The Plan 2.0

A week into the journey, I began re-shaping my plans. I didn't need to spend two and a half months on the trail. During several 24-hour solo stretches in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, about 10 days in, I told myself that I'd push through to Stevens Pass, my next town, and would hop off the trail then. Thinking that I was completing my final dozens of miles helped to propel me through that most difficult section of the PCT. Arriving in Stevens Pass, though, I sought an impressive capstone on the trip, or at least a natural endpoint.

Completing Washington was the goal that came to mind. After what had felt like the hardest ten days of my life, it seemed insane to double down and commit to hundreds more miles. But the goal felt right, and I gave myself permission to re-assess at any time.

Here are some reasons why I changed my goal:

• Solitude: there aren't that many people, maybe a hundred or so, hiking southbound this year. Once you start moving, you find yourself in a bubble and, other than five minute encounters a couple times a day, you're alone for the vast majority of the time. To me, the solitude doesn't make the lows feel worse, rather it muffles the highs. I don't have someone nearby to whom I can exclaim when I see a distant mountain, or a marmot, or a new flower. Over the course of a tough day, the muted highs and the full-force lows suck more energy out of me.
• Opportunity cost: I want to spend more time with Emily. I knew that all along but since I envisioned this trip as a lifelong goal, and this time as the only possible opportunity, I talked with Emily and we were prepared to sacrifice the time together for me to experience the PCT. Well, since the experience is not exactly as I imagined, the high opportunity cost looms. Setting up a solo camp at the end of a day hiking alone, I usually picture making dinner with Emily and cherishing free time together before I start an all-encompassing job, then I wonder: why can't I do some of both?
• Endurance sport, not weekend backpacking: I fell in love with backpacking by going on 3- or 4-day trips with close friends. We'd hike 8-15 miles per day through some beautiful landscape like the Three Sisters Wilderness in Central Oregon. We'd stop for lunch. We'd take side-trips. We'd cook meals together. We'd vlog. Thru-hiking the PCT is not a 3-day backpacking trip. Apparently, I'm the only one who had to actually try it out to come to this realization, given that most everyone who heard about my plans told me as much. Thru-hiking is about pushing your body to the limit, constantly managing your hydration and calorie intake, conducting re-supply logistics, and re-wiring your brain to become slightly more masochistic. Thru-hikers are deservedly proud of the title because it's not for everyone.

Here are some reasons why I'm glad that my original goal was "2.5 months on the trail":

• BHAG: some start-up founders and managers talk about BHAG's (big hairy audacious goals) as a key motivating force behind their accomplishments. The idea is that goals that make people say "what are you thinking??!?" help them to accomplish things that make people say "how did you do that?!??" For me, aiming to do this thing that was waaaaay outside of my comfort zone, even though I'm not going to get 100% of the way there, has still enabled me to do something waaay outside of my comfort zone (3 a's vs 5 a's). I still can't believe that, a week from now, I'll have hiked from Canada to Oregon. 
• Planning was a huge part of the experience: I spent three years geeking out about the trail - gear, geography, trail culture, supplies... I researched, shopped, talked to people, read trail accounts, backpacked and tested gear. I learned about the PCT and developed into an experienced backpacker. At this point, I would feel totally comfortable planning and leading backpacking trips.

Here are some reasons why the trip has been incredible no matter the duration:

• Actually, it would do the trip a disservice to summarize the highlights here. I've written a couple dozens journal entries chock-full of the good stuff.

To conclude:

• @friends & fam: I want to go backpacking with you! You + nature = the perfect adventure. It's no e=mc^2, but it's a simple calculus that I refined over many days in solemn contemplation deep in the Cascades. I'd be happy to explain it, but first you'll need to pack 3-days of food and gear and follow me into the woods.
• @future me: keep setting BHAG's. If people tell you that you're crazy (and the goal isn't fatal), then you're probably doing it right. Once you dive in, play it by ear, take care of yourself, grow, say "yes" to new/weird experiences (like a hot springs alternate), and give yourself permission to re-assess. Also, write about it.

And now, I depart on the final 150 miles of my trip. There are maple bars the size of my head in Cascade Locks. I know it. I can smell them, and they smell big.

Day 17: Getting High

Urich Cabin (mile 2,344) to mile 2,317

Miles: 27

OK OK. That's a misleading, click bait-y title. I did not, in fact, get high on any drugs today. I did, however, take a big ol' hit off the mountain pipe and enjoy the intense natural high of emerging from several days stuck in the forest to sunny, beautiful ridge lines with views of Washington's biggest mountains.

