July 27
 | The Bridge of the Gods in Cascade Locks, Oregon. A well-loved landmark in my hometown, and the beginning of a ~505 mile trek across Washington. This too served as the finish line for my 2014 backpacking trip across Oregon. Assuming Washington was going to go well enough, I will have walked from California to Canada with food & shelter on my back. Naturally, due to this significance, the bridge carries a measure of reverence to me. Compared to being dropped off near an obscure forest road next to the California/Oregon border, starting at the Bridge of the Gods was a welcome change. After a proper sendoff with my Wife, Son, Mom and Dad, we walked across the bridge in the evening hours of Thursday, July 27th. |
| Much to my wife’s delight, I’d have some company for portions of this trip. My brother Scott would be joining me for the first ~150 miles, and my brother Matt would join us for ~60 miles within the Mt Adams & Goat Rocks wilderness. Scott had flown in from Salt Lake the day of, and was also leaving behind family and work for the sake of curiosity & adventure. I so appreciated his willingness to do so. He and Matt carried me in ways I didn’t expect, and were crucial pieces of the trip’s overall success. Scott and I elected to crank up the trail an evening prior to our original start date. We were too excited. We were ready to go. We climbed up a couple thousand feet and pitched in a comically meager spot to officially begin our trip. We were on our way. |  |
July 28
 | Scott and I slept really well. There’s something significant about the first night on a long trip like this. You begin to see if everything is going to work as planned. This is the moment where your obsession over gear lists & rations actually matters. It’s a bit of a vulnerable feeling. All of your assumptions and decisions are now subject to the sometimes unpredictable nature of the outdoors. We’d be leaving the Columbia Gorge behind today. We climbed up past power lines & clear-cuts throughout the morning as glimpses of the Gorge became less frequent. I kept looking back wondering if this may be the last view of home I’d have for the next few weeks. Eventually, it was. |
| As we continued climbing, we pushed into sections of trail I’d never stepped foot on before. Past Table Mountain, the majority of trail was brand new to me. With this new trail underfoot, I couldn’t help but think about the scale of this trip. “If a person just keeps walking, by George, they’ll eventually end up in Canada.” What a thought! This fueled us around corners & bends as the day progressed. Who’s George? |  |
 | We got our first view of Mt Adams today. What a beautiful Mountain! I’ve been atop this mountain a few times now, and really had been looking forward to this trip where we would skirt around it clockwise to the northwest. These perspectives always inspire me. Within a few days, we’d be right at the foot of this impressive stratovolcano only to say hello & move on to the north. Seeing Adams gave Scott & I some renewed energy as we continued along on our first full day on the trail. |
| Our first day also introduced our first detour. Between fires, logging operations, landslides etc, the PCT is ever dynamic. It’s always basically the same distance & route, but certainly subject to variation to accommodate nature & man. Today’s detour sent us along some gravel roads to circumvent logging operations just outside the National Scenic Area. Usually, detours along the PCT are well-marked and easy to understand, but not today. Scott and I both missed a turn intended to get us back on the trail. We wandered down a gravel road that eventually fed right into an active logging operation. We cautiously stepped around this excavator to discover that it was functioning as an “anchor” for an attached bulldozer precariously navigating a steep hill below. It became obvious that we had gone too far when the road turned to logs. We assessed our current location, & after deciding not to bush-whack through the forest to regain the trail, we headed back up the road. We later found the turnoff, marked by some spray paint on the ground & a small sign. We totally missed it, and had just added a few miles to our already very long day. |  |
 | Today ended up being ~30 miles of trail. We had planned on it being less, but the detour & desire for a good water source changed that. It wasn’t ideal at all. We were in pretty high spirits until mile 25 or so. After that, we were totally beat. Towards the end of the day, our heads were down and we were suffering individually. Things got quiet. We finally reached this great little bridge spanning Trout Creek near Stabler. We sluggishly pitched our tents and stumbled around camp as little as possible. We needed to rest. Scott still had ~115 miles until his portion was complete, & I had ~215 to go before my first rest day. Yikes. |
| I wish we could have enjoyed this camp more than we did. The joy of being right next to the creek on a beautiful day felt outweighed by our battered bodies and broken feet. We enjoyed a nice soak in the creek, but I think we were both pretty surprised by the first full day. A lot of reflection this evening. I felt like we were both counting on renewed energy in the morning, but didn’t necessarily believe it. What a way to start a trek. |  |
July 29
 | After a surprisingly restorative sleep, Scott and I headed off into the fog just before sunrise. Down in a valley, we crossed a beautiful meadow with a soupy layer of fog just starting to burn off in the warm sun. Much to our delight, we felt ok. We felt ready, but just barely. Despite some understandable soreness & blistering from the previous day, the early morning start was refreshing and we felt confident in our ability to chip away some miles. We were both extremely grateful for the restorative powers of the human body. Extremely. |
| We had some climbing to do today. This wonderful bridge spanned the last opportunity for water for the majority of the day. We drank and drank. After “cameling up” on water, we headed up a sizable climb. Luckily, great conversation propelled us up into the mountains today. I don’t have many opportunities to have meaningful conversations with many of my siblings, so I always appreciate the opportunity when given. Once we topped out along the Cascade Range, we enjoyed a nice break along the trail for some warm breakfast & rest. |  |
 | While ascending into the mountains today, we met a very interesting man. “Don Miguel” was the moniker he had chosen, and he had been trekking along the PCT for about 1,000 miles. He was slumped over with an oversized pack and seemed as if he’d been walking along the trail his entire life. Every step was labored and overly deliberate. Don Miguel was in pain. He explained to us that he’d always wanted to hike the PCT, to the point that his wife finally pushed him out the door so she wouldn’t have to hear about it anymore. Hundreds of miles back, he began experiencing extreme discomfort and general dissatisfaction with the “trail experience”, but after calling his wife to arrange a trip back home after an incomplete trail, she told him to stay. She didn’t want him to regret not finishing in the years to come. Don Miguel was marching the slowest march. At his current rate, it was unlikely that he’d finish Washington before the snow came, but he continued on the painful parade away from the fear of regret. After our initial conversation, we never saw him again. We both wonder if Don Miguel ever made it. |
July 30
| Scott and I woke up energized after a good night of rest. We immediately started climbing up into the Indian Heaven Wilderness; a place of hundreds of lakes and interesting history. We passed an old Indian Racetrack, where local tribes would harvest food and then compete in horse races for after-work entertainment. Based on the weathered state of many landmarks along the trail, it struck me how many versions of this very place different people have seen over time. It helped me appreciate the dynamic nature of wilderness; that this place will never look exactly like this again. This was my moment to enjoy & experience. I loved that. |  |
 | As we topped off on a windy ridge and pushed deeper into the Indian Heaven wilderness, we started skirting past lake after lake. They were beautiful lakes, but with their beauty came an unfortunate reality: mosquitos. So many mosquitos. We upped our speed thinking (incorrectly) that we just might be able to outrun them. Turns out, they can fly, so our efforts were in vain. We should have seen this coming, though; after all, our goal for the day was Big Mosquito Lake after 27 miles on trail. Midway through the day, with our water getting low, we knew we had to resupply. We cruised up to Blue Lake thinking it would be a quick dip & sip opportunity. Wrong. The lake was infested with millions of tiny little red bugs. Perhaps mites or some type of larvae. They were everywhere and they were moving. We couldn’t get a full water bottle without also scooping up a hundred little red passengers. We needed to though, water was sparse in the miles to come. After scurrying out on this log away from the shore, we started getting cleaner bottles. We eventually concluded that a handful of bugs would be ok and trusted our purifying drops to do their job. We laughed at how pathetic our situation was as we tried to find acceptable water whilst fighting off the mosquito horde. |
July 31
| Today was an exciting day for Scott and I. We’d be meeting up with family along a Forest Service road outside of Trout Lake for resupply, snacks, & hearty salutations. But most importantly of all, we’d be picking up a new trail-comrade. Our brother Matt would be joining us for about ~60 miles of trail. We were heading north around 5am feeling the excitement of familiar faces and good food. After 10 early morning miles, we’d meet up with our group, and then an additional 15 with Matt in tow. It was so fantastic meeting up with family. Jesse and Trekker were there, as well as my parents. With them, they brought the finest foods that you could ever imagine. We feasted with all our hearts. We met a fellow from Germany (trailname “Splash”) who we also shared our feast with. He was totally thrilled, & cancelled his hitch into town on account of good luck. With full bellies, packs and hearts, we headed up towards Mt. Hood, now a party of 3. We had beautiful views of Mt. Adams as we climbed up to about 6100 ft. It was incredibly hot, but our spirits were high as we slogged our way up to the NW shoulder, just below the snowline. Water was fairly plentiful, with special note needed for one mountain creek that had a metal bucket fastened to a rope that we lowered into the falling water for the freshest, coldest water you could imagine. What a treat! |  |
