Wandering through Washington

By the time Pacific Crest Trail hikers reach the state of Washington, they’ve hiked more than 2,100 miles and become seasoned veterans of the vagabond life.

That involves hiking an average of 20 miles per day through deserts and over mountains. Stomachs growl and waistlines tighten amid constant hunger. Thunderstorms break up triple-digit heat waves. Swimming in cold ponds and lakes washes off the dirt, partly.

Hitchhike to town when you finally reach a road. Gorge yourself, shower, wash your clothes, and pack more food. Then do it all again.

I learned to love that life, and during my last push through Washington, I realized I’d learned something more.

When I crossed the Bridge of the Gods over the Columbia River, the Evergreen State was nearly unknown to me. But I knew I was in for a workout: the trail climbs 111,000 feet (nearly four times the height of Mount Everest) over its northernmost 500 miles.

For a while, a green tunnel of dense trees obscured my surroundings but sometimes the trail offered a view of Cascades peaks like Mount Adams and Mount Saint Helens. I hiked hungry and gobbled down countless huckleberries.

Trail angels, bless them, camped out in Gifford Pinchot National Forest just to feed the hikers; I devoured their grilled cheese sandwiches, chips and pancakes. Then I stuffed myself again, with burritos and burgers, in the town of Trout Lake, where a family kindly hosted me. Sawtooth, Old Snowy and Hogback mountains provided fun summit detours in Indian Heaven and Goat Rocks wilderness areas.

Cascades scenery took my breath away but people highlighted my hike through Washington even more. As I approached White Pass, my old friend Tamara and her ten-year-old daughter Sienna met me at Shoe Lake, brought me dinner and camped with me. My brother Dan flew in to join me for 70 rugged miles in Alpine Lakes Wilderness. On short breaks from hiking, I enjoyed rare visits with my Washington relatives Laurel, Howard, Martha, Rebecca, Joanne, Megan, Alan and Ruben.

Hiking beside Mount Rainier struck a more somber note. My friend Catherine and I climbed it together 20 years earlier but then we lost touch. I had recently learned that she had died of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s disease) in her 50s.

Time flew and days blurred as I trekked through Wenatchee, Snoqualmie and Mount Baker national forests. I had only completed a handful of 20-mile days before. Now I can’t count them all. During this segment, I covered exactly 26.2 miles one day, a full marathon.

Smoke in the distance worried everyone, and eventually our fears proved founded. In North Cascades National Park, hikers can catch a bus to the town of Stehekin and indulge at its famed bakery. Bad news awaited us there: fire had closed the trail’s last miles to the border. This broke many hearts but not mine. I was already planning my return trip when Tamara and Sienna, my Washington VIPs, picked me up at Rainy Pass.

Hiking the PCT, first in bits and pieces over years and then in months-long binges, taught me a great deal about backpacking. I discovered the beauty of Washington’s forests, rivers and mountains, and much more in California and Oregon, on the 2,650-mile trek.

But interacting with friends, old and new, provided fonder memories than scenery, however grand. I got better at packing light, finding water and managing my diet, though a greater takeaway was to better appreciate the people in my life.

Another might be to take better care of myself because I had an eye-opening encounter on a break in town. I was dirty, unkempt and wearing my filthy hiking clothes while I organized my gear in a minimart parking lot. So pitiful did I appear that a young woman driving by stopped her car to offer me a few dollars! I thanked her for her kindness and explained that I didn’t need it; I’m not sure if she believed me. I’ve never been so touched and embarrassed at the same time.

When I returned to hike the last 66 miles to Canada, Tamara and Sienna drove me back to the trail, hiked a few miles and camped a night with me again. I bade them a fond farewell in the morning and continued north by myself.

I wasn’t alone, though. Over the years, I hiked sections with my Dad, Uncle Ted, my wife Karen, cousins Peter, Maggie, Andy, Zach, Anna, Linnae and AnaLisse, Gracie Girl the Wolf Dog, Yosemite Sam the Samurai Dog, and good friends John, Bob and Raffi. All of them and more journeyed those last miles in my heart. I was even less alone and happier when Dan joined me at the Canadian border to celebrate the end of a 26-year adventure.

While I’m glad to be back with Karen and my other family and friends, I miss the PCT life. So when Karen and I next visited the Sierra Nevada, we stopped to walk along the trail where it passes Highway 4 at Ebbetts Pass. That’s the first place I met trail angels about ten years before, and not far from Sonora Pass, where I first met the PCT.  We hoped to see hikers and even brought trail magic for them. No one passed by right away so I made a roadside beer cache for the next ones who did. It’s a down payment on the happiness which the PCT taught me to pay forward.