Last night's sleep was rough. Sleeping in the abandoned cabin's loft, I listened as the mice went to town on something metal downstairs with what sounded like a circular saw. They made it clear that I was a visitor in their mousey domain. When my alarm went off at 6:30AM, I turned it off and didn't wake up again until 9AM. Ahhhhh. Gotta love a late morning. I probably could have slept longer but the elk had come back and were ripping up the meadow grass. The elklings (that's what I've decided to call baby elk, no internet out here so I can't look it up) were making squealing noises. I looked outside and saw two elklings nursing on their mothers directly in front of the cabin. So cool! Such nature! 

I used the outhouse (always a notable event), ate my breakfast of a maple pop tart, and packed up, hitting the trail at 9:30AM. Some thru-hikers say that the goal for any day should be "10 by 10" (10 miles by 10AM). My personal version is "begin hiking by 10." Self explanatory though not as catchy.

The instant I started hiking today, I felt bored. "Only boring people get bored." No. Stop that. Hiking alone in the forest for 10-12 hours/day for three days is boring. To combat the boredom, I started listening to the audiobook of Thomas Piketty's "Capital in the 21st Century".  You know, nothing to spice up a morning like a 500+ page economics treatise on income inequality. It was actually fascinating, but three hours in I grew too frustrated with the constant references to graphs and tables that I couldn't see, so I turned it off. Instead, I switched to the audiobook of Aziz Ansari's "Modern Romance", basically the opposite of "Capital in the 21st Century". Aziz's book is hilarious, fascinating, and read by Aziz himself. I highly recommend it.

Hiking alone and focusing on the audiobooks, I ended up hiking fast. I covered 27 miles in just about 10 hours. Woah. That would have been a major feat a couple weeks ago. The trail in this section is in much better condition than much of the North Cascades, with a few thousand feet less climbing to do, so those factored into the speed.

Around 3PM, I finished my biggest climb of the day and ended up on ridge lines that I'd stay on through Chinook Pass and all the way to my campsite. The ridges were incredible. Enormous views of Mt Rainier, Mt Adams, a very distant Mt St Helens, and all the ranges in between. My favorite view was looking at Rainier over a ski resort that I visited last year.

At one point, I found myself walking along the very crest of a ridge, only ten or so feet wide, with panoramic views on both sides. That's what it's all about.

Rolled through Chinook Pass, which is just a parking lot with bathrooms, and down to a campsite at Dewey Lake. Shared the site with Orion, a SOBO thru hiker who I met in Stehekin and the section following, and a middle aged weekend camper who dubbed himself "Old Goat". He peppered us with questions about the trail, responding to every other answer by whispering under his breath, "that's so cool." Thanks, Old Goat. It is pretty cool.

Ate two packs of ramen, a bunch of Cheez Its, and a 100 Grand bar all in my tent since I'm adjacent to a lake and the mosquitos are especially bad.

Day 16: Audiobook Space-Out

Mile 2,368 to Urich Cabin (2,344)

Miles: 24

Slept in again this morning until 7:30AM. I still think that if I'm tired enough to keep sleeping, it's probably my body sending me a message. Anyhow, now that I'm out of the North Cascades and shooting to put in 22-25 miles per day, I don't feel the pressure. 

The southbound 300 mile marker! Actually 330 with the hike up to the Canadian border, but who's counting?

It's actually pretty exciting to realize that I've adapted enough to the trail, in body and attitude, that 22 miles per day feels like a relaxed pace. I mean, I still have to hike all day long, but now I'm sleeping in, taking breaks, and chatting with anyone willing to stop for a moment. Plus, at the end of a 22 mile day, my body feels tired, but not totally shredded like it did at the outset. I no longer have to shift constantly when I sit down at the end of the day for fear of my muscles freezing in place. I no longer put off removing my shoes at the end of the day for fear of the new blisters I may find.

I ran out of Aqua Mira, my water purification chemicals, today. I had anticipated drinking a gallon of water per day but I think I've been drinking twice that much. I guess that I'm going "no filter" for the next handful of days. This is especially challenging because, unlike Northern Washington's abundant water every half mile, Central Washington has 6, 8, or even 12 mile stretches with no water, making my lack of purification even harder since I'm stuck with whatever rare water source I come across, and I can't just pick the really clean-looking ones. The appearance of the water is probably a poor indicator of its safety, anyway, but I still don't like drinking unpurified yellowish slow-flowing pond water.

I put my earbuds in early today and continued listening to "How Google Works", the audiobook that I've been working on since finishing Anansi Boys. My SOBO comrades, James, Jabba, and Badger, are all keeping up their quick pace ahead of me, and Hayden is half a day behind me, so I hiked alone for the day. I didn't mind today's solitude. I ran into half a dozen NOBO's, going 4 or so hours at the most without seeing anyone. I just kept my headphones in and listened to the Google book, trudging up forested hills and down forested hills. Northern Washington might have been brutal, but it was constantly beautiful. This section, so far, has a well maintained soft trail but stays in the woods with few views. 