 | Our camp today was supposed to be a picturesque lake at the foot of Mt. Adams. Sounds ideal, right? All the maps, satellite images & trail notes suggested that it was going to be a GREAT campsite. Iconic, even. It was not a great campsite. When we rolled up to the lake, it was a muddy mess. Good enough for water, but not the pristine mountain lake I had envisioned. Defeated, we pushed on up the trail just enough to find a suitable spot barely off-trail to shove our tents into. We really didn’t care at that point. We were exhausted and defeated. Extra encouragement to bag and hang our food came from some prominent cat prints in the mud just to the east of camp. It seemed that local wildlife also favored the lake as a water source. No surprise there, but it did give us extra incentive to do a proper job of hanging our food. Despite the hot day, we were treated to a beautiful sunset tonight. I took this picture during a moment of reflection just outside of camp. After 4 full days on trail, I was now almost 100 miles into Washington. This was more of a concern than a triumph. I was already pretty beat up, and I’d be on my own in just a few days. Deep breaths as the sun sets. |
August 1
| After relieved confirmation that our food bags had endured the night intact, our trio began leaving Mt. Adams behind to the South. Because of the considerable heat we endured the day before, we made sure to get a nice early start. No more than a mile to the north, Killen Creek, which meandered through the most beautiful little oasis complete with iconic footbridge and cascading waterfall. We laughed that such an incredible camping spot was so close to our meager shove into the bushes the night prior, but we all agreed that we were just too tired. As the sunlight climbed down the NW face of Mt Adams, we all recollected past experiences on or around the mountain. Scott and Matt were introduced to the snowy peaks at a young age, as our Dad guided them up with not much more than a pair of jeans, leather boots, and a satchel with a handful of provisions. A bold move, given how unpredictable a mountain can be, but one that the older kids really appreciated. |  |
 | Today we’d be setting up for our climb up into the Goat Rocks Wilderness with a moderate ascent up to the south side of Walupt Lake. A fairly “easy” day by the numbers, but heat and bugs always put an asterisk next to simple words like that. We felt like a proper fellowship today. We encouraged each other to keep pushing and the camaraderie fueled us along. We were all fighting our own battles, though. I had excruciating heel pain, Scott was dealing with significant shoulder pain, & Matt was dealing with a compromised knee. Although we traveled as a group, we were heads down silently pushing through our own pain for sometimes significant periods of time. That was ok, though. Just knowing that I had two Bros behind me brought myself, and I think all of us, up just enough. We’d settle in & camp at about 5200 feet today. Bugs were still far more abundant than we’d prefer, so we had a classic pitch & dive approach to setting up camp tonight. Once closed into our tents, it was then our responsibility to seek & destroy any mosquitos that boldly followed us into our humble little homes. |
August 2
| We got an especially early morning start today. We were on the trail at 5am with headlamps on hoping to beat some of the upcoming heat. Today we’d complete the climb up into the Goat Rocks wilderness. The first 4 miles were incredibly fast. The trail was flat, smooth and teeming with mosquitoes. A recipe for speed. As we were reaching the beginning of the day’s climb, we began detecting a significant amount of smoke in the air. Our suspicion was confirmed as we continued up to the NE of Walupt Lake. Although there were no active fires in sight, the smoke was thick & concerning. While it didn’t impair us physically, it filled our lungs and was ever-present. The sharp lines of the Cascade range became veiled and ill-defined throughout the day; the sun was now muted by an additional atmosphere. |  |
 | Despite still not knowing the origin of the overwhelming amount of smoke, the introduction to the Goat Rocks Wilderness was extraordinary. We ascended from a dense subalpine environment to the fringe of an alpine wilderness. Trees became scarce and the dominant, jagged edges of the mountains became prominent and stately. The area commanded respect and reverence. It was smugly and unapologetically rugged & wild. In defiance of the sun being wholly obscured by smoke, it was still very hot. We stopped at numerous mountain rivers and streams, most memorably the Cispus River, where we soaked our shirts & hats in the near-freezing glacial runoff. |
| As we inched closer to our destination for the day, an exposed ridge below Old Snowy Mountain, we rounded a corner and approached two large and impressive cairns. Generally speaking, cairns function as landmarks identifying routes up mountains, but have also historically been used as monuments for burials, defense, hunting, etc. We concluded that these were probably navigational landmarks to assist during seasons of snow-covered trails. More importantly, they reminded us of a story often shared by our Father. It was a story about, among other things, unfeigned courage and resolve despite difficult, unchangeable circumstances. A story of a boy determined to shape his life into something meaningful and long-lasting. We all tossed an additional rock onto a monument in passing, making it just slightly more prominent. Our salute to our Dad. |  |
 | Atop our stopping point for the day, an exposed ridge just below Old Snowy Mountain, we all made a concerted effort to seek shade and rest. A slight breeze was present all throughout the afternoon and evening, at one point remaking itself into a sudden dust devil, picking up Scott’s tent entirely and daring him to catch it before it was hurled violently off the side of the mountain. Scott snatched his tent just before it was out of reach. Good save, Scott. You still have a home tonight. This spot pictured was a short climb away from camp. I was thrilled to discover these mountain thrones fashioned from talus & scree. With room for two, these stately thrones underlined the fact that Jesse and I got married 9 years ago to the day. It was our wedding anniversary, and I was lording over the Cascade Range by myself in a literal throne of stone while she was at home with our son worrying & waiting. I missed her so much. In vain, I tried to phone her multiple times to attempt to express my longing, but could only manage to send a text. |
August 3
| After a restful sleep at ~7000 feet, we awoke early to begin our long descent into White Pass. We had been joined at our campsite the previous evening by another group, so we quietly made our way to the trail via headlamp. Along the path, we traversed a number of smaller glaciers as the earth was just starting to rotate towards the sun. The haze of wildfire smoke was still present, with origins to the North in Canada as we finally discovered from other backpackers. Just as headlamps were finally being shut off and stowed away, we began to recognize the grandeur of what we’d be traveling through for the day. This section of the Goat Rocks Wilderness is otherworldly. A silver strand of trail serpentines on and around an impossibly rugged ridge that seems to go on forever. We were totally floored by the trail before us. At one point, we more fully understood how the area got its name, as a large rock likely loosed by an ornery goat above us hurtled just past my head. We noted his/her comrade just below us, traversing a large glacier foraging for something to eat. Ok goats, we get it. These are your mountains. |  |
 | The descent from the Goat Rocks Wilderness was steep. We traveled down the eastern spine of Hogback Mountain & began re-discovering the fauna & flora of the subalpine environment. We were hesitant to leave the dramatic ridges and peaks behind, but the numerous mountain streams rushing down valleys to the east nearly made up for it. The meadows below were brimming with life; life afforded so graciously by the long-lasting deposits of snow just above. |
| These dudes… It was such an honor gobbling up miles with these two fellows. I so much appreciated their willingness to put everything on hold for the sake of adventure with their little bro. We’d descend all the way down to White Pass today, where a ride was waiting for Scott and Matt, and Jesse & Trekker were waiting for me. I may have acted confident & cool, but it was really hard saying goodbye to my trail comrades. I had a whole lot of trail in front of me, and I’d certainly miss their company, encouragement & support. Hearty thanks to Scott and Matt for fueling me along. Tonight was a special night. Jesse and Trekker met me in White Pass, and after destroying a burger in nearby town of Packwood, we had a wonderful night in a little lodge along the PCT. I tried to absorb as much as I could as I watched little Trekker run around with all the energy in the world. Fittingly, I washed my clothes in the rooms’ bathtub & hung them to dry hoping they’d be ready to roll in the early a.m. Jesse and I stayed up late talking about the last week; attempting to catch up on all the happenings. We missed each other so much. I was now 150 miles in, and wouldn’t see Jesse again until mile 424. I was exhausted, but it was hard to fall asleep. Sleep meant morning; morning meant saying goodbye again. |  |
August 4
 | We were up early today at 4am. Jesse needed to get to Bend, OR to prepare for a California trip, and with temperatures soaring lately, I wanted to get an early start on a 26 mile day. We drove E on Hwy 12 a mile or two and located the Pacific Crest Trail that continued North to Canada. After some difficult goodbyes, I watched the car pull onto the road and out of sight, and after a deep breath, I disappeared back into the dark forest via headlamp. It was a fittingly eerie morning to begin the solo portion of my trek. The fog was sitting low and thick for the first few hours, and the forest was especially quiet & lacking activity. I felt as if the crunch of my footsteps echoed for miles, announcing my presence to every creature and tree within sight. This morning I felt like a visitor in every sense of the word. |
| The first half of the day went very quickly. I was really moving. Once up past Cramer Mountain, the trail was almost perfectly flat through a series of lakes leading to the next big climb. This section felt like a literal racetrack. The trail was well-defined, perfectly blanketed with pine needles, and fast. I was especially impressed with sections like this; a literal boardwalk constructed for the sole purpose of ferrying people like me across the soggy marsh in the middle of nowhere. I poured some water out for the Pacific Crest Trail Association. Bravo. Before even considering a break, I had somehow already cranked out 20 miles. I was feeling great. After a week on the trail, I thought that perhaps my body was finally starting to understand my expectations… Perhaps. |  |
