The Final Push

I have struggled with accepting that my hike is over. Retelling highlights, sorting through 1000’s of photos, and answering questions like “what was your favorite part?” or “what was the hardest thing?” is more challenging than I thought. How do you express to someone what really happened out there, make them truly feel it? I guess that is the blessing and the curse of solo journeys-it will always be my thing, my secret. Because the last few weeks of my journey were so intense, they make for a good story to tell to people now.  I have found that people like to hear trauma, excitement, fear, hard decisions, triumph, romance, and fear. Because of that I have retold this part of my adventure the most to people now. Being off trail for a month now has given me some distance from the intensity that the last few weeks of my trail brought me and now feel like I can share it.

To set the stage I must first describe what “windowing” is. “Windowing” is a term I was taught growing up my summer camp, Camp Tawonga. At the end of every session or the end of the entire summer our camp director gets up in front of the 160 staff members and reminds us that “windowing” is to be expected and we must be prepared for it. When the end of experiences are close and we gear up for transition, the feeling of saying good-bye to people and places can get overwhelming. Because of this both kids and staff members will act in abnormal ways, doing things that seem to make it easier to leave. For example, leaving your mark with graffiti or bullying to pull away from friends. In moments like this it is important to channel these weird feelings so that the end is a smooth transition and people leave with positive memories. So, imagine a bunch of hikers who are nearing the end of the most epic and momentous journey of their life. Mostly solo hikers too, so none of us really know how to support each other or what to expect when people start “windowing”. Then throw in lots of rain, thunder, days of snow, below freezing nights, deadlines to make, and nervous family members off trail. Although I can really only speak for myself, it sure as hell seemed that I was not the only one who was “windowing.”

Leaving Skykomish/Stevens Pass I marched straight into a storm. Woops. The first day out was probably one of the most miserable days on trail for me. I still am not quite sure why at this point in 2013 they cannot make raingear that is actually rainproof!  I have a new super expensive nice ass rain jacket, and it still did not keep out the rain in that weather. I got soaked inside and out. For the next 4 days, I just kept my wet hiking clothes bundled up in my pack and carried the extra pounds of waterlogged clothes wearing my ugly maroon long johns instead. Throwing a trash bag on top too really made that outfit just pop and really come together. I was looking good. Completely soaked to the bone and being a cranky brat I threw my pack off in the one dry patch I found under a tree to go pee. Its moments like these where I really wish I was a male, cause having to pee as a chick with a million wet layers sucks.  When it rains, it pours! I threw my pack right on top of a bee hive and got all these bees flying in and out of my wet soggy layers and up my trash bag! I called that day short and crawled into my tent at 3:30 pm. Didn’t come out till the next morning when I forced myself to throw on wet socks and march on.

There was no way I would have made it through that section if it wasn’t for hiking with Mickey. Although we were slightly getting on each other nerves, we had to make some big decisions together of whether or not to turn around or push on. From Skykomish to Stehekin there is 104 miles of wilderness, no bail out roads, and super remote.  It is known that this is the crème of the crop wilderness section of Washington with lots of high passes and epic views. Unfortunately, I was gipped of a lot of these views since we hiked through rain for almost three days straight and then at the high mountain passes got hit by snow. We stumbled upon 15ish hikers all hunkered down around a fire that were waiting out the storm for a day or so. We warmed our hands and pushed on though, as we knew we had really no idea when the rain would stop. So why sit it out and eat your food down when we could be making miles. We even saw a good number of people turn around and call it quits, which was hard to see. That was the last time I saw Goku, this awesome Japanese man. He was hiking back out of the storm and passed us simply saying “many snow, many snow”.  I was wet, tired, cold, and low on calories. Days were getting shorter so every night we got into camp in the dark (usually in the pouring rain) and found ourselves pitching tent on the trail or even on a bridge. Despite all of this, I am so glad that we decided to keep going through the bad weather.

The clouds parted one morning and you could just see the sun trying soooo hard to push its way through. Eventually the sun won and for two days I got to see some views and dry out. God bless god bless god bless. And was it beautiful! Snow capped peaks everywhere, birds chirping, marmots coming out of their holes, singing loud again. One time I was so excited and walking too fast that my hiking pole went straight between my legs and I tripped right over myself.  Good times. Mickey and I were ahead of a large crowd of hikers the whole section so didn’t see anyone for days. It felt like this large wilderness was just mine to explore. Finally got the sense that I was really out there with my limits really being pushed.  I will have to go back to this section and hike it again to see all the views I didn’t get the first days when it was raining.

And to Stehekin we went. Stehekin is the last remote town (if you could call it a town) before you get to Canada. Stehekin is this cute little peninsula on the large lake of Lake Chelan. No internet, no cell service, one really expensive lodge, and the only way out is a 4 hour ferry ride to a place with a Walmart. Some pluses about Stehekin are the giant “PCT Burger” at the restaurant, the abundance of puzzles in the lounge, and the famous bakery (I probably spent $40 plus there…woops). I would love to go back to Stehekin in nice weather for vacation, but when you are stuck on this peninsula with another giant winter storm rolling in, there is not much to be stoked about. I came into Stehekin drained as hell from the last section and trying to emotionally grasp the fact that this weather situation was going to alter my plans for ending on October 1^st with a romantic finish. Stehekin to the Canadian border is 80 miles, with the majority of it at 5000 plus feet elevation (which is well above snow line). I did not have the gear for this kind of trip, and neither did anyone else. A huge herd of hikers rolled in…all “windowing”, all chitter chattering about what to do, to call the trip here, to do this that or the other. It was really hard to block out everyone’s plans and try to focus in on what I really wanted to do. Of course, I didn’t do this very well and was swept into a plan to take the 4 hour ferry ride to Chelan, bus to Wenachi, sleep in a sketchy cheap hotel, and rent a car to drive 4 hours in the rain to Seattle to go to REI for gear.