For lunch, I ate jalapeño and cheddar Cheez Its and Cookies & Cream Chex Mix while sitting in the dirt in the middle of the trail. I had just summited my major climb for the day and, upon discovering all views obstructed by the GD forest, I plopped down in the middle of the trail to eat. At that point, the trail had been a bit washed out so was a deep V shape. I unpacked my backpack, using my clothes stuff sack as a pillow, and sat with my butt in the crook of the V and my legs resting on one side and my head and back on the other. It was surprisingly comfortable and a great way to elevate my feet for a bit. I sat there for a while, continuing to listen to my book, enjoying the sunshine, and testing myself with a blind taste test to see if I could differentiate the jalapeño Cheez Its from the cheddar ones. Out of my five attempts, I was: correct, correct, incorrect, correct, correct. Unfortunately, the results are inconclusive since I can't run a t-test on such a small sample size. I'll have to continue the test tomorrow (so long as my Cheez Its supply holds out).

I did see Mt Rainier for the first time today. As one of the NOBO's described it, "it's a surprisingly shy mountain for its size." Well put, strange NOBO who looks like Dwight Schrute's beet-farmer cousin from the show The Office. Rainier was encircled by a skirt of clouds and just its rounded top was visible.

I continued to space out and listen to the Google book all afternoon. Hiking alone isn't the most intellectually stimulating activity. I'll think about things that I want to do when I return from the trip, like my ideal cheese-making wine fridge set-up or how I'd like to help a friend with MBA program applications, but I haven't been pausing to take notes and I don't have someone else to respond to the thoughts, so eventually they drift away.

Serendipitously, a few minutes after I finished the Google book, I arrived at my endpoint for the day: the Urich Cabin. It's a public cabin maintained by a local snowmobiling club. In my hiking guide notes, there are comments from past hikers who have happened upon wild parties in the cabin. Ex: "some 45 year old dude got so hammered that he threw up in the middle of the floor and cried all night." Tonight, there was no one there. I was actually pretty happy to have the place to myself, and hoped that no one would show up later. It's a unique experience to stay in an small old log cabin in the woods alone. I ate my dinner of two beef ramen packets and a pack of Whoppers (the malt balls that look just like deer turds) on the cabin's front deck. The deck overlooks a meadow, very originally named Government Meadow. There's a large sign near the cabin that declares that a wagon train stopped and rested for two days in the meadow in the fall of 1853 before continuing on and descending into the Puget Sound area.

I used the outhouse (such luxury!), and packed my food into my backpack and hung it from a beam inside the cabin. In addition to party-people, the cabin was noted to have mice. I found a bungee cord to hang my backpack. Fingers crossed that mice can't climb bungee cords, though I'm 90% sure that a bungee cord is a mouse red carpet. 

Setting up my bed in the cabin's loft and beginning to write this entry, I heard thumps from outside. At first, I thought that the partiers were arriving to begin their all night bender, then I looked out the window directly above my head. Partiers of another sort had arrived and were scattered across the meadow chowing down on grass: a massive herd of elk. Speaking with my Uncle John a couple days ago, he had asked me if I had seen any elk yet. "Well, I've seen tons of pesky deer that try to steal your gear from your campsite and drag it into the woods so that they can lick the salt off of it. Plus I saw one deer with antlers. That's what an elk is, right?" No, I was informed, elk are an entirely different animal. Deer are to elk as American singles are to extra sharp cheddar. Ok that's a stretch, but I'm food-obsessed and the idea is that elk look like creatures of the forest while deer look like a cheap imitation.

The elk are chewing excessively loudly and it sounds like they're licking or gnawing on parts of the cabin. Rude. There is a baby elk (doe? elkling?), though, who is being very funny by standing directly in the circular iron fire pit in front of the cabin. Whenever an adult elk comes over, the baby jumps out of the fire pit and gives them space. Then, when the adult leaves, the baby gets right back in the fire pit.

Day 15: New Washington

Snowqualmie Pass to mile 2,368

Miles: 22

I have finally left the North Cascades.

I woke up to my alarm this morning at 6:30AM but refused to open my eyes. I could feel that I was in a motel bed and wasn't ready to confront the reality of forsaking that bed for the wilderness. After collecting myself for a moment, I pried my body out of bed; put on my dirty hiking shorts, socks, and t-shirt; and packed my backpack. Jaro awoke to my preparations with the sixth sense that hikers have for other hikers preparing to depart.

