packets. It was perfect. Hiked hunger be damned, I finally had my fill. I had my own queen sized bed (that I didn't have to inflate while sitting on the ground!). I turned on the TV and watched the first thing that came on, Modern Family.
Not so bad for a day on the trail.