Endgame

After taking a much needed zero, plus two half-days, off in Stehekin, I was definitely ready to hit the trail and finish strong.  I generally manage to pull off an all-out sprint across the finish line when I race, and it felt good to have that same sort of motivation going into the last stretch of the PCT.  Daybreaker and I got a fairly late start (2pm) after Judy dropped us off at High Bridge, but we were determined to make it 20 miles to Rainy Pass.  It would require a bit of night hiking, but the weather was good and it would set us up well for the rest of the trip.  We made great progress until nightfall - after which we had to slow down due to low lighting and confusing trail junctions.  The place was criss-crossed with trail junctions that were difficult to identify in the dark - fortunately we managed to catch our one wrong turn before going too far off course.  Once we got back to the trail, it wasn't long until I got my last bee sting of the trail.  We paused too close to what I can only assume was a grumpy, caffeine-riddled bee that should've been asleep - and it went right for my ankle :(  After much cursing, and remembering to grab my dropped trekking poles before running away, we finally made it to Rainy Pass around 10pm.

The weather had held off until then, but Rainy Pass lived up to its name.  At least we got our tents set up before the rain and wind really picked up.  I think we woke Red Blaze and Half Fast up, but it wasn't long before everyone was asleep.  Around 3am, I woke from a deep sleep to a sound that I recognized in an instance.  After hiking for over four months in the wilderness, there were two sounds etched into my memory and adrenal glands: disturbed rattlesnakes and trees giving way.  A sharp "Crack CRACK CRACK - THUD!" shot through the area as a nearby tree finally gave in to the high winds.  At once there were cries throughout the campsite of, "Is everyone alright?!"  We couldn't identify the tree in the morning, but at least it missed the campsite.

The next day Daybreaker and I pushed a solid 30 miles and made it to Harts Pass just as it was getting dark. Other than a few bouts of light rain, the weather held out for most of the hiking.  The low hanging clouds and fog added a surreal touch to the already incredible scenery.  I still need to get the rest of Daybreaker's photos for this section since my camera/phone was disabled.  The terrain opened up once we got above treeline so that we could see for miles, and the larches (deciduous conifers) were starting to change colors from dark green to neon green to yellow.  From Harts Pass, we knew that the US/Canadian border, the Northern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail, was just 30 miles away.

The last full day of hiking was a fitting end to our journey on the PCT.  A venture through the North Cascades wouldn't be complete without a taste of wicked weather - and this day delivered.  Every year, hikers make it as far as Rainy Pass and then quit because they've had enough suffering in the late-season Washington weather.  Every year, hikers that finish ahead of the truly bad weather laugh about and can't understand how someone could make it so far and then throw in the towel just 70 miles from the end.  It only took one day in freezing, pouring rain for Daybreaker and I to understand how that punishment could wear someone down after a week or two.

It was below freezing when we left Harts Pass, but at least the weather was dry.  Within the first hour, it started to snow in light flurries - what a perfect and beautiful signal that it was time to finish the trail and get back to civilization!  The snow picked up and began to accumulate on the ground an inch at a time, but it wasn't difficult to walk on and we could still see the trail.  Once the snow reached ankle depth with no signs of stopping, we realized that we were lucky to be within shot of finishing the trail by evening.  Then, as we feared, the temperature rose just enough around noon to turn a pleasant snow into freezing rain.  We were climbing up to the trail's last high point of about 7,000', and the rain quickly turned the inches of accumulated snow into slushy ice water.  It's one thing to cross ice-cold streams in the Sierras where at least you get out of the water and into the warm sunshine quickly.  This was a completely different experience.  Walking for miles in ice water was painfully numbing to the feet - and a legitimate concern for frostbite.  Daybreaker and I talked about the possibility of us having to set up camp somewhere after the ridge to dry our feet out before frostbite set in - but this wasn't an attractive option.  We wanted to drop down to lower elevations and get out of the weather as soon as possible - plus we didn't want to be walking on ice the next morning (sans microspikes).  So we picked up the pace as fast as we could safely go and were fortunate to drop elevation quickly after the trail peaked out.

The rain had washed away the slush on the other side of the ridge, so frostbite wasn't a big concern anymore. However, the rain had picked up and I came to understand the limits of rain gear.  Regardless of how good a piece of rain gear is, whether it's a respected brand or an "impermeable" material such as Gore-Tex, water WILL find a way in if you hike long enough in the rain.  By the time we made it to the monument marking the end of the PCT, we weren't just wet - WE WERE SATURATED.

