Oddball in Washington: Stehekin to Canada

Welcome indeed

Stehekin River

Stehekin was nice.  Brian and I did not get our omelets and beer combination but we definitely got beer accompanied with burgers.  The bakery was the most amazing place in town.  The bus we hopped on from the trailhead made a stop there and when we arrived, I do believe it was the fastest I had ever disembarked from any bus in my life.  Upon exiting the bus, my beloved olfactory glands were immediately battered with the scents of hundreds of delicious baked goods.  Inside I found myself overwhelmed with choices and almost stuttering when I made my impulsive choices for the employee taking my order, “one of those giant ham and swiss things and one of those big loaves of sourdough!”  When asked if I wanted a free cookie, there was no silence between the question and my exuberant acceptance.  I packed the loaf of sourdough in my pack and joyfully ate the other items within minutes.  I only regret not ordering a fourth or fifth item.  I hear their pie-sized cinnamon rolls are divine; another time in the future perhaps?  Our trip to the post office in Stehekin was quite an experience as well.  The local postmaster was visually a very memorable man with long grey hair, a large white beard, an eye patch, and a bright red shirt with Laotion writing that he translated for us, “I’m a stupid American.”  The real treat at the post office was scene familiar to me but a must see and experience that had yet to be observed by my journalist friend.  A hiker came in front of the post office—where we many of were in line to claim our resupply packages—held up a box and asked “does anyone need any of this?”  After placing the box upon the ground, the dozen or so of us in line descended upon it and ravaged it like crazed animals.  The contents, with the exception of the non-edibles, were gone within seconds.

We kept our time in Stehekin short; resupplied, put some weight back on, drank up, and then got back on trail.  The trail immediately after Stehekin was quite striking.  Like the immediate area that preceded the town, this stretch was most notable for the deep gorge that housed the powerful Stehekin River.  The temperatures were nice, the air moist and cool, and the sounds of the river moving below were all very relaxing.  North Cascades National Park must be perfect for short trips and day hikes, I found myself often curious where all the other side trails went and what kinds of views they provided.  Upon reaching North Fork Camp we set camp during a light rain.  Before the rain fall became too strong the two of us stood around a large campfire and shared our snacks—some of the sourdough, some of the Nutella I scored from the split-second box raid at the post office, a little bit of wine we picked up in town, and summer sausage.  I finished my evening with some herbal tea and fell asleep to the sound of rain crashing down upon my tent.

Northern Washington looks a little like southern California, Brian on Cutthroat Pass

As soon as daylight permitted we broke camp the following morning, caffeinated up, and then hit the trail.  This was the first morning on the trail that I needed to hike with my down jacket; it was very cold, even with the heat that my body was producing from the exercise.  The trail was also covered in a fine layer of fog from the cloud morning cloud cover; it immediately evoked memories of what mornings in Washington were like in the first couple of weeks.  I loved it.  By the time the clouds had finally evaporated we were descending to Rainy Pass.  At this little highway crossing we basked in the sun with some other hikers we met just before and again in Stehekin.  Once we had enough of the sun we hopped back on the trail and I watched in amazement as northern Washington slowly, but surely, began to resemble southern California.  The trees thinned out, the distant mountains looked more brown and more bare, the soil below my feet slowly turned into a powdery light brown dust, and even the shrubs took on a more high desert like appearance than something I would have expected this far north.  This southern California-like appearance was most prominent once we were atop Cutthroat Pass.  The name and appearance reminded me of something from an old spaghetti western too.  Just around Cutthroat I was surprised again.  There was not much of it remaining but on the lee side of the ridge there was evidence of fresh snowfall, not much, but just enough to remind me that we were not too far from the beginning of Washington’s snow season.  For the remainder of the day Brian and I traversed slowly over a series of additional passes like Granite and Methow, and our discussions transformed like the terrain around us.  Where they were once about the army we had served in, this day they transformed into ones about food.  Both of us like to cook in our normal lives and were exchanging recipe ideas.  The apex of these conversations rested with an entrée idea that became my obsession until I made it off-trail—a multi-layered chili and cornbread style cobbler served in individual tiny pie tins (which I am proud to state I pulled off after returning home).  We hiked with the last amounts of sunlight and about a half-hour in darkness until we reached Willis Camp.  Again we built a fire, shared food, and went to bed very satisfied, especially with our Nutella and graham cracker deserts. 

The following day was not nearly as eventful.  The weather was great and there were numerous meadows to enjoy but I sometimes found myself disappointed with the trail.  Glacier Pass, for example, had no glaciers.  The trail this day took on anther southern California attribute—a water shortage (at least according to the data we had to work with).  After going over the Glacier Pass, we went a little off trail to what flow remained from an old snow-melt creek to hydrate ourselves and fill our water containers before the dry stretch that lay ahead of us.  The area rested in a bowl covered in soft green grass.  It was a perfect place to take a break and to begin a ritual we would continue until we were done with the PCT—afternoon coffee breaks.  Brian had brought real coffee and had a French press attachment for his cooking pot.  My usual combination of cheap instant coffee and hot coco had nothing on this stuff, it was quite a pleasure for my taste buds.  Once we arrived at Harts Pass we ran into about six other thru-hikers who were occupying a campsite that had been reserved by a trail angel who wasn't there yet.  We all conversed a little but more importantly, we planned.  This would be the first location on the trail, after we turned around from the border, where we could get a ride back into civilization.  Most of these other hikers shared the same plan as I, and it made me feel more confident that finishing at Harts Pass would be possible.  Camping also looked problematic from here out.  According to the data I had and the maps everyone else had, camping was spare, and the first available place where we could stay at without needing to hike well into the evening was between Windy and Foggy Pass.  When we arrived there I was somewhat annoyed. The area’s two camping sites were occupied.  I called out to one and asked if there was space down the spur trail from theirs and I was told no.  The second I approached and was given directions to three or four “great spots” that were actually hills littered with holes and rocks.  Brian and I gave up on trying to find good ground and camped next to the trail on the only spot we could reasonably find a flat parcel of earth.

At the Northern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail on the Canadian border.