We headed downstairs to the Summit Pancake House for breakfast. Jabba, Badger, and James were supposed to meet us there at 7AM. The restaurant was empty and it was dark, but they were open and our waiter, Singh, led us to a long half-booth, half-chairs table. Jaro and I both sat on the booth side. Town days are too short to pass up cushy booths. We contemplated the menu, really only deciding between their two everything-included breakfast specials: the I-90 Special, and the Summit Special. 

Jaro, bent over his menu, muttered, "I think I'll go with the I-90 with the pancakes." 

I said, "I think I'm going to get the Summit with the French toast." 

"No pancakes?" 

"The Summit has three eggs. I-90 only has two."

"I think I'll get the Summit too."

Our Summit specials included a large patty of hash browns, two strips of bacon, two sausages, three eggs, and two pieces of French toast. Each special required a regular plate and large family-style oval plate to hold all of the food. We also got coffees and loaded them up with half and half and sugar.

Jabba, Badger, and James finally arrived. They also shunned the chairs at our table and opted to sit at the booth across from us. It was a convenient decision since our two breakfasts had taken up most of the six-person table. They ordered Summit specials as well, except for James who custom ordered a vegetarian version by getting specialty berry French toast and a side of eggs.

Jabba and Badger joked around with Singh. Clearly they had befriended him during dinner the night before. No big surprise as thru-hikers are in the giddiest of moods in the face of their first hot town meal. Singh enjoyed the back and forth, and hung out by our table, refilling our coffees after almost every sip.

Halfway through breakfast, an exceedingly grungy northbound thru-hiker named Seinfield hiked right into the restaurant and energetically greeted Badger. Apparently, they had hiked part of the Appalachian Trail together several years ago. Seinfield saw our breakfasts and turned toward Singh, "can I have that?"

I wanted to hit the trail with James, who needed to finish packing his bag, so I hung out in the hotel lobby. With access to a power source and wifi, I mindlessly browsed the internet for the first time in a couple weeks. I saw a live feed of the fencing world championships on Facebook and clicked the video. It was surreal to be watching a live fencing tournament from a tiny hotel on Snowqualmie Pass, Washington, but why not? When James finally arrived in the lobby, he asked me what I was doing, and I told him that I had just watched the French men's foil team beat the Russian team in the fencing world championships. Halfway through the sentence, I could tell that James had checked out. I should have just said "fencing."

We began hiking along the road and out of town, semi trucks whizzing by us. On the edge of town, James realized that he had forgotten to fill up his water bottles. "I'll catch up to you down the trail." Sure, you will, James. I hike faster than you and take fewer breaks. I was reminded of how little control you have on the trail. You can try to plan and coordinate but, once you've put in that modicum of effort, you have to let go of the wheel and roll with the results.

I hiked fast out of town. I had a six mile and several thousand foot climb to start the day, and wanted to tackle it while I was still hopped up on French toast and coffee. The trail was brushy at points but the path itself was well-worn and easy cruising relative to the rocky North Cascades. Passing day hikers all morning, I arrived at the peak of the climb and found a good log to sit on for a rest. I was in no rush for this section, my daily target mileage was about 22/day, so I had resolved to take more breaks and try to hike with others. I smacked on bars and journaled while I waited for James to catch up.

A day hiker lady came around a bend in the path towards me and asked me if I knew how to get to Silver Peak. I checked my phone maps and gave her shoddy directions to the off-PCT nearby peak. She sat on the log next to me and asked, "are you an extrovert?"

"Umm, sometimes"

"Well your friend back there in the trail says you're an extrovert." I could tell that she was referring to James.

"Ha! Well compared to him, everyone's an extrovert."

"He says that he's been hiking with a bunch of extroverts and that it's helping him grow, but it's keeping him from writing."

"Well, you've just interrupted me while I was writing."

She laughs. She thinks I'm joking. I'm not joking.

She asks me, "are you going to be in Seattle anytime?"

"The PCT doesn't go through Seattle."

She got the hint and headed off for Silver Peak.

I continued waiting for James, pulling out my harmonica. Eventually James walked up and let me know that he had stopped for a break just a hundred yards back and he was going to hike on. Then Badger walked past, saying the same. Super. Guess I missed the boat.

I hiked fast to catch up to them and we stuck together for an hour or so, Badger and I chatting about our lives and work off the trail. Usually, it seems like off-trail work is taboo, so it felt good to finally broach some topics that were important to us. Eventually we stopped to take a break, Jabba catching up to us. After a few minutes joking around, we began peeling off one by one, it was the mid-morning and clearly time to focus on making miles. Once again, I relinquished control, pulled ahead of the group, and hiked on solo.

