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Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 637.4

Monday, September 9, 2019; day 51

I wake and turn within my sleeping bag. I am cold. It is hard to rise.

I sit on my wet socks to warm them. I am tempted to wear my relatively dry pair, but I know better. They would turn wet and cold the moment I put on my boots.

I plan to eat lightly today, and stop at the cabin in 10 miles.

A bird sings one simple, elongated note. It gives me comfort.

As I strap on my boots, I tell myself that being cold is not that bad. I tell myself that it makes being warm that much sweeter.

I was surprised at how emotional each glimpse of sun and blue sky made me. My gratefulness was like a sudden earthquake, shifting mountains deep within me.

To make these journeys successfully, I have to be both highly demanding and extremely nurturing towards myself. If I properly rationed, it was okay to take refuge for the night.

Mid-afternoon, I reached the cabins.

I explored them both. They were not maintained, but were still very suitable. The smaller cabin was preferable. I settled there.

There were two pieces of wood inside a metal bucket near the door.

I gathered scraps of paper and cardboard from inside the shelter, and old map and guidebook pages from my pack. I searched around for bits of sticks and wood for tinder. I placed my collection beneath the two pieces of firewood, within the wood-burning stove.

I lit the paper. I waited. I tried blowing life into the flame. I tried to create enough heat to catch the wood. I failed.

With a heightened sense of urgency, I moved about to collect more tinder. I pulled out the cardboard center from a roll of tin-foil. I ripped out the “recources” section of my guidebook, along with the back cover. I collected dry twigs from underneath the cabin. I told myself that there was absolutely no way that I should be unable to make a fire.

I poked and prodded and blew and rearranged.

Finally, the flames grew strong enough to consume the wood.

I changed out of my wet clothes and hung them fireside. I put my boots beneath the stove, and my sleeping bag on the floor beside it. I filled one of the pots on the cabin shelf with water and placed it on the stove top to boil. I wondered what I would have done if those two pieces of firewood had not been there. I have never chopped wood. I told myself I must learn how.

I stepped outside to relieve myself. A sound came from the distance. My first thought was cattle. Then I recognized two human formations approaching the cabin.

“Hi. How are you?” I asked.

“Happy to see these cabins” one replied.

I smiled. I felt awkward and antisocial. I had certainly not expected people.

I moved back inside. I shut and locked the door.

I positioned my things a bit more tidily in the corner, and peered through the peep hole.

One of them was taking a saw to a downed tree. It seemed they intended to build a fire in the other cabin.

Them going about their own business put me at ease. This allowed me to realize that warmth must be shared with all that are cold. I unlatched the door and stepped outside once more.

I initiated conversation and invited them in.

Doug and Devin were an uncle and nephew pair out for a few nights of backcountry bonding.

They were extremely kind, and were just as surprised to find me alone in the wilderness as I was to see them. They were the first hikers I had met on trail since Montana.

We all picked our wooden platforms for sleeping, and got comfortable.

I told them the story of my wet sleeping bag, and how I considered turning around; of how I still have 100 miles before I reached a point of resupply.

Devin gifted me his dry sack, Doug gave me a ration of food.

I was so grateful; not only for their amazing gifts–but for the warm conversation and genuine kindness, for kindred human company.

The cabin heated quickly. The fire crackled through the night. I fell to sleep safe and warm within a dry bag, a smile upon my face.

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Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 575

Wednesday, September 4, 2019; day 46

I woke to the soft humm of kitchen electronics.

I heated some water for my instant coffee.

I packed up, quickly left a note of thanks on the bulletin board, and was back on the road by 0730.

I turned on to Swanson Mill Road. The cows abounded.

I did not not feel like using my trekking poles. I tied my bandana above my left knee.

I walked an alternate along Mount Hull Road and reconnected with the PNT at Sullivan Lake Road.

Soon after, I joined Trail 100. The trail was maintained by backcountry horsemen.

Along the trail, I missed a fallen sign post and continued in the wrong direction.

I found my way back and joined the Whistler Canyon Trail.

The climb out of the canyon was rewarded with wonderful views.

I came around a bend, and was shown the little town of Oroville.

I wanted to camp as close to town as possible.

I found a flat spot with a bench .7 of a mile from US Highway 97.

Little cacti stick to my pack.

As the sun sets it becomes shady and beautiful.

I watch as the little buildings and houses light up below.

I feel like a silent watcher, viewing the town secretly from above.

The stars and moon greet me as I lay on the exposed rock, beneath their light, high above town.