So for the second time in two weeks Mickey and I went to Seattle. I had to drive the whole way there and back in two days because Mickey is not of age to rent a car, which was really stressful for me. At first I thought it was really cool that it was my first time ever renting a car, but when I realized it meant driving in pouring rain and navigating through the small ass streets of Seattle in a I giant Silverato truck I was not that excited about it. Hadn’t driven like this in months and was really overwhelmed by the hussle and bussle of the city. To say the least, this was not a very relaxing three days off trail and did not really prepare me emotionally or physically for the next section of trail. Even got worked up when the waitress in this breakfast place denied me a carrot ginger juice, even when I just saw her make one for a worker behind the counter. Lots of tears shed, Mickey and I found ourselves back to the bakery in Stehekin and ready to push forward into 80 miles of weather. Cinnamon buns, brownies, lemon bars, gortex gaiters, lots of extra trash bags, food for more days than needed, a better map and compass for the area, more warm layers, and waterproof boots-I was ready! Kinda…

I hiked a strong 20 miles the next day in good weather and was feeling positive when I got to Rainy Pass. Rainy Pass is right where the trail crosses highway 20 and begins to take you up into the higher elevation passes of the last 60 miles of trail. In good weather, this would take me 2.5 days. Instead, this was really “Rainy” Pass. I began to start noticing that when everything was going really good and working out, the world decided to dish me something else and set me back. I pitched tent with a crew of hikers (Mickey, Hummingbird, Horny Toad, and Coincidence) at highway 20 and was planning to rage up the trail to check out the weather situation the next day. The next morning I was woken up by a snowstorm at the lower elevation that we were camping at. Shit. 60 miles left of a 5 month journey with snow blizzards blocking the way.

To make decisions more confusing of whether or not to go up into this blizzard, 20+ hikers got dropped off at highway 20 that morning. Picture a huge herd of hikers, “windowing” hard, some just wearing trash bags on their feet, 60 miles from the end of a 2,660 mile trail, all trying to make decisions about what to do in this weather. It was chaotic. The options were: charge up into a white out storm and break trail (create steps in the deep snow) for 50 miles to Canada, hike 18 miles on a the road to Ross Lake and hike an alternate route at lower elevation, or simply call it quits. I was stuck between wanting to finish the last 60 miles of the PCT and enter into Canada the way I had dreamed about, and my gut telling me that this was just a stupid decision to go into weather like that. Too many years of leading kids on backpacking trips at summer camp and teaching about risk management to know that walking into a blizzard with 10 hikers I don’t really know in a storm that could last for days with no clear skies to navigate appropriately was pretty dumb. Mama nature was telling me to not go, but my stubborn will was telling me to go.

It’s a funny thing to think that in such crazy times of confusion, emotional stress, and physical strain that the most beautiful things occur.  In all the chaos of decision making and white out blizzard conditions I met Hummingbird. Neither Hummingbird nor I could make a decision about whether or not to push on into higher elevations on the PCT or take the alternate road walk. At this point Mickey had just picked up his pack and marched on into the blizzard with a tarp to sleep under and no snow experience to help guide his way.  I was sad to see him just bounce like this after hiking months with him, but such is the life of being a solo hiker. Hummingbird also just split from his hiking crew and somehow we were the last people remaining looking at each other for advice. Not wanting to do anything solo at this point we were forced to become a team. Being on Hummingbird’s team was great too. We both seemed to be on the same page and were ready to embrace the chaos together.

So, we decided on the road walk. Five minutes into this dismal road, we looked at each other and were like “What the fuck are we doing!?” I had to get back on the PCT and give it one last shot. The PCT had been my home for 5 months and I was not about to leave it like that without one last final hoorah! Hummingbird and I marched our way back to the snow covered trail and trudged up the mountain to Cut Throat Pass. It was there, on Cut Throat Pass that I turned around.  Pretty epic sounding place to turn around if you ask me. So much snow was dumping that we couldn’t see anything around us and I was not about to risk 50 more miles of conditions like this. It was one of the hardest and most humbling decisions of my life to realize that, although I had 2,600 miles behind me and had walked through miles of pain and uncomfortable days, that I am NOT invincible and Mother Nature always wins.  So, in rightful deed, we took a naked in nature photo and hiked back down the mountain to Highway 20.

Wine and hot chocolate were in order. In moments like this all one really needs is to get a good hitch to the nearest down to warm them bones and recollect the thoughts.  So that’s just what we did. Over Mexican hot cocoa and free soup we decided that we were going to go back to our old plan and hitch 18 miles down the road to get into Canada via the alternate route of Ross Lake. With spirits up and wine stored in the pack for later I stuck out my thumb and put on my pretty girl smile to get us a hitch. Of course, as things were looking good and a car pulled off the side of the road to pick us up, everything hit the fan again.

Two cars full of hikers pulled off on the side of the road and stopped us from getting into the truck that was going to give us the hitch. In between tears and lots of voices we deciphered that apparently Ross Lake was closed because of the government shut down. God damn Republicans!! Hikers had been carded and turned away from government officials at Ross Lake. Only 30 miles from Canada these hikers started crying and pleading to the officials to let them in and complete their journey. But rules are rules and Ross Lake alternate route was now out of the question.  Now what? 

So, back to town we went. A bunch of crazy hikers all trying to figure out how the hell to complete their hike and get to that phallic looking monument at the Canadian Washington border. All just searching for a feeling of closure, to touch that erect cement structure in Canada, and go home knowing we pushed our hardest and reached our limit. Amongst all the chatter from other hikers, I was able to find sanctuary in some good beer, an epic game of Bananagrams, and a late night mini dance party with Hummingbird and Horny Toad in the hostel’s kitchen. Sometimes all I need is Mariah Carey and a silly giggle session to hold myself together (to a point) and keep my spirits high. Unfortunately, that night Mickey decided to turn around as well out of the blizzard and call it quits completely. It was hard seeing him end his journey like this, but I was not about to call it quits quite yet.

With the actual PCT now blocked by feet of snow and the alternate route blocked by the stupid government shut down, the new plan was to hitch hike into Canada to Manning Park and hike south 8 miles to the monument-essentially do a 16 mile day hike to the border and back. With this new plan it made much more sense to buy a huge bottle of champagne and sparkling dresses for the final moments at the border. Duh. Before getting a ride to Canada with a 21-year-old cinematographer who came out from Utah to film a documentary of the hiker Chosen One, we picked up a few important items from the local thrift store. Hummingbird, Horny Toad and I were now a crew heading to Canada on four wheels.