After climbing over the ridge above us the next morning I realized the group of campers I asked had lied to us, there was plenty of space down the spur trail, I guess they just did not want us walking through.  This close to Canada, I did not care. In fact, most of this day went by very quickly and I was happy to be surprised with a number of springs that were supposed to be dry, as well as a number of campground that weren't on everyone's maps.  We had already carried water anticipating a dry stretch, but this meant we did not have to carry as much on our return.  We climbed up and down a few forest-covered passes and then slowly climbed down the prominent ridge just about Hopkins Lake.  We skipped the lake and its water and opted to continue towards the real goal—Canada.  Reaching the border that day, I am still not entirely sure how I felt even to this day.  The whole thing felt somewhere between surreal and anticlimactic.  In a way it reminded me of the scene from Forest Gump when he abruptly decides to stop running in the middle of Monument Valley and go home.  I was excited to finally be there, this was after all a hike that I attempted in 2010, had not finished, and after starting over again this year, I had finally finished.  I wanted this more than anything.  At the same time though, I did not want it to end.  If it could have been possible, I would have kept going.   I had actually thought often during my thru-hike about hoping on the Pacific Northwest Trail and going to the Pacific Ocean to the west or perhaps Glacier National Park in Montana to the east after finishing the PCT.  It would have bled my savings dry though and I knew I had to at some point go home and return to the real world.  Perhaps that was where the problem rest, the “real” world, since I started this was the trail and I liked that.  That night we camped in Canada, near Castle Creek, with a dozen or so other hikers and began the process of yogi-ing food off those who were not turning around to head back to Harts Pass.  I might have been done with my thru-hike, but I was at least going to spent about thirty more miles on the PCT to get back to an American road.

One last sunset on the the Pacific Crest Trail

The next day I was no longer a thru-hiker.  I was a filthy sound-bound section hiker hiking from the Canadian border to Hart’s Pass.  At the monument Brian and I met a thru-hiker who amazed us, he was carrying an insane amount of extra food—several servings of mashed potatoes, gravy, salt, pepper, tortillas, Cliff bars, and extra cheese.  We added it to what food we gathered from last night’s crowd, thanked him, and headed south.  We camped that night at the same exact location we camped at before, in between Windy and Foggy Pass.  This time though claimed the location our lying neighbors had occupied two nights before and cooked everything we had—all the mashed potatoes, all the gravy, and all the cheese in one pot; as well as a dehydrated hamburger meal Brian still had that we combined with our yogi’ed tortillas and some remaining chili powder I had to make burritos.  It was the fullest and most satisfied I had ever been on the trail, so many carbohydrates for so few miles the following day.

Serpent Slayer (center) and this trail magic at Harts Pass

It was nice sleeping in the next day and when we arrived at Harts Pass we were treated to some amazing trail magic.  A trail angel named Serpent Slayer had for the past several years been coming to Harts Pass for a couple weekends a year to camp and have cookouts for PCT hikers. When we arrived there we were spoiled with not only good company but steaks, sausages, bacon, and beer.  My stomach could not have asked for a better way to finish.  An hour later, Brian and I met again with Lloyd Hensrude.  Lloyd and his mother had driven a couple of hours to the pass to pick us up and take us back to civilization, which included showers and a wonder pot roast dinner at Lloyd’s parent’s home.  Before I knew it, I was in Seattle wondering what I was supposed to do next.

Oddball in Washington: Stevens Pass to Stehekin

Glacier Peak Wilderness, one of the many reasons to love Washington.

I spent about as much time in Baring with the Dinsmores as I had in Cascade Locks.  I knew I had overdone my pace in Oregon and had been trying to slow down with a number of zero days spread out between Cascade Locks, Packwood from White Pass, Seattle from Snoqualmie Pass, and Baring from Steven’s Pass.  It was not enough time for Copernicus to catch up but it was at least enough time to meet a date that was incredibly hard to accurately set—meeting up with someone who wanted to hike the final week with me but needed an exact date while I was still in northern California.   I was more than a week ahead of schedule to meet that date when I finished Oregon but I timed it right here.  So for the final stretch from Stevens Pass to Canada I was joined by Brian Mockenhaupt.  Brian and I served together in the army and had deployed together during my first two tours to Iraq.   After Brian got out of the army he resumed his old career path as a journalist and specialized his post-army journalism by writing about soldier’s perspectives in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.  I had asked awhile back if he would be interested in writing something about this hike and Brian surprised me not only by accepting the offer, but by also stating he could not write the story without joining me on the trail.

Camping with fellow 10th Mountain infantrymen and Iraq War veterans, Lloyd Hensrude and Brian Mockenhaupt

Rockfall-lined trail in the
Henry M. Jackson Wilderness

That first day would be the only easy day for Brian.  To keep our packs light and take advantage of the great weather we were going to continue the 25 mile per day pace I had set in Washington, but Brian would not have the benefit of being in shape from five previous months of hiking, much less hardened feet.  True to an infantryman’s character though, Brian just dealt with the discomfort and enjoyed these brutal days anyway.  Leaving the camp we entered Henry M. Jackson Wilderness, a nice little prelude to the majesty of Glacier Peak.  The trail traveled casually through lush forests with great views of very scenic lakes, like Lake Valhalla.  When it was not in forest, it traveled over meadows thick with lupine and other colorful alpine flowers or through rugged sections of beautiful large rockfall-lined trail.  Hiking with Brian offered a nice change to my normal hiking habits.  I never zoned out, I did not listen to my iPod, and my radio was always off.  Brian and I just talked.  Our topics were varied but generally were army related like—IEDs, old sergeant majors and colonels, the absurdities that arise during wartime deployments, anecdotes about fellow soldiers we both used to know, adjusting to civilian life, and so on and so forth.  Other times Brian bombarded me with questions about the trail as well as those about life itself on the trail.  Having someone other than a hiker ask those questions and in such a great volume really made me realize—I was very much having the time of my life on the PCT, even if there were some truly remember moments of misery.  After going up and over a visually stunning Vimy Ridge and around a beautiful Skykomish Peak, we camped at the petite and mirror-like Sally Ann Lake.

Sitkum, Scimitar, Kennedy, and Ptarmigan glaciers in Glacier Peak Wilderness

Silver-colored marmot (Hoary Marmot)

Bird for brains (Blue Grouse)

The following day we entered Glacier Peak Wilderness.  The name did not disappoint.  Most of the ridges were lined with giant glaciers that seemingly had my pace set slower and my neck constantly twisted over a shoulder to take in a new view.  Even if I had already had a great view of a particular glacier just a few moments before—if the angle was different, if there were fewer trees obstructing the view, or whatever—I had to stop for another look.  When we were not being treated to challenging climbs and great views of these numerous glaciers, the wildlife was busy offering something new, even for me.  I have an affinity for the comical-like Golden Marmot of the high Sierra.  There are many marmots in this area of Washington, but these ones possessed a silver-like coat instead.  Although, they still maintained their hilarious leisurely poses atop large rocks and ran away with the most uncoordinated feet nature has to offer.  Another funny animal that graced this section of the PCT was the blue grouse.  They reminded me of wild game hens and are funny not for the demeanor, but for their sheer stupidity.  They just do not know how to properly run away from a perceived threat.  I would imagine that if one were starving out here, it would not take much effort to kill a handful of these birds with a few stone throws.  One of these grouses even ran away from me by running towards me, past me, and then right between Brian’s feet.  This section also had a number of impressive gorges, especially the one that lined the White Chuck River and its many tributaries.  I really loved this area.  A great vista can always cause enjoyment but there is also something to be said about being deep in a cool and green valley with a raging white river.  The sights and sounds can be very relaxing.  After a long day filled with comical animals and glaciers with unusual names like Sitkum, Scimitar, and Ptarmigan, we called it a day on top of Fire Creek Pass.  A large chunk of melting ice provided crisp drinking water and the prominence of the pass gave us views of distant snow-capped mountains and a nearby Milk Lake Glacier, all set among a rich twilight produced violet sky.