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Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 530.2

Monday, September 2, 2019; day 44

I surfaced to consciousness with the lightening sky. So peaceful.

I turn to my side within my down cocoon and watch as the sun lifts and expands its radiant light.

I packed up quickly. I was still interested in visiting the Bonaparte Lake Resort, 15 miles away. I had read that they offer free showers to hikers.

I was glad I had stopped a bit short and slept within the woods. It coos my drive and motivation…unlike paved roads; like those I was about to hike along.

I began the descent towards Cougar Creek Road.

An owl soars within my line of path. Graceful in its heavy silence, it lands on a branch ahead.

I joined the road, and as expected, cut through private property.

I could see a group of people gathered in chairs around a fire. There were beautiful tapestries of cool colors and moonscapes.

One person who was seated, turned and looked my way.

“Hello” I say. “Sorry, I think the trail goes through here…”

“It does”, replied a woman standing beside the tapestries and make-shift kitchen.

The woman introduced herself as Lynn, and offered me a hot cup of coffee.

I never refuse a cup of coffee.

I removed my pack and sipped the hot beverage and chatted with Lynn and Jay and their loved ones. They had purchased the property a while back, and they were slowly moving in. I asked her how she felt about the trail running through their yard. She said that she did not mind the hikers, that it was the hunters that left trash.

I left the encounter smiling.

I continued along the roads.

The air is dry. Locusts cause crackling sounds in the brush. Sweat drips off my body. I dream of a shower.

I move along the pavement, a wavy being wading through heat induced delirium.

I turn on to Bunch Road, greeted by cattle and blinding white gravel.

I close my eyes and lilt as I walk.

Eventually I joined a forest service road. The road was slightly overgrown, which made for a pleasantly cushy, shaded hike.

I soon hit the asphalt of Bonaparte Lake Road and headed to the resort.

I bought a 35 cent bar of soap, and was told where I could find the shower.

A very social guest of the resort spotted my pack and told me that there was someone travelling by bike out on the patio. “Why don’t you go say “hi”, she encouraged.

I instantly knew it was the bike-packer I had seen earlier.

I went to the patio and introduced myself to Asa.

We chatted for a long while around a table on the deck of the restaurant, then we returned to his camp site and chatted some more. We spoke of our journeys (he had started in DC and was also travelling to the coast), and how one seems to enter the travelling community when they pursue these adventures more than once.

We relayed fresh stories of adventure as I let my external battery pack charge in the nearby public restroom.

We spoke of the mantras we repeat to ourselves, and how the locals have been friendlier to him since he started wearing a camo hat.

Asa paused in conversation and looked to the surface of the picnic bench where we sat. “We have certainly covered this table, haven’t we!?” We both looked at the bottles and plastic baggies and maps and sleeping pads that sat in disheveled display. We both began laughing hysterically. My eyes began to water and my belly ached. It was the hardest I had laughed in some time.

I decided to accept his offer to stay at his site. I star-camped, gazing at the night sky and listening to the beautifully haunting call of loons on the lake.

It was the first night I had spent on trail in the intentional company of another.

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Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 515.5*

Sunday, September 1, 2019; day 43

I rose at 0600; began hiking at 0730.

I would stop back in to Republic today. With such a slow start en route to Oroville, my food stock would not comfortably carry me the remaining 77 miles.

I feel a bit silly, as I spent so much time there a few days ago, but it seems to me the smartest option. The hitch is close, and I know what they have.

As I walk, I hear the sound of a chainsaw . A figure in the distance plays catch with a lab. Two young men stand beside a pick-up truck.; two more are on the hillside with a saw.

I moved towards the truck and addressed one of them curiously “Are you cutting downed trees for fire wood?”

I could feel his friend staring at my legs. Most likely the dirt…and the hair so long it lays flat against the skin.

“Yeah, and sometimes we cut down dead ones, like that one.” he said, pointing.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

He shrugs. “We grew up doing it.”

I smile. I respond when they ask my story. I continue to walk.

Oh, my life seems it has been filled with so much road, and only hints of trail!

Cows and calves run down the road ahead of me. It saddens me, how much a domesticated creature fears humans.

I reached Highway 20, just before the Sweat Creek Traihead.

I stuck out my thumb. Soon a truck stopped for me and I was storefront in Republic.

I notice a bike leaning near the front entrance of Anderson’s Grocery. It had a Therm-a-Rest mattress strapped above its rear tire, and two bright orange saddle bags on either side. It was exciting to see signs of other travellers.