The border crossing: We looked like a bunch of crazy dirty vagabonds in a truck that was not ours, coming from a weed legal state, with people who had never used their passports before. Reason for suspicion? I think yes. We got searched for two hours, sniffed by dogs, and the car completely dismantled. Then Hummingbird was denied entrance into Canada and I lost my shit. I started balling my eyes out in this weird quiet government border crossing building. One of the official people offered me a box of tissues-but I didn’t want them since I was mad at him for telling me Hummingbird he could not come with us. It felt like every time I got one step closer to finishing, something shitty would get thrown at me. The only thing I could do though was keep going north. So, we left Hummingbird to walk 5 miles at night on a highway south back into Washington while Horny Toad and I road into Canada.  After getting lost in Canada for a little, we made it to the park lodge and got ourselves a luxurious room to share. Rest up before the big day at the monument.

Still to this day I tear up thinking about this day. The day that signified the end of a long, challenging, and beautiful trek across three states. The day that was built up in my mind for 2,660 miles to be glorified and romantic.  To touch that cement structure in hopes that it would speak to me and allow me to finally accept that the trip was over. Maybe a giant parade or balloons with my name on them. Maybe glitter would shoot out from the monument in celebration of me getting to the end. Sure, the moments spent at the monument were memorable. And yes, I cried and laughed and hugged Horny Toad and took lots of photos and danced around in a sparkly dress and drank champagne. But it did not feel like the end, it did not feel like I could truly accept that I was done and could just go home, curl up in a couch for days, and eat from all my favorite restaurants. I was not ready to leave the mountains, to sleep in a bed under a real roof, or to enter into that world I had left behind five months prior. How would I engage in it all again as Drop Biz? With armpit hair, an appetite like a pig, and friends with names like Horny Toad, Acid Glasses, Hummingbird, and Rain Maker? How could I fall back into the chaos of a city when the biggest of my worries were which kind of M&M’s to buy or which tree to poop behind?

Because of this fear to come back home and the fact that I had to jump over the last 50 miles of trail, I stayed for another 1.5 weeks in Washington. I went back and forth for a while debating if I should attempt those last 50 miles I had skipped. After gaining some perspective away from the trail, I realized that I really just wanted one more final night in my tent and one last adventure. As if I hadn’t already hiked enough, I suited for another little epic journey. I canceled my flight home from Canada and called up Hummingbird, who had spent the last few days squatting in a random border town motel. We spent a week hitching around Washington. Ended up landing in Leavenworth, which is a touristy Bavarian style mountain town where German tunes blast from streetlights and people serve you beer and sausages in lederhosen. We got our dance on during the Octoberfest party and stayed in this amazing little cabin this man built on Icicle Road with our own waterfall and wood to chop for the fireplace.  The cabin was conveniently located across the street from the trailhead for the popular 18-mile Enchantment loop. Because the government had shutdown we did not need a permit and spent a few days snow camping amongst the Golden Larch trees.  After this, I finally felt at peace with my journey and bought my Greyhound bus ticket back home.

The slow transition adjusting to off trail life felt just right and the comforts of my family, home cooked meals, and memory foam bed were calling me. It was not really good-bye to Hummingbird, nor good-bye to the trail-just a “see ya later”. I might not be able to live in the backcountry every night again (until I hike the Continental Divide Trail or the New Zealand thru hike or the Long Trail in Vermont), but I will find myself always coming back to the mountains. The spirit, energy, community, and passion I found out there while hiking will stick with me forever. I hope to never lose that.

Now that I look back on my Pacific Crest Trail adventure I only remember the good parts and how much I loved it. I know that there were really hard times out there and that everyday I fought hard to keep walking, but those are overshadowed now by the glory of it all. Sometimes I can’t even believe I hiked 25+ miles a day or that I dug holes to poop in or that I ate dehydrated meals everyday. How lucky we are that there are still places in this world where few people have seen, where buildings don’t obstruct the 360 degree views of just mountains, where rivers still run clean, and the stars are bright and clear.  I feel so grateful for having walked amongst it all and for the will and courage to interact with the land. I am grateful for the support of my family who sent my resupply boxes, had constant admiration, and encouraged me to keep pushing north when I wanted to quit.  I am grateful for all the love from close friends in forms of phone calls, emails, and care packages. I am grateful for all trail angels that pour their love into the trail and provide water, coolers of beer, rides to trail, showers, laundry, and food. Most of all, I am grateful for the trail itself for the safe and comfortable home it provided me.

So, I leave you with the words of a man who never wanted to grow up, a man with fight, courage, and an endless sense of adventure. A man that I look up to and aspire to be. In the words of Peter Pan in the movie “Hook”:

Granny Wendy: So…your adventures are over.

Peter Banning: Oh, no. To live…to live would be an awfully big adventure.

Home

A sense of home is, it seems, worth more than any other comfort. And one of the questions I want to answer now, for myself, is what makes a place feel like home…

I was shown this piece about a girl’s relationship to home and it got me thinking about how, for the last few years of my life I have been creating homes all over this world. How every night on the PCT I made a new home for myself under a different canopy of trees or star lit landscape. She writes:

“Claiming a home, like falling in love, becomes harder as you get older.  Or maybe it becomes more difficult if you haven’t done it by a certain age.  I could have stayed in any of the places I’ve lived in the same way I could have ended up with any of the people I’ve been lucky enough to be close to over the years.  But as a twenty-six year-old, single and living in the Cascade Mountains, my sense of home feels fragmented and there’s not a person or place I can return to that fills all the gaps.  Instead there are memories of moments when I felt at home and a smattering of people who make those moments happen more often—family and friends who are scattered across Michigan, Iowa Indiana, Oregon, California, Pennsylvania, and Washington.  And there’s Holden Village, a community of people clustered together in the mountains, trying to make a home for vagabonds like me.”

As I crossed over into the state of Washington, I was ready to create, yet again, a new home for myself. With what was to come on my journey, I got to know Washington extremely well. My travels in Washington ended up taking a lot longer than I had expected and I found myself getting off trail much more than I thought, hitching back and forth from Seattle three times, and exploring routes far from the actual PCT. The epically named Bridge of the Gods guided my way from the peacefully, easy going state of Oregon into a new home of harsher weather, high craggy mountain peaks, and cold nights.

