2MoreMiles…

Ready for the bus ride

The one day we can sleep in till at least 9am, we can’t. We are wide awake at 6:30 am with nothing really to do. The restaurant, store and laundry do not open till 0800, and for the most part there is nothing on Canadian TV. In the middle of the night we had switched from one of the two queen beds in our room to the other as we kept finding ourselves rolling toward, and sinking into, the middle of the bed. It was like being on an uneven piece of real estate. We laughed as we had hiked all these miles, we finally finish and get to sleep in a real bed, and its almost more uncomfortable than sleeping on the ground. Luckily the other bed was not as well slept in. We should have known, seeing that the TV was at the end of the “well used” bed…things to remember for the future when traveling and “cowgirl camping”. We get up, make in-room coffee and prep the laundry. We expect that this will be the last time we will have to wear rain gear indoors. We try and add a few more posts to our blog, but the WiFi at the Lodge is actually “WeeFee” (barely works), and our phone has no signal, so we can’t call anyone and tell them we made it. The whole experience is a little anti-climactic. We dump our trash, which includes food wrappers, our sit pads, the 22 oz Schoolhouse beer bottles, water bottles and some super stiff/worn out socks. Our feet are sore and our shoes smell awful. We would have trashed those too, but we figure they may come in handy while in Vancouver. Until then, we will wear our Crocs. We shuffle downstairs to the lobby and registration desk and inquire about the laundry costs. We will need Canadian coins, “loonies and toonies”, What? These are one and two dollar coins. We convert our cash into “funny” money. It’s 7:50 am. As there are only two machines, we want to snag at least one, first thing. Our plan is to put our stuff in the wash then take a dip in their salt water pool and finish with a soak in the jacuzzi and spend some time in the steam room. Paul wants to hit the sauna as well, but I will pass as I’m pretty sure we walked in a sauna on more than one occasion. We would have done this last night but everything shut down by 10 pm. As we stand outside the locked laundry room door, a maintenance person comes by. “You need into the laundry room?” she asks gruffly, as we stand there in our rain gear and Crocs. We nod, affirmatively, and say that it’s not 8 o’clock yet. She looks at her watch and waves her hand dismissively at us saying, “oh, it’s close enough. I’ll open it up for you.” Paul decides to be daring and asks if she’ll open up the pool too. “Sure, why not?” is the response. Good thing we were there early, because no sooner did we load our clothes into the machine, two other hikers appeared with laundry on their minds. Phew. Good timing. The thought of a 4+ hour Greyhound bus ride in stinkyville clothing into the metropolis of Vancouver did not seem appealing for us nor I’m sure for the other passengers, that may or may not be through, thru-hikers. We mark our watches for turn around time. We need to have everything done so we can be on the 1010 bus to Vancouver. Into the pool building we go. We strip down to our last clean pair of Exofficio underwear. First a dip in the pool, then a soak in the jacuzzi. While the jets are strong, the water is not super hot, but it will do, and we do our best to reduce the soreness. On the last downhill to the lodge my left quadricep was doing its best to give up and seize on me (What is it with the left side of my body?) We knew it was going to be a long sedentary ride and we needed to get as much lactic acid worked out as possible. 68 miles in 2.5 days had reaked havoc on our bodies, but it was worth it. By 0930 we had everything done. This gave us time to get a coffee, a danish and something to eat for the bus ride. We also made sure we had some Coke to go with the 3/4 full bottle of Captain Morgans Spiced Rum we had left over from the night before. We had thought we would have drank more of it the night before, but we were just too exhausted. No worries, we’re retired and now officially on “vacation”…would you like anything with your cinnamon bun? just some rum thank you. The bus arrives and we gather with several other hikers who had finished yesterday as well.

We gather for a “class” photo before boarding the bus. Wow. We really did it. It seems weird not to be walking somewhere. It’s almost a little disconcerting to be separated from our packs as the bus driver barks at us to leave our packs outside by the cargo area. We all tentatively drop our packs as directed and board the bus.

We all seemingly instinctively walk to the back of the bus and take our seats, and laugh as there are plenty of seats up front. We share our disbelief that we are actually done,and how weird it feels to not have to walk, not that we were complaining or anything. We all talked about what was going through our minds the last two days. Ballhawk told us that his group had discussed hiker “awards”, like you would for the end of your senior year of high school. Their awards were like, ‘most likely to yo-yo’ (Seeds), ‘most social’ (Oozle and Thistle), ‘most bad-ass couple’ (OneSpeed and Just Paul)…hey that’s US! Apparently we were selected because we somehow always ended up where the Boys were and they were doing some crazy miles at times, and what sealed the deal was at a trailside cache in Washington, just before Snoqualmie. Ballhawk was seated near the cache, sipping a Coke, and it was cold and drizzly. We had at least another 1500 foot climb over 2 miles before we could even consider being done for the day and it was getting late. He watched as we opened one cooler. Sodas. We opened the other cooler and it was filled with Rainer Beer. BEER! we exclaimed, and promptly sucked one down and would have had another had the sign inside not asked us to only have one. Ballhawk watched in awe as he nursed his soda and sucked on his cancer stick. “That”, he said, “Is when you guys sealed the deal for that award.” He continued, “I was sipping a soda because I was thinking about the climb coming up, and you guys went (without hesitation) for the beer. Now that’s bad-ass.” We further inked our title and seriously confirmed the “award” they had bestowed upon us when we passed what was left of our rum bottle back to the boys, saying ‘finish it off, we’ve got all we need’, whilst holding up our soda bottle concoctions. “See. I told you these guys were Bad-Ass”, Ballhawk laughed as Rorchart accepted the bottle. Someone on the bus discovered there was free WiFi on the bus. We all signed up mostly using fictitious emails, to avoid “junk mail” in our in-boxes. We motor along and suddenly we have cell service. Then the text messages from our respective carriers start coming in, reminding us we are no longer in the US of A and that we are subject to ridiculously expensive roaming and data fees…contact your carrier for more information. Holy crap! That’s right. We’re in another country that, visually, really looks no different than the one we just walked out of. We stop at another bus station. It is here that we need to get off temporarily and buy our tickets to Vancouver. We consider getting additional snacks from the vending machines inside, but change our minds once we see that they are filled with trail mix, pop tarts, cliff bars, dried fruit and other assorted “snacks” we’ve more than had our fill of. What we don’t realize or rather piece together, is the line of people waiting in the cue at the bus station plan on boarding our bus. Before we finish buying our tickets, these people board and many of them take our seats. WTF? Paul and I are lucky as no one absconded with our seats. While at the station, I call our cell provider and inquire as to whether there is a plan we can switch to temporarily during our short stay here in Canada, and thus avoid the equivalent of a new car payment just to be able to make a phone call and/or send/receive texts. “Why of course we can help you with that”, the woman on the other end of the line offers in a sweet southern accent. For $15 additional dollars we can have 1000 minutes and unlimited texts, no data roaming…too expensive. With data roaming off, and search for free WiFi on, we accept the temporary fix. We re-board the bus and begin our search for a hotel. Sugar had recommended the Sylvia Hotel at English Bay in the West End area. We call and see what they’re availability is. They have a room, but it seems pretty pricey to us. We tell them we will call back in a few minutes as we want to do a little more research. We do a hotel search. We call Best Western (we have points) and a few other hotels. Most are booked fully for the weekend, or if they have a room it’s nearly (or IS) $400 a night! Call the Sylvia Hotel back, for they truly were the cheapest. Sorry we are all full up for tonight. Crap! They do, however, have a room available for the next two nights. We’ll take it, we say. We arrive at the bus station in Vancouver. We feel seriously displaced. We are NOT going to stay at the Hiker Hostel and Pub, across the street. We’ll find something, We hail a cab and have him take us downtown to a “moderately” priced hotel. He stops at a Best Western. They have a room. Yeah! It’s $350 for the night. Boo!. They point us to the Quality Inn, up two blocks. We walk in, wearing our packs, smelling fresh mind you. We ask if they have any rooms. They tell us they do, but the price is waay out of our comfort zone. The manager apologizes. He asks if we have looked on-line for any specials. We explain that we have a room at the Sylvia Hotel for the next two nights, but don’t have one for tonight and we can’t access the internet without free WiFi as we are from the States and would rather avoid incurring anymore costs than we all ready have. He asks us where we are going. We explain that we have already “been” and had just finished hiking the entirety of the PCT from Mexico to Manning Park and are in Vancouver to take in the sights, and buy some clothes that fit, before we head home. “You hiked the whole way?”, he asks in near disbelief. “Wow. you must have seen some neat things”. That we did, we reply. He apologizes again for not having a room in our price range, but gives us their password to access the internet and tells us we can use the lobby, “take your time”. After a while, he asks if we have found anything. Paul has found one hotel in our price range,and asks the manager where that particular hotel would be,and whether it was a good place/area to stay. The manager shows us on the map where would be in relation to our current location. Not that far of a walk. He then excuses himself, and goes behind the registration counter. He asks if we have booked the room yet. We were just about to select “Buy” , and tell him, not yet. “Good”, he says. “I’ll give you a room for that price. I think you’ve earned it. Anybody who walks that far on purpose deserves a break.” Thank You So Much, we gush. He then explains it’s not a spacious room, but it has a queen bed, our own bathroom w/ shower/tub and a big screen TV. We’ve slept in a small tent for the last four months (since we stopped cowboy camping), anything bigger than that will be deemed “spacious”. He hands us our room key, gives us a few pointers on where to shop and eat and things we should not miss while in Vancouver. We thank him again for his generosity, and head up the elevator. Divine intervention once again. People are innately good. We arrive at our room. When he said it wasn’t “spacious”, he wasn’t kidding. I was practically a closet…a walk-in closet, but it had everything we needed and for that we were grateful. Now for something else to wear.