It was 6:05pm on September 26th and our first item of business was to get the required photos at the border monument ("Monument 78").  Unfortunately, Daybreaker's high-end DSLR camera was very sensitive to moisture and had gotten too wet to turn on.  To compound this bad news, we couldn't even sign the trail register. The register book is kept inside Monument 78, a scale model of the Washington Monument.  It may look cool, but I honestly think it is the dumbest place to put a trail register.  You have to lift the heavy metal top off the monument to get inside, and it's very difficult to grip the plane sides when it's wet with rain (and it's not like rain is an unusual occurrence in the Pacific Northwest).  I'm wondering how many people have nearly crushed their toes dropping the damn thing.  I made an effort to sign the register, but my fingers were too cold to work properly.  I had intended to leave a long quote from Theodore Roosevelt, but all I could manage with the pen grabbed in my fist like a knife was to scrawl "9/26 - Scouts" in giant letters across an entire page.  We did enjoy the tiny bottle of Kahula that a day-hiker had given Daybreaker, but the border celebration was not quite what we had envisioned.

Rather than give up entirely, we decided to camp a half-mile from the border and make another attempt at pictures/register signing in the morning.  It continued to pour rain, and my tent got soaked in the process of setting it up.  The spongy, inundated campsite soil didn't do much to help.  Fortunately I was able to keep the important thing - my sleeping bag - dry on the island of my ground pad.  We slept in the next morning until the rain lightened up, threw on our already-soaked hiking clothes, and returned to the monument.  Daybreaker had slept with his camera disassembled and inside his sleeping bag to dry it out, and it worked well enough for us to get photos.  We were also warm enough to properly sign the register.  From there, it was just a nine mile hike down the access trail to Manning Provincial Park, British Columbia, CANADA!  The rain picked up to an outright downpour, but we didn't care.  We were done.  Warm, dry shelter was just a few hours away.

When we got to the lodge, Daybreaker's girlfriend from Seattle was waiting for him so that he had a ride back to the city.  There wasn't room in the car for me, but it worked out for the best since Manning Park had an awesome hostel.  As I was checking in for a hostel room, I was literally dripping head to toe.  A Canadian woman behind me was kind enough to point out, "Son, you are SOPPING WET... [I turned and was about to say, "Oh, really?!"] Oh, well I guess you don't need me to tell you that."  The hostel was a walk across the highway from the rest of the lodge, but $30 got me a private room that was spacious enough to spread everything out so that it could dry.  It wasn't long before I grabbed a hot shower and had freshly washed/dried clothes to wear.

Other hikers continued to file in throughout the day and the following morning.  I was glad that Daybreaker and I had pushed big miles out of Stehekin - those behind us had an even rougher time with the weather.  By the time I boarded the Greyhound bus to Vancouver, only Liz, Meow Meow, and Funyan were unaccounted for (I later received a Facebook message from Wired confirming that they made it through the weather alright).

As I pulled away from Manning Park in a comfortable seat, in dry clothes, with the rest of my gear dry in the cargo hold, the realization that I was done with the PCT finally began to sink in.  Four months and fourteen days, over 2,650 miles, no flips - no skips, indescribably amazing and incredibly diverse scenery, too many great hikers to note on a complete list, it was without a doubt an adventure that I will remember for the rest of my life.

From Manning Park, I spent two days in Vancouver wandering around on my own followed by two days in Seattle with a Georgia Tech friend who now works for Boeing before finally flying back to my parent's home in Texas.  Since then, I've been going through the none-too-exciting process of cleaning gear, catching up with emails, and packing for my next move in life.  I was relieved to be done for the first week or so, but it wasn't long before I found myself missing the mountains, the fresh air, the people, and the simplicity of the PCT.  Part of me longs to be back in the woods, but the other part of me is glad to be resting and getting back to a "normal" life.  I can't say I learned anything profound or life altering on the trail, but it was definitely a good experience and a much-needed break.  I feel more refreshed having taken some time off and more ready to tackle the upcoming challenges of grad school.

As for my next step in life, I am currently packing my bags for Australia and slowly, painfully, but surely getting backing into the swing of triathlon training.  For anyone interested in going to the southern hemisphere this year, I will be in Sydney November-February and Melbourne March-July (I just got word that the professor I'm working with is changing schools and taking the project with him).  I probably won't have more than a bedroom in a shared apartment, but I'm sure I can free up a couch for people to crash on if anyone wants to visit.

Well, that was one hell of a trip.