Back to the trail on Thursday August 24th, albeit not really a day off trail as I wrapped up walking back to Santiam Pass Oregon the previous afternoon. But, since I had to do some laundry, re-load food, and then drive the 3+ hours from Bend, it wasn’t an early start. We were back at Thunder Island Brewing for dinner and a beverage six days after we walked in to Cascade Locks for PCT Trail days, a little surreal having driven south yet again to knock out another 50 miles stretch in Central Oregon!
It was also back to fully solo for the next 8 days, covering 150 miles from the banks of the Columbia River and back to White Pass where I did that 100 mile segment north to Snoqualmie about a month ago. Yes, this thing really is a Walkabout and I’ll have to find some visual way to tell that story when the season is done… It was unseasonably warm though that late summer evening as we had dinner, looking over the Columbia. Afterwards we had our latest tearful farewell, Ashley walking over the fabled Bridge of the Gods with me, wearing her pack to feel it (and she clearly earned it having walked the 140 miles south of there the previous week.) She walked me to the trailhead on the Washington side and then sauntered back across the bridge and drove back home to spend some time with Aspen and Whitney too, just getting started with her freshman year at Issaquah High School. I toughed it out for some 3 miles up the trail, camping at one of the first available spots in last light, a rather dingy campsite under trees and 10 feet off the trail, still within earshot of the rumbling trains moving freight along the Columbia River!
The next two days were yet another unique section of trail, rising over 3,000 feet from near sea level and then nearly all the way back down again. I spent my third night at the Panther Creek campground some 35 trail miles into this section but at a mere 900 feet of elevation. Outside of this stretch around the Columbia Gorge there is only a single place along the whole 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada that drops below 2,500 feet: in Northern California at Seied Valley in the Klamath basin. Getting to Panther Creek was one of those moments of sheer exasperation, as it was a Saturday night in August and the campground was full, as were the trail-side camps. I decided to make dinner before finding a place to sleep at last light by the creek and then wandered around in the dark, finally finding a flatish site by a bridge.
I didn’t wake up early and since I was at a junction between the PCT and the short river stroll from the (very full) campground there was lots of foot traffic while I was slow getting going. This was one of those low moments where I wasn’t feeling it, perhaps no coincidence that this was my lowest camp (by elevation) over the entire journey (if I exclude Cascade Locks since I spent the nights there in a hotel). So also fitting that this day was an immediate 3,000 foot climb from the creek on another unseasonably hot day. It was a total of over 5,000 feet of gross elevation gain, covering a relatively modest (at this point in a thru hike) 16 miles but did have the first closer views of the south side of Mt. Adams. I spend the night in a campground again (aptly called Crest Camp), this one sparsely visited and with a picnic table. I shared with another PCT hiker (Glamour Puss) I’d met at a watering hole earlier in the day. I was feeling much better by the time I laid my head down and felt ready for the next 80 miles into the Goat Rocks.
The next day was truly a special one, including a couple side quests of significance to me, and ended up adding a 0.2 to be my new longest day on the trail so far: 26.5 miles. I’d long had on my list to spend some time in the Indian Heaven Wilderness, a unique and special place in Washington that I’d known about for decades but just hadn’t made separate plans to visit. There is a beautiful meadow a little less than a mile off the PCT known as the Indian Racetrack. A gathering place of humans since time immemorial, local tribes from both sides of the mountains gathering, often this time of year after the mosquitos had cooled a bit but the berries and game were plentiful here at ~4,000 feet elevation. A place for storytelling, trading and after the introduction of horses in the 16th century, vigorous horse racing that left a groove in the meadow. I had the whole meadow to myself and lingered for an hour, sitting cross legged near a pond. Among the chirping birds with the sun’s rays on my face, I imagined the human history across cultures in this special place. After continuing on, I enjoyed an easy pace winding higher into an alpine forest and then gathering water at Blue Lake and sitting for a late lunch by Bear Lake, two beauties lightly visited this late August Monday. My second side quest was up to the summit of Sawtooth Mountain, a 5,300 foot peak with a steep boot path off the side trail and a little class three scramble to the top. Another place I knew little of, despite my fascination with the Cascadia volcanic activity. This was an eroded Shield Volcano, topped by a spatter cone and had fabulous views of Mt. Adams from south, and then back towards Mt. St. Helens the other way. I lingered here for a good