Mica Lake, Glacier Peak Wilderness

One of the more interesting days on the PCT turned out to be one where I was lost.  Leaving Sally Ann Lake the following day Brian and I descended down to a frozen Mica Lake before descending further into a very deep forested valley, from which we crossed a swollen glacier melt creek and then up and over a tall ridge.  Over that ridge we found ourselves back below glaciers, like Vista Glacier, which was almost directly above us.  After traversing around Vista we eventually hiked down a creek fed by it.  “Creek” is quite an understatement though; Vista Creek was practically a river.  The creek can become so swollen at times that several years ago it managed to destroy a large swath of the PCT and more importantly the bridge that crosses the creek.  A few miles north of Vista Creek is the Suiattle River, which also succeed in destroying a large section of the PCT that same year, including a bridge.  For several years there were a series of detours that allowed thru-hikers to still pass through this flood-damaged area.  2011 was the first year that the trail was officially reopened in its entirety in this area, it also included five miles of a reroute that brought the trail to a location where a bridge could be more securely placed.  Brian and I thought we could cleverly avoid these five extra miles by taking the original trail and crossing the creek and river on downed trees.  This worked perfectly for Vista Creek.  We found a suitable three-log crossing after creatively finding a way down the growth-choked hillside.  Once we crossed the creek we dead-reckoned our way to the old PCT and had little trouble following it, albeit both of us felt uneasy because the terrain was not quite exactly matching the contours on my maps.  Coming down into the Suiattle River valley though, we found the trail and much of the adjacent hillside completely destroyed.  Here, we at least found several cairns that guided us to a reasonable log crossing.  I must applaud Brian on his crossing of the Suiattle.  The log was covered in loose bark and hovered about five feet over the river.  The river itself was thick with silt and denied any hiker of even the slightest view of its bottom, and even though the river’s volume was far from what it must have been when it flooded the valley, it was obvious that it could easily toss and carry an unlucky hiker through its waters until a large rock or collection of dead trees could stop him.  Brian climbed on top, balanced himself, and walked right across.  This far into my thru-hike my conscious dictated a more cautious approach and I just couldn't bring myself to crossing the same way.  I straddled the large log and scooted along until I was across.  The other side of the Suiattle was where we got lost.  The trail and the cairns both disappeared.  Brian and I found ourselves trying our best to dead reckon our way through mud and huge downed trees that made movement faster than a quarter-mile per hour impossible.  Eventually we agreed that if we could not find the trail after a specific time, we would turn around and return to reroute.  That was exactly what we ended up doing after we failed to find the trail at our specified time.  So we re-crossed the Suiattle and quickly went back the way we came.  Just as the last minute of daylight faded and just as rain began to fall, we returned to Vista Creek and decided to re-cross it the following day.  Instead of complaining we both exchanged warm comments about the day and laughter through our tent walls before falling asleep.  As frustrating as the experience should have been, it was actually quite a rather invigorating and mentally refreshing day.  The creek and river crossings were challenging and being lost presented a problem for us to have to resolve and overcome—we did.

Fires on a ridge above Five Mile Camp (south of Stehekin) create a spectacular sunset

The next morning we recrossed Vista Creek after breakfast and then hopped on the five-mile reroute we had attempted to bypass the previous day.  It actually turned out to be a very nice and very well built five-mile stretch of trail that brought us safely (and easily) across the Suiattle and to a series of very nice campsites near Miner’s Creek.  Following the reroute miles we climbed up and over what seemed like a never-ending ascent to Suiattle Pass where we met the first bunch of thru-hikers since leaving the Dinsmores.  The views were nice but a combination of yesterday’s miles and our proximity to our resupply (and beer) in Stehekin made this day feel somewhat long and drawn out.  When the trail finally began its real descent, the trail went straight down into a beautiful river valley.  Towards the end of the day it slowly turned into impressively deep gorges that would offer us a small taste of North Cascades National Park just ahead of us.  It was sprinkling towards the end of the day too and we also caught sight of a fire on the top of the main ridge above us.  The fire made me nervous, the thought of a fire closure when I was this close to completing the Pacific Crest Trail filled me with more anxiety than I had imaging a possible injury when Brian and I cross and then re-crossed the Suiattle.  The previous day’s bonus miles meant that I had run out of food this evening and bless Brian’s soul—he had packed too much.  I got a fire going while he took some time to soak his feet in a nearby ice-cold creek.  We enjoyed a comfortable fire, his delicious and complex assembly-required dinner entrees, and discussed what we wanted to eat in Stehekin.  Neither of us actually knew what the local restaurant had, much less its hours, but we were fantasying about omelets and beer that night.

Oddball in Washington: Snoqualmie Pass to Stevens Pass

Mount Rainier off in the distance behind trail just north of Ridge and Gravel lakes in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness

After a wonderful rest in Seattle with Granite and Terrapin, which included a dinner with two other 2010 PCT hikers—Microburst and Sweet Sixteen, Terrapin drove me back to the trail.  Even though I was full from breakfast, I returned to the gas station and bought myself a cheap cheeseburger and a Hostess Fruit Pie, and ate them while walking from the gas station to the northbound trailhead at Snoqualmie Pass.  I felt energized and happy as I waved goodbye to Terrapin who was honking while she drove off.  From this point there was only about two-hundred miles left for me to hike and I was happy to be finishing strong.  I kept my goal modest that day, a mere seven miles.  I was not in a rush to leave my Seattle friends but I did need to get my rear back on the trail.  When you are on the PCT long enough, being off just does not feel right.  After a nice little two hour walk, I settled myself in a quiet spot off trail along the far edge of Ridge Lake.  It is nice to have days like this and to finish early because there is no rush to eat and get to sleep.  I took my time eating while reading a new book I picked up in Seattle and caught up on my journal entries before succumbing to slumber.

