bushwhack – Trailing Gaia

September 25, 2019October 5, 2019

Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 818.7

Tuesday, september 24, 2019; day 65

The morning is less foggy than yesterday. It rained through the night. Though part of me is tempted to continue back to the visitors center for maps and an alternate route, I must see for myself if Swift Creek is still impassable. If I can make it across it should be flat terrain, and smooth sailing to Concrete

….Otherwise, I may be facing a lot of road walking.

I made my way back to the creek. I attempted to ford upstream, again I was forced to turn back. I scrambled up and down the banks. I stood on large boulders and surveyed the creek, looking for any place free of the white froth that appeared when the water crashed against the stones at high speed.

On my second attempt of the day, I made it across. As I neared the opposing bank my heart filled with glee, I knew I would make it. As I hit Earth, I brimmed with emotion. But it was not over yet. I still had to bushwhack 1/2 a mile back to the trail.I pushed my way through brush and climbed my way up the tremendously steep dirt embankments, my body hugging the earth, clinging desperately as I struggled upward.

As I descended, I slipped. My body was quick to react. I hooked my leg around the limb of a tree to stop my fall. I dug my heels into the earth and grabbed at every sturdy root and limb I could manage, as I slowly lowered myself to the creek.

I followed creekside as much as I could. When there where no stones and boulders to scramble along, I tried lowering myself in to the water. This time, the water level reached my chest. I moved inland, until there was no choice but to travel directly alongside the stream. Luckily, there was a steady path of stones.

Soon, I hit trail. I had made it.

I cried, I laughed, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of being truly alive; with the rush of engaging so rawly with nature; with the power of my own vulnerability and strength.

I could not relax fully, just yet. There was one more crossing of the creek. This time, there should be a fallen tree and rope to assist me. There are never any certainties, however.

To my relief there was a fallen tree. I crossed. I turned to gaze at the creek.

“Bye-bye Swift Creek!” I called out.

I carried on, dripping wet and light as a feather.

I joined the forest service road. The sun broke through the clouds. I removed my rain gear so that my wool garments may dry.

I sat in the middle of the decommissioned road, sun in my eyes, filled with joy and accomplishment and perseverance and laughter. I called out in thanks. I enjoyed a meal of cold soaked beans and rice.

This was living.

The walks that have followed the most challenging of bushwhacks, have been the best of my physical existence.

I joined Baker Lake Road.

I gazed at my feet. My shoes were literally falling apart. They did not need to last much longer.The beauty of a leaf stops me in my tracks.

I joined Baker Lake Trail, and crossed the Baker River Bridge.

I came to Noisy Creek Camp, and settled in for the night.

I had made it.

August 29, 2019September 6, 2019

Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 474.1

Thursday, August 29, 2019; day 40

I rose late on the cabin floor. Shielded from the sun, my body did not recieve its usual call to rise.

There would be bushwhacking today, just after Edds Mountain. I have chosen to do the alternate. It is about 2 miles longer and includes a bit of roadwalking, but it should provide nice views from Edds Mountain and an easier, much shorter bushwhack.

I consider water. I am utilizing the Guthook app as a water report. Hikers update the app with comments of the strength, location and quality of a water source. There are rarely any updates for this region, dating after August. Water is becoming scarce. Many of the springs are no longer dependable.

I collect water from the same spring as last night. I position the pipe to my liking, to get the fastest and cleanest flow. I fill up and drink up. Who knows what the bushwhack will bring.

The early morning was hot, but the day cooled quickly.

I diverted from the Edds Mountain trail and bushwhacked south in search of an old forest road. I hugged the line of new growth pines to the east. The bushwhack was fairly easy.

I located the first old road, and followed it for a short while.

Then, after a slight bit of confusion, I realized that I needed to continue (a very minimal amount of) bushwhacking, to locate the second.

The second road crossed a stream. I collected and rested for a bit. It was just a couple more miles along this road before I would reconnect with the PNT, on Hall Creek Road.

With the easy grade and obstacle free terrain, I was able to gaze upward as I walked.

I joined Hall Creek Road, then Thirteen Mile Trail # 23. The tread was easy to follow, but there were many switch-backs and changes in elevation that are not on the map, causing the mileage to be off. This made the trail more challenging than it appeared.

I hoped to make it to another water source before setting up camp. Bearpot Campground and Pond was not far (~4 miles, according to the map) but the idea of pond water did not thrill me. I was far more interested in the stream said to be located where Thirteen Mile Trail, and Thirteen Mile Road intersect. This was roughly another five miles after Bearpot Campground.

I pushed forward. I still had a liter of water. I was not terribly concerned.

As night fell, I grew tired.

I found a a flat spot just to the side of the trail. I laid out my gear, and star-camped, still about two miles shy of Bearpot Campground.

August 13, 2019August 27, 2019

Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 279.5

Tuesday, August 13, 2019; day 24

I wake to clear skies, the sun rising an orange hue to the east.

This morning will mark the start of the bushwhack.

I am full of so many nerves, excitement and fear: I feel alive.

Though it has put me even further behind, I am glad I waited for the storm to pass. The day was beautiful.

I scrambled up to the crest between Pyramid Peak and Lion’s Head and followed it south.

The views were incredible, exhilerating.

I located the small cairn that marks the western descent.

The path was fairly clear at first, as everyone started there. It quickly disappeared.

I set a west bearing on my compass, veering towards the south, should I have to veer.

I checked my compass constantly. The descent was steep, but not uncomfortable.

I came to a stream, it continued west as well. At times I was practically walking in it.

I would stop suddenly to find myself entangled in brush and pine taller than I was. I fought my way uphill towards shorter brush with more give.

On three occasions, I found bits of old trail to follow. Each time, thrilling. Each time, short-lived.

I began to check myself against my GPS, against the theoretical track-lines that did not exist. I moved southwest, then northwest, then due west, and every combination thereof.

I took a step to nearly fall forward due to a sudden drop in forest floor.

I wove back and forth across the creek, eventually not bothering to try to keep dry, sometimes fording up to my knees.