 | After crossing the Bumping River and beginning the climb up to Dewey Lake, my body started to slow down. It was increasingly hot, my feet were swollen & both heels felt as if they had been ground to dust. My steps and pace became much more deliberate and forced. While passing Buck Lake (pictured) I began making an intentional effort to control my inner-dialogue. I felt like I really needed to. As I gained shelf after shelf of tiered mountain lakes, I attempted to live within very specific realms of thought. I endeavored to exist within my situation as it is, without assigning or attaching any additional meaning to it. At least for today, my imagination didn’t end up being my ruin. Exhausted, I rounded the corner to Dewey Lake just before 2pm. |
| Dewey Lake was incredibly memorable. With a highway just 3 miles to the North, a quintessential deep blue tint and towering ~2000 foot peaks directly to the NE, it was no wonder that others were recreating along its shores when I arrived in the early afternoon. After identifying and claiming a perfect pitch, I washed up in the chilly waters along the shore, performed some foot maintenance, and fell asleep in my tent to the sound of splashing and laughing bouncing off the mountain walls feeling content. After sleeping for hours, I woke up just before dusk to a much different scenario. Everyone had gone. The lake was still and hushed as the sun was retreating behind the mountains. I got up to investigate & noted that not one group had elected to stay the night. The lake was mine. I completed a few chores and short walks and then retreated back to my tent for the night. I awoke again abruptly at 3:30am to the sound of coyotes howling and barking up the mountain to the south. I smiled in my tent as I listened to them work and communicate under moonlight. In time, their shrieks and howls became more pronounced; they were working their way down to the lake. Soon enough, the boisterous communications stopped, but their presence was more pronounced than ever. Branches were breaking in surround sound just outside my camp, and later, footsteps and sniffing around my tent as I lay motionless and admittedly tense while looking up at the trees just barely obscuring the moon. After concluding that my stench was anything but palatable, they moved on to lakeside, and threw their calls effusively across the glassy water. Satisfied with their efforts, the group moved clockwise around the lake and faded out of earshot as they moved north. Still slightly on edge, I laughed to myself and deduced that perhaps all the people who left just before dusk knew something that I didn’t. |  |
August 5
| Due to coyote induced lack of sleep the night prior, I slept in today to make up a bit of sleep. I was on the trail moving North @ 5:45am, headlamp neatly stowed in my backpack. I had an immediate and steep climb just North of Dewey Lake, and just 3 miles to go before intersecting with Highway 410. Feeling energized in the cool morning air, the climb was quick and painless, leading to an ideal little unnamed lake to the East of Naches Peak. A tent was carefully pitched on an ideal rock outcropping just next to the lake. Like numerous other places along the trail, I mentally bookmarked this spot for a return trip at a later date. I pictured me and my boy throwing rocks into the lake, climbing nearby mountains, and just being. Someday. |  |
 | Just beyond a little lake South of Highway 410, I stumbled upon a perfect water source seeping out of the mountainside with all the freshness one could desire. No need to filter or treat water here in my opinion, so I didn’t. I’ve generally been drinking about 6 Liters of water per day; all infused with an undesirable (yet reassuring) taste of chlorine from my water treatment solution. It felt strange to consider water a “snack”, but this untreated water was just that. I drank as much as I could, and then topped off 2 liters worth for the miles ahead. This was a really good way to start my 10th consecutive day on the trail. |
| I made it to Chinook Pass fairly quickly today. Highway 410 was carved into the side of the valley and ferried eager folks up fairly close to Mt. Rainier on the East side. I walked right past a viewpoint, where cars were jammed in as tightly as possible and people were out taking pictures of the smoke-filled valley below. It was truly beautiful. I didn’t spend much time there, as I had a big day planned. Up the trail a bit, I met a fellow named Dutch heading the opposite direction. Dutch seemed like an Eagle Scout type, which, holding the rank myself, I can certainly appreciate. Dutch seemed to be prepared for anything. A large hunting knife strapped to his larger than usual pack, tactical gear, etc. We had a good conversation about where we came from and where we’re going for the day. A good opportunity to exchange intel. When he learned about the problems I’d been having with heel pain, he whipped his pack off his back and pulled out a larger than life bag of Ibuprofen. Without hesitation, he loaded me up with “Vitamin I”. I was so thankful for his generosity, as my supply had been exhausted a couple days prior. Cheers to Dutch. |  |
 | Finally moving away from the noisy highway to the North, I passed Sheep Lake, an extremely photogenic subalpine body of water within a natural 180 degree amphitheater of jagged mountains of rock. Due to its close proximity to the highway, there were quite a few tents pitched for the weekend. I envied them all for a moment, as my schedule mandated that I almost always be on the move. I climbed up to Sourdough Gap, where I took this photo right before descending down the other side of the ridge to the NE. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I made a wrong turn onto the Crystal Lakes Trail, which took me sharply down to Crystal and Lower Crystal Lake. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my folly until I was about 2 miles down the trail. I was so disappointed when I realized my mistake. Not only would I have to climb back up the steep grade to regain the correct trail, but this seemingly simple error would greatly compound an already long and difficult day. My already brazen 28 mile day was now a cool 32. Once up to the poorly marked trail junction, I hastily (in a huff of expletives) built a marker out of stones in an effort to prevent someone else from making the same mistake I did. |
| This is not a good picture. I get that. But this was my reality after 200 miles on trail without a rest day and 32 miles for the day. I wanted to remember how impossible today felt. With 5 miles to go, my body was pretty upset with me; weakness, blurred vision, cramps, you bet. Mid-afternoon, a through-hiker going Southbound informed me that a trail angel had left watermelon at Ulrich Cabin. WATERMELON. I had to get to Ulrich Cabin, there was no question. I failed at controlling my thoughts today. I got caught in a loop of all possible scenarios relating to this watermelon. “If there’s none left when I arrive, who will I murder? If there IS some left, what will it taste like? Will it be cold? I hope it’s cold.” Ulrich Cabin is an old log cabin in the middle of nowhere that’s primarily used by snowmobilers as a shelter during the wintertime. When I finally limped my way up to the large cabin door, all I could think about was that watermelon. I saw an old cooler on the ground. “Could it be?!” I opened the cooler and at the very bottom was a trash bag. Inside the bag, one warm mini watermelon. I was so AMPED. I had a problem, though. I had no way of cutting into this marvelous melon of refreshment. After scanning the cabin to no avail, I realized that I had just the tool. With the same aluminum trowel I use to dig holes for magical forest poops, I bludgeoned and messily cracked open the glorious watermelon and ate half of it in one sitting. I wish I had a 3rd person view of this event. I was a total savage. So many thanks to whoever dropped off watermelon at Ulrich Cabin. I was beyond grateful. |  |
August 6
 | I got an early start today knowing that heat would once again be an issue. I started immediately with a climb up past Windy Gap, and then along a ridge clockwise towards Blowout Mountain. The trail crossed over numerous Forest Service roads; large portions of trail were choked with dust & felt bone-dry. Being that I’m a bit of a Pacific Northwest vampire, the sun was a real issue for me for the majority of the day. Despite the heat, my collar was up & balaclava deployed in effort to keep the sun off as much as possible. With all the Forest Road crossings, I got stuck in another fantasy loop regarding trail-angels. I just KNEW there’d be a car at the next junction offering a refreshing beverage. I KNEW IT. Unfortunately, I was 0 for 12 today. I counted. |
| The scenery was wide open today. The different layers of mountain ranges faded into each other until they accomplished a milky blue haze. You could just about see the curvature of the earth. Although I was dead-tired and craving a rest day, I could certainly appreciate this. I’d find myself heads down for hundreds of yards just focusing on movement, only to look up and be almost surprised with the new perspective of where I’ve been and I where I was going. Unfortunately, the heat compounded an issue I’d been having with nutrition. I just wasn’t getting the calories down that I needed to. My body was rejecting certain foods that it just couldn’t stomach, I couldn’t keep my thirst quenched despite borderline over-hydrating, and my shirt was starting to look like the Bonneville Salt Flats. I had been going without a stove for the duration of the trip, and did so across the entire State of Oregon, but that didn’t seem to be working in Washington. I needed to fix this quickly. I needed to be downing hearty meals that settled in the pit of my stomach vs all my packaged bars and snacks. Throughout the day, I utilized the handful of vistas with reception & coordinated an overnight delivery of a stove to my endpoint for tomorrow. Big thanks to Jesse for helping me make it happen. Just knowing that I’d have a stove for the next 250 miles lifted me up tremendously. |  |
August 7