Checking out downtown

Shopping time. We wander through downtown Vancouver. It is a bustling metropolis. Herds of people scurry about, most with earplugs in and a cell phone surgically attached to their hand, but they are polite and will smile at you, provided they take the time to look up from their phones. A sad drunken man, “sleeps it off” on a street corner, half in the gutter. Glittering high rise apartment buildings tower above us. This is a whole new type of “wilderness”. The purchasing of new attire takes longer than expected,as we don’t really know what size we are anymore. The salespersons are puzzled when we ask if they can cut off the tags, as we will be wearing our recently purchased clothing out of the store. Paul gets a long overdue haircut at a bustling barber shop, and mine will have to wait for another day. Now for dinner. The Cactus Club came highly recommended, so we dine there. We are not disappointed. After dinner, we stroll through the downtown, mesmerized by the glowing neon lights and entertained by street performers hawking their craft. Just before returning to our hotel, we slip in to an “all night” sandwich and custard shop for something sweet. The custard is dreamy, and we decide once back home our ice cream days are over. Not because we won’t be able to afford the calories, but because custard is sooo much better. We reckon if you’re going to have something frozen cold and sweet, better to have a little bit of custard rather than waste your occasional “treat” calories on grocery store ice cream. We waddle back to our hotel, wide awake from the sugar blast, and get our TV fix. 100 channels and nothing to watch. Good to know nothing has really changed in that area. Now for the sugar “crash” and we are out. Zzzzzzzz.

Day 171: (22.6 miles)
mile 2646.3 – 2660 The Monument – 2668.9 Manning Park

The patter of big fat rain drops continued throughout the night. Only the cadence would change. Thinking that I could take advantage of the non-stop rain, I had put my metal cup outside the rainfly to catch the run-off from the fly for additional water the next morning. As we had retired relatively late last night after having completed the better part of a marathon, no morning alarm was set. We awoke near 7am with the sound of rain still striking our tent. Grrrr! Once again, we muse, it could be snowing. Decision time. “Wait” out the rain and hope it doesn’t morph into snow, or pack it up and brave the cold and wet…one last time. Things you don’t want to do are best done, first and as quickly and efficiently as possible. With that, our decision is made. Pack it up. At minimum, we will be to the monument by 2pm, and Manning Park no later than 8pm. Again, this is not how we envisioned our last day on the trail, walking in another leaky cloud, but as always, it is what it is…nothing we can do about the weather.

Last night we had seen a hunter’s camp set up next to the seeping spring, and this morning I can see one dressed in hunter orange surveying a valley to our right.

The rain lets up in time for us to pack up our gear without getting drenched. I fill my 1/2 liter water bottle with the rain water from my cup I left out overnight, proud of my ingenuity. We skip coffee and throw down our last poptart.

A thick cold fog akin to wintertime in San Francisco settles upon us. The hunter returns to his camp, most likely unable to see his prey. We meander down the PCT with visibility not more than 20 ft. Boom! We hear a rifle shot from the valley below us. 30 seconds later, another Boom rings out followed closely by another. It is obvious that the first shot did not meet its target, and the next two shots most likely mean their prey is on the run. With this poor visibility, we are not surprised by the multiple shots, but also a little unnerved by the thought someone would think to take a poor visibility shot as we have now made it to Woods Pass and are beginning to drop down into a valley. My choice of an orange rain jacket provides a little comfort. We are passed on our descent by another hiker we do not recognize. Amazing to think how many people are hiking this trail, sharing similar experiences, but will never meet.

The hiker passes with a terse nod. We shrug and watch as he hurries through each switchback below us. By now we have worked up a bit of a thirst. I take a swig of my water bottle and promptly spit it out. What the heck? It is sharp tasting, with a sour flavor. How can that be? Acid rain? I didn’t think our rainfly was that dirty. Maybe we’ve relied on those flavor packets too heavily. In any event, this water is not drinkable, but I don’t pour it out just yet as we have yet to pass a single viable water source. We are now thankful for the current cold and wet conditions. We still have a liter from the day before. We drink sparingly, thinking we will need to make it last to within 2miles of the monument where there is a creek. The rain has stopped, but it is still cold… so much so that our pace does not invoke a sweat.

We level off a bit and the trail switches from a descent across steep rocky skree faces to a soft dirt and pine needle padded trail enveloped in trees. We stop to change out of our now unnecessary raingear and notice water flowing from a direct source spring four feet below the trail where we stopped. Giving ourselves ice cream headaches we quench our thirst and I dump the acrid water and refresh my water bottle. We are closing in on the border, our mood improves and we do our best to recall and recite every place we’ve camped along this 2650 mile route. Water oozes around each “corner” of the trail. Next, we list each town we’ve visited and ones we want to go back to. We drop further into a narrowing valley and wonder aloud what actually awaits us at the border. The miles tick down. We step over several creeks that are NOT on the map. Suddenly Paul stops and asks me, “You know what?” What?, I ask. Paul shouts at the top of his lungs, “2 MORE MILES”!!!!!! Unbeknownst to me, with phone in hand (tuned to Halfmile’s app) he has been watching the mileage click down, foot by foot to the exact point wherein we have 2moremiles till we set foot on Canadian soil. We listen as his voice echoes through the valley wondering if there will be a response. We chuckle and wish we would have had the forethought to have recorded this moment. We consider reenacting it, but it just wouldn’t be as genuine. The moment remains ours to savor. With one mile left, Paul startles me with a howl at the top of his lungs, “ONE MORE MILE”!!!! I laugh and shake my head. Five thousand two hundred and eighty feet left, roughly 1760 more steps to the monument and Canada! Will there be anyone there to share this with, or will we be by ourselves. Granted this is better than being solo, but we would both like to be in our finish picture and we have not perfected the art of “selfies” with our phone. We approach the opening to the monument, Paul follows behind me, this time in video mode on our phone, narrating as we walk. The air is perfectly still and forest sounds come to a halt. We have made it. Our quest fulfilled. We are for the most part healthy and without injury, our marriage is intact and we are each nearly 30lbs lighter…all good things. We have looked so forward to this moment and now it has arrived. We are simultaneously elated and melancholy. Paul snaps a few pictures.