Grumpy bird is grumpy, probably about being in the middle of the trail

I listened to "How Google Works" all afternoon and booked it down the trail. It was primarily woods walking with ups and downs and few views.

I set up camp 22 miles in on an abandoned road adjacent to the trail. My camp mates were two northbounders, Wookie and Bluebird. Ah yes. But of course, wookies and bluebirds are natural allies. We shared trail info as I set up my tent and took my dinner inside to escape the constant Washington mosquitos.

Day 14: Hot Springs Side-venture

CS_DutchM1 to Snowqualmie Pass

Miles: 18

Sometimes you roll the dice and it all works out.

I parted ways with Hayden yesterday when I decided to embark upon the Goldmeyer Alternate. Today, I woke up with my alarm at 6:30AM. I immediately realized that I only had 18 miles to do for the day, which was shorter than the equivalent PCT section by a handful of miles. So I snoozed my alarm until 9AM. It was everything I hoped it would be. I didn't hit the trail until 9:30AM, and only had a mile under my belt at 10AM (AKA hiker noon), but I felt refreshed and finally like I was in control of my hike.

The morning highlight: nature called, quite insistently, but I was traversing a steep forested slope and couldn't find anywhere convenient to go. Since everything on the downhill side is visible to the trail, I decided to scale 100 feet up the uphill side to find my bathroom. All went well, until I had to find a way back down to the trail. Since it's much more difficult to climb down such a steep hill, and I didn't have the superhuman strength of someone on the verge of an accident, I couldn't find a good way down. Not to be deterred, I took a few steps toward the trail and, quite suddenly, proceeded to fall the rest of the way down the hill. Two lessons: first, be careful where you climb. Second, the forest topsoil is quite loose and is happy to slide right down the hill with you. My arms and dignity were both scraped up during the fall.

After about five miles of heavy brush hiking, I came to an old logging road. One of the goals of the PCT is to avoid road hiking, but I was happy for the flat path and gentle grade. I cruised down the old forest road, listening to friend messages and a touch of Kanye. It feels strange to listen to Kanye and Girl Talk in the middle of the woods, but the beat encourages my hiking and the nature vs lyrics contrast makes me grin to myself.

The logging road ended in a short path to the hot springs. I had actually found them! I was unsure if I'd find the hot springs as this was my first off PCT navigation, rendering my PCT specific GPS/map apps pretty useless. I also had no personal confirmation that the hot springs existed since the weekend backpackers who I had crossed had never been to the springs.

Nonetheless, I found 'em! Just like adventurers of yore, I had set off into the wilderness and found what I sought: hot springs. 

I was greeted by a bubbly caretaker at the entrance cabin, checked in, paid, signed a waiver, and was read the rules. It was quite the process just to visit a natural spring. She handed me a receipt for my payment. I looked down at the receipt and said, "will someone... be checking this?" "Haha, oh no. I forgot that you types don't like more stuff." Indeed.

I spent the next two hours relaxing in the hot springs. It was sublime. My muscles regenerated at Wolverine speeds. The hottest spring was a cylindrical cave twenty five feet deep and only five feet wide, with jagged walls and floors. There was a small rounded wooden bench at the back of the cave. The water was 107 degrees and the air was thick with heat and humidity. I hunched over on the bench, my feet submerged in the several feet of water, and I just watched beads of sweat form on my arms. The only light in the cave shone in from the entrance; my eyes took ten minutes to adjust to the darkness to he point that I could see the walls around me. Though there were five other people in the three small pools outside, I was the only one braving the cave. I imagined that I was part mountain ascetic and part abominable sweaty cave monster. I also imagined the walls caving in and had to do breathing exercises to calm myself down.

I spent another hour alternating between the cold pool (46 degrees) and the hot-ish pool. I tried to remember the interval timing that pro athletes use in their post-game alternation between ice baths and hot tubs, because I'm just like them. I concluded my hot spring-xperience with another cave monster session. It felt so good but I had already finished my bottle of Gatorade and was worried that I was getting dehydrated.

Feeling good as new, I walked back to the check-in cabin where I had left my gear. The hosts gave me water, directions, and high fives. They told me that I had eleven miles to Snowqualmie Pass: seven miles up, and four miles down. I was not afeared since I assumed that "seven miles up" was a general statement. I should have been afeared. I ended up with a grueling 3,500 foot climb over the course of the last three uphill miles. I also ran short of water during the dry uphill spell and had to macguyver myself some agua. I found a cliff face that was covered in algae and slowly dropping water. By pressing my hand on the cliff face and pointing my index finger down toward the mouth of my bottle, I made the water coalesce and run down my finger. Five minutes of waiting, and I had a full bottle of algae/hand water. Bonus: I also felt like a wizard summoning water out of a rock.