 | I was moving North @ 5am this morning, eager to get to Snoqualmie Pass along Highway 90. Why the eagerness? Because I was marching towards my first rest day after ~250 miles on the trail. I was in such high spirits today. I think I even did some “finger guns” at some day-hikers without reservation. I was going to take a SHOWER, I was going to eat a meal at a RESTAURANT and sleep in a BED. Already a few miles into the 25 mile day by sunrise, the light climbing down the tree trunks put a smirk on my face that wouldn’t go away the whole day. I’d been referring to tomorrow’s rest day as “motivational carrot” since July 27th, & now it was dangling right in front of my face. Fantastic. It would have taken a lot to discourage me today. Of course, it helped that I really enjoyed today’s terrain. A nice portion of trail just beside Mirror Lake and manageable climbs and ridges all the way to the top of the ski-lift lines rising above the Summit Ski Resort. Onward to some well-deserved R&R. |
| Intermingled with all the excitement over finally getting a day off to recuperate , I was also elated with being essentially halfway across the state. I couldn’t believe how quickly the time had already gone, and upon looking at a map, my progress placed me almost dead center of Washington State. I knew it was so, but couldn’t believe that all the climbs, crossings, pain & adventure equated to this. As I inched closer to my endpoint for the day, I had a handful of conversations with some really genuine folks. Through-hikers, families and trail-runners gave me a hearty welcome back into the realm of human interaction. I was all for it. |  |
August 9
 | After an extremely restful day off, I walked past the hotel concierge before 5am with a full pack and full belly. My rest day was outstanding. I stuffed my face repeatedly, did laundry, tended my wounds, and generally laid on the bed like a starfish for a solid 24 hours watching every TV show in existence. It was exactly what I needed, and just in time. To sweeten the deal, my stove arrived as scheduled, which made me confident that I could regain control of my nutrition. The slight increase in pack-weight was completely justified at this point. Like so many days, I started by headlamp in pleasantly cool temps and crisp air. After a short road-walk down Highway 90, I intersected the PCT once again and began climbing almost immediately. The next section of trail was rugged, remote & wild. I was really looking forward to it.. |
| I was really looking forward to this next section of trail. At approximately 75 miles long, section J of the PCT contains some of the most remote & varied terrain on the entire trail. I wouldn’t be crossing or even near any type of road for the next 3 days. Fed and watered to maximum capacity thanks to my rest-day yesterday, I was eager to get underway. Due to the steep mountain walls all around, I was pleased to be in the shade for much of the morning. Just as I was topping off one of the climbs, I was greeted with this perfectly formed gate into the next portion of my adventure. Through this gate of mammoth rock, one could walk from the shade into the sun. It was a fittingly dramatic welcome into this next phase of the mighty PCT. I stepped through the gate with all my heart. |  |
 | The scenery today was expansive. Just beyond the impressive stony gates was an area known as Kendall Katwalk. Almost 200 yards of stubborn rock blasted away from Kendall Peak all for the sake of a safe passage. Oddly enough, despite the incredible feat, the carved out walkway took a back seat to views seen to the East. All along the walkway, unhindered views of jaw-dropping peaks and ridges ripping a line between the sky and the earth. Once again, I was completely floored by the scenery Washington was presenting. |
| Today’s route took me counter-clockwise around Lemah Mountain and past Spectacle Lake to the NE. For the most part, the trail was in good repair and easily identifiable. At one point, after dropping down sharply into a meadow, the trail was more difficult to discern. In some areas, the trail was almost completely overgrown with aggressive foliage going well above my head to the point where I needed to plow my way through with my arms covering my face. This portion of trail felt oddly deserted and neglected. As the passage opened up a bit more, it finally began to feel more like a green subway tube; still odd, but better than a jungle hack-fest. Without any audible warning, about 50 feet in front of me, a large greyish-brown wolf glided unhindered across the trail and disappeared into the brush on the other side in a matter of seconds. I stopped immediately to reprocess what I just saw. It was huge. It’s tall legs held it’s slender body up like stilts and his head was low to the ground maintaining eye contact the whole way across the trail. It didn’t act surprised at all, as if it was completely keen on my presence, had been for a while, and just wanted to get a closer look. This type of encounter was not on my to-do list for Washington. I’ve had a built-in fear of dogs ever since an incident in my youth, and this here was an 80-100lb wild dog that just might have lots of friends whose territory I was invading that happens to really enjoy killing and eating large game. After standing still for a few minutes, I decided that I had better keep moving. I was looking over my shoulder for the next couple miles. Once along the trail far enough to feel relatively safe again, I began to realize how unique and rare the encounter was. I wasn’t thankful for it at the time, but know I will be one day. I’m still working on that. |  |
August 10
| After a peaceful night’s rest complete with no 4 legged visitors to speak of, I was on the trail moving NW @ 6am. I allowed myself to sleep in a bit knowing that today’s agenda consisted of a relatively easy 20 miles. I quickly learned to never assign the word “easy” to a shorter day, though. In defiance of the word, I was powering up short & steep switchbacks as the sun was still introducing itself. As an immediate reward for gaining the high ground, peak after peak piercing the sky as if they were reaching for something. I crossed over a number of significant mountain creeks as well. One in particular was especially inviting, so I took off my shoes and soaked my feet for as long as I could bear in the impossibly cold mountain water. It was an incredible day to be moving through the mountains. I felt like an esteemed guest in an exclusive palace of rock. It impressed me, however, that this experience wasn’t exclusive at all. Ever dynamic and ready to impress for whomever deems it worth the effort to get there. Free of charge, folks. Step right up. |  |
 | My endpoint for this memorable day, Deep Lake. I pitched just behind the large outcropping pictured. After setting up camp, doing my chores & exploring the area, I came back and had a hot meal on this very rock. The air was cool & crisp, yet the rock was still warm from the full day of sun exposure. I laid down on the heated piece of earth and slept for an hour or more. When I woke, this scene was beginning to take shape. The sun was disappearing behind the jagged peaks and the lake was beginning to calm. I supposed that this was natures’ bedtime story for me tonight. The story of light & darkness within an ever-dynamic environment. It was poignant to me how essential each was, and reminded me of a lyric from one of my favorite artists, Sleeping At Last, “Darkness exists to make light truly count.” I was so glad to be in just this place tonight at just this time. |
August 11
| I was packed and moving @ 5:30 am today. I had a relatively demanding 25 mile day ahead of me with formidable climbs throughout. About an hour in to the morning, nearing Cathedral Rock, I was granted this incredible view of Deep Lake, where I camped right along the shoreline the night prior. If I looked close enough, I could barely see the sunlight oozing down the mountain to reclaim the lake in real-time. I was happy to see this, as the rock I rested on the evening prior was much colder this morning as I was sitting lakeside preparing for the day. |  |
 | After passing to the East of Cathedral Rock, I started passing numerous creeks and streams fed generously from the multitude of alpine lakes just above. This one in particular was fed primarily by “Pea Soup Lake”, but was far from the milky green hue one would associate with such a source. Out of curiosity, and generally impressed with the abundance of alpine lakes in this area, I sat down for a break, laid out some maps, and tracked the very creek I was sitting next to all the way to the Columbia River, which happens to flow right past my home in Cascade Locks, Oregon. For just a moment, I felt closer to my family. Perhaps the same water flowing eagerly past me high in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness would be the same water swallowing up stones thrown by my son and I along the mighty Columbia. |
| The scenery was plentiful today, but unfortunately for my body, so were the climbs. I felt like my treadmill had been propped up against the wall and the stop button had been gouged out with a butter knife. I love climbing, I really do, so I felt lucky that my body was up to the challenge today. Had this day come any earlier, I might have resorted to a classic “tent in the middle of the trail” response. I felt like I was starting to get my trail legs underneath me, like my body was finally getting the memo regarding my expectations. One climb in particular, had 17 switchbacks (I counted) and each grade felt steeper than the next. Brag Alert: I powered up that sucker. For the first time in many miles, beast-mode was certainly activated. Legs feed the wolf, right? Once on top of the climb drenched in sweat and dust looking at an incredible lake just below, I let out a mighty scream. I mean, why not? There’s no one else up here. My ‘mighty scream” probably sounded more like a naked mole rat being punted down a hill, but, details, details. |  |
 | I was looking forward to my camp for today. I was marching along to Lake Susan Jane, which would set me up for a rendezvous with my buddy, Brad for some provisions, high-fives & general human contact in the a.m. All good things for a weary traveler. At this point, I was somehow over 300 miles into Washington. I was making really good time. I was starting to get more confident in my ability to finish this trip within the timeline allowed. Sure, I was riding the Ibuprofen wave all the way into shore, but despite my battered body, in some ways, I was getting stronger. My feet were covered in a combination of duct tape & blisters, but that was ok. I was beginning to find a groove that worked. After washing up and having a nice dinner by the lake, I slept really well tonight. Tomorrow was a day to recharge, resupply, reconnect & re-motivate for the last 200 miles. |
August 12
