A Whole New Ball Game

Sorry for not keeping up with the notes.  Just to get you up to speed:

Well into Washington.  Past Indian Heaven and Goat Rocks.  It just keeps getting better.

Went through one area that was in the middle of Elk hunting season.

Had a great time in Packwood, where I learned a lot about modern logging practices and lost 3 out of 3 games of pool.

Weather has been great, cold but I’ve been making good mileage, more than 20/day.

Feet are happy, everybody’s happy.
Things are about to change.  Talked to Kim last night and she’s saying “….. up to 4″ here, possibly 6″ on the coast…… ”  and I’m thinking  “that’s a lot of snow”, but she’s talking rain.  4″ of RAIN!

I just left the relatively easy part of Washington, the next two carrys are considerably more rugged.  And remote.  Already because of the lateness of the season I hardly ever  see anyone.

So much to write about, but I am so focused on moving on.  On to Canada! Up until recently the next major goal has always been a way point. This mountain town or that, the Mojave, Sierras, Crater Lake, etc. Now the focus is clearly on the finish line. Many mixed emotions, but definitely invigorating. It’s like when the marathon course finally turns back towards town. You’re still a long way from being done but the worst is behind you and you know the rest is doable. Time to crank it up just a little bit.

Some scenes from the trail:

I cross the Bridge of the Gods at night. Halfway across I pay tribute to two of my heroes.  Spencer, who in a moment of inspiration created a family legend on this bridge, and to Charles Lindbergh, who once flew a plane under this bridge. Because he could, and he was cool.

Well designed picnic table in the middle of nowhere.

Miles just keep rolling by. It took me forever to collect those flower tops from a relatively barren ridge.

Fire closure just outside of Trout Lake. I get a ride over the 20 mile road walk detour and pick up a day in the schedule.  I slept just inside the restricted zone, cowboy camping for perhaps the last time.  Russell met me the next morning and brought me my tent.  I tried to hitch for 2 hours before dark the night before.  The only person to stop was a forest ranger who could not give me a ride, but said she just could not drive by without making sure I was OK.  She did give me some food, which was sorely needed.  I was down to one mac and cheese for dinner and breakfast, about 1500 calories short.  When we went to town in the morning, we learned it was 29 degrees over night.

Center core of an unnamed volcano.  The lava inside the throat would have cooled more slowly and therefore be harder.  The softer outer layers of the mountain have since been eroded away.

The trail rolls on just above the timberline and I get the first glimpse of snow.  It’s all leftover snow from last season, which wasn’t all that long ago at this latitude.

Daughter McKinley went to a camp of sorts near the Cispus river in about the 10th grade.  I volunteered, trying to be one of the cool parents.  Later I filled my water bottles from the Cispus River headwaters, drinking in the good karma.

Way more variety in the flora as I move North.  The puffy white things I see for the first time.  They may be snow grass, as I am in snow grass meadow.

Some trail art.  It is not unusual to find old bones artfully arranged at a campsite.

A few snow fields to cross.  Thought I was done with this sort of thing.

Trail magic!  Just sitting on a log, waiting for the next hiker to go by.  Later an elk hunter leading 4 horses would throw me a Coors Lite.

5.4 days / 99 miles worth of food and paraphernalia laid out.  Life is good when you have you’re own personal quatermaster.  Laundry drying in the background.

Larvae and beetle from the local forest.  This one only eats dead Douglas Fir, and shows up a few years after a fire.  Others are Hemlock specific.  These are the OK type.  Others attack live trees.

I’ve seen a million types of mushrooms, but this may be the first time I spot what my mushroom picking friend from Southern Oregon told me to look out for.

This variety looked exactly like soft coral.

Another of a thousand types of fungi.

No mistaking this is a season of transition. The most flamboyant are the vine maples.

First good view of Mt. Rainer.  I peed on top once, and it almost cost me my toes.  But that’s another story for another time.  I’ve just recently skirted Mt Adams and Mt St. Helens.  This is about the furthest north of my past roamings.  From here on in it’s all new territory for me.

Just giving my feet some love.  Finally they are in great shape and the daily mileage is going up.  Just trimming away some dead skin from a former blister here.  The only thing I do now beside cleaning and the daily massage is to apply good old fashion bag balm.  When I showed this to my latest podiatrist he had to laugh.  He said when he was a kid, that was his father’s answer to everything. “Put a little bag balm on it”.  Must of been a farmer.  My standby all all things external was alloa vera.

All in all I prefer the green lakes of the Evergreen State to the beautiful blue waters of the Sierra’s.  Things are softer and appear more in harmony here.  In the Sierra’s part of the beauty was the sharp contrast between water and surroundings.  Maybe it’s just me.  In both cases the water is absolutely clear and is reflecting it’s surroundings.

Same lake 20 minutes later.

One of several forest fires in the distance.  No activity associated with it, so it is probably in the category of  ” .. just let it burn, it’s natural. The snows will eventually put it out..”   I could see the fire front from the fire just outside of Trout Lake.  It was interesting that the flame front followed along the ground, rarely igniting the tree tops.

Shared a cabin with a Southbound hiker and some of the local “residents”.  This was the first and the boldest of my new roommates.   I took all of the day’s food wrappings and left them in a corner as decoys.  The rustling went on well into the night, until I just tuned it out.  Seeing one crawl up the cabin wall was too much for my human roommate, however.  In the middle of the night she couldn’t take it anymore and set her tent up outdoors.

I hung all my food from this simple mouse baffle.  No sign of molestation in the morning, so either the decoys or the baffle worked.

Standing on the porch of the cabin in the frosty dawn.  I could just imagine being here 100 or so years ago.  Looking across the same meadow, I’d be thinking either: a) I hope something comes by so I can kill and eat it, or b) damn, we need more firewood it’s getting cold!

Turn the corner and suddenly I’m in a forest of skeletons.
For many miles I’m in a section known as ” The Knife’s Edge ” .  It is some of the most dramatic and exposed hiking to date.  It is in the middle of three days of seriously cold and brutal wind, so I rare take out the camera.  For a long while the trail is as close to the edge as you can practically be.  You can see it just following the ridge, putting the Crest in the Pacific Crest Trail.

This is the continuation of the ridge walk from the previous photo, colored only by turning the camera toward the setting sun.

 

I follow the notes to find this off trail water source, just a muddy bog.    But it’s water, and I’m out.  It’s been miles since the last water.  The walking is not so bad because it is mostly along the ridge lines, but that also means dry.  I’m just about to dip into this when I notice the trail continues through the brush and around the bend.

This is the real spring, just a little ways further.

The night before I’m hiking after dark with my headlamp,  and I see on and off  the trail is littered with what I first think is straw, or hay from the horse traffic.  I later discern it is cutting from a native plant.

Next day a run across two guys.  What they are picking are these sturdy straight leafs.  They say they go to the florist trade for dried decorations.

Harvest ready for transport.   I’ve been seeing the cuttings for a couple of miles, so they probably picked a mountain load.

After a long dry section I come across this little waterfall.  Ice cold and crystal clear.

Not many of these left to go.  Almost halfway through Washington, and 90%  of the trail complete.   Currently at Snoquamie Pass, mile 2402.  It’s raining outside, and the main reason this quick update is so verbose is because I am procrastinating putting on the rain gear and getting going.  5 days and 76 miles before I get a chance like this again.

For those of you Gentle Readers who have been living life vicariously through this journal, you’re probably wondering what you’re going to do when this journey is complete.  Believe me,  I’ve been thinking about the same subject.  Trust me, I’m working on a plan,