Author: Waitup

Day 24. July 18.

I like to read. But I’m not a writer. I tried a writing class once. There would be “prompts” and we would have to write a story. Well, our campsite had a fire ring. In the morning, I moved some covering pieces of wood. In the ring was a pair of men’s underbritches. I thought that was one heck of a prompt. Miles from anywhere, why did someone try (but fail) to burn them? Were they cursed? “Ruined”? Was it an angry or mischievous partner? To be sure, it burdened me the first few quiet hours of hiking.

It was another day of walking through burned areas, pleasant forests, increased mosquitoes, and some tantalizing glimpses of Mt. Jefferson.

The four of us were taking a break at at a spring. Two guys came along, northbound. It was a son and father. The father told us he was completing a 100 mile section hike he started last year. He proudly stated he was 63. I could’ve been self-centered and thought I was almost his age and going (hopefully) 2100 miles. But I was actually happy for him. He was proud. He was there. And he was with his son.

We had a tough slog late afternoon. The mosquitoes were getting smarter, targeting vulnerable areas like the back of knees or shoulders. Plus, the trail across rock slides was maintained by the Marquis de Sade. Specifically, the “trail” was filled with small, sharp rocks. When your feet are killing you after 20 miles, having pointy gravel to step on is misery.

We reached our desired stopping point: Breitenbush Lake. The other guys didn’t know this, but this is where I caught my first fish. I have a black-and-white photo at home of me holding the fish while my Dad towers above 5 year old me.

The mosquitoes used sunset as a rallying point for a full-on assault. We retreated to our tents. From four separate tents came the sound of intermittent claps and slaps as the sly mosquitoes that slipped in before the tents were closed were dispatched.

Nearby, some idiot guys were having a bonfire. They stayed up until 11:30 talking about some of the dumbest things. It was so irritating. Josh and Brad, judging by their snores, were not bothered. I was, but fatigue began winning the war over irritation and I drifted off.

Day 23. July 17.

We were within 45 minutes of our stated start time. A normal day. We camped next to a “honey hole” which is what fishermen call a productive spot on the water. These fishermen were about 20 feet offshore and pretty excited about catching their limits so early.

We zipped back to a special site we passed the evening before. It is called Little Crater Lake. Basically a large chunk of rock dropped 45 feet allowing an aquifer to release clear, cold water. However, the pressure was not enough to push the water out. The water is too cold for most aquatic life. The result is a bluish pond that is deep and clear. On the one hand it is beautiful. On the other hand it is neither a lake nor a crater, so the name is a bit deceptive.

We returned to camp, shouldered our bags, and commenced the day’s hike.

Josh and I met a guy just a bit older than me who was going north. He had some crazy talk about snow fields and how we would need our ice axes in Oregon. We both thought he was nuttier than a fruitcake.

It was not super interesting hiking. Without many vistas, the plant life garnered most of my attention. We walked through one section where the moss hanging from the trees made them seem like shaggy beasts.

Another unusual find was a tree that was essentially caving in on itself. Most trees seem to fall over, but this one just seemed to collapse.

Best of all were these lilies. They are not common, but they are visually stunning and smell amazing.

Our goal for the day was 20ish miles. That would put us near a known campsite between North and South Pinhead Buttes. They looked like pinheads, too. The last few miles were almost all uphill to get between the two buttes. I am definitely the laggard in our group when it comes to uphill. Josh and Brad are like machines. Cole and I take a more measured approach.

When we reached the campsite we each found individual spots. I cowboy camped for the first time. It was cold at first with the evening wind. But once that died down, it was perfect laying under a blanket of stars and being thankful I was at this place at this time.

Day 22 . July 16

We perfected our ability to lollygag. At least this time there was intent. We had resupply packages waiting for us. So we gathered at the Lodge, waited until a small cafeteria opened and spent money on bad food. The customer service center opened at 8.

It was amazing how many people were skiing in July. A huge percentage were kids. Perhaps the covid stay-at-home order had built up some tension where both parents and children agreed skiing might be good for all parties.

Finally, we packed our resupply. I received a great note from my wife which was a tremendous mood lift. After we finished, we went back down to the lodge to get rid of trash and started hiking.

At first we were above the line where trees don’t really grow. My astute readers, both of you, will have surmised Timberline Lodge was at this point. The walking was mostly on sand and silt built up from glacial and seasonal snow grinding against the mountain.