| I woke up next to Lake Susan Jane at about 5am and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I ended up getting another early start, moving towards Stevens Pass at about 5:30am. With clouds in the sky for the first time in what felt like weeks, the sunrise was outstanding this morning. Way ahead of schedule, I pulled up to the top of the Jupiter Chair and had a proper sit in a padded bench for about 30 minutes. Once again, I was honored to be able to watch the valleys & ridges come to life with the rising sun. Just a few more miles down the trail, I met my friend Brad, who went way out of his way to deliver provisions, wish-list foods & salutations. I shamelessly stuffed my face with all the guilty pleasures: Breakfast sandwiches, orange juice, gatorade; all of the foods in the land. We had a nice talk about the trip so far, happenings back home, how I look like a skeleton, etc. After a comprehensive resupply, we executed a proper send-off on the North side of Hwy 2 before we went our separate ways. I really appreciated Brad’s selflessness today. He went on a full-blown road-trip to deliver some goods to a vagabond hobo in the woods. What a great dude, and what a great day. |  |
 | After a successful resupply with Brad, I charged North of Highway 2 towards Lichtenburg Mountain and Heather Lake. After a racetrack-esque flat section, the trail yielded once again to climbs and switchbacks. In regards to weather, I was getting a taste of what the PNW is well-known for. The moody, dynamic clouds were washing through the mountain ranges and were occasionally heavy with rain. This was a welcome change for me today, as I had been growing a bit weary of the heat & sun exposure. On a well-defined ridge South of Heather Lake, I met an older fellow traveling in the opposite direction. He was a very weathered, lanky man; all bone, no meat, wearing an old yellow rain-jacket. His mannerisms suggested that he needed a good chat, so curiously, I indulged. He told me about how he hiked the whole Pacific Crest Trail back in ’76, coupled with a comprehensive list of how “things were different back then”. One could tell that the experience in ’76 had a lasting impact, as he still remembered oddly specific details regarding his experience. He hadn’t been on the trail many times since, and it was obvious that being back was making him somewhat emotional. I really enjoyed meeting this man, but never got his name. We went our separate ways and both disappeared into the rain. As I moved along to Pear Lake, my stopping point for the day, it fascinated me how many individuals might have strong emotional ties to the trail; ties so strong and meaningful, that they may even contribute to some sort of conscience within any given space. This idea fascinated me throughout the rest of the day, and carried me to the lake. Based on the forecast acquired back in Stevens Pass, I knew that a fairly significant rainstorm was coming tonight and through tomorrow. I took extra care selecting my pitch location and piled rocks on my tent pegs in preparation for sustained rain throughout the night. As expected, it came. |
August 13
| As expected, it rained all night. I didn’t mind, though. I rather like the sound of rain on the tent walls. The forecast called for rain all day today, so I didn’t see any reason to delay the inevitable. Off into the rain I went. I had some incredible landscapes to enjoy today. I’d be climbing up past Skykomish and Kodak Peak, as well as a portion of White Mountain. Near Kodak Peak, I finally saw my first bear of the trip. Across a steep valley snacking away, there it was. Moments later, the second. This one was not so lucky, as it was hanging in a game bag 10 feet off the ground. Ok, message received, I’m in bear country now. Their food source was obvious throughout the day; berries galore in generous clumps all along the trail. I too attempted to ready myself for hibernation by eating and eating. This was a welcome change from the granola bars & mixes I was already growing tired of. The heavy rain and big climbs didn’t seem to stop today, with cloud breaks no more than a few minutes long. Despite being cold & generally soaked, I enjoyed the change of environment. In many ways, today reminded me of home. Clouds washing up mountainsides & tumbling over ridges wherever you looked. It was a cold, but beautiful day. |  |
 | The clouds rarely broke long enough to really see the surrounding mountains today. When they did, it was just for a moment. A quick look, and then back to feeling like the mountain you’re on is the only one in all the earth, with the sides sloping down to near impenetrable walls of clouds. I suppose this is what it would be like if mountains could fly, as the formations rushing up and over the ridges made it seem as if the mountain was hurtling through the sky. Feeling a bit loopy due to the long day in the rain, I wondered where the steering wheel for this vessel of a mountain might be. I supposed I’d eventually find it if I kept on moving, so onward I went. Beckoning me along were an oddly disproportionate number of marmots. These things were everywhere, and they were fearless. All along this portion of trail, they’d stare at me with unshakeable resolve, motionless just feet from the trail. It seemed like they wanted to talk to me, but I knew better than to try… Right? This day was getting stranger by the mile. |
| I planned to camp along the S ridge of White Mountain tonight, but due to the rain, wind & exposure, it just didn’t feel right. I made the decision to keep pushing along up and over White Mountain to the other side, hoping to find some sort of relief from the elements. To my dismay, it was worse on the North side of the mountain. The rain was fierce, the wind relentless, and by this point, despite my best efforts, I was soaked and cold. This was the first time the whole trip that I really felt like I was completely at the mercy of the elements. I’d done all I could to stay dry, but failed. For lack of a better solution, I kept moving, adding miles to an already long & difficult day. I knew I needed to get down the mountain as far as possible to escape the elements as best as I could. I passed a handful of suitable tent spots, but with the high winds & rain, I feared that setup would be difficult at very best. Still in an almost panicked state, I continued all the way down the North side of the mountain to White Chuck River, where, just before this waterfall, the clouds parted, casting a perfect stream of light onto the trail. I stood in the warmth for a spell, grateful for the dramatic change. As I continued down the trail, it appeared that I had descended just below the point where the clouds were slamming into and dropping rain onto the mountain. I was so relieved to find a suitable camp location along Baekos Creek. With the sustained break in rain, I quickly pitched the tent, stripped down and dove into my sleeping bag to warm up. Naturally, I was recounting the series of decisions that brought me to this point. I determined with certainty that my wife, Jesse had literally helped me get down and off of that mountain. Multiple times, just before surrendering to the cold & attempting to pitch in the near impossible elements, the thought of Jesse kept me moving along. Those spots and conditions just weren’t good enough. I knew I could do better, and Jesse needed me to. As odd as it may sound, despite her being a whole state away, she helped save me from, at best, a miserable night. Thanks, Babe! |  |
August 14
 | I took extra care this morning to ensure that I was dried out as much as possible from the previous day. I strung up some clothesline and took advantage of the steady breeze. Blue skies this morning. This was a welcome discovery based on my experience yesterday. I had some serious climbs today, but due to morning chores, wasn’t really on the move until 7 or so. The trail was in serious disrepair North of Baekos Creek for the next 5 miles. Some sections were completely overgrown and difficult to identify, while in other places, bridges were completely wiped out. This didn’t really surprise me based on the remoteness of this area. I was really in the sticks. Much like yesterday, berries were plentiful today. I felt spoiled as I made the steady climb up to Fire Creek Pass, my highpoint for the day. |
| As I approached Fire Creek Pass, NW of Glacier Peak, I met a man with gear strewn about on the ground and rocks. He was trying to get everything dry, and was clearly disheveled and shaken. He told me about last nights' events, still in a state of disbelief. He too was caught in the storm yesterday, and claimed that he had nearly lost his life. As the day progressed, he couldn’t get warm; couldn’t stay dry. Wanting to get out of the storm and stay warm, he kept pushing well into the evening long after the sun had gone down. Eventually, his body began to succumb to the elements, and he hastily crawled into his sleeping bag and wrapped himself in a tarp. Within a meager shelter, he laid there in a pile of fear as the rain and wind continued to pummel him atop the mountain pass. He was terrified and cold. After a period of time, 3 others were passing through the area and discovered the man wrapped in the tarp on the ground. They quickly took action, spending the next hour helping the borderline hypothermic man out of his clothes, into his newly pitched tent and back into his sleeping bag. They stayed with him for quite some time, ensuring that his body was beginning to regain warmth before they too sought shelter further down the trail. It was clear that he was thoroughly rattled by the events, and was almost obsessively going over the specific details, trying to figure out how he could have gotten himself into that situation. He made it very clear; those 3 people traveling by headlamp last night probably saved his life. It was quite a testimonial. Knowing that a good water source was nearby, I offered him all the water I had left, which he guzzled down with gratitude. I looked him in the eye and made sure he had everything he needed, to which he responded to the affirmative. As I continued down the trail, I couldn’t help but think about my own experience the day prior. I wasn’t the only one suffering yesterday, and, compared to this fellow, my situation was relatively favorable. I was grateful for that. It was an extremely relevant example of how unfavorable circumstances and choices can compound rapidly, leaving one to the mercy of the mountain. |  |