My first section in Washington was quite lovely and filled with really good food! I ate s’mores two days in a row and stumbled upon trail magic with a nice couple serving hotdogs, cream soup, and bread around a fire. Despite my poor knowledge in mushroom foraging, I also collected chentral mushrooms for two nights and ate them on the most amazing bagel sandwiches ever! All this delicious food, the thick tree canopy, and my new sexy Big Agnus Fly Creek Ultralight 2 Tent that I just splurged on kept me from not totally losing my shit when a huge rainstorm hit. Mickey pretty much cried when his 5 bagels got completely soaked and I cried the next day on trail when my second shoelace broke and I ended up walking with two shoes that did not have lace support. After spending a night getting completely soaked to the bone and literally eating every snack I had to stay warm and hike out, Mickey and I decided to knock on the door of a RV we passed on some random dirt road we crossed. It turns out it is always good to just ask, cause next thing we knew this nice hunter man who was out for Elk season gave us a ride into the town of Trout Lake. Everything always seems to work. 

Trout Lake was one of my favorite places too! After some hot chocolate, a big hamburger meal, and a latte we were directed to stay at the Christian Youth Camp down the road where they were already hosting 20 or so cold wet hikers. I love good kind-hearted Christians. They were the nicest people ever. We completely took over their gym space and everyone’s tents, sleeping bags, backpacks, etc were just spread out all over the place drying out. Multiple loads of laundry were done, we got to sleep in their bunk beds they had, and then they served us all breakfast the next morning. SIDE NOTE: I played Lt. Dan in a game of HORSE on the bball court and kicked is ass…twice! So then the next morning they even lent Mickey and I their big white passenger van to drive around for our day off trail. Bless their good souls.

To add to our religious experience in Trout Lake we drove down the road to the Zen Buddhist Temple the next morning to get our meditation on. The property is nestled in a valley with views of Mt. Hood to the south and Mt. Adams to the north. It is absolutely gorgeous and would be a great place to come for a retreat to just read your book and meditate all day long. Two of the head monks led Mickey and I in a free Buddhist service. We were the only ones there and got a complete lesson on Buddhism, were shown around the beautiful property, and gifted a mini traveling Buddha for our journey. I love good kind-hearted Buddhists.

Next we drove an hour (in the Christian Youth Camps van) all the way back down to Cascade Locks, where Trail Days was taking place. Trail Days is an event put on for PCT hikers with gear booths set up, music, and a raffle. Essentially, it is a big reunion and I got to see hiker friends that I had not seen in while. I mainly went so I could eat the soft serve yogurt one more time in Cascade Locks and see my friend, Rain Maker, who I had hiked with in the desert.

With a good forecast for the next few days I hiked into one of the most gorgeous sections ever-Goat Rocks! I had views of the white capped Mt. Adams for days (some day I have to climb to the top of that baby) and wandered thru high rocky passes with cascading waterfalls. I then began to see Mt. Rainier and camped on the most beautiful cliff looking out towards that iconic mother of a mountain. Someday, I must attempt Mt. Rainer again and get to the summit! Ah, so many trips to plan!  Goat Rocks Wilderness is an exposed granite landscape, similar to the Sierras. Mickey and I decided to take our sweet time through it and spent a day scrambling off trail to the tops of two different side peaks. That day ended with us going through the “Knifes Edge”, which is a section of the PCT that is just like what it sounds like-sketchy as hell, lose rocky cliff hanging ridge line. Good times.

Then I had a super downer moment. When the trail giveth something grand to you and all is going well, it always eventually taketh back. The Yin and Yang. I was crossing a really ridiculously cold, rocky, silty, and mildly sketchy river crossing in my crocs. I took a step and one of my crocs fell off and got swept down river. Now, these crocs were not just any crocs. These crocs were really cute leopard printed female crocs that my sister had bought for me and were super cute. I got so many compliments on these crocs in the last few months and became really attached. I was in morning for quite some time after that and shed a few tears. Its funny the things you become attached to out there and what triggers an emotional breakdown. One day I hope those crocs get swept down stream and end up washing on shore for a nice little girl with size 9 to find.

With one croc down I walked into White Pass. White Pass is a nothing little ski resort in the summer with a gas station, general store, and a lodge. I was pleasantly surprised by White Pass. I got in after the store had closed for the day, but the women in the general store was really nice and let us buy a sandwich and beers from her in exchange for helping her clean up the place. I also got a huge amount of home made cookies in my package that my mom had sent me!

The angels from the heavens above presented me a free cabin to stay in for the night. This was a crazy story though. Rafiki (a girl I was hiking around for a while), offered for a bunch of us hikers to stay at her cousin’s friend’s cabin down the road. With her Brazilian aunt and cousin there we got to hang out on their comfy couches, watch Austin Powers, and play Apples to Apples. The night was going great, until I was woken up in the middle of the night to Rafiki crying. I asked her if everything was ok and she collapsed on the ground in tears. In the middle of the night her cousin got a call that his sister had been raped, stabbed 30 times, and killed by her husband in front of her three children. Holy shit! Rafiki then had to be the barer of this news to her aunt, the mother of the girl who died. It was just horrible news. Not only did this happen to Rafiki on trail, but also she got a divorce and had a bleeding ulcer for a few weeks. We felt really weird being involved in this family trauma and quickly got out and back on trail.

The next sections from White Pass to Snoqualamie and then from Snoqualamie to Stevens Pass had us escaping the rain perfectly. We had beautiful weather the majority of the time until the last night and day when it dumped on us and we came out to town soaking wet. The rain at that point in the journey made traveling harder but I was able to keep my spirits up by scatting, rapping, talking in weird accents, and singing repeat-after-me camp songs. Not even the fact that I had to start walking in my crocs cause of really bad foot pain could bring me down. The huckleberries were in full bloom, the mushrooms the size of our heads, and Canada inching ever closer.

Soaked to the bone and wearing new shoes that killed my feet, Mickey and I came out to Snoqualamie Pass. We ate at the most amazing roadside food truck, called Aardvarks and got curry over rice. I then took my first adventure into the big city of Seattle and reunited with and old childhood friend, Meira. Our parents have been friends forever, so when I was born on Miera’s second birthday we became childhood playmates. My sister, Meira and I would act out getting married, put on dance performances to Tracy Chapman, and cook meals for our parents at our pretend restaurant named Neptunes. Being the youngest, I always got put into the shit roles as the bridesmaid, the waitress, and the back up dancer. All three times I came into Seattle in the last month of my journey, I pretty much just called her the day before and was like “ah, can I come over?” Her and her boyfriend Kam are super outdoorsy so they seriously hooked it up with winter gear for me to borrow and drove me to REI.