We remove the pyramid cap of “monument #78” and survey its contents. A tattered registry and an assortment of “party favors” lay at the bottom. We remove our sit pads, take a seat facing the monument and in silence we crack our beers, lift them to each other and eat our remaining food from our food bags, each quietly hoping another hiker will come along and share this moment with us. Paul reads from the registry, noting the hikers whose names we recognize. A bold chipmunk makes advances on our bags. With our beers nearly finished, we hear a, “thank God”, from the forest. A solo hiker, McButters appears. He is relieved to not have to finish alone. Paul begins to hoot and holler, McButters and I join in. Finally a celebration of sorts.

We trade cameras (phones) and snap each other’s pictures next to, or in McButters case “planking” whilst on top of the wooden structure,

McButter's "respectable" pic

and a “respectable” picture he says his mom can share at ‘book club’. We share trail “small talk”. We are thankful to be done, but we know we are not done, just yet. 8.9 miles separates us from a hot shower and warm bed that is Manning Park.

We sling our packs back on readying for the truly last leg. We for some reason, envisioned a relatively flat almost “city park” like stroll from the monument to ManningPark. By now, we should know better. We pass through a large campsite just the other side of the border which is defined by a wide, treeless and barren ribbon that cuts through the rugged, dense forest. Often thru-hikers, depending on when they reach the monument, or family and friends that hike into the monument to meet their hiker(s), will camp here. Instinctively we are not surprised that the trail begins to climb, and laugh at our ridiculousness in thinking this would be a “stroll in the park”. We can not recall any of the blogs we have read in the past having cataloged this part of their PCT experience. The climb reaches Windy Joe Gap and now intersects with a well groomed dirt road that winds its way down to the paved road that will take us to Manning Park. Near the “bottom” we run into a man who is there to meet his daughters who were supposed to have finished by now. We ask if he knows their trail names. He does not, but knows they are with a group of “kids”. We ask if this is the group with the 6 man tent. “Yes”, he laughs. His accent matches up with two sisters we met in that group, that had joined us during our “beverage” stop with Larry the previous day…they are from Wisconsin. We tell him that we had passed them early this morning as their group was gathered in their tent, laughing and watching videos on their phone,most likely reliving some of their adventures, and that McButters had mentioned that this group was about an hour or so behind him by the time he got to the monument. We assured him that his daughters were safe, and most likely at the monument celebrating. They did not appear to be in any hurry. Sadly, their father’s intended surprise meeting on the trail will have to wait. This group of five, with the exception of the sisters, had all started alone from Campo. None of them had a tent and had cowboy camped, often together, all the way up to Kennedy Meadows. As they all seemed to end up camping together at the end of the day, “got along so well”, and each had been talking about switching to a tent once they get to Kennedy Meadow, they said they began to joke, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we got one big tent?”. The “joke” morphed into reality, and they have been with each other since Kennedy Meadows with each member of the group carrying an essential piece of the tent. With a little more than 2moremiles remaining, the trail forked off the road as it approached the bottom of the valley.

We continued across wooden bridges that stretched over brackish ponds and streams, and finally onto the paved road that stretches to the Lodge at Manning Park.

I had squirreled away one last Snickers bar for this very moment. I break it in half and we share what is our last “trail food” for a long while.

When we arrive at the foyer of Manning Lodge we are greeted by cheers of CONGRATULATIONS, by Sugar, Double Stuff, Rorchart, OOzle and Thistle who have already “cleaned up” and are lounging in the lobby hooked to WiFi. Sugar is awaiting the arrival of her boyfriend, and the others are waiting for their “to-go” orders to be ready at the restaurant across the way. They tell us we should “hurry” and check in if we are to make it for food at the restaurant or access the store. For some odd reason they close at 800pm. It is nearly 8pm. We check in, drop our gear in our room, switch out to “less smelly” shirts and toddle over to the restaurant. Prior to heading over, we run into Fresh. We thought he was days ahead. We make sure to give him our contact info as he will be flipping and heading SOBO from the Sierras to complete the rest of the PCT. We knew we were hungry, but were actually surprised when Paul finished his enormous Philly Steak sandwich and I liquidated, down to the bone, an entire rack of St. Louis style ribs. Remarkably NOT overfull, carrying an order of Nachos to-go, we wander back to the Lodge with a bottle of Captain Morgans, and liter of Coke for “color”. We had expected to do laundry tonight, but forego that in favor of a shower, and a beverage or two. We run into Ballhawk in the lobby, who asks us if we will be on the Greyhound bus tomorrow morning to Vancouver. We tell him that’s our plan. “Excellent”, he responds. “See you in the morning”, and scurries off to the “Boys” room with two pizzas in hand. While back in our room, the sheer magnitude of what we have accomplished has begun to set in. We think about making a few phone calls. We have no service. That’s okay as we are not sure how to describe or process how and what we are feeling, or how to relate it to other accomplishments. This one, somehow is different, and I gander will stand alone by itself as it is, in its entirety, different from anything we’ve ever done physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. This one gets its own cabinet, tucked neatly in the room, that stores our memories and experiences…in our brains.

Day 170: (26.05 miles)
mile 2620.25 – 2646.3 .

Up early before the sun rises, we are all on the move, which is amazing considering the rudeness of the area’s deer crunching and sniffing around our tents at all hours of the night. The air is brisk and dreaded moisture is in the air. We have several more ridiculous climbs and descents before this trail will let us go. IF we do 25 miles today, we will be set up for a 14 mile finish tomorrow. 25 it is. So much for the “cruisey” miles we had originally planned days earlier.

The barn is calling and the weather looks ominous. Up we climb, so we can drop down to a softly flowing spring. Before we reach the spring, we are ambushed by lightly falling rain. We held out as long as we could, but finally concede and don our pack covers and rain jackets. We decide in protest, NOT to put on our rain pants. We amble along until we come upon a blockade in the trail in the form of a Schoolhouse beer accompanied by an apple and banana which requires a detour of sorts. By now the rain has stopped and the trail forks to the right. We hear a “hootie who” call down the trail. We eye the “Schoolhouse” beer and think, Vicky, really? We wander down the trail and see a man in a red hoodie with Schoolhouse Brewery screened on the front. He asked for our names and Paul responds with his hand out. Shaking hands he knows it’s Larry. Larry, who has returned from a successful hunt and has tracked us down, picking the best possible spot to intercept us. Lots of laughter and more hellos, how are you’s, we can’t believe we hooked up and so on. Larry tells us how he returned home and after talking with Vicky about our plans he headed out that next morning to “hunt” us down. He had crackers, sausage, nuts and ice cold Schoolhouse beer which we enjoy while we update Larry on our journey. We were hoping for a picture of his 4 x4 buck and not one to disappoint, he pulled the horns out of the back of his car.

Just Paul and Hunting Larry

Jealous, we we listen to the hunting details and remark how impressive his trophy room was. Somewhere in the discussion Larry aquires a trail name and is confirmed as “Hunting Larry” for his ability to hunt deer and hikers. Being only 1030 am we intended to go “easy” on the beer, but what the heck, we knock back a few and convinced other hikers to pack some for later.

Youngster we "corrupted"

We could have sat and talked all day and while it was tempting, we knew we had some big miles ahead.

The trail sign just past where Larry met us

We left Hunting Larry with plans to meet up later this year and walked away giggling, feeling the affects of the 7% alcohol. We couldn’t get over the luck we have had on this journey and once again found ourselves saying, “What are the chances?”. Not long after leaving Hunting Larry we encountered one of what feels like a thousand blow down trees we’ve had to get over, and I get “stuck” on top of the tree.

Not feeling any pain, a laugh attack overwhelms me, and Paul tells me I’m drunk! Which only makes me laugh harder, because he’s not much better off. Fighting an apparent increase in gravity, I slowly slide over and onto the ground. Once again “safely” on my feet we continue to walk happily along. We reach Hart’s Pass and find Brittany, Seeds girlfriend waiting for him to return from the monument. Seeds was on on a thirty mile return trip and was expected to arrive tonight. We told Brittany about our rendezvous with Hunting Larry and before we could finish the story, Hunting Larry drives up.