Glaciers on a parallel ridge 

I loved this new area.  Alpine Lakes Wilderness was gorgeous.  I left Ridge Lake both refreshed and early, and found myself hiking through clouds.  It was a treat.  The cold winds and low clouds reminded me of my day hiking through Goat Rocks, and I hiked that morning without the slight inclination to rush through anything.  An old friend also returned into view, Mount Rainier.  Its snow-capped peak was poking through the distant sea of white clouds.  Like so many other moments in Washington, this view ingrained in my heart a desire to return to Washington.  After all, Rainier's mere presence demands that I summit it in my lifetime.    Why else would such tall peaks be brought forth from the earth, if not to challenge us?  The remainder of the day I resumed my habit of hiking with long and break-less stretches.  Much of the trail this day consisted of a slow decline into one valley and then an equally slow climb up and over another ridge.  The entire way up, despite the glaring sun, I found myself constantly looking over my left shoulder to take in a view of the glaciers on the ridge that ran parallel to the one I was ascending. Once the ascent was complete I traveled around the ridge to a desolate alpine flat with an almost completely hidden little tarn.  I debated staying at the tarn that evening but also appreciated that I still had a good hour or so of sunlight and choose instead to fill up on water and dry camp on a quiet little meadow somewhere near the Waptus River.

North side of Cathedral Pass

Even though there was no shortage of steep climbs and drops remaining on the PCT, it was around here where, for whatever reason, I decided to pack my trekking poles.  Something about them seemed superfluous and I did not want to deal with them anymore.  I continued doing long stretches and often found myself losing track of the time.  It was not because every single mile of trail was like a piece of heaven on Earth, I simply found myself enjoying my hike.  I knew I was going to finish, I knew I was going to finish before the snow began to fall in Washington, and I all that truly remained in my hike was the desire to enjoy myself until I finished.  If anything, the thought of being done was the only thing that made me any bit gloomy.  To avoid gloom I then ceased to think about Canada despite how close it was.  At one point that day I stopped about half a mile short a lake I had planned on breaking at.  I climbed atop a large rock that sat in the shade and overlooked a strong flowing Spinola Creek.  For an hour I sat with a book, ate from a bag of dehydrated bananas, and had a couple of cups of cold coffee.  I also found a large pile of abandoned food and gear.  Curiosity compelled me to shift through it, I found a couple of still-sealed packets of dehydrated biscuits and gravy, and found myself thinking, “what on earth am I doing? I don’t need any of this junk.”  I left the junk where it sat, continued past Deep Lake, admired a lengthy view of it while coming up to Cathedral Pass, jumped from boulder to boulder at a powerful and narrow snow-melt creek just below Mount Daniels, descended back into a thick forest until going over a view-less Deception Pass, and then camped at the first available piece of flat ground where I also found a very cold an delicious spring.  I heard a number of other hikers pass me early in the evening but with my tent’s opening facing away from the trail, I confined myself to my dinner and my book.

Northern Deception Lake

In the morning while I ate my unloved oatmeal and drank my beloved coffee, I was surprised to not only bump into another thru-hiker but also one that I knew—Hesu.  We talked while I broke down my camp and he gave me the address for the Steven’s Pass trail angels—the Dinsmores.  They lived past the Databook’s resupply town entry of Skykomish and in a small and spread out town called Baring.  If I had not found another hiker, I would not have been able to find them.  I remained with my usual place knowing I only had 20 miles to Stevens Pass (unlike the 27 mile haul Clay and I had to make to arrive at Snoqualmie).  I soaked in the views of all the beautiful lakes along the way—Deception Lakes, Surprise, Trap, Hope, Mig, Josephine, and Susan—and before I knew it I was hiking under a ski lift.  Seeing the lift I realized that I was only a couple miles before Stevens Pass and I was about to complete 20 miles without needing a break.  Once I arrived at Stevens Pass I went to the little restaurant, had a hotdog, crossed the highway, and stuck my thumb out.  The Pass was not exactly hitchhiker friendly but after half an hour I got offered a ride from a painter who was leaving work at the pass.  I had a hard time trying to understand what he was saying and realized why only after I got into his car.  My ride was a Russian immigrant who spoke very little English and simply assumed I was trying to get to Seattle.  Despite the language barrier I was able to describe where I needed to go and roughly where Baring was by drawing a line on his dusty dashboard—we’re at Steven’s Pass, I need to go to Baring a few minutes past Skykomish, and Seattle is not where I’m going all the way out here.  It worked.  He drove me to Baring in return for some awkward small talk where neither he nor I could really understand each other; we were literally talking for the sake of talking and to pass time.  I arrived in Baring five minutes before the store closed, got a large deli sandwich, chips, a couple of beers, and some ice cream; and then immediately set off for the Dinsmores’ home.

Oddball in Washington: White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass

Sunrise on the PCT, roughly two miles north of Sheets Pass

I dawdled in Packwood.  I was turned off by the cost of my hotel room the previous night.  A hundred dollars for a room with a broken television and no chairs; I had no idea hotels were getting rid of chairs to save money these days.  I ate a mediocre breakfast at a nearby dinner, walked across the street, and then stuck my thumb out.  It took an hour, but eventually I was picked up by a man who owned property nearby,  lived in Montana, and had been driving back and forth all week.  The truck was littered with empty gas station coffee cups and the man looked like he had not had a decent night’s sleep in a week.  It probably was not my safest ride but a ride is a ride.  When I arrived back at the gas station in White Pass my motivation slowly began to fade and I decided I wanted to eat again.  I also came in about when other hikers starting pouring in, including my old friend Calf.  I had not seen other thru-hikers for a week and was eager to engage in conversation.  I was there long enough that another friendly face came in, Clay.  Calf and Clay were just arriving and were in no rush to leave, in fact they were discussing going into town.  It did not take much to convince me to go back and split a room with these guys.  So, after claiming my resupply package, the three of us went back to the road, and hitched into town.

Pacific Crest Boardwalk

The following day it seemed like it took an eternity to leave Packwood.  We left at a reasonable hour in the morning but getting a ride back to White Pass was difficult.  It took us two separate hitches to get back to the pass and it was late enough that we opted to have lunch before departing.  I sensed my laziness returning and even though Clay was not ready to leave, Calf and I bolted while we could still get some decent miles in.  I was not very excited about leaving so late and I found myself in an awkward position at one point on the trail of having to pass horse riders.  They had passed me coming down hill and then kept stopping in front of me on the narrowest parts of the trail every few minutes.  After awhile I grew sick of the game with the riders and stepped up my race to a near jog and I refused to slow down for two hours.  I found most of the trail immediately out of White Pass to be rather uneventful.  There was some very interesting trail work in some areas though, in an effort to keep a trail actually present in some of the wetter areas, trail crews built boardwalks.  I tried making them a little more interesting by listening to “Love is Strong” by the Rolling Stones on repeat while strutting down these boardwalks.  By the end of the day I impressed myself, I got in 17.3 miles with what few hours of the day that were left and without a single break.  Calf and I setup camp, at a curiously labeled Databook entry and alliteration labeled “reliable rill,” with two ladies who were section-hiking.  After some conversation, a cup of hot chocolate, and a little evening reading I was burying my head in my mummy bag happy just to be back on the trail.