I moved in and out of the grocery store quickly. I sat storefront and made peanut-butter/raisin/tortilla rolls.

I did not feel judged. Most people smiled as they passed. Some people engaged me.

As I moved towards the eastbound entrance to highway 20, I saw the bike-packer. So swiftly and fluidly he rolled on to the freeway entrance. I thought to call out “where ya headed?!” but my voice would have been lost in the space between us. I watched him glide away, admiring his ability to move in and out of towns so quickly, so independently. I found myself slightly disappointed that I had barely missed an opportunity to connect.

I picked my post and stuck out my thumb. Only 5 minutes or so had passed before a man I had chatted with earlier that day drove up. He was on a return trip to his campsite after a town run. I smiled widely when I recognized him. I hopped in the back of the pick up truck. Oh, how I adore sitting in the open truck bed of a pick-up, wind pushing against my existence in recognition of my reality, the scenery whizzing by!

I saw the bike-packer. He was focused, struggling to make it up the hill. Now I was the one moving so swiftly. I gave him a wide-arching wave as we passed.

Three hours in and out of town, and I was back to where Highway 20 meets the Sweat Creek Trailhead.

It was very hot.

I joined the trail. It began with a steep climb.

Sweat drips from my forehead. The wind blows. I am enveloped in a sweet sensation, and I smile.

I continue.

The climb grows steeper. Suddenly a motocross bike zooms down. We nearly collide.

I stand beside the trail, waiting to let all pass.

The third rider was surprised by my presence. He –very slowly– ran his bike in to a tree. It was not enough to cause injury. We both saw it coming as he wobbled on his machine in slow motion. It did jar him off his seat a little, clearly causing some embarrassment. “I’m sorry” he said as he stabled his body and bike.

“No. Don’t be. You certainly did not expect anyone to be standing here.” I then apologized, for startling him.

As we both stood there, the last rider appeared. We all chatted briefly and then went our way.

The hike was hot and dry; all golden grasses and clear skies and beauty.

I collected from a spring and ventured forth.

The sun was soon to set. In just a few miles, the PNT would connect to Cougar Creek Road. I had read that shortly after joining the road, the trail travels through private property. There would likely not be any place to camp.

I found a lovely little flat space just before the descent. I spread out my tarp and sleeping mat to lay beneath the stars.

* NOTE: Mileage on the Guthook Application and in the PNT Guidebook no longer match the PNTA Mapset. For continuity, I will continue to refer to the mileage listed on Guthook and the guidebook. The difference is roughly 5 miles (PNTA Mapset mileage for this post is ~521)

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Pacific Northwest Trail; mile 464.1

Wenesday, August 28, 2019; day 39

I was drowsy in the morning. I had difficulty falling asleep the previous night, and had taken Benadryl very late. It had not yet worn off. After an hour more of shut-eye, I joined Carrie and Dave over a fresh cup of coffee…or three.

I hugged them both and we had our final goodbye. I was so thankful to have had this experience in Republic. To have met them. To have been taken under Carrie’s wing.

Before I left, I was presented with an amazing gift. Not only did Carrie hold a gold metal for having been the strongest woman in the world, she was a poet. She signed and handed me a copy of her book.

I thanked her once more, and headed out, pack on my back.

I spent time at the library, then the co-op. Oh, how I adore small town co-ops with fresh coffee and public seating.

I had a spunky, heated conversation with a man in his mid-70s.

He mentioned how people were not truly happy these days, even though they think they are. He said that people were not activating their bodies. I told him that I wished to inspire people to discover what makes them happy. To help people feel more comfortable being themselves. Even if they don’t really care about what I think, or how I write…they will see that I am vulnerable. In my life, meeting people who expressed themselves freely, unabashedly, without guilt or shame, has changed how I engage with the world.

He asked how I funded my journey. I mentioned my writing, and donations. He told me times were tough.

He got up to leave. We both expressed our appreciation for the chat. A moment later he walked back and handed me a $10 bill, with the words “for your journey”. Then, he was gone. He left me feeling like he believed in my spirit, and what I had to say.

Next, I was headed to the post-office to ship home Carrie’s book of poetry. There was no way I could manage the additional weight.

As I was leaving, I encountered Steve and Sarah. They were fans of the thru-hiking movement and had read many published books written by hikers. They were eager to help. They offered me a ride back to the trail later that day. I told them that I had some things to finish up at the library, and asked if 6 or 7 o’clock would be too late. They said that would be fine, and wrote down their number.

At 6:50, I called them up. Fifteen minutes later they were curbside.