Just Paul, Brittany and OneSpeed

Brittany scores two beers from Hunting Larry so she can celebrate with Seeds tonight and poses for a picture with us.

Maybe we should have named Larry, Beer Man? We continue our trek as the terrain opens up into colorful rounded hills.

On a steep hillside traverse, we run into Seeds on his way back. We stop and visit. We ask him how it was, and did he get to meet up with the Boys. He said the Boys made it to monument last night, as did he, and they camped together near the monument before they all dispersed. Seeds described it as “bittersweet” and somewhat “emotional” as they had all gotten real close and would now be going their separate ways. Some parts of him are ready for the trail to be over, and other parts of him don’t want it to end. We tell him we understand, as deep down we are experiencing the same thing. It is almost a love/hate relationship we have with the trail. Maybe hate is too strong, more like annoyed. Soon we realize that we both must be our way. We confirm that Seeds has our email and cell number, and reaffirm our invite for he and Brittany to visit, if they are ever in SoCal.

Reluctantly we part and go our separate ways. We are definitely running out of daylight considering the miles we wanted to make. If we (I) really turn the afterburners on we can be to our intended destination what we think will be a reliable seasonal spring, and nearby campsites, by 8pm. Not my first choice, to walk in the dark, but I also want to make it to the Manning Park Lodge at a “reasonable” time tomorrow. Onward we push, why stop now?

With the skies clouding over, it is evident that rain, in the form of a downpour is in the cards. We knew our finish, considering our start, would most likely not be ideal, and we thank you Mother Nature and Mr. Murphy for demonstratively accompanying us every step of this epic journey. It just wouldn’t be the same. To add a “cherry on top”, the spring we had intended to get water from was, for lack of a better term, a swamp, and thus we spent our last night on the trail, “dry camping”, eating our last candy and snacky food, and saving the liter of water we had collected at the raging stream several miles below, “just in case” for tomorrow’s final miles. Under the cover of darkness and with the aid of our headlamps we throw down in a wide meadow as the rain starts to come down. This is not how we had pictured this night over all these miles. Needless to say, I am a little upset. Emotions, and lingering hunger give way to exhaustion as we drift off to the pounding of rain against our tent’s fly. At least it’s not snowing we muse.

With 50 mikes remaining, someone had some serious time if their hands

Day 169: (20.62 miles)
mile 2599.63 – 2620.25

All good things must come to an end, and so it was that we packed up and hit the trail early this morning after a scrumptious breakfast, and one last mocha for the road. Vicky dropped us at the Rainy Pass trail head for what is to be our last leg. In our packs are one 22oz bottle of Schoolhouse beer each. Paul has Ruud Awakening, and I have ESB. While this is “excess” weight, it is negligible compared to the joy it will bring whilst savoring it at the terminus. Today we will walk as far as we can, but a minimum of 20 miles, as there are 68.9 miles left for us to tread till we reach Manning Park and are truly done with this journey. We are anxious to finish. While it has been a trip of a lifetime, it is time to go home, and we are, for lack of a better term…homesick.

We climb to the top of Cutthroat Pass and breathe in the view.

We continue skirting the ridge line and later spy ominous clouds form in the distance.

We are hopeful that we will reach the monument without any weather related interruptions. Eventually we drop down into a forest with almost evenly spaced trees.

There is a reverence about this forest. The wind in the trees plays with our ears as hushed voices seem to surround us at times. In time, we hear actual voices as Sugar and Numbers have caught up with us. Soon Oozle and Thistle catch up as well. We may not be finishing as alone as we thought. We walk and talk. As Sugar is from Vancouver and essentially walking home, Paul quizzes her on where to stay and places we should not miss during our planned stay in Vancouver. She recommends the Sylvia Hotel in English Bay on the West End, Greenville Island and Stanley Park, as well as downtown. She tells us to expect the smell of marijuana all around as people seem to think it is okay to smoke it out in the open even though it is not legal.

As we continue down the trail, I spy a sole leather boot. I stop to take a picture, saying ‘I think I found Cheryl’s boot’. Everyone laughs. Talk turns to the book Wild, and how many times we’ve been asked if we read the book, or been asked, ‘Is that what made you decide to hike the trail?’, or we are told how “courageous” they think Cheryl was and did we have any mishaps like her. Grrrrr. We all would have liked to respond sarcastically, as the book is not about the PCT. Her hiking the PCT is a mere snippet of her life, as she only hiked 1000 miles of the trail and got what she “needed” out of it. As a rule, we all decidedly remained polite and saw it as a way for those asking those kind of questions to relate to what we have been doing for these past months. As we are on similar mileage plans, and while at the last water source before a 1500 ft, 2 mile climb to a campsite, we decide to crowd camp together and continue sharing our trail experiences.

OneSpeed and Sugar

Once we reach camp and set up, we essentially “dine” together and begin to quiz each other as to what our most and least used items were, what will we miss most about the trail, favorite trail food, things and food that we will no longer do or eat. We all agree that the people we’ve met has been the best part about the trail, and how our faith in humanity has been somewhat restored. Peeing whenever and wherever we want will be missed, along with the simplicity of life that the trail requires. Eat. Sleep. Walk. Repeat. What the actual time, day of week and or date as it relates to rotations around the sun have little meaning, unless it involves a resupply in town. Soon, we fear, that will all change. We all look forward to food that does not require rehydration, hot and cold running water, ice, showers, clean clothes and not walking from sun up to sun down, but will miss being able to eat whatever calorie rich food our taste buds see and or desire.

Thistle and Oozle

With regard to our least used item, mine was my hairbrush, Paul’s was his removable sun flap for his hat, Sugar said, “thankfully my emergency kit”, Numbers was his full and unused bottle of Advil, Oozle was his compass, and Thistle was her down booties, yet we carried these items to the end…just in case.

Numbers and his seemingly bottomless supply of skittles

PowerBars, ProBars, trail mix, beef or any kind of jerky, flavored water packets and mashed potatoes made the “never eat again” list…at least for a long while. We talk about the trail magic we’ve received and the aches and pains we have endured. We all wonder when the numbness of our toes will go away. Soon we all begin to yawn and disperse to our respective sleeping dens. We all plan on an early departure to make the most of tomorrows available daylight.

Day 168: (2.84 miles and LOTS of Beer)
mile 2596.79 – 2599.63

Finally, we sleep in …again, but this time is different. It is the first time we have slept in on a hiking day, and probably the last. The temperature outside has dropped significantly. It is brrrr-cold. We heat water and sip coffee in the comfort of our tent and sleeping bags. We pack up and head toward the beer that surely awaits us. The trek out of Stehekin was easier than we had thought, and although we would want to probably take the ferry back to visit it, a walk in from Rainy Pass would not be that bad either. We consider its name’s translation, “Passing Through”, and its significance for those on the PCT, as it is for most, the “last stop” one passes through before reaching ones final destination. Early on in this adventure, and when I was off trail with my back spasms, Paul met , by chance or more likely divine intervention, a couple from Winthrop similar to our ages, while in Idyllwild. They got to talking about the trail and invited us to look them up when we get to Rainy Pass and they would treat us to beers at the Schoolhouse Brewery in Winthrop. At the time we had no idea where Rainy Pass was, let alone Winthrop. The offer however never escaped our minds and as we closed in ever closer to the end of the trail. It dangled before us like a carrot on a stick and spurred us on over terrain that was less than pleasant. Thus, we will make one more stop before we reach Canada. It is our understanding that we will meet Vicky at the parking lot at Rainy Pass. We did not know there are two Rainy Pass parking places in which to access the trail both of which are two miles apart. We reach a trail marker and find a freshly placed crate of apricots. Trail magic!! Two gentlemen come from what we think is a spur trail off Hwy 20, and ask us if the trail and direction we just came from will take them to Stiletto Peak. Just because we have backpacks on, does not mean we know the area or more importantly know where we in relation to other trails beyond the PCT, we want to tell them. We reckon that the Stiletto Spur trail which was offered as an alternate and part of the “old” PCT is what they are inquiring about. We tell them that the trail we came from will take them to the spur trail…and we assume Stiletto Peak. Figures, the one “old” PCT alternate trail we don’t take, someone asks us about it, and we have nothing to tell. We consider taking the spur trail from whence these two gentlemen came from to see if what kind of parking area they came from, thinking that maybe we can lop off 2miles and possibly intercept Vicky on her way to our rendezvous at Rainy Pass, but nix the idea, as we figure it would just be our luck to do so, and find that she was early and already waiting for us at the pass. Onward we stroll with the humming of the highway above us and to our right. We drop down into a culvert and then climb for a final approach to the pass. We peruse the day use parking area of Rainy Pass, in search of Vicky. She is not there, but we meet several day hikers, one of which shares his Trader Joe’s chocolate with us, and another older woman who is from Scotland and has friends who thru-hiked the PCT in 2006 and still talk about it.