Sunset at Big Crow Basin

The next day Calf hit the trail earlier than I and I took off earlier than the two section hikers.  I also decided to continue hiking long stretches and made Anderson Lake, at a little over seven miles away my first goal.  When I got there though I found a number of campers in sleeping bags along the shoreline closest to the trail; I decided to continue onto the next lake, Dewey.  It was just two more miles.  When I got to Dewey Lake, I found even more campers with even fewer opportunities to claim a small space for my own use.  I convinced myself I would then push forward three more miles to Chinook Pass.  There was a major highway there and I thought I might find a picnic table to sit at for a half an hour or so while reading my book.  What I found on the way to Chinook Pass instead was the greatest density of day hikers I had ever seen on the Pacific Crest Trail.  There were so many that after yielding to the first dozen or so groups, I became upset because of the significantly slower pace required to be courteous to everyone.  I plugged in my headphones, turned on some music, and began pushing through all these day hikers.  I would rush through each large group, smile, yell out "good afternoon" to each person, and allow my headphones and music to deny them any questions.   When I reached Chinook Pass I realized what the problem was, it was a weekend and the pass was also home to highway 140’s entrance to Rainier National Park.  I told myself that if I hiked a little over two more miles, I would reach Sheep Lake and hopefully a place to rest my feet.  Upon arriving at Sheep Lake though, I found no more available space than I found at any earlier place.  With about 14.5 miles of hiking without a break I was done, I sat on the trail, ate, smiled at all the day hikers who walked around me, and half an hour later continued north.  The remainder of the trail that day was dry, rocky, and exposed.  I put away my iPod and pulled out my radio and let Oregon Public Radio help pass the time until I something else caught my attention.  It was Clay, he was behind me and apparently had been trying to get my attention for ten minutes.  We chatted with each other until we reached Big Crow Basin.  It was short of both of our goals but it looked inviting enough, and the nearby spring water was cold, crisp, and refreshing.  After a quick dinner of beans and rice and a spectacular sunset, I wondered how far Calf made it that day.

Fire damaged section north of Government Meadow

I had an obsession with getting to Snoqualmie Pass after leaving White Pass, especially after wasting so much time Packwood.  Two friends of mine who I got to know while hiking the PCT in 2010—Granite and Terrapin—had moved to Seattle after their thru-hike that year and we had long since talked about seeing each other again when I hiked through Washington State.  In Seattle were two other wonderful 2010 hikers as well, Sweet 16 and Microburst.  I had been thinking about a miniature reunion party since I entered Washington.  Snoqualmie Pass was the highway I had to reach to get a ride from Granite to Seattle.  Realizing how close this pass was, Clay and I decided to do as many miles as possible in order to make the following day into town easier.  What we ended up doing that day I never repeated, a 30 plus mile day in Washington.  Early that day, the trail was in thick and cool green forests until Government Meadow.  From there on it traversed many areas that were either burnt or logged.  I was not particularly impressed with the logging areas, although I did find something unexplainably beautiful about the fired-damaged sections.  We had talked about doing 35 miles that day but upon coming across Clay already setting up his tent at 31 miles, it did not take much to convince me to call it a day.  We shared and ate what food we both had left and tried to plan out how on earth we were going to do a little more than 27 miles the following day before 4pm.

Early morning low cloud cover

Clay and I awoke early, ate quickly, and hit the trail heavily caffeinated.  It was cold and wet but I found myself enjoying the cloud cover.  We camped just below the clouds and punched through them just in time to watch an amazing sunrise.  It was almost as if the sun were not rising over the horizon but actually thrusting itself out from amongst the clouds.  Being above the clouds also meant that everything we hiked through was soaked with condensation that loved to escape from shrubs and attach itself to our feet, legs, and waists.  Since it was also very cold that morning, we had a great incentive to move quickly and without breaks—staying warm.  Somewhere just before Mirror Lake I lost Clay, he was hiking faster than I was able to but I was nonetheless equally determined to make it to the pass and opted not to take any breaks.  I regretted this pace and mindset in some places.  Mirror Lake was a place that I instantly wanted to stop and enjoy for a few minutes when it first came into view but I constantly told myself, “just a little further,” until it was too late.  The lake eventually ceased offering a view of itself and I was without a either a break or a photograph.  The closer I got to the pass the more I became comfortable with running downhill.  I was out of food and was not carrying more than half a quart of water, and I planned on zeroing when I got to Seattle.  I felt I could afford a slightly greater bodily beating than usual and it worked.  I caught up with Clay and we arrived at Snoqualmie pass around 3pm, more than 27 miles in less than ten hours.  We also ran into an old friend, Hawkeye, who passed by us while we gorged on gas station food.  We all left the gas station and made our way to the local hotel and pancake house where we found a number of other friends, including Calf and Analog.  By the time Granite had arrived from Seattle to pick me up, I felt somewhat sad, because I knew that zeroing two or three days in Seattle would mean that I would not see most of the people I had gotten to know so well unless we met again after our hikes were finished. 

Oddball in Washington: Cascade Locks to White Pass

The Knife Edge, Goat Rocks Wilderness

I spent three days in Cascade Locks resting and hoping the heat wave I was in would calm down before I started Washington.  Unfortunately for me, the heat did not die down.  I set off regardless; after all I have been through worse.

That little heat wave made my first day in Washington somewhat miserable.  The easy Oregon terrain was officially gone.  My first section of Washington was long and even at 25-miles per day I still had to carry six days of food to get my rear to White Pass, and lots of this first stretch was also very exposed to the sun.  The heat, along with my pack weight, and the return of difficult terrain, helped make me feel incredibly worn out.  The high temperatures also facilitated a rather disgusting grey haze that ruined what should have been wonderful views of Table Mountain.  I was happy to be done when I reached Rock Creek that first day but I also found myself robbed of good sleep.  Even with the sun setting and with my choice of sleeping in the open near the creek, it was just too hot for me to sleep comfortably.