After spending one night at the Mostel (“Mostly a Hostel”) at Snoqualamie Pass and sleeping on the most comfy bed ever watching a movie on a laptop, Mickey and I hit the trail. We decided to take an alternate route that brought us to Goldmyer Hot Springs. Wouldn’t pass up a hot springs like this ever. Set in a grove of old growth trees, the hot springs were built in a cave and pooled over into multiple baths. We brought our new backpacking wine glasses and classed it up in the pools. Carried those wine glasses for 300 or so miles, and only used them once on trail. When in doubt, buy plastic wine glasses to drink cheap boxed wine on trail.  So worth it.

I arrived at Stevens Pass/Skykomish by following my nose to the hotdogs that were being served at the ski resort cafeteria down below. Passed a trail crew that gave me a piece of candy too! Mickey and I then hitched down the road to the Dinsmores, a trail angel’s house open to hikers to spend the night, watch really shitty movies, and eat at the one and only local restaurant that served amazing pie and prime rib. I actually did not eat the pie there and was really sad when I found out they were all out of the banana pumpkin pie that everyone was raving about. Oh well, next time on the PCT. We got picked up by a Native American lawyer from Seattle named Red Wolf Pope. We road in his convertible listening to his yoga tunes with his long black hair flowing in the wind. We found him instantly on facebook as he is the only Red Wolf Pope on facebook. Go figure.

The Dinsmore’s have a sign up in their bathroom that says “Maximum two night stay. It always rains in Washington at this time of year.” Meaning, if it is raining now, it could keep raining so it is pointless to sit and wait it out. ie. Suck it up and get back on trail! So, that is just what we did. And despite the fact that weather reports predicted almost 100% chance of rain and snow at high elevations, we loaded up with extra trash bags and raged into the 104 mile section of trail. A section known for its glorious high mountain passes, epic views, and desolate wilderness with no bail out roads. I will leave you here as the last part of my journey felt like a completely other world. A period of my adventure where time seemed to standstill and Canada seemed to get farther and farther away with each step. Where the trail played tricks on my emotions and I had to dig deeper and fight harder than ever to accomplish my goal. 

So, home? What is it? Maybe home is not the actual place you live in, but the ability to create a comfortable place inside you own head. The ability to adapt and survive, the friends and family you can rely on, good memories, the love of learning, and the knowledge you receive. That way home will go with you where ever you journey.

Northern California Blues_This is an old posting I should have uploaded a while ago

This pretty much describes my hike: A day hiker drops the M&M, the weekend warrior steps over it, the thru-hiker picks it up and eats it!

 

I would like to start this next blog with my PCT Hiker Trash Confessions:

1. I ate two foot long Subway sandwhiches in one day back to back. After consuming a giant breakfast burrito with everything but the kitchen sink inside.

2. I hiked for over 300 miles with giant holes in both butt cheeks and the inner crouch area on my spandex hiking shorts. Even the heart shaped strawberry print patch that a nice older women sewed on fell off.

3. I pooped in front of a random thru-hiker. It was a horrifically mosquito infested section of trail and there was limited opportunities to go to the bathroom. I picked single handedly the worst place to go right next to the trail and Veggie (who I did not know at the time) hiked right passed my exposed little bum. I apologized to him as we were filtering water together and now we are friends. Thank god thru-hikers are friendly and a minor poop incident doesn't stop people from being friends out here. 

4. I eat beef jerky starting at 8am on average every day. 

5. I have definetly been known to pick up random food droppings on trail. Ate a super sticky Swedish Fish candy the other day. Found a peanut M&M on the trail the other and was stoked! Dirt particles add extra flava flav.

6. One day for dinner on the trail I rehydrated a large bowl of what I thought was dehyrdated chili. Turned out to be JUST taco beef. Dinner that night was straight protein and beef. Thats what you get for grabby unlabeled dehydrated goodies in gnarly zip lock bags from the free hiker boxes in town.

7. One of the grossest but most delicious things i ever ate: White hot dog bun loaded with half a stick of butter, honey, apple jam, and peanut butter. thousand plus calorie treat for my birthday!

 

I have reached a point in my journey where all I do is just walk. Walked, Walking, Will Walk. Everyday all day, I move my two feet back and forth, over fallen trees, dodging poison oak plants, through muddy streams. The trail has really taken me for a crazy journey so far. I am a week away from the Oregon border and have been praying to wake up in another state for weeks now. If I could see through all the smoke that is pouring into the Shasta area right now, I would be pretty much be able to see into Oregon. Shasta mountain and the Trinity mountain range is just a hazing outline right now and if the timing was right, the powerful summit of Shasta would be calling my name again. Since my last post I have seen some serious ups and downs. From swarms of mosquitos, music festivals, emotional traumas, stretches of hot dry northen california desert, lightning and thunder storms, and crystal clear blue lakes. The novelty of the Southern California desert in the beginning of the trail and the epic views of the High Sierras have worn off now, and I definetly have entered into the Northern California Blues. I do not want to romanticize the trail and pretend that it is all fun and games out here. I am hiking alone now, in the inner seems of groups of people and feeling the routine set in. My mind swirls in and out of thoughts, often times making me just want to grab my brain and throw it off the cliff so I don't have to be bothered with thoughts. Instead, I am stuck with it. I am learning how to control this powerful muscle in my body to let my thoughts just come and go with grace. I am learning to just take what the trail offers and roll with it, unsure of the outcomes around the next corner, unsure of where this journey is taking me. To enjoy being in the presence of myself.

 

One of the best sections of trail I have walked through was the section from Sonora Pass to South Lake Tahoe. It was loaded with beautiful wild flowers on rolling hills and made me literally sing at the top of my lungs tunes from the Sound of Music. It also was right after a really challenging section. Getting back on trail after 5 days off getting to see my sister and my boyfriend was really hard. i had been pampered all too much at camp and my feet did not want to hike again and there were more mosquitos in a one foot section of air than I have ever seen in my whole entire life. Claiming to be one of those natural hippies swearing to only use eucalyptus and garlic to counter the skeeters I did not come prepared with repellent. After day one out there in the war zone, I became an firm believer in 99.9% deet. I spent the majority of those days swinging my hiking poles in absolute rage or hanging out in my tent probably inhaling carbon monoxide from using my stove. I came out of that section with the back of my legs looking like a 3D topographic map and blood occasionally pooling in my camp shoes from itching the hell out of the bites. Finally out of that section I was gifted a giant bag of home made chocolate chips cookies from day hikers (my favorite thing EVER!). With that, and some fresh fruit from rangers in the area, my spirits were high again.