We walk back to highway and park ourselves next to the large fiberglass sign indicating Rainy Pass. Across the highway is another parking lot for Rainy Pass, and as it is nearing 11am, I decide to check out that parking lot to see if Vicky is there, while Paul “holds down the fort” at the Pass sign in case she drives up whilst I’m at the lot. While Vicky is not at this lot either, I discover that this is where we will start from tomorrow as it is the trail head for North bounders. It is well past 11am, but are not concerned, and in fact, are enjoying lazily basking in the sun as we recline against the base of the Pass sign. Several vehicle stop and ask us if we need a ride. We thank them and decline saying we have a ride coming. One vehicle offers us fresh nectarines, which we gladly accept and consume, moaning with delight savoring its juicy sweet flavor that we have sorely missed this summer. It is now nearing noon, and we begin to wonder if we are at the right place. There is no cell service here, so we can’t call or check messages. We begin to think that maybe we are in the wrong place. Maybe we are supposed to be at spur trail lot…figures…the one time a “short cut” would have been in our favor! We decide to divide and conquer. Paul will hike down the highway to the spur trail parking lot, and I will stay put at the sign. No sooner than 10 minutes after Paul sets out, another vehicle pulls up and asks, “Are you one of the hikers from California that is supposed to meet the lady with beer?”. Hmmm, sounds like us…and her. Ya, I reply tentatively, and ask if the woman’s name is Vicky. He replies that he didn’t catch her name, but offers me a ride to her location. I hop in with my gear. As Paul hasn’t yet reached the other lot, we pull over and load he hops in too. We pull into the lot and there is Brock drinking beer supplied by Vicky. We are greeted with screams of joy, laughter, hugs and slaps on the back. Do we want a beer?, Vicky asks. Silly question, why of course we do. She opens a cooler filled with 22oz bottles of Schoolhouse brewery signature beer. Nirvana. Brock apologizes for drinking what was to be “our beer”. ‘No worries’ we tell him as Vicky has brought enough for all, and has in fact been plying other hikers with beer as she waited for us. Turns out she had gotten here early, and if we would have taken the spur trail to this point we would have met up with her exiting that trail to the lot. This time we should have not overridden our temptation for “short cuts”. We catch up with Brock, laugh and tell stories. Meeting Vicky is like catching up with a long lost best friend. It is remarkable how much we have in common. We talk non-stop, and while her husband Larry is not here, as today is the deer season open for which we understand and frankly respect, Vicky and I conclude that Larry and Paul must be brothers from another mother, as they too, are alike, even down to their “bad” jokes. Soon the supply of beer is gone, and we are beginning to think we have somehow become “light weights” as we are, more than expected, feeling the effects of the tastey Schoolhouse beers. Turns out these beers have a wonderfully higher alcohol content, 7% by volume, compared to the other beers we have consumed on the trail (Coors, PBR, Rainier and the like).

We say our goodbyes to Brock as he teeters off to the trail, and we load up into Vicky’s truck and make our way to Winthrop. As we drive, we jabber away incessantly. What a wonderful day, we are truly blessed.

We arrive in Winthrop and discover a picturesque town whose storefront facades are punctuated by an “Old West” theme, down to raised wooden slat “sidewalks”. We duck into the “outfitters” for what will be our last canister of propane and a new headlamp for me. A stop at the grocery, we pick a few more snacks to supplement our final three days, then en route to Vicky and Larry’s house, of which we are told Larry designed and built. Cool! Along the way we spy hundreds of deer…smart deer, openly grazing in the recently plowed fields. Giant, trophy sized, bucks lounge in the fields as well, surveying their harems. This is exciting and torturous at the same time. We arrive at Vicky’s. Wow, what a place. It is warm and inviting. We peruse Larry’s trophy room. Nice. We’re jealous. Vicky asks us if we are hungry. We could eat, we tell her…always. Lunch is prepared, and we do our best not to scarf the sandwiches down like just rescued castaways. Conversation continues to flow freely, as if we’ve known each other forever. A glorious shower is followed by more conversation. We fill Vicky in on some salient details of our adventures that haven’t made the blog, either due to length of story or most likely content. More laughter ensues.

By now it is time for dinner and we dine at the Schoolhouse Brewery in town, Vicky’s treat. It is everything it was touted to be. Little do you know from the quaint storefront facade and cozy pub that there is a spacious open seating deck area than overlooks the tranquil river below. Dinner is followed by rich and creamy ice cream from the sweet shop down the street. We head back to Vicky’s to prep for tomorrow’s early morning departure for the remaining 68.9 miles which we plan to cover in three days, and thus finish what we started a little over five months ago.

Day 167: (16.64 miles)
mile 2580.15 – 2596.79

Finally! Sleeping in…in a comfortable bed no less,in the quiet darkness and tranquility of our tent cabin at the Ranch. Paul is already up and at the Ranch’s mess hall sipping coffee. I wander into the mess hall, it’s breakfast time, and access to an endless plate of fresh and steaming hot food. No poptarts today. Their coffee, we have to say, is the hands down best coffee we’ve had during this adventure. We fill our cups from a giant coffee pot that sits atop a metal hearth at the edge of the constantly burning fireplace. We really don’t want to leave and decide that this is one of those places we will have to come back to for a few days, to explore this iconic little hamlet. Our plan is to catch the early bus and head back to the trail, for essentially what will be a “stroll” to Rainy Pass. We think the early bus is at 0930 am, but we are wrong. It leaves from the Ranch at 0830 and arrives at High Bridge at 0930. It is 0810. Crap! Time to decide. See if we can get our stuff together and catch the 0830 bus or chill and take the 1130 bus. Because we want a leisurely day on the trail, we haul butt and hastily stuff our packs. A second visit to bakery is just not in the cards. Luckily, we had already completed our resupply and packed our food bags. The laundry was done and packed away as well. With everything crammed into our packs, we set about making our brown bag lunches courtesy of the Ranch. We build ginormous sandwiches, grab a piece of fruit, a can of juice, bag of chips and two fresh cookies. With 3 minutes to spare, we grab our packs, treking poles, shoes and brown bag lunches. We quickly survey the inside of the cabin, to see if we got everything and rush out the door to the bus that is now pulling in. Phew, what a fire drill! The good thing is that we made it. (The bad thing is, that once we make camp I discover that I had left my headlamp, most likely, hanging on the bedpost at the Ranch. As always, haste makes waste. Grrrr.)

When we get on the bus, we are delighted to see that the Boys are on the bus. We were hoping to see them one more time before everyone gets scattered in the wind of real-life and goes their separate ways. Once at High Bridge, we off-load and get a hiker trash group shot.

Double stuff, Ballhawk, Rorchart, OneSpeed, Just Paul and Stranger

We talk about how weird it will be, to be done in 3-4 days. We will be done in 4, as we plan to take a nero in Winthrop with Vicky who will pick us up at Rainy Pass tomorrow at 1030 ish. It is foreboding yet exciting. Some say they are not sure they want this to be over. Others can’t wait. We all have places to go and family and friends to re-connect with back at our respective homes. For months now, the trail and a petroleum based shell that we erect, take down and move each night has been home. Our backyard is huge and near endless, yet the only care we take with it is to let it alone. Our lives are a simple as one can design. Weather is our only complication. Life is good…but then so is our comfy bed at home, running water, the magic of electricity that comes from a little switch you hit and doesn’t seem to wear out, and NOT walking with all your belongings on your back from sun up to sun down. We talk about the things we will miss on the trail. The new friends we’ve made, the sights, but most of all being able to pee whenever and wherever you want. Eventually we all disperse and reluctantly get back onto the trail.