Summiting the massive climb, I was rewarded with extraordinary views of Snow Lake. The lake shimmered in the late day sun and was a bright turquoise blue. Though the area around the lake seemed popular with day hikers, I would definitely come back and bring Em.

I descended the other side of the Pass into Snowqualmie, or what I thought was Snowqualmie. Rather, I had emerged into Alpenton (something like that), a ski resort community. I had a mile and a half road walk into Snowqualmie. No matter, now I got the fun experience of being the grungy backpacker guy walking in the road while all the passing vacationer cars slow down to get in a good ogle.

I arrived in Snowqualmie and had three to-do's: get my resupply of food for the next section,eat dinner, find a place to sleep. I wandered directly into the Chevron food mart, and emerged with bulging bags of grub. Upon exiting the Chevron store, I noticed a grocery store a couple hundred feet away. Well, I probably should have looked around for half a second before buying five day's worth of groceries from a gas station.

Next, I went to the only open restaurant in town, the Summit Pancake House. They seated me in a way back section, though there was space up front, likely because I reeled and was wearing my hiker attire (sweaty shirt and ripped up short running shorts). There was one couple seated a few booths away from me. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a side of soup. I gobbled down the soup and, when the waiter delivered my burger, I asked for a glass of chocolate milk. As soon as I uttered the words "chocolate milk" the couple in the other booth spun around towards me. "You're a thru hiker." It was a statement, not a question. It ended up that they were thru hikers as well, and that we had actually met each other before. They had finished their Canadian border journey and had been coming back into Hart's Pass, my starting point, on the day that I set out. I had actually talked to them for a moment then and my mom had given them a bunch of fruit and carrot juices that she had in the car, which they had gobbled down.

Finishing dinner, I got a text from James that he was staying at the Summit Inn and that he didn't have any more space in his room but there was another thru hiker with an empty bed. Yeeeeesssssssssss. The best news. I soon met Jaro (pronounced Yaw-row) in the lobby and followed him to our room. Splitting that room was the easiest money that I've ever spent. Things that were amazing about that hotel room: hot shower, power outlets, soft queen-size bed, I did not have to find a secluded place behind the gas station to pitch my tent, I did not have to worry about local police asking me to "move along" in the middle of the night because I had pitched my tent behind the gas station, and good old cold tap water.

Hilariously, Jaro and I got to talking and, after a fair amount of trail chat, he told me that he works in consulting at BCG. We both thought that it was head shakingly strange and hilarious to be talking about management consulting in Snowqualmie Pass while hiking the PCT. I told him that he was lucky that we hadn't met in that hotel room a year ago because then I'd be asking him for interview tips. He answered, totally deadpan and with his Czech accent, "we can do a case if you want." We both laughed, dropped the subject, and went back to the more pertinent topic of determining which parts of our disintegrating shoes are structural and which are merely aesthetic.

Day 13: Hot & Long & Beautiful

Mile 2,442 to CS_DutchM1

Miles: 25

Slept in until a luxurious 6:45AM this morning. I didn't feel the need to rush a full day of hiking.

I set out with Hayden from camp around 7:30AM. We had a few miles of relative flat to warm up before a 2,000 foot climb up a pass. Beginning the climb, I ran into a northbound hiker who is hiking all of the Washington PCT. "I got to warm up with my most difficult stream crossing of Washington so far," she said in a chipper the-hard-stuff-is-behind-me voice. The stream was only a couple miles ahead, so I had some time to look forward to it. In my mind, I kept repeating the line "the hard parts are the best parts."

The stream was a gushing creek running down a steep slope, but not the monstrous swollen river that I was expecting. I scoped it out for a couple minutes, I finally found a spot fifty yards down the creek (and the mountain) that seemed safe to cross. A couple minutes later, after a few hops and a scramble up he brush on the opposite side, I was over. Hayden took my dame route. I was psyched to have conquered "the worst stream crossing in Washington" and let out a victory yell. I told Hayden, "that wasn't so bad." Then I walked twenty feet and saw the other fork of the stream, and our trail continuing on the far side. Of course.

This time, after a longer scouting session, I found a submerged wobbly log that I thought could serve as a good stepping stone. I took my shoes and socks off and, knowing that it probably wasn't the best idea, threw them over to the other side so that I wouldn't have to carry them. Luckily they landed safely. I extended my hiking poles to the max, and gingerly stepped onto a rock, then the wobbly log. I could feel the log shift under my feet. I consciously told myself not to think about the rushing current and sharp rocks. I braced, and jumped, and made it across. This time, though I was sure that there was no more stream to cross, I did not celebrate. Best not to taunt nature.