 | Descending down from Fire Creek Pass, the trail passed to the East of Mica Lake. I had planned to stop here for the day, but because I was anxious to make good miles to ensure a meetup with my Wife and Son in Stehekin in two days time, I forged on. Mica Lake was beautiful & inviting; it was difficult to move beyond its hyper-blue waters. What came next was a surprisingly abrupt descent down to Milk Creek, and then an equally challenging climb up the other side of a comically massive ravine. This combination wreaked havoc on my beaten down body. At this point, I’d smashed the arches of my feet down to nil, both heels had almost constant stabbing plantar fasciitis pain, and tension was beginning to grow borderline unbearable within my inner-quad. Despite my best efforts, the rest I was getting in the evenings and night-time was starting to prove insufficient at bringing my body back to life in the morning. Now about 375 miles into Washington, it was evident that my aggressive pace was starting to bear its ugly head. For the first time on the whole trip, I was beginning to get stuck in spirals of self doubt. At this point, I was about 50 miles away from my second and last rest day… I really needed to maximize that day. The silver lining of climbing up the other side from Milk Creek? I walked right into Hobbitown. The Shire seemed like a perfect place to rest my feet and have a hearty meal, but alas, no one was home. Onward to a patch of dirt. |
| Content with number of miles traveled for the day, I chose a suitable camping spot in an open area SE of Grassy Point. The trail seemed to disappear off the edge of the mountain. Directly in front of me in plain sight, the next ~125 miles of trail and beyond nestled within layer upon layer of mountains. I eventually crossed paths with the 3 people who helped the man on Fire Creek Pass the night prior. Naturally, they were very concerned about the fellow, and were happy to hear that he was up and moving along. We all ended up camping in the same spot tonight. We enjoyed some good meaningful conversation over dinner as the sun was tucking itself away behind the cascades. We shared our hardships and our victories thus far on the trail. I thought a lot about interdependence tonight; how every person is distinctly linked to another, despite never previously crossing paths. The shared trail experience linked all of us together on this day, yet was just one of many. Tonight, I was surrounded by good human beings, a welcome change for this trip that enriched my overall experience. |  |
August 15
 | The sunrise this morning was unlike any other I’d seen on the trail so far. As I was heading out around 6am, the sun slowly pulled itself up from behind the mountain and added an orange tint to a perfect sea of clouds that had formed just below my elevation overnight. I stood still, almost out of respect and waited for the full reveal. It was a chilly morning, and the foliage was drenched with dew. I planned for big miles again today, still trying to ensure a timely meetup with my Wife and Son the following day. As I was descending down to the Suiattle River, I began to realize that today would be a grind, at best. The tension in my inner quad was building quickly, despite repeated attempts to stretch & massage it out. An hour later, as I climbed up a steep ridge South of Miners Ridge, the tension rendered my leg almost useless. I couldn’t bend it without excruciating pain. Moments later, it happened. All the unbearable tension came to a inevitable head. With alarming force, something snapped like a piano string. I could almost hear it. I crumpled to the ground clutching my leg in the dirt and weeds. I don’t really know how long I laid there, but my mind was on fire. I played through every possible scenario, and made decisions based on each possible outcome. I focused on what I knew. I knew I was severely compromised, that my leg wouldn’t bend, but that if kept perfectly straight, I was able to put some weight on it. With that information in the early afternoon, I decided that I’d wrap my leg to keep it straight and do what I could as long as I could do it. I was 6 miles away from my intended endpoint for the day, and 21 miles away from my Wife and Son. I decided to move. |
| This photo, although nothing extraordinary, is the most meaningful photo of my entire trip across Washington. It was the only photo I took after my leg had blown up in the early afternoon. 7 hours after the injury, I had traveled only 6 miles. Not for lack of trying, though. My leg was wrapped tight, and I couldn’t even slightly bend it. I could barely put weight on it, and when I did, the pain shot right to my brain. Most trips like these have some sort of climax; some portion where you really have to dig deep to earn the reward. This was more than that, though. This was pure suffering for me. This was 7 hours of repeated stumbling, falling, screaming, crying. I like to think that I’m a fairly tough dude, but today stripped me down to nothing. There was nothing left. I was alone. Alone to either carry on, or not. For me, the term “alone” is quite literal. It doesn’t carry a comforting asterisk afforded by theism. Navigating this reality has been an exercise for me in recent years, yet this experience was the most practical example that I’ve ever experienced. In a small way, I was grateful for the vivid illustration afforded by my current state. As I sprawled out in an open meadow attempting to regain a measure of strength, I watched, glossy eyed as the clouds rushed by overhead. As I laid there, this reality permeated me completely. I allowed it to. Contrary to a lifetime of assumptions, it empowered me; made me feel strong and capable. I got up and hiked the last 1.5 miles to a suitable camp spot, and collapsed in my tent just as dusk was settling in. Tomorrow was a series of question marks. But now, rest. |  |
August 16
 | My alarm went off at 4:30 am. After an extremely taxing day yesterday, I didn’t sleep great, but I did sleep. My leg wasn’t feeling much better. The swelling had gone down and I could bend it 15 degrees or so, but no more. I was in a tent 15 miles away from a mountain shuttle running to and from Stehekin, a tiny isolated town in the North Cascade mountains. Meanwhile, my wife and son were planning to board a ferry for a 3 hour ride to the same place. Stehekin can only be accessed via 3 ways: Boat, Pacific Crest Trail, or Airplane. An idyllic location for a rest day, but an impossible place to communicate a change of plans. I wouldn’t have cell phone service all day, and neither would Jesse. We had no way to contact each other, we just had our plan. If I didn’t make it to the shuttle in time, she’d have no indication of where I was, or if I was even safe. I had to make it, there was no question. I re-wrapped my leg and limped off into the darkness via headlamp. I poured all my mental strength into controlling my inner-dialogue today. “All the Gods, all the Heavens, all the Hells are within you.” This quote, by Joseph Campbell, resonated with me throughout the day as I stumbled along Agnes Creek. It helped me place my pain into a very specific box, without necessarily assigning any additional meaning to it. I allowed myself to feel it, but nothing more. I felt like I got better at this throughout the day, and managed to cover the 15 miles in 8 hours. It wasn’t pretty, though. I knew I resembled a cripple running away from a bear, but it didn’t matter. I was going to make it. I arrived at the ranger station just in time for the 1:30 shuttle into town. I pulled myself up the stairs and dumped my body into the seat. I took deep breaths on the ride into town as the trees flashed by the window. I’d just completed my 19th day on the trail. This has been some vacation, indeed. As I arrived at the lakeside village, Jesse and Trekker just happened to be outside up by the store. What a lovely sight. Jesse helped me up the stairs and into our little room. I was so overjoyed to be with my family. I had everything again, and would for the next 36 hours. |
August 17
| No question, today was the best day of the whole trip. I was with my family, and had an entire day off to recover, reconnect and just be. We frequented the restaurant often, bought all of the snacks in the general store, and watched our son light up our world. The stark contrast between yesterday and today was completely fascinating to me. The answer was obvious, but I kept asking how the simple presence of two people can completely shift an entire psyche. I was barely mobile, but my heart was incredibly full. When I got off the shuttle yesterday, I was fairly certain that my effort had run its course. I was probably done. There was no rush to make a final determination, though. We just tried to focus on our time together more than anything. As that precious time continued passing, my soul began to adamantly reject the idea of quitting. I was now “just” 80 miles from the Canadian border after earning every step of 424. I felt like I could almost touch the border from our room. I started pouring over my maps. There had to be a way. After massaging start and endpoints for the next 80 miles, I proposed adding an additional day, thus significantly lowering daily mileages. I had just limped 15 miles yesterday… I’ll do it 5 more times and be done. Understandably, Jesse wasn’t too keen on this idea. I didn’t blame her at all. After pushing and pulling her disabled husband around the room for the past 24 hours, he was going for another 80, and adding another day on the tail end. What a stupid man. Her pushback was totally justified. I absolutely understood. Ultimately and selflessly, she left the final decision up to me. After establishing contingency plans, escape routes & daily checkpoints, I felt comfortable with the risk. For fear of the drive home after an incomplete effort being equally as painful as the last two days on trail, I needed to try. |  |
August 18
 | I woke up early to get a proper breakfast at the restaurant before shuttling back up to the Pacific Crest Trail. I had rather gotten used to this fancy lodge food during the last 36 hours. I stuffed myself one more time in preparation for the last 80 miles of trail. It was so difficult emotionally to pack my things up this morning. Although the decision had already been made, I still went back and forth up until the moment when I walked out the front door. My wife and Son came out and waved as the shuttle pulled away, and I broke down. It was growing increasingly difficult to be away from them. Once off the shuttle and back on the trail, it was time to see how stupid this plan really was. Previously, I’d wake in the early a.m. and plow through the miles as quickly as possible. The new plan? Take breaks often; break the (now) shorter days into manageable chunks to hopefully prolong the usefulness of my leg. I was stopping every few miles to stretch & rest. This approach broke my brain. Although it was the right approach for my situation, It was the polar opposite of how I usually operate. North along Stehekin River and then NE along Bridge Creek, the leg performed pretty well for about 7 miles. After that, Pirate Leg Pete was back in business grimacing his way to Canada. Despite the pain and snail-like progress, I could see that the new approach had some merit. There was much less pressure to adhere to a regimented schedule. I was generally happy as long as I was moving North. I found a great little pitch for the tent just South of Frisco Mountain. There was a beautiful creek nearby, where I sat and ate my dinner as dusk was arriving. I retired to my tent shortly thereafter, hoping to rest my leg as much as possible. Despite using nearly the whole day to cover the shortened distance, I felt really good about today. At this point, every mile felt like a major victory. 65 to go. |
