Posted on

Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 459.7

Sunday, August 25, 2019; day 36

What a glorious nights rest! …Oh, the stars, the crescent moon! Such a clear, cool night with the slightest hint of breeze.

The sun kisses me good-morning; then is overtaken–hidden behind a blanket of grey.

It becomes so cold. I must put on my long wool stockings and balaclava to slip out of my down cocoon comfortably.

To Sherman Pass!

The wind howls. A lone wolf through the clouds. Haunting, beautiful, chilling. It plays my nerves like a violin.

I continue along the Kettle Crest Trail.

At times I have to will myself to continue. Oh, the struggle, the push. I realize that the feeling of freedom, however defined by an individual, never comes without sacrifice.

The sky clears.

I discover huckleberries along the ascent towards Copper Butte. Oh, thank you! I move slowly, eating my fill.

I break up a gathering of grazing cows. I am positioned between one and the group. It “moos” deeply, angrily, desperately. I continue, side stepping the plethora of cow patties at their various stages of decomposition.

I no longer find the cows amusing.

The trail, however, was clear and fantastically beautiful.

I came to a piped spring and trough. It was fenced to keep the cows out.

I took a short break by the spring and continued.

I made it to parking lot of Sherman’s Pass. I got a visual of Route 20, and where I would hitch from. I then walked back to the trail head in search of a flat spot to camp. I found a small space that would suffice. I spread out my tarp and mat.  I would hitch in to the tiny town of Republic, first thing in the morning.

Posted on

Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 420.2

Friday, August 23, 2019; day 34

I rose so cozy and dry!

I turned to the rhythmic sound of weight-in-motion. I smiled gleefully as I watched two of the neighborhood cows partake in their morning stroll, in a single file line, right down the center of Forest Service Road 15.

One spotted me, spotting them, and they gave a little jump.

My leg is much better this morning. I am beginning to think it was certainly a reaction to some poison.

I thank the space for amazing rest. I Express my love and gratitude. I turn to leave. The nozzle on my bladder hose pops off, releasing a steady stream of water on the forest floor, and the rear of my shorts. I awkwardly move to catch it like a dog after its tail. I hold it upright to stop the flow as I reach down for the mouthpiece, I reattach and resecure. I wonder how much I lost. There is a creek in 10 miles. I cannot be bothered to fetch more. I have a liter in a bottle. This is not the first time this has happened.

I walk. I think.

Though I understand there are no certainties. Can there not be certainties of intention? Amongst humans, in my experience, it is not uncommon for someone to say something they do not fully mean. Completion is never a certainty. I believe intention can be strong and unwavering.

I take comfort in those in my life with intention that is both full and pure hearted, and as strong in fruition as their zest for life. Thank you.

These woods are beautiful. The sky is hazy.

I discover the source of that giant whimsical seed that soars through the air, a magical prelude to life.

It began to rain, ever so faint and gently.

Then larger drops with greater speed, hitting the ground hard enough to imbue a fragrance.

I move quickly to fetch water from a creek beyond a bridge marked “Private”.

Two deer cross paved 395 at the same time as me. They are just south of me. We match each others pace, all three of us pausing briefly in the street. I call out for them to move along. The roads are dangerous. I continue.

I found a flat space roadside, by the North Fork of Little Boulder Creek.

I set up my tent and crawled inside for the night.