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 1st 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.