Thick growth near Panther Creek

A single bad night of sleep can often ruin an entire week’s hiking schedule.  I overslept that first night and got a late start on the second day.  The heat had noticeably died down and—much to my surprise—even with my late start (8am) I found myself enjoying a couple of hours of hiking through morning fog.  It was a definite improvement over the previous day and I hiked through the entire remainder of the morning without a break until I reached Wind River, where I found myself noticeably hungrier than usual.  It was there I realized that Oregon had spoiled me, there were so many places to resupply that I rarely had more than a couple days worth of food in my pack.  I had forgotten what six or seven days of food felt like and how much more difficult that weight could make already difficult terrain   In the afternoon I found myself having to break every four or five miles because of my grumbling stomach, it was both robbing me of my strength and annoying me.  It was, at the least, a beautiful section.  The sections of the PCT that traverse near and over Panther Creek are incredibly green with tall moss covered trees amongst thick fields of ferns.  In essence, there was a green canopy far above my head and another one just below my knees. I made matters worse though by stopping often to take pictures.  I also made the mistake of constantly skipping water sources and telling myself, “I’ll grab water at the next source.”  When the sun finally set I was without water and dry camping was out of the question unless I wanted to go to sleep hungry.  I donned a headlamp, quickened my pace, and cursed the gradually decreasing number of hours of sunlight I had to work with each day.  I stopped when I found my destination—a gully with a spring.  I gathered a few quarts from the spring, tossed my ground mat and sleeping bag on the ground, made dinner, ate, scribbled some notes in my journal, and went to sleep.

Sleeping in the open that night turned out to be a horrible idea.  I was tired, stubborn, and in such a strong habit of not using my tent unless mosquitoes told me otherwise, that I did not take the thick cloud cover above me seriously.  I was constantly awoken every hour or so by the heavy sounds of thunder.  Each time I awoke, I noticed a complete absence of stars.  I should have had the discipline to get out of my sleeping bag and set up my tent first time I made that observation.  Instead, in my various half-awaken conditions of denial, I reasoned that the storm would not produce any precipitation and would blow over me while I calmly slept.  Four hours into this nonsense it started to rain.  I set up my tent in a matter of minutes but by then I had lost too many good hours of sleep.  Like the previous day, I awoke still exhausted from the previous day and from a lack of sleep.  When I finally succeeded in getting myself out of camp and back on trail I put in my headphones, listened to eleven straight hours of Oregon Public Radio, and mindlessly moved myself north until I reached the outlet of Big Mosquito Lake.  Here I proclaimed the area “good enough,” stepped on a large patch of two-foot tall blades of grass, pitched my tent, ate, and fell asleep while writing in my journal.

Mount Adams Glacier

Despite the large bumps on the ground from my hastily constructed campsite I slept like a baby.  Exhaustion can eventually be quite beneficial, one can sleep on anything.  Between that night’s great sleep and having consumed half my food weight by that morning, I felt great.  It was around here I felt my real energy returning.  From here out I assumed a new pace—ten to fifteen miles between breaks.  It felt great.  I would hike at a causal 2 ½ mile per hour pace and stop every four to six hours.  The timing could not have been better too.  Washington finally began to assume the form I envisioned—green meadows saturated with vibrantly colored flowers, tall snow-capped mountains, and giant glaciers.  When Mount Adams came into view I completely lost track of time and failed to notice even my hunger pangs as the trail slowly traveled around it; I constantly had my head turned over my right shoulder and had a near-permanent smile on my face.  I forgot that day I was trying to get to get White Pass, much less Canada.  I was just happy to be there.  At the end of the day I found myself fording a silt-soaked Lewis River.  Like my previous ford, the river was swollen with fresh snow-melt, was ice cold, and impossible to see the bottom of at any location.  After about half an hour of trial and error, I found a location I could ford with a reasonable degree of safety.  Once I was across I spent another half hour trying to regain some feeling and warmth back in my feet.  I had the energy to hike another mile or so and set up camp near a large pond.  The soft beach-like sand was too good to pass up.  I couldn't have found better ground to sleep upon.

Rainier comes into view

I was sad when Mount Adams was no longer in view.  For some time the following day I kept turning around after navigating around new hill tops, ridges, or valleys in the hope that there would be some unforeseen opening with a view more spectacular than the last.  It never happened though.  The trail returned to monotonous and lackluster dry forest with the exception of a small section that afford me a stunning  distant view of Mount Rainier, a prelude for tomorrow I told myself.  I continued hiking lengthy stretches for four to five hours at a time and generally took my breaks when I was hungry or bored.  During these breaks I also started to appreciate how much damage my appetite had done to my food during those first three days.  I had reasoned that it was okay to eat more early on because I was carrying more weight and that as my pack weight lessened I would need less food.  My metabolism did not agree with this line of reasoning and demanded as much food as I had been eating before.  I was running out of food and found myself trying to ration out my gorp and jar of peanut butter as best as I could.  I would have enough food for breakfasts and dinners but I realized that I was going to have to hike hungry during some point in each of the subsequent afternoons until I reached White Pass.  I was able to supplement my diet to a certain degree with a large number of huckleberries along the trail.  However, I found that picking enough to satisfy my hunger took away precious hours of sunlight.  More often than not I chose to forgo collecting enough food so I could take advantage of as much daylight as possible to hike in. 

Hiking  and climbing over Cispus Pass in the evening

The terrain returned to its Adamsesque splendor just before Cispus Pass but I was regrettably running out of light and could not enjoy the scenery as much as I would have liked to.  I did have a certain amount of fun climbing over a very large block of icy snow twice my height to get to the pass in the early hours of the evening.  I did my best find the path of least resistance with my headlamp, kick in steps, balance myself with my trekking poles, and then walk along the top until I found the Pass.  It was cold, I was short on time, but I nonetheless took a few minutes to stand there and look around in the darkness.  The only visible things were the faint outlines of rock and trees on the horizon and the various large patches of white snow that remained on the ridges.  I continued in the dark until I found a creek, and a reasonable place that afforded me both flat ground and some protection from the cold evening wind.

I woke up the next morning covered in a thin layer of ice and frost.  I probably would have hid in my sleeping bag for an hour or two because of the morning cold but the motivation of a nearby town can truly make short work of my often cold morning indolence.  I hid in my sleeping bag only long enough to make and stomach my disgusting oatmeal calories, and drink my increasingly addictive instant hot coffee and hot coco mix.  Shortly after returning to trail I spotted a giant and hideous orange dome a half a mile or so ahead of me.  I found myself confused until I was close enough; it was a regular camper’s tent.  After this little revelation, it occurred to me, I had not seen a single person since I left Cascade Locks.  Even though I would see a number of tents scattered throughout this area, I would not see a human face until I arrived at the pass.  These occupants were perfectly content to sleep in during these early horus and wait until the air slowly began to regain some warmth.