August 19
| I allowed myself to sleep in today more than any other day on the entire trip. Based on yesterdays’ relative success, I was confident in what I’d be able to do today. After securing my load and heading no more than a ¼ mile NE along Bridge Creek, I heard some thrashing in the bushes to my right. I knew what it was before seeing it. About 30-40 feet away in the thick brush, a black bear was snacking away on the abundance of berries in the area. Mr. Bear seemed pretty comfortable with the space in between us, and for the most part, so was I. Every 30 seconds or so, he’d put a bookmark in his feeding time to make sure I wasn’t trying any funny business. For the record, I was not interested in any funny business. I stood there and watched him for a few minutes before quietly moving along up the trail. This was a great way to start the day. I was thrilled! This portion of trail was quite overgrown, but for this, I was thankful. Thankful that Mr. Bear found plenty of tasty food in the sticks before wandering into camp curious about the sweet smell of Clif Bars underneath my fingernails. |  |
 | I had a fairly steady slog up towards Highway 20 today. This was my primary bailout point, if needed, based on how my leg performed post-injury. So far, it was doing ok. I could tell that it was tensioning up again, but I had an acceptable range of motion without too much pain. The biggest factor I considered was how restorative last night’s rest felt. If an evening/night of rest afforded me 5 pain-free miles in the morning, then I was fairly confident I could limp the remaining mileage in smaller segments. Today, the steady climb up to Rainy Pass felt encouraging. I didn’t know if “encouraging” was enough, though. I knew I had to make another big decision once I reached the Highway. Onward to Highway 20. |
| Rounding counterclockwise around Frisco Mountain, I climbed the gradual grade along Bridge Creek to Highway 20. The trail took me beside the Highway for quite some time, and then eventually straight across it to a trailhead on the East side. It’s always strange popping out of the trees onto one of these highways after sustained periods of time on a trail. It feels abrupt and foreign; almost alien in a way as the cars slash through the wind disappearing as quickly as they arrived. I stood in the middle of the Highway and looked both directions. It impressed me how the Mountains seemed to be parked right on top of the road as if they were built around it on all four sides. I took a long break on the East side of the highway. This was my best opportunity to bail out, if needed. One could simply drive up the highway, pull off to the shoulder, and pick me up. Contrary to the ease of this potential rendezvous point, the 2-3 points between here and Canada were accessed by remote and rugged National Forest roads. Not ideal at all for my Wife and Son. I spent an hour along the Highway at the Cutthroat Pass trailhead. I mentally poked as many holes in the idea of carrying on as possible. I played out worst-case scenarios in great detail, weighing risk vs reward. My leg was hurting and continuing to tension up, but here I was, 60 miles from the US/Canada border. My peg-leg was just the norm now. Despite having a few holes in it, the idea of carrying on continued to float, and that was enough for me. With a smirk on my face, I swung my pack on and started the climb up towards Cutthroat Pass. |  |
 | The trail up to Cutthroat Pass was pretty special today. Not only was I encouraged by the continuation of my trek, but more than any other day, I felt like I was literally climbing up to touch the sky. The combination of mostly blue skies and sharply pointed peaks made that notion seem almost possible as the trail snaked up to nearly 7,000 feet. The wind was calm, and, along with the sound of an occasional bird, my soundtrack was the rhythmic crunch of the trail underfoot. The stillness of my environment was thought-provoking today. I felt as if everything around me was on pause just long enough for me to walk through, but no more. |
| Once I achieved the top of Methow Pass, I opted for a siesta to help address the ever-growing leg pain. I wasn’t quite at full peg-leg yet, but it was fast approaching. Now a little after 1pm with a cloudless sky, the sun was on full blast. I certainly appreciated the warmth, but the flesh burning I could do without. I laid down on a warm slab of stone, covered up and, after some deep breaths, fell asleep. The wind and sun worked together to keep me perfectly comfortable as I sprawled out on my mountain bed. After an hour or so, I awoke peacefully and slowly to the sound of the wind blowing the straps on my pack. I smiled for a moment, affirming the value of a slower pace. What a shame it would have been to have hastily walked by this mountain perch without truly experiencing it; one of the biggest detriments to an accelerated schedule on a trip like this. In a small way, I was beginning to appreciate the experiences afforded by my injury. But just a little bit. |  |
 | The terrain continued changing as I moved North to my stopping point for the day. Dense forest slowly yielded to a more stark, sparsely treed environment just on the cusp of alpine. Some steep descents and somewhat technical sections of trail were a challenge for me and my defunct log of a leg. I wasn’t the spry young chap of earlier miles anymore. I’d now have to lift my leg up and over rocks & logs with deliberate care. Still relatively close to the highway, I met a few groups going the opposite direction. They were clearly concerned for my welfare, which I certainly appreciated, but by this point I had grown a bit tired of asserting and re-asserting my “okayness”. For the sake of avoiding anyone proactively calling Search and Rescue on behalf of the stubborn gimp heading North, I’d just stop and let people pass so as to avoid the pity party of them watching me struggle. I stood strong and confident as they passed, but then returned to my labor of locomotion when they were out of sight. I thought about the value of outward vulnerability today. I need to exercise this more. For me, It’s difficult for vulnerability and pride to exist wholly in the same space. |
| My camp for the day was nestled within a meadow atop an inviting shelf just between Tower Mountain and Mt. Hardy. The path to get here traced counterclockwise along the side of a vast, sweeping valley that seemed to carry on indefinitely. I was pleased with my camp spot tonight. I was perfectly positioned for what looked like the makings of a dramatic mountain sunset. Just out of frame, I made a hot meal atop a flat rock and deliberately took my time consuming it. I addressed some wounds, attempted to clean my feet and then set my bed up in my tent for an easy transition after dark. I decided to do a little climb along a ridge that looked promising for tonight’s sunset. Based on my maps, it looked like one could view two different sweeping valleys from a single perch. I intended to test my theory. |  |
 | I climbed atop a ridge near camp to watch the sunset tonight. Given that my trip was nearing completion, I wanted to experience and internalize as much as possible. As expected, the sunset was beautiful. Atop my carefully selected vantage point, I had expansive views of valleys to the North and South. I felt honored knowing that I was the only person seeing this exact thing at this exact moment. It was just for me. That feeling felt a bit selfish, though. The longing for my family was growing almost unbearable. I missed my Wife and little Son so much, and wanted so badly for them to be here with me. I broke down for a moment up on this ridge. I looked through all the pictures on my phone in an attempt to bring us closer. Obviously, it only compounded the pain. Additionally, by accident, the only music I had on my phone was at one point requested and purchased for my Son, Trekker. So, while this picture may appear to depict a tough ol’ bearded brute in the sticks, in reality, it was taken right after ugly crying alone on a ridge while listening to the Moana Soundtrack on repeat. I was so ready to be with my family again. |
August 20
| I was on the move at 6:30 am this morning after a chilly night at 6,600 feet. Not too surprisingly, I woke up a few times through the night as temperatures dipped below freezing. A gentle reminder that seasons were constantly shifting weight in the Northern Cascades. I dropped down fairly abruptly into long arching valley along the Methow River. I was back under the near-constant cover of trees for the majority of the morning. It was nice to be back in the forest again. The trail started to deteriorate as I approached Brush Creek, which I’d be following up until a split to the North for Glacier Pass. Once along the Creek and climbing, the trail gave in to dense foliage for a few miles. Moving slowly, I felt as if I was being sucked into a tunnel of green for almost an hour, with the only verification of trail directly underfoot. I couldn’t help but think about Mr. Wolf, and wondered if he’d been planning on another iconic visit. This photo was taken right after I popped out of the dense brush into the wide open after what felt like an eternity of bush-whacking. In hindsight, the heavy foliage served as a sort of portal to another world. It seemed that I had found a green wormhole in the middle of the Cascade Mountains. I decided that this was a suitable reward for my efforts and more willingly disappeared into the next wall of green. |  |