The miles didn't come easy today. Between two 2,000 foot climbs, and a bunch of up and down in the middle, it was a pretty challenging day. Most of all, though, I lacked the energy that I've had in past days. I think that it's some combination of calorie deficit and dehydration. I've been consuming about 3,000 calories per day, but I likely need more. Also, I just noticed that my dinners alone have 100% of my daily sodium, so I'm probably dehydrating myself with too much salt.

After the first climb, while Hayden hung back in the shade to make coffee and have second breakfast, I found a sunny spot with an incredible view and I pulled out my harmonica. I still suck at the harmonica, but I had a blast spending thirty minutes blasting poorly executed harmonica riffs into the valley below. The track list included: Desperado, You Are My Sunshine, Home On The Range, Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay, and Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

Two thirds of the way through the day, we came upon the "Goldmeyer Alternate" trail. There are a handful of alternate trails along the PCT. Generally, they are not part of the PCT and are meant to deviate from the trail to hit a local highlight. Since they follow the direction of the PCT, and loop back to the trail at different points, some add a few miles while other alternates are a bit shorter than the equivalent PCT section. The Goldmeyer Alternate is intended to hit the Goldmeyer hot springs and is 5-10 miles shorter than the same PCT section (the maps are unclear).

Though Hayden opted to stay true to the PCT, I was enamored with the idea of hot springs and a bit of a shortcut. I also knew that the PCT was about to make another 2,000 foot ascent, and I hoped that the Goldmeyer trail might be more forgiving.

The Goldmeyer trail was not more forgiving. I did an immediate ascent of over 2,000 feet. Nonetheless, the views made it all worth it. I climbed up to Dutch Gap and, having achieved the higher elevation of the ridges and nearby mountain tops, I emerged into a world of alpine lakes, waterfalls, and quiet prairies. It was superb.

I pushed onward past Dutch Gap to cap off a big mile day. My goal for today's push was to take the pressure off of tomorrow, so that I can do fewer miles and, hopefully, soak my achin' muscles and bones in some hot springs.

Random anecdote from midday today:

I put on a bunch of DEET in the heat of the day today since I was being swarmed by mosquitos and flies. Within a couple hours, the DEET wore off (or was absorbed into my system, which is worrisome), and the bugs came back with a vengeance. As I was being swarmed post-DEET, I kept picturing one of the scenes from Game of Thrones, The Battle of the Bastards episode, toward the end of the episode.

[POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERT FOR 2016 SEASON OF GAME OF THRONES]

Backstory: Ramses (me) has trained mosquitos to hunt for him.

The scene: Ramses is sitting next to a pond in the middle of the forest. 

Enter Sansa (forest sprite)

Sansa stands twenty feet from Ramses, facing him. Sansa raises both hands and thousands of mosquitos coalesce and slowly buzz toward Ramses

Ramses: my mosquitos will never hurt me. They are obedient creatures.

Sansa: but you haven't fed them in seven days

Mosquitos fall upon Ramses and suck all of the blood out of his body until he looks like a raisin.

Day 12: Re-Energized Return

Stevens Pass to mile 2,442

Miles: 19

Messaged Hayden and found out he was in town and planning to get back to the trail without a zero, so coordinated to pick him up from the Dinsmores Hiker Haven (PCT hiker hostel of sorts in Skykomish) at 9:30AM so that we could hit the trail at 10AM. We arrived at Stevens Pass ski resort at 10AM, but relaxed and took time to chat with my mom, chat with thru hikers who had just arrived, use the facilities one last time, and for me to talk on the phone to my Uncle John. He wanted to hear how the trail was going and throw out the idea of joining me for a bit in Southern Washington. How cool!

We finally said our goodbyes and hit the trail at 11:30AM. We set out to do 15-20 miles in order to set us up to complete this 70 mile section in three days.

We hiked straight up the Stevens Pass ski hills and down the other side, passing innumerable bow hunters each carrying their weapons. It was still surreal to be hiking on such a heavily armed hill. It felt like the Hunger Games and that we were about to be hunted at any moment. Best to hike fast.

Hike fast we did, though we still stopped to chat with anyone willing along the way. I still so enjoy the chance to joke around and share stories with other hikers on the trail. We ran into Sherpa and Dr Doolittle (thru hikers who I met during the last section) and stopped to chat with them for a good 15 minutes. They were great company and happy for the leisurely chat.

The scenery this afternoon was gorgeous. We climbed three or four ridges, each with views of snowy ridge lines and distant mountains. Between ridges, we descended into valleys with little underbrush and a soft trail carpeted with pine needles. It was a lot of up and down work, but the kind of work that I set out on the trail to do.