I loaded my pack in to the trunk of their Tesla. I motioned to enter the backseat, when Steve said, “No, you get to sit in front.” Wow! I felt so special! …and I truly got to see what their vehicle could do. I had never found myself in a Tesla before. Sarah was in the driver’s seat. As I sat down beside her, she offered me a chocolate. I smiled, prepared to decline “Oh, thank you. But I’m vegan.”

“So are we.” She responded.

“Oh. Wow!” I enjoyed the cacao truffle. Then she presented me with a bag of dehydrated bananas to take on the trail! How deliciously kind!

By 0730, I was back on trail.

I continued hiking in to the darkness.

I smiled as the stars grew stronger in their brilliance. Then I spotted a bright light in the distance. It was too low to be as star. I covered my head lamp to see if it was reflective. No. I watch it. It moves. Like a human.

I realize that this is the first time I have been uneasy at the thought of encountering another human on trail at night. I am all but certain that there is not a PNT hiker within 100 miles of me. I stop and listen. I hear cars. I continue. I look for the light. I do not see it again.

I came to a spring. It was flowing, but only a tiny stream.

I continued toward Snow Peak Cabin. Steve and Sarah had mentioned that they had stayed in that cabin once before. They said it was nice, that it even had fire place, and a cooking stove.

The cabin was unlocked, and very spacious.

I made myself comfortable inside. I ate some delicious bananas. I fell fast asleep on the wooden floor.

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Pacific Northwest Trail (alternate); ~mile 317

Thursday, August 15, 2019; day 26

I woke lakeside to the splish-splashing of creatures of the lake. Or maybe it was just the waves from boats. Upper priest lake was accessible by boat.

Laughter filled my tent.

Every moment of every day feels so rich, so raw, so blessed.

I enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of huckleberry sweetened oatmeal. I thought of Ruth and Daryl, of their kindness. Every day life becomes sweeter.

My legs ache. The bruises too, are becoming richer. The bushwhack took more of a toll on my body than I had realized, but it has also set my heart aflame. Each moment of happiness is only rivaled by the next.

Idaho, you have been one of my greatest teachers!

I packed up and sat at the nearby picnic bench to review the maps for the day.

I intended on taking the recommended Jackson Creek/Sullivan Lake alternate in to Metaline Falls. The primary was not recommended by the PNTA and required “extensive bushwhacking” along Leola Creek Road. Though I found my bushwhacking experience to be very rewarding, and the epitome of “type 2 fun”, I thought I would follow the PNTAs recommendation.

The Upper Priest Lake Trail was well maintained. The trees old, and bursting with wisdom.

At around noon I turned south on Upper Priest Road to begin the alternate.

When I could no longer stand the pain in my shoulders, I stopped for a quick break and ate lunch. The heat was tempered by a cool summer breeze. The breeze also helped with the bugs.

I turned to follow old forest service roads.

The tall grasses danced and swayed, little alveoli of the earth.

“How beautiful” I spoke aloud to Jackson Creek, to the old-growth cedars, the luscious ferns.

I stopped for water and rest and to enjoy it all. This was a place of magic.

A silk worm wriggled and danced, suspended in sunlight. What moves!

I watched, entranced, as the sun reflected off of the rippling creek, casting faint waves of illumination on the underside of the pines overhead

I was enamored. The mountain tops, the boulders and scree and crests and ridges– they are exhilarating. They excite and engage. The wooded forest floors, however, are filled with soul-soothing wisdom, nourishment and light; a place for rest and creation.

Jackson Creek Trail # 311 began it’s ascent. The climb began gently, allowing for huckleberry grazing.

There were some blow downs, but nothing like I had experienced on the Parker Ridge Trail. At one point I gasped in surprise as my leg sunk up to my calf in mud.

Then, I was in Washington!

In a sing-song voice I called aloud “hello Washington! Farewell, Idaho! And thank you!”

Huckleberries abounded. My fingers were soon stained a purplish hue.

I joined the unmarked Shedroof Divide trail and began the climb along the northeast face of Helmer Mountain.

Amongst the hauntingly beautiful burn region, I was feeling rushed as night was falling.

Then I saw her, rising from the east, pregnant with an orange glow. “Oh, how I have missed wandering the woods beneath your light!”

With newfound energy, I pushed forward.

I came to a tent-site and laid out my ground-tarp and unfolded my mat.

I will sleep beneath the stars tonight, surrounded by magnificent pines and high-reaching crests, 6,257 feet above the sea.

Oh, Washington! I have always loved you!