Later, we descended to more forested cover with a pleasant trail. Our group was getting a little spread out. Brad turned to be like a wind-up toy; if he was in the lead he would use his long stride to just keep cruising.

At a clearing near a trailhead, I could see an older gentleman pacing near a picnic table where his wife and granddaughter sat. As I approached, he asked “Are you a PCT hiker?” I confirmed I was and he asked if he could take my picture. He did. He said thanks. We parted company. It was awkward. Later, I asked the other three if they encountered the guy and they had not. Strange. Paparazzi can be like that.

Toward the end of the day, we got glimpses of Mt Jefferson. Going from damp, cloudy Washington to seeing new beautiful mountains was a huge improvement. Late in the day we eventually made it to Timothy Lake.

Day 21 . July 15

The goal was to camp just outside the historic Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood that night. Originally, the dream was to camp there at night and then storm their legendary breakfast buffet the following morning. However, Josh had called ahead when we had phone service and was told that buffets “were a thing of the past.” Undaunted, our motivation was high.

More climbing this day. However we were fortunate to be able to start the day by taking a side route to see Ramona Falls. This is a reliable waterfall approximately 50 feet high. We knew it would be flowing well with all the snow melting in the warm Oregon sunshine.

The trail to Ramona was well travelled and had some glorious sections where moss covered the ground that surrounded a lively, clear stream. Brad and Cole were just crazy enough to accept a dare from Josh to jump in to a deeper pool.

We passed a lady carrying her dog in her backpack. This was a convenient day-hike so many people were walking without any gear. At the waterfall, we were impressed by the flow. There were several people there. We took many photos, snacked, and spent about 30 minutes there.

Leaving, we all put in our earbuds to listen to audio books or podcasts to help with the climb ahead. I peeled off to heed nature’s call while the Texans surged ahead. Getting back on trail, I found the couple who had come in to our camp and been hiking with us off-and-on. They noticed the Texans had taken a wrong turn. The guy volunteered to run down the trail to alert them. It was an unselfish move and kept them from racking up many “bonus” miles.

As the day went on, we came to open vistas where we could see Mount Hood. It got larger and larger. Although great views, I was struggling with the elevation. We were sometimes crossing snowpatches in the shade. It created another “over the hill” moment for me. Cole and I both stopped to scoop snow into our ball caps. This was a great way to immediately cool down. However, for me and my thinning hair, after about 2 minutes I was getting one of those ice cream headaches from the snow. At the next break, I told Cole this and he said he could hardly feel it and removed his hat to reveal his snow had hardly melted. Oh to have a full head of hair again. At least I didn’t look dangerous.

There was a buildup of excitement as we could see and hear the ski lifts. Mt. Hood is one of the few places in North America where people can downhill ski all year. Way up on the mountain, some hardy folks were skiing in 80 degree weather while we lurched toward our campsite.

Reaching the tentsite, we dropped our bags. I knew the bar was still open and I was thinking about treating the guys to a round of drinks. However, Joshua immediately hit me with the idea of getting dinner at the Lodge. We think alike, he’s just quicker and dreams bigger. We compromised on drinks AND dinner.

It was a great dinner in a wonderful location. The lodge was built in the 1930s by the CCC with massive timbers, stone and an amazing central fireplace. “The Shining” with Jack Nicholson was partially filmed here. I was tempted to ask the bartender for a “redrum” but figured he would be so sick of that joke he would water my drink down.

It was a beautiful starry night. A stiff breeze blew through just at sunset. It was as if the mountain was exhaling. Then stillness. Then, at 5:00 am, the ski lifts squeaked and squealed to life.

Day 20. July 14th

We were going to have more elevation gain this day. We had agreed the night before that we would break camp by 7 to start hiking. As per usual, we were ready by 7:30.

Another beautiful clear blue sky favored us all day. The general theme today would be heading south towards Mt. Hood and gaining elevation. In a pattern that would be repeated in the days ahead, Brad and Joshua would steadily hike further ahead. They were definitely natural hikers with long strides. They were kind enough to wait for me to catch up at trail junctions or water sources.

Mt. Hood kept getting bigger as we approached. There were a variety of flowers along the way.

The blooming rhododendrons were very impressive.

We ended up camping at a trail juncture. This turned out to be the intersection of a few popular trails. So while eating and sleeping, we had many groups of people tramp through. Most were respectful, but a few at night failed to heed one of the rules of the outdoors: sound travels far. Falling asleep on a clear, windless night, I heard snippets of conversations about GMOs, which trail to take, and why they didn’t bring more water. Eventually, all was quiet. No owls, either.