 | From Glacier Pass, a short little tease of a downhill, and then a sizeable climb up the exposed West flank of a prominent ridge leading to Grasshopper Pass. Especially with my bad leg, putting this climb behind me was a significant milestone. Not only did it unlock expansive views of another valley to the East, but I also considered this one of my last major climbs of the trip. Given that the Washington PCT contains ~113,000 feet (really) of elevation gain, this was a really big deal to me. I did some classic American fist-pumping and hollering once I reached the top. Completion was starting to become more and more believable. The last 7.5 miles of today’s trail would take me along the South flank of Tatie Mountain (shown here) and on to Harts Pass. Once at Hart’s Pass, I had a nice conversation with the onsite caretaker and shared a real deal actual campsite with another PCT hiker, “Splish”. He was a nice fellow. We shared a meal along with tales of victory and defeat. Once tucked into bed, I reflected on the fact that the US/Canada border was just a cool ~30 miles away. This endpoint was already becoming a significant character in my experience of life; just one I hadn’t met yet. |
August 21
| I laid in bed enjoying the warmth of my sleeping bag until 7am this morning. I didn’t have too many miles to cover today, so there was no rush. Once up and moving, I started up the gentle grade towards Slate Peak. Sitting proudly atop the peak, an iconic lookout tower proudly claimed the high ground. The PCT moves along just below the tower which, fittingly, is accessed by Washington’s highest maintained road. As I later found out, the top of the mountain was flattened many moons ago during WWII and was originally intended to support a radar center. Plans were later abandoned and a lookout tower built to capitalize on the expansive views. I was impressed with the tower’s prominence. It stood decidedly higher than nearby peaks and seemed to preside over everything that dared approach it. I glided by quietly as the sentinel in the sky watched closely. “Nothing to see here, just a smelly dude wandering North.” |  |
 | I was really looking forward to this day. I’d be viewing the total solar eclipse from a pre-selected ridge about 20 miles South of the Canadian border. Even with the late adjustments to my daily mileages, I still took special care to position myself carefully so I could participate in this astronomical event. Being so far North, I realized that I wouldn’t be experiencing totality, but I could live with that. As the big moment inched closer, I could tell that my planned location just wasn’t going to cut it. More trees than I expected on the ridge, and hardly a clear view of the sun. Unacceptable. I didn’t carry these stupid eclipse glasses 60 miles for nothing. I was going to find a suitable spot. I hobbled along as quickly as I could as the forest slowly darkened around me. Once again, with the animals silenced by the sudden and apparent nightfall, I felt like a visitor passing through a scene suspended in time. I reached a little ridge and climbed up in position just as the moon was lining up with the sun. As I was observing the partial totality, two fellows, “Maybe” and “Crazy Horse” raced up to join me. We passed my comically inadequate solar shades back and forth and enjoyed the last few minutes of the eclipse. We agreed that it was pretty special to be just 3 of the millions of participants observing the phenomenon at the exact time. I had a nice chat with these two gentlemen. From Germany and Switzerland, they were also inching closer to completion of a larger portion of the PCT. Humans are awesome. |
| After a relatively brief climb up to a wide open meadow East of Shull Mountain, I decided to make camp for the last time. I pitched in a small grove of trees and laid down in my tent for a nap. As had become routine over the last few weeks, I watched the shadows of trees dancing on the side of the tent as I fell asleep. I awoke an hour or so later, and made dinner; again, for the last time. Fittingly, this evening carried with it an immense measure of ambience. As large groups of grouse moved quietly through the meadow and the sun began tucking itself neatly between the two peaks of Shull Mountain, it felt like my surroundings somehow understood the gravity of the experiences that led me to this very spot. There was unanimous reverence in this meadow tonight. It presented the perfect opportunity to unpack the last few weeks of trail. |  |
 | For the past few weeks, I’d think a lot about what the last night would feel like. Would it just feel like a violent collision of all emotions felt over the last 3 weeks? If so, how would I wrap all of those up into one tidy little conclusive package? I sat out in the open meadow and gave myself the time and space to feel. I was tired, but proud. Happy, but sad. Content, but alone. I was satisfied with this mass of feelings. There was room in me for each one. As the warmth of the sun touched everything around me, I smiled knowing that this experience was now a permanent piece of my being. More than just an accomplishment or triumph, the value and meaning of my experiences would take many forms over time. I retired to my tent tonight feeling thoroughly content. Tomorrow I’d be crossing the border into Canada to finally conclude what has been an incredible adventure. |
August 22
| When I crawled in my tent last night, I was pleased with the perfect pitch within a little grove of trees by the meadow. An excellent spot for my final night on the trail… or so I thought. I started hearing branches cracking from multiple large animals around 2am. A group was closing in on my location, and fairly fast. I sat up in my tent and threw the beam from my woefully inadequate headlamp in the direction of the sound. All I could see were a half dozen sets of eyes low to the ground in a half circle around my tent. I wasn’t feeling too excited about this development. Knowing that they definitely saw me, I laid back down in my tent hoping that they’d just move along. They didn’t. I could hear them getting closer to my tent. Their breathing seemed agitated; like they were all wound up about something. As they got closer, I quietly turned on my light again. They scattered frantically. I sat up again and looked out the mesh of my tent and noted multiple large figures not more than 30 feet away within a cloud of dust. They were deer. No big deal right? I gave them a few choice words and tried to go back to sleep. Not gonna happen, though. It seemed like my tent was pitched on the exact spot they sleep every night. They were not happy. They kept pounding the ground getting right up next to my tent. I’d pop up suddenly and yell something and they’d kick up dust as they moved back just far enough. Eventually, one got so brazenly close that it popped the pole out of my tent, collapsing half of it onto me. In a huff, I got out with my headlamp and fixed my pole back into place. I scolded them for their disrespect. I mean, who does that? They just stood there looking at me. Back in my tent and deep into my bag, they made another go. They upped their game a bit, too. One half-jumped over a portion of my tent; again knocking the pole out of place and collapsing my tent. At this point, I decided they had a bigger squad than I did, so I got up, shared my feelings with them, packed my tent and belongings up, and hiked a mile up the trail to a ridge just NE of Holman Peak…. At 3am. Thanks for the memorable final night, deer terrorists. Enjoy your spot. |  |
 | The scenery this morning was outstanding. Ascending up a manageable climb to Woody Pass, I felt as if I was going to walk right into the side of Powder Mountain. The massive walls of rock felt like they were close enough to touch. Today re-affirmed my love for the mountains. They possess just as much intrigue as grandeur as they scrape the sky with their prominence. In some cases, It seems as if they’re literally holding the sky in place. Like many days across Washington State, today I was in awe. |
| This photo, showing Hopkins Lake with Blizzard Peak in the background, was taken right after I reached the elevation highpoint for the remainder of the trip. If necessary, I felt like I could just about log-roll the rest of the way to Canada. It felt that close. Today was a bittersweet day of lasts. Last lake, last mountain pass, last water crossing, last ridge…I’d occasionally turn around and look to the South at the meandering trail as it disappeared over the hill. It gave me a strong sense of pride and fulfillment knowing just how far I’d come; that one rhythmic step after another brought me to this point. There were days where “just one more step” or “just one more mile” were all I thought I could possibly bear, yet here I was. Today I allowed myself to be unapologetically proud. As I limped my way North I couldn’t help but smile. This was a beautiful place for a victory lap, and I was taking it, fist pumps and all. |  |
 | As I descended down to Hopkins Pass, my thoughts shifted abruptly to my family. While their Husband and Daddy was out in the mountains for over 3 weeks, they carried on with life. There was no pause button afforded for them. They had hard, sad and lonely days just like I did. I knew from the start that being away from them would be the hardest part. It definitely was. My son, Trekker, learned and grew. My Wife, Jesse, endured and adapted. It hurt me a great deal daily knowing that all this was happening in real-time. I carried food, water, shelter and guilt on my back across Washington State. I thought a lot today about the value of what I’d accomplished; about how that value would translate into my relationships with my family. I knew it was worth the effort for me, but I charged myself with making it worth it for them, too. Simple gratefulness seemed far from adequate, but I carried it with me the entire trip. For lack of a better expression, thank you, Jesse & Trekker. |
I made it. Washington: Complete.
Standing @ the US/Canada border along the Pacific Crest Trail.
513 Miles
113,000 ft of elevation gain
Longest Day: 31 miles
Shortest Day: 15 miles
22 different camps
2 Rest Days
3 Bears
1 Wolf
3 Coyotes
500 Fearless Marmots
1 Herd of Deer Terrorists
1 amazing wife
2 feet that may never forgive me
Thank you all SO much for fueling me along. I sat at my computer for an hour trying to figure out what to type as I wrap up this travelogue only to realize that it has already been said. Thank you so much for caring to read about my experiences and share in my adventure. It means a great deal to me.
Next Up: Scotland
Standing @ the US/Canada border along the Pacific Crest Trail.
513 Miles
113,000 ft of elevation gain
Longest Day: 31 miles
Shortest Day: 15 miles
22 different camps
2 Rest Days
3 Bears
1 Wolf
3 Coyotes
500 Fearless Marmots
1 Herd of Deer Terrorists
1 amazing wife
2 feet that may never forgive me
Thank you all SO much for fueling me along. I sat at my computer for an hour trying to figure out what to type as I wrap up this travelogue only to realize that it has already been said. Thank you so much for caring to read about my experiences and share in my adventure. It means a great deal to me.
Next Up: Scotland