 

Off to the High Sierra Festival I then went. My parents picked me up in South Lake Tahoe after a horrid night spent sleeping in random places in the Nevada casinos, tucked away in dark corners using table cloths as pillows, loud casino music blasting in my ears, then somehow to a patch of grass for another few hours of shut eye near a high use trail for 4th of July recreators. Besides the $12.99 all you can eat buffet, casinos are gross and filled with too many fake boobs. Thank god for amazing parents who rescued me from all of this and drove me off in their new fancy RV chariot to Quincy, California. I love camping in an RV! So cush. Wish someone had filmed me and my parents trying to set up the awning on the RV. Even if we had paused to read the manual, it would have been almost impossible to follow. Took almost as long to take the awning down too. At first the music festival was a little overwhelming with the crazy number of people, but once we figured out the lay of the land I had an amazing time. Ran into lots of other PCT hikers I hadnt seen in a while, saw good friends from college, and people from Camp Tawonga. It felt so wonderful to be able to move my body in a different way to live music than the monotonous left right left right walking I do every day out here. Stayed up one night till sunrise dancing to awesome bluegrass by the Infamous Stringdusters and to Silent Frisco (a late night dance party where everyone has their own set of wireless headphones tuned into the same DJ beats). Got to celebrate my birthday too with my parents. You know you are a PCT hiker when your parents give you blocks of goat cheese and a thing of salami for your birthday.

 

Back to the trail I went. Actually, back to South Lake Tahoe, where I treated myself to a large popcorn and watched the Superman movie in the theaters. Then, back to trail. This next section my friend Steve-o, or as we now call him on trail, Captain Bush Truck, came out to hike with me. Hailing all the way from Northern Canada, Bush Truck has a classic Canadian accent, is always down for new crazy adventures, and is just as crazy to even contemplate possibly doing a thru-hike someday. I had not seen him since meeting him on a trek in Colombia to the Lost City 2 years ago, so it was really nice to catch up and show him what this trail is all about. Bush Truck is an ultra-maraton runner and he is in training for the Death Race in Canada (one can only imagine what this race is like just by the name of it). Not only was it super nice to take it a little slower during this section and enjoy the glorious lakes in the Desolation Wilderness and the high passes in Granite Chief Wilderness, he boosted my confidence on the trail as he was not able to keep up with my pace. Put in perspective that I really have become an animal out here and 25-30 mile days are just average now. Bush Truck also super inspired me to try out longer races, and I am going to capitalize on my fitness at the end of this trail and run my first marathon! Figured if I walk a marathon every day out here, why not just take off my pack and run one. All in all, it was really great being able to show someone off trail what this is all about. It is really hard to explain what goes on out here and to have a friend come in and experience it was super awesome. He got to see a little bit of everythign too. Even was there for the day I got the most trail magic ever in one day! We just hiked slightly tipsy all day going from one cooler cache of coors light to the next.

 

I had my birthday on the trail, which I thought might be grand, but instead was one of the more depressing days out here. Really wanted to share it with people I love and care about, but was hiking alone at the time. Missed some trail magic by minutes as they were just wrapping up (boo) and so decided to hitch into North Kennedy Meadows for a burger. Ate a lonely meal as I paid way too much for access to internet (I was mad that they charged me $5 for internet when we are in the 21st century and that should just be free now). Things did really perk up though when a 68 year old mountaineer named Bobo picked me up and offered to take me out to dinner. We went right back to the same restaurant I had just ate my burger at (seeing as though it was the only one there), and he treated me to a steak and baked potato. Unexpected  trail magic is really the best. Later, back at the trail head a nice hiker loaned me her phone and I was able to talk to Zach for a while, which was a great birthday gift as well. This trail is full of ups and downs. A day can go from being really loney and shitty, to really great...just as long as you are able to see the beauty in between all the rough times.

 

Went to this awesome town called Sierra City a few weeks ago, which was one of my favorite places along the trail. Super small (not sure why it is called a "City"), with a general store serving giant burgers and amazing milkshakes, awesome swimming holes along the river,  and a hiker friendly inn (Red Moose Inn) where we could sleep for free out back and shower in one of the rooms. The older couple that owns the place prepares home made ribs for dinner and, although very slow service, quite delicious breakfast. Quirky, free, friendly hiker hang out-nothing beats a place like this to hunker down for a few days and rejuvinate from the hot sun.

 

Pushing 30 miles a day, I raged on! Tired, sore, hot and sweaty, this next section forced me back into the northern california desert. The talked about Hat Creek Rim section of 30 miles of no water was hyped up so much. Could have been horrible, but I hit it perfectly and hiked it at night during a full moon. Mid-way through there was a cache of tons of water and coolers filled with cold Sierra Nevada brews, chips, and cookies. Aloha, the husband of a fellow hiker, Toots Magoots (named for her excessive gas on the trail), has been following her up the trail in his car and resupplying her. He does awesome trail magic too and stocked the coolers at this cache a few hours before I got there. This was the first time I was the first person to get to a newly stocked cache, so it really felt like an honor. The next day too I came across another amazing cache (maybe my favorite on the trail thus far). It was literally on the trail far off the road with a wooden table and chairs to sit at that you could write on with sharpie, cooler full of amazing soda and candy, and lounge chairs. Oh, and right before that too there was another cache from Pipers Mom (great trail name), with fresh fruit and drinks! People really do love to help and support people in this world.

 

I reached the halfway point! Of course had a snickers bar to celebrate! Hikers always celebrate with food.

 

There are all sorts of people out here that I am meeting. There are the guys like Toyo, a 71 Japanese man that is so persperverant and never stops hiking he somehow is always in front of me. and then there is Rodney Danger Trail, who loves talking about how slow he is, but once again, never stops hiking. Then there are the people like Band Leader, who go 10 by 10, 20 by 2 (meaning 10 miles by 10am and 20 miles by 2pm). Never will catch them. And then there are those like Story Time, who is part of the Stoned Boner group, smoking themselves all the way to Canada. Couples are out here too: Frosty and Goldy Locks, who are awesome people moving to SF soon. And Uni Croc and Scat Scouter-big packs always smiling. And then people like Chosen One, cool calm and collected recovering drug addict making a documentary about his journey. Everyone has a different story. There are all walks of life out here, all out on the same trail but hiking a completely different hike.