Day 19. July 13, 2020.  From Cascade Locks to Wahtum Lake

I received my new shoes, put them on and pitched the old.  Done properly, I would’ve taken both the old and the new; slowly breaking in the new while getting the last few miles out of the old.  But I didn’t want the extra weight or the dilemma of where and when to dispose of the old. 

My pack was heavy with seven days supply of food.  The Columbia Gorge is characterized by very steep walls.  I feared we would immediately have to climb steeply.  However, the trail designers found a route that rose somewhat gradually at the start.

Due to a terrible fire in 2017 started by a 15 year old lighting fireworks, some  of the trail was through forests that were just starting  to recover.  We saw several people, perhaps 20, out on day hikes.

By mid-day, we were engaged in some serious switchbacks gaining elevation.    It was tough, but finally we neared a plateau and the tough work was rewarded with some beautiful mountain views to the north.   I spent several years of my childhood in Oregon and it was rare to be able to see so many Washington and Oregon mountains so clearly.  While saddened by the deaths and illness of Covid 19, a silver lining has been the reduction of pollution and  increased air clarity.

After plateauing, we had minor ups and downs in and out of trees.  I was feeling the food weight just before we reached our destination, Wahtum Lake.  Cole had fallen behind just a bit.  We came across a marked shortcut.  We wrote Cole’s name in the trail with an arrow showing which trail we took. 

We were getting settled into our campsite and starting dinner.   A young guy burst through the brush and looked at us and asked “Are you the Texans?”  Josh said “Yes” and the guy was super excited, dropped his pack, and went to get his wife.

They joined our campsite.  They were going southbound and had seen the Instagram account of Joshua. They wanted to join them on their hike.

At night, I dozed off fairly quick.  However, around midnight an owl took up a communication post nearby.  At first it was a consistent, almost melodic, hooting at measured intervals.   I was about to fall back asleep to the rythmn,  but from across the lake the hoots were answered.   Whether the response was from a foe or potential mate, it generated a sound from above that I can only describe as dragging a metal rake across sheet metal.

Days 17 an 18. July 11th and 12th.

Well, my concern over when I would see my Dad again was short-lived.  After a frantic search in my room and a text to him, my wallet was left in his car when I got out the night before.  He was a real trooper and drove back to Cascade Locks from Portland to give me my wallet.  In case you are counting, he has bailed me out about four times on this trip.

Cascade Locks is an interesting town. The museum was closed, but there were some helpful permanent displays that gave a good history. In a nutshell,  it has historically been a choke point on the Columbia River. For thousands of years, people came here to cross. The most recent form is the Bridge of The Gods.  I was interested to note this is a toll bridge so guess the gods have to pay their way out here.

There are a limited number of restaurants in this town.  By the time we left, we had patronized each one. Plus we raided the local grocery store. 

On the second day, I got up early and went running.   The trail to the Eagle Falls was closed, but I was able to go a mile before turning back and then running through town.

It was a nice place with great people, but I think all of us were eager to get back on trail.

Day 16. July 10th

My Dad picked the four of us up in Skykomish. It was a two hour drive to Snoqualime Pass to pick up resupply packages shipped there and another fours hours to Cascade Locks, Oregon. Fortunately we had washed all the trail stink off and done laundry, sparing permanent odor damage to the car.

It was a bittersweet trip. I was bummed to have quit the trail. But leaving the snow was the right choice. In particular I hoped Brad, Josh, and Cole would experience the best parts of backpacking.

We crossed over into central Washington, entering the dry open lands. We stopped in Yakima and went to a Walmart. Going to a Walmart after backpacking can lead to several bad food purchases. I bought two single servings of Spam lite, among other things. I’m not proud of that.

We crossed the Columbia River. My Dad stopped to refuel. He went inside and the four of us stretched out and bought gas for the car. A middle aged woman came up to me and said “Excuse me. You don’t look dangerous. Could you help me with my car?” She simply wanted to know if the tire pressure sensor warning lights on her Mercedes were something to be alarmed about. Although my knowledge of cars is limited to fueling, park, reverse, and drive, Cole and I assured her the minor pressure decline was fine for the remaining 20 miles of her trip. Nevertheless, the phrase “you don’t look dangerous” would be used on me several times over the next few days.