chunk of the early evening, also noting the clouds building towards Helens, a sign of the changing weather that was to mark the decisive end of the mountain summer the next day, even with some days still to go in August! I had 16 miles in for the day at this point, but went ahead and pushed another 10 to set that new trail daily record for me, the last couple hours after dark. I had dinner (in a ditch) before dark so I could just set camp and go straight to bed when I was done for the day. I had a unique experience after dark, as there was a wild explosion of big frogs (or toads) just north of the unfortunately named ‘Mosquito Creek’ (which did not live up to it’s name). I actually had a hard time not stepping on the amphibians as they were everywhere on and off the trail! I finally landed around 10pm at my campsite, right on the shore of Steamboat Lake and was asleep within minutes…
The next morning I woke to the forecast weather change. No rain yet, but misty and damp with some gusts off the lake. I made breakfast from inside the tent and then got myself a classic moment that was infuriating in the moment, but rather funny now. I’m ultra-cautious not to spill food or drink when I choose to have meals in the tent when the weather suggests I do so. I had just poured hot water in my oatmeal and carefully set it down on the tent floor to close the door when a huge gust hit during that perfect 5 second window of time. After standing all night and through the early morning, this gust yanked the two windward stakes out of the ground, which immediately caused one side to collapse (the nature of the very light 1lb, hiking-pole-supported tent). That pole holding the tent up hit me in the face and then sent the oatmeal flying across the floor of my tent. Not only had my worst tent-nightmare happened, but there was no way to keep the tent up when there was even the slightest wisp of a breeze, and I had to stare at the spilled oatmeal, seeping into the tent floor and across the top of my sleeping bag…. After what seemed like an eternity (maybe 3 minutes), the wind finally stopped enough for me to reset the states. Luckily I bring a handful of precious paper towels for just this sort of thing. It all turned out OK, but WOW was I unhappy in that moment… Also on the other side of the luck coin, I was just 8 trail miles from the road and a ride to Trout Lake, one of the more legendary trail towns along the whole PCT.
I got to the road around noon and evaluated a hitch vs. the ‘shuttle’ that arrives 3 times a day conducted by generous Trail Angels from the town. A guy I’d been hiking around this section, with the same official permit start date as me (March 28th) and also hiking around the Year of 50 and going by Method Man on the trail shared a ride into town. We ended up trail leapfrogging for about a week and I really enjoyed his company and story sharing. He lives in Greensboro, SC and has been in the US from some 30 years, but grew up in Southern Germany and had a very similar accent and mannerism to one of my favorite bosses (during my T-Mobile era) who is a good friend today. We decided to go for the hitch and had yet another memorable ride in the back of a wheezing sedan driven by an enthusiastic nomadic character, on his way to a ceremony (I believe Native American) near the Columbia. He’d grown up in Washington, lived many places in the US and was back living in the Int’l District in Seattle. He’d taken an unintended Google-Maps-led shortcut via dirt roads through the mountains, and enjoyed heading through Trout Lake, where he’d last been some 30 years earlier. I found this little town to be a total gem, as advertised. Despite having road-tripped to nearly every corner and pocket of my home state over the last half century, Trout Lake was a place I’d never once been to. It was a fabulous pocket of beauty, a flat plain just a few mile south of hulking Mt. Adams, a similar elevation as Cle Elum to the north along I-90 but a completely different feel. The local store there had a whole section for PCT hikers, making some healthy margins on backpacker meals, hydration packets, GU’s, instant oatmeal protein bars, and via coffees, all individually priced. Helpful so I could remember paying $1.85 for a single via, $2.60 for a GU 1 oz energy packet, and $2.80 for one packet of instant oatmeal (about half a morning meal for me). The day we arrived also turned out to be the final day of another PCT institution (per FarOut), a Taco Truck that was going out of business. Locals with their families packed the picnic tables in front of the truck and the owner/operator was both a bit overwhelmed and happy with the support. I chatted briefly with him when I ordered my huge wet burrito, and it sounds like he really enjoyed operating the truck and did fine business in the summer, but just couldn’t make it sustainable through the slower winter months. The store offered free camping in their back lot, but I decided to splurge and walk a mile to an AirBnB in a historic building that had once been a slaughterhouse, and then later a small museum of the region’s historic farming past. It was perfect as a midpoint break for this 160 mile leg, and I thoroughly enjoyed the warm shower, some sink laundry, and a TOASTER where I had half the sleeve of 6 bagels I picked up from the store…