I ate a new concoction for dinner tonight: a cheddar and broccoli Knorr rice packet with a packet of tuna salad and two mayo packets mixed in. It turned out to be creamy and delicious. Hopefully my ill-gotten mayo packets turn out to be good calories when I put them to use tomorrow.

Over dinner we discussed gun control in Australia vs the US. As close to a scary story as I'd like to get in the middle of the woods.

Day 11: Epic Zero

Mile Stevens Pass to nowhere

Miles: 0o0o

Today was the most restful.

Here's a rough itinerary:

9AM: wake up in queen sized bed in hotel room. Do not crawl out of covers into 45 degree air. Do not break down tent and choke down carnation instant breakfast. Drink orange juice in bed. Drink hot coffee in bed.

9:45AM: mom and I realize that there is a parade preparing to start right outside our hotel window. There's a random assortment of classic cars, emergency vehicles, and flatbed trucks holding beauty pageant children. We run outside and accost a stranger to ask how we can watch the parade. He tells us to just stand on the curb a block away. We head that way and get front row seats on the curb (there was no competition).

10AM: parade begins. A highlight was the large quantity of candy that participants threw out of car windows to the gathered children along the side walk, prompting the children to dash forward into the street and toward the moving cars in order to snag the best candy. Another highlight was the "float" entirely comprised of a riding lawnmower adorned with tinsel and driven by a hunched over gruff-looking fellow, and pulling a small wagon carrying a large man who waved unenthusiastically (no evident affiliation or other reason for their participation in the parade).

11AM: return to room. Fall asleep.

1PM: wake up from nap. Mom informs me that she scheduled me a massage for 2PM. Only my second massage of my life and oh my gosh am I excited.

2PM: I limp into massage parlor.

3PM: I waltz out of massage parlor.

3:30PM: sushi for lunch, basically the opposite of trail food.

4PM: grocery store run to re-supply my food for the next section.

5PM: return to motel, head out to grassy patch and throw around frisbee that the Rico's Pizza "float" (truck) had thrown at us

6PM: dinner in hotel room

7-10PM: journaling

Late: return to queen sized bed. Do not blow up mattress. Do not pee in woods. Do not position clothes stuff sack as pillow. Watch a bad Saturday Night Live re-run. Sleep like a brick.

Day 10: Stevens Surprise

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.

Day 9: Snow Day

Mile 2,509 to mile 2,480

Miles: 29

I met a northbound thru-hiker three days ago who told me that the snow on Red Pass slowed her down to half pace. I guess I took that as some sort of challenge.

I packed up my lonely campsite this morning and hit the trail at 7:45AM. With no one there to judge or encourage me to get going early, I didn't. Since I want to make it to the post office in Skykomish by closing, 3:30PM on Friday, and since I had 47 miles and a hitch between me and Skykomish, I set my sites high for the day. If I wanted to finish hiking and start trying to catch a hitch by noon on Friday, I'd need to cut my Friday miles to twenty or fewer.

So I decided to hike 29 miles today. Red Pass and snow be damned.

My first four miles were relatively flat, then I started heading up the pass. This was the biggest climb remaining for the section. Thanks to my huge dinner the night before, and constant snacks this morning, I was energized and ready to rock and roll. I cruised up the pass until I hit snow two thirds of the way up. The patchy snow drifts quickly gave way to wall-to-wall snow blanketing the top portion of the pass. After some pathfinding, I scoped out the trail and was able to slip and slide my way to the top.

Having conquered my primary obstacle of the day by noon, I don't remember much of any of the afternoon. I walked far. The other mountains were pretty. I didn't see another human being between 5PM yesterday and 2PM today. I think, partly due to a lack of socialization, my mind wandered and I didn't take in much of my surroundings.

Ah, yes. Another foot log.

My right knee and Achilles' tendon flared up again this afternoon. The knee is visibly swollen but only hurts when I head downhill. The Achilles feels strained and sensitive.

I listened to the rest of Em's recordings, many of them multiple times (Zach Monty, listened to your podcast twice, even though it's 34 minutes long and at the 8 minute mark you say "well I didn't have anything else planned...") the recordings made me feel like I was right there with all of my closest friends and family. Though the recordings are one-sided conversations, I still felt as if I got tospend time with each person. It was a special way to spend hours of my hike.

In the end, I hiked all day without really slowingor stopping for longer than 15 minutes, and I've got 29 miles to show for it. Pretty proud of that, though it would have been cooler if there was a campsite a mile away and I could have stretched the total to 30.

Just woke up with my phone on my chest. Passed out while writing this journal entry. Now I return to sleep. Early morning tomorrow to crank out the final miles of the section.

Good night.