The only trail marker at High Bridge indicating the PCT

Our plan is to go about 15 miles and lay up before Rainey Pass, so we have an easy morning to the pass and our meet up with Vicky. Even though we have four days of food in our packs, they feel fairly light. As with every morning on the trail, we begin with an uphill. Why should this morning be any different, we laugh.

We walk silently along, both of us lost in thought, quietly reflecting on and chronicling this epic adventure we’ve undertaken. I still can’t believe I’ve made it this far. I was sure my body would have rallied a successful mutiny by now. The trail is well groomed and we make remarkably good time, so much so that we can be to Rainy Pass before nightfall without really trying. We decide that if we make it to Rainy Pass and camp there, we most likely will have to listen to vehicle traffic all night, so we decide we will lay up at a campsite 2 miles before the Pass, sleep till we wake up…naturally, and have a lazy breakfast. We take a long lunch and soak our feet in Maple Creek, enjoying the soothing white noise of water rushing over rocks.

We forgo the narrow suspension footbridge above the creek in favor of a rock hop across it. Before we get to our campsite, there is a log crossing over another creek, due to the demise of the previously well built, but ceremoniously destroyed, in the last rain storm, bridge. I shuffle across the top, as Paul says, “Charlie Chaplin” style without a whimper. We make camp, and begin to laugh, as the night’s calm is punctuated with the sounds of motor vehicles and trucks passing through Rainy Pass. Classic. We plug in our headphones and search for a music station or news on our iPods to drown out the traffic. We get three stations. A Mexican polka music station, a fire and brimstone gospel station and the news…in French.

Day 166: (9.54 mies)
mile 2570.61 – 2580.15

Having pushed big miles the past week we were left with only 9 1/2 miles to the High Bridge Ranger Station. Here we would catch the 12:15 bus to the town of Stehekin. No real hurry this morning as the trail should be somewhat flat and take only three hours. Cedar Camp was along the Cedar Creek (more like a river, really) and the trail followed the creek.

The creek was full and raged with the thundering sounds of small waterfalls which we could see now and then through the trees. It had some large pools where we looked for fish. The water was extremely clear and if there had been any fish we would have seen them easily. To our surprise there were no fish to be seen. On we strolled as the sun began to come up over the steep rim of the canyon. We talked about our plans, to somehow, meet up with Seeds who hopefully was able to get our resupply package, make it to the bakery, and then end up at the Ranch where we had reserved a cabin for one night. We arrived at High Bridge at 11am which left us with over an hour to spare.

We stopped on the bridge for a picture and couldn’t believe the number of salmon in the water below. We thought the creek looked fishy, but had no idea that these red bodied and black faced fish were here. Later several fisherman dressed in waders drove up to view the fish and became extremely excited. We joined several hikers gathered on the picnic tables at the bus stop. We compared notes about the trail and the topic quickly moved to town food and what we will find in town. No one has ever been to Stehekin before. We, however, have trail notes telling us that the bus is the only way around and the bakery, the Ranch, and town are all five miles apart. The bus runs every three hours for $7 each way. We all have questions about the stops and location of the post office. We will just have to wait and ask the driver. Although the bus wasn’t to arrive for over an hour, we see one coming our way and everyone gets excited. Of course we look at our watches and discuss the time. Maybe being so close to Canada we are in different time zone? Like, Canada is so close we could walk there, right? The bus driver drops off a dozen passengers and tells us this isn’t the right bus. Now, we are all confused. She explains she made a special trip, and the 12:15 bus would be on time. Soon some bewilder hikers make some smart ass remarks about if this bus goes back and forth between here and town, why go back empty? The bus driver gives in and we load up. We check our watches and realize we can make it to the post office before it closes. The road travels through a beautiful countryside and along the creek where fly fisherman wade and cast. We see several small houses/cabins with horses and barns. We arrive at the “Landing”, where the store, a café, ferry landing, a lodge and the post office are located.

The post office was open and we find that our package was picked up by Seeds who met us next door. The small town of Stehekin, located at the end of Chelan Lake, is just that…small. There’s not much to the town, but somehow it’s all you really need. Back the way we came, is an organic farm, its K-12 school, the bakery and finally the Ranch where we will spend the night.

Seeds, Brittany, OneSpeed and Double Stuff

Just Paul and Ballhawk

We grabbed lunch at the café before boarding the bus to the Ranch and say goodbye to the Boys. We had been told the Ranch was a good place to stay and the food would be exceptional. The only other place to stay was a hostel and lodge adjacent the post office, or camp in the forest. The Boys said they were headed for the forest. We hope to see them on the bus ride back to the trail head. There are three ways into Stehekin. Walk. Take the ferry from Chelan, or arrive via float plane. There is only one road in Stehekin and we are on it. We arrive at the bakery. In the middle of nowhere. No town, no buildings, just a small house with a sign, “Bakery”.

Just Paul, Doc and OneSpeed outside the bakery

We are told we have fifteen minutes before the bus leaves so everyone rushes for the door. Inside we find the aroma heavenly and simply intoxicating, which is almost not fair play to do to starving hikers. Glass display cases showcase all the freshly baked cakes, pastries, breads and giant cookies! Behind the display cases, bakers open large ovens to inspect and retrieve baked goods. It’s a hustle and bustle operation with several people servicing the bus crowd. Back on the bus we show off our purchases like gold miners showing large gold nuggets. We show them from a distance, clutching them tight, as if someone would reach out and snatch them away. Then the moaning begins as people bite into cinnamon rolls, carrot cake, and cookies. We all bought more than we could eat, but nothing will go to waste. Several ladies on the bus engage us in conversation, and ask us about our adventures during the bus ride. They are also staying at the Ranch, so we are sure our conversation will continue. When we arrived at the Ranch we were met by a young cowgirl. She showed us to our tent cabin and told us dinner was in the main lodge at 5pm. First is a shower and laundry so as not to “disturb” the other guests with our unique aroma. The Ranch is a beautiful, tranquil place, set in a large meadow. It is reminiscent of Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, but with finer amenities. Our tent cabin is probably the largest room we’ve had. There is a queen bed and three other single beds. By the bedside chest of drawers is a kerosene lamp with a box of matches. The window coverings are bright blue canvas squares. We roll them in a near futile attempt to allow some airflow that will hopefully carry away our “campy” stench.

After making ourselves fragrance free, and while waiting for our laundered items to line dry in the fresh air, we park on the deck and sip a beverage before dinner. Here we formally meet the ladies we were talking with on the bus. They are all nurses, or work in the medical field and are on their annual vacation/gathering at the Ranch. They live locally and have all done a two day backpack trip into the Ranch. We talk and laugh, and they fill us in on the workings of the Ranch and the local area. They are excited for us that we are almost done. We tell them that we will make one more stop at Rainy Pass for a nero in Winthrop with Vicky and Larry. Turns out that some of them actually know Vicky and Larry, and tell us we are “lucky”, as they are great people. Once again, the world shrinks a little bit more.

Soon the dinner bell rings, and we all filter into the grand mess hall for tonight’s special, PRIME RIB! The spread that accompanies the prime rib is vast and delightful. We eat till we can’t eat anymore and then do our best to stuff in a piece of pie, fresh from the bakery. It feels like Thanksgiving, and we are uncomfortably full…a first on the trail. Overcome by the onset of a food coma, we retire to the blissful quiet and darkness of our cabin.

Day 165: (26.12 or 21.32 actual miles)
mile 2544.49 – 2570.61

One would think that after over 2500 miles we would learn by now. Unfortunately the premise of wondering and wandering to “find out” still prevails, hence another shot at a “short-cut”. This “short-cut” is actually the “old” PCT route that in days of yore required a dreaded log crossing…and well, still does for that matter. The current PCT (as of 2011) was re-routed to incorporate a new bridge for a safer and absolutely dry crossing of the Suiattle River, but added an additional 4.8 miles to the trail.