 

I write this blog in the Shasta Library sneaking bites of chocolate chip cookie when the librarian is not watching. I have just come off some of the most emotionally challenging section of trail for me. I have recently found out that a good friend from college passed away in an avalanche on K2 with his dad. Denali was such an inspiration, one of the kindest and smily people I have ever known. Some of my greatest memories were spent dancing with Denali at Strawberry Music Festival. This month has taken me for quite a ride. Trying to cope with the trauma that occured at my summer camp with an Oak tree killing a beautiful young women there and now this. The trail is really testing me right now, and although I have thoughts more than ever now of giving up and going home to share in the losses with people I love, there is no way that I am not making it to Canada. it is crazy how mother nature has taken away the lives of people that this world needs most. I am left feeling more inspired by those who are now gone. I imagine if I could ask them how to be now that they are gone, they would say to keep hiking, keep climbing mountains, keep on living large. I am not going to let the tears, pain, and emotional pain bring me down. But instead, stay strong and push up North. Oregon, here I come!

Stop and Pick the Berries

Oregon! The land of milk and honey! A wilderness stretching 450 miles packed to the brim with wild huckleberries, blueberries, thimbleberries, eatable (and not eatable) mushrooms, whimsical trees dripping with Old Mans Beard moss, geological volcanic wonders, and huge craggy peaks to scramble.  The trail is like a Temperpic mattress for your feet, cushioning you to pull 30, 40, even 50 mile days. The skies seem bluer, the grass greener, the trail easier. And then there is the front country of Oregon. Towns like Ashland, Sisters, Bend, and Timberline; places where everyone stops for you to J-walk, a new brewery serving an even hoppier IPA beer pops up every week, and carrot ginger beet juice with a boost of maca is the classic down-to-earth healthy breakfast option. This is not a place to rush through at all. In fact, despite the PCT challenge to hike Oregon in two weeks, I slowed down a lot and started to consider myself a section hiker. Waking up later, doing side peaks off the actual PCT, and strapping bags of Frido Flavor Blast Twists and Bagels to the outside of my pack. Life was good in Oregon.

During Oregon I became part of the “Magic School Bus” crew. I wonderous bunch of interesting characters. There was Verde, one of the many hikers who are named for their love of smoking weed. He looked just like the Grinch, with a big ol’ smile going from ear to ear and a generous heart. Then there were the Tennessee boys (Sagi, Moonshine, and Leaky). If I was 19 and their age I would have a huge crush on them.  In fact, every time Sagi walked into a new town he fell in love with another waitress or bakery worker. There was Lullaby too.  An Iranian man in his late twenties or early thirties, working as a dentist in Santa Rosa. Pictured him spending his Friday nights lounging on an expensive recliner chair reading the New Yorker watching reruns of Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia and Friends. He had a big beard and would store things in it during the day to save them for later. Best Lullaby moment was when the Magic School Bus all stuck a huge number of glow-sticks in his beard. As we were laughing our asses off, Lullaby told us to all be super quiet and then in a flash he yelled at the top of his lungs and shook all the glow-sticks up into the air. Good times. Then there was Butters. Butters seemed to just appear out of nowhere one day and we instantly jived. Born in Santa Cruz and coincidently going to work for one of my friends from college, I could actually see hanging out with this guy off trail. In exchange for me teaching him about mountaineering, he geeked out on geology and answered all my questions about lava rocks. 

And then there was Acid Glasses. Acid Glasses and I became consistent hiking buddies for all of the Pacific Northwest. So much so, that people joined our trail names together to call us “Drop Acid” (Drop Bizkit and Acid Glasses together). However, for the remainder of my blogs I will refer to him as Mickey. I decided that at a certain point you get to know someone so well on the trail that their real world name make them seem more like real world people and it is just more appropriate at times. Mickey and I had a blast together. We could talk forever about nothing and everything for hours or we could just leave each other alone and meet up for lunch. Mickey has an amazing attitude towards life and when I was in a shitty place, he was the perfect company to pull me out and get me to laugh again. At age 21 Mickey has already thru hiked the Appalachian Trail and is planning to do the Continental Divide Trail next year. Because of this I learned a lot about thru hiking from him. He got me to finally understand that I could slow down- that I could make s’mores and collect berries and still make it to Canada in time. He taught me how to make amazing lunches with bagels, avocados, cheddar cheese, three meats (usually peperoni, turkey and ham), and chips crumbled in. Every Wednesday since the beginning of my journey I was making Instant Jello Pudding as a tradition. But with Mickey I learned how to one up that and make No Bake Cheesecake every week (4 servings, 4000 calories!). He even taught me that carrying two silly puddies and three books was weight worth carrying. We fought a lot, argued about stupid things, got mad at each other, but ultimately shared amazing memories and pushed each other to make it to Canada.

Ashland was the first stop 20 miles into the state of Oregon. I had been dreaming about coming here for months because I knew about the amazing co-op with an awesome juice bar and the hot springs right outside of town. I stayed three nights in a really comfortable hostel where the Tennessee Boys made the crew a bomb hamburger dinner and eggs in a blanket for breakfast. To celebrate entry into a new state I went out on the town one night with Verde and danced to some amazing Jazz tunes. Was sore for days after that. In recovery from that night, the next day Mickey and I went hot springin’ and soaked our sore muscles and bones for hours until we were one giant prune. Sufficiently fed and resupplied with the famous Pacific Northwest Dave’s Killer bread for my next section, I marched forward.

Upon entering into the Cascade Range I pretty much just hopped from volcano to volcano. There were the Three Sisters, Mt. Thielson, Three Fingered Jack, Mt. Jefferson, Mt. Washington, and finally Mt. Hood. I spent the days hiking toward one giant mountain, circumventing around it, and then hiking away from it onto the next. And then there was Crater Lake-one of the world’s most notorious volcanic craters. Hiking along the rim of the lake during sunset with the train of the “Magic School Bus” crew pushing me from behind was such a spiritual and beautiful feeling. It was one of the those moments on trail where it feels like time has stopped and some how you have just hiked 4 miles without even knowing it.

Then there was Mt. Thielson. Butters, Mickey and I decided late in the afternoon to scramble up an hour off trail to get to the top of this craggy Class 3 peak. No big deal. Just threw off our packs and pretty much ran up that thing listening to R Kelly tunes and twerking our booties. I am usually not that comfortable on more technical rock scrambles, but with Butters and Mickey around for support I made it and was so glad we did this.