Self-portrait with a final view of Mount Adams in the background 

After coming out of this high valley I entered into an area that would become one of my favorite segments on the entire PCT—Goat Rocks.  The entire area was absolutely beautiful.  Early on I enjoyed large and flat meadows filled with red, white, and violet flowers; and tucked just below towering snow-capped peaks.  To the south, Mount Adams returned for one final and remarkable view.  Just below the meadows to the southwest were vast seas of white clouds that hid other meadows and valleys that I imagined were just as scenic.  Amongst the meadows I was in were a series of miniature forests, patches of a few dozen evergreens isolated from each other like little green islands.  These meadows eventually gave way to snowfields that quickly gave way to a walk along a narrow ridgeline just above a giant valley.  I went over this ridgeline while the valley was covered in clouds and it reminded me of a giant brown bowl full of sugar with a giant piece of white chocolate—Mount Rainier—resting on the top.  The supreme architect of the universe must have had a sweet tooth when he made Goat Rocks.  I stopped often, took many pictures, and for the first time in a very long time—I stopped to sit and soak in the view.

The "sugar bowl" with Rainier off in the distance

I was partially annoyed with how brutal most of the terrain in Goat Rocks was, there was a considerable amounts of layers of loose, smooth, and flat rocks that composed of the trail here.  In order to avoid slipping and falling, I moved slowly and carefully.  At the same time though, I was enjoying the views even more than I enjoyed my walk around Adams; I would not have wanted to rush through this area anyway.  Goat Rocks Wilderness continued all the way until White Pass, but most of the magnificence ceased once my giant brown bowl of sugar was out of view.  The terrain slowly became kinder to my feet but the trade off was less beauty for my eyes.  I hiked through break alpine creeklet-infested flats until they gave way to the boring kind of forest I’d come accustomed to.

I did not know what to expect at White Pass.  For whatever reason I had been imagining a small mountain town, but in reality, what awaited me at White Pass was a closed ski resort area with a gas station.  I arrived at 4:53pm.  Seven minutes before the deceivingly-named gas station, the “Cracker Barrel Store,” (which held my resupply package) should have closed.  Alas though, they closed early that day.  My phone was dead, I was completely out of food, and I instantly felt crushed.  If someone offered me a cigarette right there and then I would have taking up smoking again.  Luckily for me, after a brief search, I found an outlet on one of the sides of the building, charged my phone, texted a friend who looked up the towns that were nearest to me, and then after two hours with my thumb out, someone picked me up and dropped me off in Packwood.  I immediately set about securing three things—a hotel room, a dinner with as many fatty calories as possible, and beer.

Oddball in Oregon: Willamette Pass to Cascade Locks

Sunset near the western base of the Middle Sister

Out of Willamette Pass I was consumed by more miles of endless forest, although I found that hiking often with others made it more tolerable and more fun.  Analog and I shared many of these miles; we stopped every five or six miles and these short discussion-laden breaks at times made Oregon even somewhat comical.  

Other times we shared the time with other hikers.  Sometimes those breaks were with another thru-hiker named Hono.  Hono is a very easy-going, friendly hiker, who forgoes the luxury of carrying an iPod.  Instead of carrying music, he sings on the trail, and his songs can be both pleasant and humorous to hear.  Charlton Lake broke up the giant green canopy, offered a great place to consume copious amounts of humus and crackers, wash my socks, and meet another hiker—Calf.  Calf knew Analog from some previous miles but it was the first time I met him.  He’s a German, a veteran thru-hiker of the 2100-mile long Appalachian Trail, a great guy to hike with, in some strange way reminds me of a Santa Claus (if Santa Claus were super-fit), and since his calves are each about the size of my head, his trail name is quite fitting.  

Along with Clay, we all had the pleasure of hiking through a thunder and lightning storm towards the end of that first day out.  I removed my headphones for those last few hours and simply enjoyed the sound of the storm.  Rain soon followed and shortly after each of us were setting up our tents near Horseshoe Lake.  From our tents we ate our dinners, drank hot beverages if we had them, and conversed by shouting through our tents. Who could ask for better neighbors, weather, and a place to camp? I later learned that that lightning storm caused fires and that we managed to stay just ahead of them.

Fire damaged section near Elk Lake

Clay and Hono on
"classic" trail in Oregon

There were wonderful occasions where Oregon also offered a great deal of variety along the trail—meadows, tall forests, and numerous little hills and dales to be rounded and visited.  These days consisted often of, especially when the terrain was flat, what I like to refer to as “classic backpacking,” because both the environment and the ease were generally what an average person imagines when they think about backpacking. 

When the classics ceased they were replaced with old burnt out sections near Elk Lake.  On a cool day with scattered clouds, this burnt forest is very beautiful.  When I went through, the skies were a rich hue of blue, the spread of clouds were white, light, and fluffy; the trees were very grey and very dead, and they looked more like stone pillars or perhaps even like the columns of some great ruin; and just below all of this was the beginning of new life, saplings that would eventually bring down and claim those grey pillars for their own nourishment.

Where there were not great grey pylons or classics, there were the likes of Three Sisters and its white gold.  I was constantly turning my head to view these three great volcanic peaks.  Between Oregon’s late and heavy snow fall, and my schedule, the timing was perfect.  There was just enough snow that the beauty of the range was enhanced but there also was not quite enough to slow my feet too much.  All of us arrived at the base of the Sisters somewhat late in the day and even though we still had more miles to hike, it was a perfect place to sit in the snow and enjoy an incredible sunset before we set off to search for a relatively dry and snow-free spot of earth to camp on for the evening.

Early morning west of the North Sister and just south of Obsidian Falls

2000 Miles!

Following the Three Sisters area the trail took me through the beautiful Obsidian Falls.  I honestly did not find the waterfall very impressive but what did capture my attention were the obsidian rocks which covered the ground surrounding the trail.  These small golf-ball sized chunks were not very heavy,  were as dark as the night, and as smooth as glass.  It was the first time I’d seen and felt rocks like this.

Eventually all those wonderful little rocks, that beautiful snow, and those marvelous views of the Sisters gave way to a vengeful return of lava rocks before and after McKenzie Pass.  I hated these lava rocks.  Miles and miles of loose black lava rocks made my trekking poles absolutely worthless, ruined the soles of my boots, and twisted both of my ankles.  I did a lot of sighing around here.  When it did end, the trail took me through a large and dry burnt out area again.  Temperature makes a big difference.  Whereas I loved walking through the burnt out and cool section around Elk Lake, the intensive heat that accompanied the day through here made the absence of shade a miserable experience.