As we make our way to the trail junction, we pass several massive trees, a few of which have fallen.

A meticulous soul has managed to actually count the rings of one of these giants and makes definitive marks at each 100 year mark, making this particular tree 600 years old. We knew based on the girth of these and similar trees we’ve seen that they were “old”, but now we have a scale from which we can better guesstimate their age. To think that these trees began to grow and had essentially reached maturity before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock is mind boggling. We take note of our insignificance in the timeline of this world’s existence and toddle on. When we reach the trail junction, and find Brock just awakening at a nearby campsite. We greet each other and tell him we plan on taking the “old PCT”. “But the trail is not supposed to be maintained”, he says pointing to a weathered wooden sign, attached to a similarly weathered post. Keeping with the theme of the “Old PCT”, of which we seem to seek or stumble upon…often literally, we acknowledge the sign posted, “Trail not maintained, from this point” and make a definitive right turn at the “old” trail. ‘We hope this works’, we call to Brock. A tangle of dead branches and small logs fill the entrance to the “old” trail, as a warning, like those seeking pirate treasure, that you are about to embark on a treacherous quest. We navigate around the blockade, as have many others, evidenced by the fresh shoe prints in the finely worn dirt. We are immediately faced with a creek crossing and remove our shoes in favor of crossing in our Crocs. The creek, while moving quickly, is wide but shallow, and icy cold. We cross without incident. The tread of the “old PCT” is well worn, and considering the condition of this current section of the PCT having been ravaged by the recent storm, there seems to be little difference, however there seems to be as many, if not fewer, blowdowns strewn across the “old” trail. It takes 2.2 miles, and a bushwack through a root choked web of sapplings due to the wholesale failure of the remaining trail in the form of a landslide, to reach the banks of the Suiattle river.

This is actually a look back at the landslide and where the trail ended

We search in earnest for the fabled log in which to cross the river. We wander the banks of the river for 40 minutes, following foot prints in the deep sand to no avail. We spy several large logs, but they do not stretch across the fast moving river. We refuse to backtrack and look for a safe place in which to ford the river…probably one of the dumber and riskier things we’ve done, on par with the scramble across the skree fields of Pinchot Pass. We find what we believe to be a relatively “shallow” and “slower” moving place in the cloudy glacial silt choked water to cross. Rather than switch into our Crocs, we reckon it will be safer to just keep our shoes on for the crossing and “walk em dry”. We unlock and loosen our pack straps, pick our route and confirm our exit point.

(Looking from the successful crossing side) We worked our way diagonally across several yards before these boulders

Paul goes first. At first it is ankle deep, then calf and nearly crotch deep by the time he gets to the center point of our crossing. “Holy Shit, the water is freezing!”, Paul exclaims. Paul makes it to the other side and I begin my crossing. As I get near the center point, Paul calls to me, “Watch your footing. The current is really strong”, as he doffs his pack and intutively readies to help me complete the ford. I am now in the middle and a little stuck. Icy water rushes past me. My traverse is slow and methodical. I don’t mind being wet. I just don’t want to go for a swim with all my gear. Paul wades back into the icy water and helps steady me through the fast current. Both of us now safely across, we quickly remove our shoes and socks in a near futile attempt to warm our now frozen feet. We dump the remaining water from our shoes and put on dry socks. It is now that I look to my left (up river) and see a perfectly good log stretched across the river some 200 yards away. Classic. Now to find the trail and rejoin the PCT. With our Halfmile app, we employ the “back to trail”, pointer function. The app tells us we are 248 ft from the trail…up hill. What the hell, up we scramble up and over fallen rotting trees covered in thick moss. At last we meet up with the trail. But which way do we go? The app is not helpful here. We have a 50/50 chance of picking the correct direction. Having looked at the contour map, we choose a direction and find that we are correct in our assessment. The fact it began to climb was the first clue. Our feet are still chilled to the bone, and for me, at least they are no longer swollen.

We walk in a green tunnel hopping over several creeklets that cross the trail.
The trail opens up to a breathtaking view of where we’ve been and Foam Mountain…again. Is this a cousin of Mt. Shasta? Go away already, we chuckle.

Brock in the the foreground

We meet up with Brock, again. He did not take the “old PCT” and laments that he didn’t join us when he had the opportunity. He said the trail was covered with blowdowns, went up for no visible reason, and then transitioned into steep switchbacks down to the bridge and back up to this point. He says his feet and knees are “worked”. We tell him about our experience, and feel validated with our choice. We continue to climb, and then lunch at Cloudy Pass. We assess our food. At this point we could eat everything in our bags, but need to make it last for at least two more meals. We decide to push ourselves a little more and try for Cedar Camp which will get us within 9.8 miles of High Bridge and the bus stop to Stehekin.

After traversing another open face glacial area and a field of boulders the size of delivery trucks, we drop into a forest of obviously “old growth” trees and remains of a fire that swept the area many years prior.

We point out massive trees to each other that most likely are over 1000 years old, and marvel in Mother Nature’s tenacity. We reach Cedar Camp as the sun begins to set, excited for tomorrow’s exit into Stehekin, the BAKERY!…and a shower too.

Day 164: (20.86 miles)
mile 2523.63 – 2544.49

Last night we dared it to rain and slept without the rainfly on. We awoke to no dampness whatsoever, even though the campsite we created was nestled in a densely packed grove of slim trees with soft mossy ground filling in what “empty” space there was, less than a half mile from the Kennedy Creek bridge. There was an alternate trail (which went up…of course) to a hot spring area. We considered taking a side trip, but then thought better of it, as there was no indication of how far the springs were away and with the knowledge we had some serious elevation changes over what we can only assume will be challenging terrain. We’ve heard talk of damage to the trail from the the two weeks prior rain event, and are not sure how much trail maintenance/repair has been possible. We are constantly in awe of those who built the PCT, and those who maintain it. Not a job I would choose, although carrying a chainsaw would have been a well used item on this trail.

Up we trudge 1100 ft in less than 2miles to Glacier Creek. It is unbelievably cold…barely above freezing according to our REI temperature gauges hanging from the exterior of our packs. Parts of the trail appear frozen, not just on the surface, but deep into the soil.

Permafrost. Wow. The next creek crossing, Pumice, is accompanied by another 500 ft climb in less than a mile.

But wait, there’s more.

Another 350ft climb followed by a 750 ft descent brings us to Fire Creek. By now terrain is no longer forested, but comprised of bare granite rocks with vast and majestic views.

Pikas, watch and squeak to each other as we wander through their habitat. We descend into an idealic alpine valley with the glaciers of Foam mountain framing its edges. On the way down, unbeknownst to me, Paul’s hat is swept off his head from a strong gust of wind. He calls to me that he has lost his hat, but I do not hear him, nor know that this had happened as I am “plugged into “audio heroin” to better tolerate the steep descent. Paul scrambles to get his hat, and realizes that if he had slipped and fell, I would never have known, nor would I know where to look, specifically for him. Luckily everything works out and Paul appears before me, having cut through numerous switchbacks to intercept me. I find this annoying, as I too would like to employ the “short-cuts”, but don’t dare tax my knees anymore than they already are.

The switchbacks carve deep trenches and weave down the steep faces of open terrain blanketed with mules ear and ripened blueberry and huckleberry bushes.