By the way, the Three Sisters Wilderness is amazing! Highly recommend this spot to anyone looking for a few day journey into the wild. Cool lava rocks, ground covered with only obsidian rock, beautiful peaks surrounding mild terrain, cool climate, lakes everywhere. And then there is the Three Sisters mountains. One fine day we decided to summit the Middle of the Three Sisters. Middle Sister is around a 4 mile off trail scramble up scree and glaciers. After finally motivating the crew of Acid Glasses, Sagi, Butters, and this dude Rocks we blasted up the peak. It felt so good to just take a daypack and push my muscles to work hard up to a summit. We got to the top right before a huge thunderstorm rolled in. It was epically fun running down scree fields and sliding on our butts down large snow patches to get back to the calming terrain of the PCT again. Once down, the day was only half over. Mickey and I decided to rage through a big rainstorm and get soaked to the bone to make it a 27-mile day and get to a stone built observatory. I felt like such a bad ass that night making it to that shelter and getting to sleep in a dry place. That morning we were woken up by all these tourists coming to check out the views. We must have looked ridiculous with all our wet clothes hanging everywhere.

I saw my very first porcupine! Mickey nearly stepped right on it and kept walking passed until I screamed in surprise. I was so taken aback that there was a porcupine right on the trail, I literally peed in my pants. As “good” abiders of Leave No Trace Principles we ran into the woods to follow it and probably scared the leaving crap out of it trying to take photos. It was awesome.

Oh yeah, got to mile 2000 in Oregon!

One of the only places that I went to resupply where I could actually picture myself living was Bend. Bend is an amazing town set right in the middle of the great outdoors and has 17 breweries, and counting. I ate some of the best meals of my life there, so much so that they deserve a mentioning. The mac n’ cheese I had one night had cheddar cheese, blue cheese, chicken, AND bacon in it! Then there was the fried goat cheese salad, the three-cheese dip, the pulled pork taco, the risotto, the home made grilled cheese bacon sandwiches, the uncountable samples of baked goods, the soy lattes, and the meatloaf. Yum yum yum.

Then there was Stephanie. I met the most amazing human being of my life there. She is an angel, an absolute gift from the heavens above, shining down on my path and beckoning me into her arms. Stephanie has a somewhat bittersweet life story. She is divorced and has an 11-year-old daughter, Ella, struggling with a chronic illness. Despite these set backs in life, Stephanie seemed like the most alive and loving person. Her daughter Ella is beautiful, mature, and so sweet. You can tell that their relationship means everything to both of them. When I showed up, they were going on a staycation (vacation where you stay at home), where they were going to hang out on a farm together, get their noses pierced, make cookies, and go out to eat whenever possible.

Mickey and I met Stephanie our first night in Bend when she was working as a waitress at this fancy restaurant. We passed by when she was outside serving someone and just named dropped our other hiking friend, Ryan Burton. Ryan is from Bend and his big friendly giant nature of a personality makes him the man around town. Of course Stephanie knew him. The next day as Mickey and I were passing by a pizza restaurant Stephanie saw us from inside and came running down the street offering us a giant calzone. She offered for us to join her pizza lunch she was having with her daughter and her ex-husband. Her magic didn’t end there. She then offered us the use of her car and bikes to roam around the city. Too nervous to drive her stick shift car, we accepted the bikes and she dropped off two cruisers at the trail angel’s house we were staying at. After taking us out to dinner one night at Deschutes Brewery, she pretty much offered Mickey a room in her house and a job to be Ella’s nanny (or manny in this case) when he got off the trail. And then to top it all off, she drove us back to the trail the next day and gave us a huge container of home made veggie and fruit drink. What a gem. In return and mild obsession with Stephanie, Mickey and I sent postcards to Ella during the rest of our journey.

Bend also was filled with good music. We spent a night out at a karaoke bar with a bunch of other hikers and got to see the infamous Aloha in action. Aloha is the husband of one of the hikers (Toots Magoots) on trail and followed her in his car the entire way providing trail magic. What a nice husband. Aloha is also a really large opera singer man and loved his karaoke whenever he was waiting for his wife in town. I also got to see Cuddles play his cello finally. Cuddles is a music teacher in Arizona and decided to hike the PCT and play cello concerts along the way at various venues. Despite the crazy logistics of this, it was such a treat to get to hear him play along the way. One time I even got to see his wife play the violin with him. Of course, Mickey and I sang “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey at karaoke. Classic number.

Exciting moment on trail: I got $5 from Cuddles and Shedder to jump into Little Crater Lake, the coldest lake ever! Spent that on a beer.

Oregon also has the infamous Timberline Lodge. Nestled right at the base of Mt. Hoods ski lifts, it is a fancy-pancy place with the BEST buffet on trail ever. The last mile hiking into it seemed like the longest mile of my life as Mickey and I turned into Southern Baptists and prayed that it would be right around the bend. Never a good idea to mentally think you are closer than you actually are to something. Better to just pretend you are still really far and then be really excited when you finally get there. Once we got there, I fell in love. For $17 we got lunch buffet with multiple cuts of meats, prosciutto, a huge number of desserts, the best cream soup, salads, waffles, and cheeses. I stayed for hours and just kept going back. Such is the life of being a calorie-deficient hiker with a fast metabolism and getting to eat anything your little heart desires.

With views of Mt. Hood behind me, I journeyed 3 days to the town of Cascade Locks at the Washington Oregon border. I took the Eagle Creek alternate route to not only cut off some mileage, but to add magnificent views of giant waterfalls, cliff hanging trails cut into the rock, and a ridiculously high bridge to walk over. Cascade Locks was a convenient little town right next to the Colombia River. I stayed at the Trail Angels house of a big man named Shrek. Shrek himself was kinda weird and we would get locked out of his house occasionally and had to pee in his backyard, but his place was nice and I got to sleep in a tree house. Shrek got really mad at these two hikers Grumpy and Wagon Wheel for throwing a water balloon at me. I was really impressed with their accuracy when it landed straight on my chest, but Shrek thought it was too rambunctious and got angry. Woops. The water balloon fight continued and I nailed Verde a few days later on trail. Cascade Locks also had a really amazing soft serve yogurt place where the large size was literally a foot long of swirls piled up high.

As I said goodbye to the peaceful wilderness of Oregon and waltzed over the Bridge of the Gods (epic name for a bridge), I entered into the craziness of what Washington had in store. Two states down, one to go.