White Pass to nowhere (via Mount Vernon for family reunion)
Miles: 0
My stealth campsite proved stealth enough to avoid discovery last night. I woke up at 7AM to a brightly lit, empty ski resort parking lot and the sound of speeding semis on the nearby highway. I headed over to Kracker Barrel and washed my face and brushed my teeth in their bathroom. It was a small multiple person bathroom with only a single sink so I found myself dodging around other users and apologizing for my scattered items and general grubbiness. No matter, access to plumbing and clean water was a joy.
I picked up a breakfast sandwich and cup of hot coffee from the store and met six guys outside who had just finished their section hike north from Cascade Locks. They seemed to be military types and every one of them looked bedraggled and exhausted from the hike. One of the guys, drinking a 24oz Bud Light (note: it was 7:45AM), told me that they had finished the 150 miles in 6 days and had hiked 40 miles the day before. Woah. I could tell that he didn’t intend to brag, merely to say the words out loud because he couldn’t believe them himself.
My mom drove up moments later. I grinned as I hopped into the car and she handed me a gigantic hot breakfast burrito. I had bought the Kracker Barrel breakfast sandwich only because I thought that I’d jinx myself if I counted on mom-delivered grub. The power of the sandwich talisman came through, and I cast it aside in favor of the homemade burrito. We went back and forth excitedly with trail news, real world news, and exclamations of how bad I smelled. On the way to the annual Olson Family Picnic in Mount Vernon, WA, we stopped in the tiny town of Morton to put flowers on my grandmother’s and Uncle Steven’s graves, another moment to reflect on my Pacific Northwest roots. From the family plot, I looked up into the steep, tall forested ridges surrounding Morton’s valley. Rather than imposing wilderness, I saw them differently this time: inviting, healthy, living forests as much a part of Morton as the valley farms and the Logger’s Jubilee festival.
The family picnic was full of familiar food and folks. Unshowered and covered in dirt, I pulled on jeans and a button down shirt and somehow looked presentable. It was the first time that I had worn my normal clothing in weeks and they were surprisingly loose. I piled up so much potato salad, chicken, and lefse that my paper plate had two full layers and began collapsing under the weight. Family intercepted me on the way to a picnic table, excited to hear about life on the trail and my recent adventures. I set my food down and recounted stories, happy to share but tortured by my abandoned full plate of food.
We drove to Packwood, our lodgings for the next couple nights, via Mt Rainier National Park. I had spent the past four days hiking around Mt Rainier with few views of roads or civilization; it felt strange to speed past the same mountain admiring it through a car window. Though I was even closer to the mountain than I had been on the trail, it seemed to be just a passing scene, a nice view that we happened to glance in between lunch and our hotel.
We checked into the Crest Hotel in Packwood. We had a comfy room with two beds upon which I immediately spread out my dirty gear to take inventory, dry out, and consider my re-supply. My Uncle John arrived soon after and began his own gear inventory. Having learned to backpack in the days when they hauled cast iron pans in their 60 lb packs, he was giddy about the prospect of following my example and going ultra-light. He’s an avid outdoorsman and relishes the anticipation of the packing process. He was full of jokes and narrated his constant bit-by-bit process of shedding ounces from his pack. “This is way too much toothpaste!” He opens a brand new travel-sized tube of Crest and squeezes half into the trash. “Don’t need such a huge label.” He tears the end off of a piece of duct tape on his food bag that bears the label “food”. He leaves the rest of the label in place because he’ll definitely need a label for the one brown stuff sack in his backpack. “You cut your toothbrush in half, right?” He opens his brand new toothbrush and bends it in half, twisting it back and forth until it breaks. He brandishes it proudly. “Even smaller than yours, huh??”
I take a long shower, scrubbing the dirt off my legs and watching the shower water run dark brown. It feels incredible to get clean but the hot water irritates all of my shin scrapes and makes the hundred bug bites on my legs and arms itch.
Before bed, I walk over to the trashcan, and reach into it with my toothbrush, scooping up a dollop of Uncle John’s discarded toothpaste. Waste not, want not. He pipes up behind me, “have as much as you want.”