I continued after just one night there, taking the shuttle back to the trail and appreciating I’d have to hike through the coming first autumn storm in order to make the Goat Rocks by my birthday. I made it 12 miles up the trail onto the flank of Mt. Adams and it was a solid 30 degrees cooler than 2 days earlier, and I figured I’d be waking to cold, wet rain on the tent. I had a beautiful spot to camp, importantly on lava sands that drained quickly. As forecast, the rain came and I woke to the sound of loud drops on the tent wall. A full test of how to manage keeping the important gear dry had finally arrived. I had a couple small dry bags for my electronics and journal and for toiletries. My food bag was not waterproof, but everything that needed to stay dry was in ziplocks. Then my sleeping bag, clothes bag, and down jacket all fit in a small plastic garbage bag I added to the kit for this phase. My backpack was neither waterproof nor entirely porous, so it was worthwhile to stack all my gear for the pack on my chair, cover with my sleeping mat while I finished disassembling the tent. That sopping wet mess went in the bottom of my pack, but I could certainly feel it weighed more like 3 lbs vs. 1 lb with all that water. I had a difficult crossing right out of the gate, Adams Creek which drains a large glacier of the mountain. The active rain just added to the mess and I had a couple slippery logs to cross the raging silt-laden creek. It was a bad-idea-to-fall-but-you-won’t-die crossing. I made it through this small obstacle and then the balance of the day was more of the slow torment than the splash and get wet falling in a creek. I covered 25 miles on that last day of August, over about 12 hours and the rain let up for maybe an hour. Of course it was still cold and damp so there was zero chance to dry out gear, especially the tent. So the thing I’d managed to avoid the whole hike finally came to be: Setting up a soaking wet tent from the night before, in the pouring rain. And right at dusk. It was a miserable set up with my tent floor soaked and only my sleeping mat providing me some imaginary insulation. My sleeping bag had stayed dry in the trash bag and it kept me warm enough, along with my fleece and down jacket. The warm dinner and a cup of coffee, fired up just outside the tent door was a huge morale boost, as was using some of my precious phone battery to watch a couple episodes of the Netflix show Quarterback that I’d downloaded offline.
I woke the next morning to yet more rain to open September. I hoped to wait it out since the forecast read improvement, but by 11am, I had to get going. So on went my soaking wet rain gear, sopping socks, and filthy shoes. My tent weighing 3X it’s standard still went back in my pack again and it was off into the mist. But during all this misery, I had kept a vivid image of the first moment the sun would shine and how it would be more glorious than any other ray of sunshine in my life thus far. It came half true that afternoon as some rays of sun poked through the clouds as I neared Cispus Pass and the gateway to the high portion of the Goat Rocks Wilderness. It was still chilly, and there was a stiff breeze, but it was dry enough to go for a full yard sale, laying out all my gear and especially that sopping wet tent to give everything an hour to dry, chatting with fellow hikers while I hung out and ate my lunch not in the rain! Any PCT thru hikers (and there were perhaps 8 during my hour break) had the misery loves company spirit and we shared the details of the unpleasant past 36 hours.
But this moment also marked the emotional culmination of my decade’s dream, as I headed in on foot to the Goat Rocks and wound my way up towards Snowgrass Flats, a place I’d frequented so often over the past 20 years, but never approached from this direction. I hung out quietly at the junction with the PCT with beautiful low angle sunlight now shining. To make it even more specialty, I confirmed via my Garmin that Whitney and Ashley were on track to meet me by the shores of Goat Lake this evening and we converged, arriving just 15 minutes apart right at dusk. So amazing, leaving Ashley 8 days earlier on the banks of the Columbia River and now getting our northern Oregon band back together! I’m going to write a separate post around the events of turning 50. But what a special time, spending the 2nd of September wandering around Goat Lake, climbing the ridge above the lake and Hawkeye point. Then my actual 50th on September 3, 2023, scaling the local high point Old Snowy, completely socked in but still beautiful. Then we walked 11 of the 17 miles out towards White Pass along the fabled Knife’s Edge with peek-a-boo views of Mt. Rainier poking through the clouds, generally the first vistas for NoBo thru hikers, and ever stunning even when you are used to the mountain! We had a stormy night above Shoe Lake and then walked out at White Pass on Labor Day, September 4th. Ashley had stashed one car here a week ago and we drove around to get the other one at the Goat Lake/Snowgrass Flats trailhead before having lunch in Packwood and then an incredible BBQ at my parents house to celebrate 50 + 1 day for me!