Towards the end of the day at least I found excitement when I passed the 2000-mile marker and made it to Big Lake Youth Camp.  My late-afternoon stop there was wonderful.  The camp held a resupply package for me, offered me a free shower and laundry, and allowed myself and all the other thru-hikers to partake in one of their dinners—chocolate-chip pancakes, tater-tots, fresh fruit, and ice cream.  It would seem that a menu designed by Seventh-day Adventist children is also perfect for thru-hikers.  It was also refreshing to be around so many kind and courteous people.

Great for the eyes, painful for the feet.  Lava rocks near McKenzie pass

After a nero day in Bend—Analog, Clay, Calf, and I continued through a mostly mosquito-free Oregon, it was a rather uplifting revelation once I realized it had been awhile since I was bitten by one of those little monsters.  The trail brought us through some very unique rock formations like Three Fingered Jack and then around slowly around a scenic Mount Jefferson. 

I loved Jefferson.  When Analog and I finally came upon it, the south-eastern approach was covered in a field of snow.  It was difficult to walk on, but I am a sucker for this kind of terrain and loved just being in it.  Once were upon its north side, we could see the glaciers that rest upon Jefferson.  Glaciers in Oregon; I would have never thought.  The day around Jefferson ended with a brief stop in Olallie Lake Resort.  None of us needed a resupply but who turns down beer and chips?  It was nice sitting around a picnic table with everyone and enjoying some trail suds.

North side of Mount Jefferson

Leaving Olallie Lake I enjoyed the flattest sections of trail I had ever been on, on the PCT.  The trail was so flat that I found a new opportunity to do something new to help pass the time—reading.  The first day out of Olallie I must have read a third of an entire Foreign Affairs journal.  I only stopped occasionally whenever I found Clay collecting huckleberries.  These little berries were always quite a treat and I suspect for most of the remainder of Oregon my hands and lips were chronically stained from their blue juices.  I greedily ate them by the handful.  They were not as sweet as the blackberries around Seiad Valley, but they were far easier to collect which meant I could enjoy a far greater volume.  Analog, Clay and I ended our day after Olallie Lake at Clackamas Lake. 

At Clackamas Lake we found a very large number of weekend campers and true to thru-hiker form we took advantage of this.  Clay and I walked around looking slightly more beat than we really were, looked for excuses to initiate conversation with other people, and this paid off twice.  One family gave us bananas and another group of campers invited Clay and I to eat with them by their campfire.  When Clay and I joined them, Analog had also caught up and was able to enjoy the visit with us.  At this fire we found ourselves being spoiled by a group of six young college-aged Christians.  They wanted to hear about our hike and had extra food.  We were more than happy to share some stories while eating their crackers, cheese, hot dogs, and cookies.  They also made us “banana boats” towards the end of the evening.  These were whole bananas stuffed with chocolate and marshmallows, wrapped in foil, and cooked in their campfire.  What a treat.  The kindness of others is very infectious.  All of us were feeling very beat and worn, but after visiting these folks there was no way any of us could go to sleep grumpy.

The rest of Oregon felt great.  Not only were the final days exciting by virtue of the fact that I was almost done with Oregon, the trail went through some very unique, exciting, and beautiful areas.  After Clackamas Lake I spent more time zoning out, reading while hiking, and not paying attention to much of anything until Mount Hood came into view.  Like Jefferson it has glaciers and much of the side of the mountain that faces the PCT was covered in snow.  All around the surrounding area, brilliant and bright violet lupines were in bloom and they did an excellent job complimenting this already gorgeous mountain.

Mt Hood, glaciers, and lupine

Mount Hood was also a nice place because of Timberline Lodge.  A lodge famous for skiing as well as being used for the exterior shots of the hotel in The Shining.  It is not often one sees something like this on the trail.  Getting up to the lodge was a pain for the last couple of miles though.  The trail was uphill and the soil was so soft I felt that I was walking inside of giant ashtray.  To be so close to the lodge, my resupply, beer, and fatty foods and not being able to get there quickly was somewhat cruel.  I arrived at the Wy' East store moody but I found my day instantly improved when I claimed my resupply package.  The young lady behind the counter was so happy, so cheerful, and so talkative I found myself instantly feeling almost as happy as her.  

When I found Clay and Analog, we made our way to the restaurant in Timberline Lodge where we met another thru-hiker, Redbeard.  Redbeard, like his name suggests has a red beard.  He is also a former Air Force navigator and air liaison officer.  It is amazing how many different types of personalities and backgrounds there are that become attracted to this trail and to thru-hiking in general.  The restaurant was disappointingly overpriced and none of us seemed inclined to order more than bread or soup.  I do love to eat but something about a twenty-dollar slice of meatloaf fails to excite my stomach.  At least the beer was well priced and delicious. 

Morning coffee with (left to right) Hawkeye, Clay, and Analog  at the Timberline Lodge just before the breakfast buffet

Everyone left Timberline Lodge late the following morning.   Dinner and lunch may be overpriced but Timberline definitely knows how to do a breakfast buffet.  For less than the cost of a pretentious meat loaf, one can stuff oneself silly on eggs, potatoes, beef, pork, sausages, breads, cheeses, fruit, waffles, muffins and pastries.  I would have been an idiot not to have eaten several breakfasts that morning.  The buffet did unfortunately result in me getting a late start and I paid for this later.  

Oregon’s record snowfall showed itself when I found myself having to ford a large snowmelt creek later that day.  The silt in the creek made it difficult to see how deep it was anywhere.  So, after removing my boots I found myself testing different spots up and down the creek by trial and error; while also trying desperately to hear what Clay was yelling across the loud creek.  Eventually I found a place where I could cross with relative ease.  It took me half an hour to find this place to cross.  After crossing Clay moved on, I waited until I regained warmth and feeling in my feet, and while doing so another hiker—Hawkeye—walked right across a high log crossing that both Clay and I looked at, thought was not safe, and opted not to even try.  I found myself hiking in the darkness at the end of the day and stopped when I found Hawkeye and Clay.  A flat abandoned jeep road was good enough for that evening's campsite.

Myself at Tunnel Falls, Eagle Creek Trail

Upon leaving the old jeep road camp all of us opted to leave the Pacific Crest Trail and take the Eagle Creek Trail to Cascade Locks.  It was totally worth it.  Eagle Creek brought us back into a green canopy that I would normally dislike but I couldn’t help but enjoy how incredibly green and wet it was; it was like being in a rain forest.  The Eagle Creek Trail also had a good number of very tall and visually stunning waterfalls, pools, cliffs, and deep creeks.  Tunnel falls was the most impressive of any of the falls I have seen on this hike thus far, especially because it had a thirty-foot long tunnel where the trail went behind the falls.  Eagle Creek was a great way to finish Oregon.  Once we arrived in Cascade Locks Clay and I immediately went to find ourselves some burgers.