We arrived in Cascade Locks and checked in to our hotel. We were concerned there were so few dining choices and almost panicked to learn only one was still open, but just for another 20 minutes. We grabbed dinner sitting outside along the Columbia River as the sun went down. It was a great night and felt like an appropriate transition to closing out Washington across the river and beginning anew in Oregon

I said goodbye to my Dad. I wasn’t sure when I would see him again.

Days 14 and 15. Skykomish, WA.

We ate. We ate when we arrived. We ate when the first place (Valley Deli) opened. We ate lunch. We ate dinner. Hiker hunger is a phrase that reflects our bodies reaction to caloric deficit. Our bodies are marvelous at telling us to eat more and lousy at telling us when we’ve eaten too much. Skykomish is not a culinary hotspot, but we didn’t care.

Another highlight was laundry. The odors the human foot can make are immeasurable. I know there are decibels for sound, richter for earthquakes, and scovil for degrees of spice, but is there a measurement for the smell of bad feet? If there is, I know personally I was at the extreme edge. All my clothes smelled. So, the laundromat was a joyful, rejuvenating place.

My Dad was back in Portland and was willing to drive up to Skykomish about four hours, then he was willing to take us to Snoqualime where my friends had two resupply packages to pick up. Then, he was willing to take us to Cascade Locks, Oregon. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without him beingable to do all this. Thanks, Dad.

I threw in the towel on Washington and the PCT. It is clearly beautiful country. I will come back. But the snow that was always present at altitude and the steepness of the slopes was too much.

While I was angry about quitting, I was also extremely thankful that I fell in with Josh, Brad, and Cole. They were hard-working, smart, and kept up a good sense of humor regardless of the circumstances. And they cleared out the spider webs

Skykomish is a small town founded on the railroad. It was a James Hill/ Great Northern town. Trains still move through frequently, but the town is dwindling. They proudly displayed flags of this year’s graduating high school seniors. All three seemed happy. I couldn’t tell which was the valedictorian.

I left Skykomish clean, fed, and disappointed. I looked forward to the new plan: the four of us would re-start the PCT heading south from the Oregon border with Washington.

Day 13, July 8, 2020. A miserable, sodden insufferable campsite to a hotel room in Skykomish.

We were packed and ready to go only 30 minutes later than planned. An efficiency record I doubt we’ll top. We knew two things about today: we had to clear another dangerous pass (Red Pass) and we knew we had a way to bail off the PCT.

It was the typical snow travel morning. Slow, frustrating and cold. However, we were treated to a brief clearing in the clouds that allowed us to glimpse White Mountain across the valley.

Josh took the lead the last part of the way over Red Pass. The closer we got to the top, the steeper the snow and the scarier. Still, we made it.

Coming down the backside, we saw fewer snow patches and more fields of flowers. There were quite a few marmots that came out to watch us.

We dropped down to a side trail leading out of the forest via the Sauk River. The sun came out. We saw see all the peaks ahead and every one of them had snow. We were going to bail out and give up on the Washington section of the PCT.

After several different attempts, we lined up a ride from the trailhead to Skykomish where I had an important package waiting for me. Dan, who I knew through social media was amazingly going to pick us up from the trail head and drive us two hours to Skykomish.

We arrived at the trailhead around 5:00. He indicated he’d probably get there after work, 9:30. We tried drying some of our stuff, played cards, and ate. Josh had the presence of mind to order pizzas delivered to the hotel in Skykomish so we would have food when we arrived. These satellite devices are life savers.

Dan showed up. He is a fairly intense younger guy. He was driving a late 90’s Toyota Tercel. He looked at the four of us and one of his first questions was “How much do you weigh?”

Driving out on the forest road was a thrill ride. Dan was tring furiously to avoid potholes. Failing that, we would drag either the exhaust or oil pan across the gravel road. Several times we got out when the drop was too much. After getting on the paved highway, he kept up a helpful and hopeful conversation about backpacking, work, and life.

Dan was another example of the basic goodness in individuals. He had originally reached out to just offer a short ride to a stranger. He ended up hauling four strangers 100s of miles at considerable risk to his car and not getting home from work until almost 2:00 in the morning. He refused payment or a donation to a charity. He said that many people had helped him out and he was just paying it forward. Amazing

On a separate note, if you are looking to buy a used car, keep your eyes open for a late 90’s Toyota Tercel with a dented oil pan and banged up exhaust. You’ll know it is the same vehicle we rode in if you open it up and detect the smell of Febreze overwhelmed by the foot and body odor of four backpackers. Pay the full asking price. The car has good karma.