I misstep, trying to do two things at once (walk and look at the pristine views…never with success) and roll my left ankle (the “good” one) and crumble to the ground. Shit!. Really?! “Inventory” complete, I am back on my feet, sure swelling will follow shortly as I limp along. Manning Park can not come any sooner, I think. The trenched trail wanders through a dense neighborhood of ground hogs whose “front doors” line the dirt sidewalk. The steep, open hillsides narrow into a dark forest with trail that has, in places, given way and washed out, only to be re-routed via a steeper, and still softly packed detour. Downed, tangled trees create a “gauntlet” of sorts. Over, under, around we climb. Some are perched precariously across the trail. Their often barkless trunks are smooth and slick like a slide in a park. Failure to dismount these trunks at and in the proper spot will get you down to the creek churning at the bottom of the ravine much faster, but at what cost? I survey a series of downed trees, clamor over the first and neglect to recognize a thick and sharp branch at knee level two steps past the log. Slam goes my right knee cap into the sharp branch. A wave of pain generates nausea and triggers an “inventory” of sorts as alternate plans begin to swirl in my head as to how to get to an extraction point in the event this knee is now fully trashed. Paul is bewildered as to, 1: my sudden stop, and 2: the seemingly unprovoked blubbering. I motion to the branch and my knee. A look of uh-oh flashes across his face. Inventory complete, the pain still permeates but the knee “works” (nearly a month later, there is still a visible bruise). Over the next three logs, and under two more we continue. Needless to say, we (me) are no longer “gushing” about the beauty and splendor of the PCT. The forest canopy is thick above us, and natural light is further muted as we descend further down the battered trail toward the creek and our evening’s camp spot. Water oozes and at times cascades from “creases” in the hillside across the trail. It is reminiscent of our time in the Sierras. It is near dark, and we stop to fill our water bottles at a strongly flowing “vertical” creek (aka. waterfall). Moderately sized, still sharp, and wet boulders require careful navigation as we move on. I do not want another soaker at days end…again. Suddenly, one of my trekking poles shoot out from under me, followed by my feet. I am so supremely focused on NOT allowing my feet to get wet, that I land on my left side…in the water, but my feet remain dry. Water is flowing underneath me. I am soaked from my left shoulder to my knee. Paul is chuckling, and asks, “What did you do?” I lay on my side, still focused on NOT allowing my feet to become soaked and call for help. Needless to say, I am not happy with Paul’s inquiry or my current predicament. I am now cognizant that my pack is starting to get wet as well. I feel like a turtle who has somehow flipped over on its shell. Paul is at a loss as to how to help, and I wriggle out of the water and back onto my feet, which miraculously have remained dry…so I got that going for me. This is another point on the trail, that if there was an escalator, cab or helicopter outta here, I would be home in a heartbeat. None of those options are currently available, and we march on with me more than mumbling under my breath a cacophony of choice words echoing my current sediments. It is dark when we reach the campsites just above the roaring creek at the bottom of the ravine. We quickly erect our tent, and and seamlessly complete our evening chores. Paul prepares dinner, while I prep our bedding, and switch into dry sleepwear. We acknowledge that tomorrow is another day, and most likely will be better as a mouse begins to make an assault on our food bags. Considering the days’ challenges, and the experience our friend Seeds had described to us yesterday regarding marauding mice, we hang our food, for the first time ever, from a nearby branch. We hope the colorful bags will be there in the morning as they hang like pinatas beckoning bear cubs to “swing away” at them. Pure exhaustion overtakes us and we are snoring in no time.

Day 163: (21.35 miles)
mile 2502.28 – 2523.63

Another misty morning in the clouds.

Everything outside our tent is damp. Is it going to rain we wonder? Not taking any chances we put pack covers on so we can quickly transition into rain mode. We hike along, mostly weaving through open forest with small ups and downs, when Paul spots what looked like a small bear near the trail in front of us (me). Paul grabs me from behind to stop me, as I am oblivious to moving furry mass. It was running up a hillside and then dove into a round hole in the ground. Phew. Not a bear, unless these ones live in holes in the ground. When it disappeared we both thought, what was that? As we closed in on the critter, it popped out of the hole and stood up looking at us. It was probably thinking the same thing we were. “What are you?” It looked like a beaver without the wide flat tail. We had seen marmots before, but this would have been a marmot on steroids.

Paul took his pack off and scrambled up the hill to take a better look. It wasn’t bothered in the least as he approached. It seemed to almost pose for the pictures. We concluded it was a badger or ground hog, and was the first time we had ever seen one.

On the way back down the hill, several grouse popped up near Paul. He went into hunting mode immediately. He swears he going to eat one before we finish the trail. It’s quite the comedy to watch him chase them with his poles. They seem to like the chase and stay just out of reach before taking flight into a tree or gliding downhill. He grumbles, ‘why does he waste his time’, and then with the next breath, promises he’s going to get one for dinner. After 40 minutes we hurry on down the trail only to see another furry critter standing on a boulder. Wow, two in one day we say. A few minutes later we see these critters, everywhere. They didn’t care we were there. One even built his home on the side of the trail. He was a character (if he was human). He built his home with a hole in the side of the trail and he had a second hole out the roof. He would duck in his hole and pop out the top like a jack in the box.

He posed for a picture like the gopher in the movie, “Caddy Shack”. If we would have played some music, he may have danced. I swear this critter could smile too. We walked away laughing about how Paul chased the first one down for a picture and now they were everywhere. It was about that time when the drizzle started, so we suited up in our rain gear. Most the time we put on rain gear and that is enough to stop the rain from occurring, but not today. It started to pour within minutes, and lasted for at least an hour. We sloshed along, grateful we carried rain gear and wondered what we were missing in this low cloud cover.

Lake Sally Ann

We met Seeds just waking up at Sally Ann Lake (8am). He had battled an attack of mini bears (mice) all night. They had chewed holes in his tent to get to his food. In the dark he had chased them around the inside of his tent till he got them to exit the door. Later they returned and he awoke with them running across his face. As we talked the rain stopped and the sky began to clear. Seeds saw his opportunity to pack up, and we moved on.

The trail climbed to higher ground and we could see large valleys and tall mountains… it was beautiful. We have decided to rename Washington, Lushington.

We can not get over how lush and colorful the scenery is. It is as striking as the Sierras, but in a different way that is hard to describe.

Your senses are saturated with the sights, sounds aromas that fill what is defined as the Glacier Peak Wilderness. It, so far, is our favorite section of Washington. The hillsides were covered with blueberry bushes, whose leaves have turned red, so we were on high alert for bear, especially considering the number of bears we saw yesterday. We summited Kodak Peak (which was aptly named) and saw a large black object on a hillside in the distance.

Too large to be a bear… we thought. We watched as this large object moved through the berry bushes and sat down. Wow, this was a big bear! The trail drifted away from where the bear was feeding, which was alright with us. We walked on high alert and now saw lots of objects that looked like bears, but weren’t. We were now suffering from bearanoia (that’s “bear” for paranoia).

We stopped for lunch at the top of Red Pass, which gave us spectacular views of the Glacier Peak Wilderness. The sun had been out for a few hours and we took advantage of the heat to dry our tent and air out our sleeping bags.

What comes after climbing up a pass? Right… going down the other side. Down we went switchback after switchback, down into a wide valley,

and then a narrow canyon that was overgrown and choked with fallen trees.

The valley followed Chuck Creek and we walked all afternoon to the sounds of the creek

and small waterfalls. It was an uneventful afternoon until we had to rock hop across the creek. You probably already know what happens since I don’t do water crossings well. And you’re right… another gosh darn soaker! Everyone saw it and laughed. In my world, everyone is Paul, who lighted across the rocks in the creek as if there was a sidewalk, and asked me ‘why’ I did that… really? All I could do was walk it dry, so off we went. We had one more crossing to make before looking for a campsite, and it was Kennedy Bridge.

Kennedy Bridge

Oh goodie, a bridge! This bridge had seen better days and we were surprised to see how it was positioned. It looked as if it had collapsed in the middle and the water rushed just below the center. Paul crossed with caution, but the bridge was sturdy and never budged. We’re not sure if this was intentionally designed this way or if high water had caused the bridge to collapse. The only thing I cared about was keeping my other shoe was dry. Safe on the other side, we walked as the trail went back into the forest and searched for a campsite. The sun had begun to set, and the thick forest blocked the remaining light. This, is when I stepped into a mud puddle (with the dry foot, of course) up to my ankle. Saying a few choice words, I shook my foot and mud flew off. Paul smiled, and knew better than to say anything. Two soakers, and at the end of the day. Damn it! Shortly afterwards we found a campsite, and I took off those still sopping wet shoes…Rrrrr.