Three Directions

I've been anxiously anticipating the day when he PNT joins the PCT for some 14 glorious miles. How many times does that phrase, "your old stomping grounds," ring true? I stomp a lot, but this is where it all began, where I first became a hiker, where my life changed forever. 

It was glorious. It was beautiful. It was more than I could have ever imagined. My smile was so wide at the trail junction that it nearly reached both ears... even with a busted ankle. I can't quite express the feeling inside of me, but I'll tell you, it goes on the list of top moments in life. The views... Holy Cow, I didn't remember how epic this section was, too. World class. I saw more hikers on the PCT than on my entire hike thus far. 

Last year on my PCT SOBO hike, I thought I was a goner when I fell on a snow traverse crossing Rock Pass... It would be the third time crossing it now in 13 months. Looks like the trail crew did some amazing maintenance because I ran across the scree and pass in record time. I want to buy the trail crew a round of beers, because their work certainly made a world of difference. 

I ran into a SOBO hiker, Energizer Bunny from my home town, who was just beginning her 2,660 mile hike. We convinced another NOBO hiker, Keister, who was miles from finishing his first thru, to camp with us at Holman pass. Holman Pass... It was my first campsite ever on trail! I'm thinking about you, Julia! Three hikers walking in three directions. It was magic. I had extra food and cooked us all dinner while we stayed up late sharing stories. We all cowboy camped together under the stars and Keister shared a song he wrote on trail. I've got goosebumps remembering the night. 

This is why we hike. This is what it's all about. Worlds colliding and strangers coming together as family. We all have some wild stories, but how special to build new ones together. 

Nat Geo, I Want To Work For You!!!

I needed to reroute my hike out of Oroville for yet another fire closure in the Newby Lake area. No problem, I have no agenda! Even more, I found a cool dead rattlesnake on my road walk into Loomis that I just had to pack out (unfortunately it fell out of my pack somewhere in the middle of nowhere, as did my bear fur tuft and osprey feather). Loomis, let me tell you, was absolutely lovely. I thought I would only stop in to charge my iPad and have a cold beer, but ended up spending the night with the bartender... Don't get any funny ideas kids, Kay, my new lifelong friend invited me over after shift and we stayed up all night chatting like teenage girls. Everyone at Sully's helped to plan my alternate route up Windy Pass to rejoin the PNT. A million thanks sent your way. I'll be back one day!

NOT COOL! 

What a wonderful alternate. I saw my first friendly black bear of the year, ran into the PNT trail crew, and finally caught a sunset. It was a beautiful hike. And nothing like a little summer snow to keep my spirits high! The only downside was finding a ton of litter left in a fire pit at the Dome Camp (mile 630ish). I'm sure I've unknowingly dropped a wrapper or some trash throughout my many miles, so it didn't bother me one bit to pack out what I could... especially since I'm constantly worried that the hikers behind me will think that I left the mess. Ha! Ego gives me the giggles sometimes.

The hike turned grey, wet and cold. I remembered someone mentioning a storm would be passing through for several days. Meanwhile, I just entered the great Pasayten Wilderness and didn't want to miss the EPIC views. This is why I'm hiking the PNT, so I justified what I consider to be a brilliant decision: take a zero day on the mountain to line myself up with sun for the prime photo spots... Isn't that what a National Geographic photographer would do? Sure, I suppose my decision was more based out of laziness and a distaste for wet feet, but when else am I going to stay stationed alone in a sleeping bag only moving for pee breaks and fresh water? By early afternoon, the sun shined bright, but I was committed to my zero day. I stuck it out... Hot as hell... Full of pride. You get to learn about the animal behaviors and patterns when you lay still and silent. Thank God the rain finally hit at nightfall. It was perfect. 

I felt uneasy the next morning and asked mom to pay me a visit. She sent me a hummingbird right at a trail junction that I would have missed had I not stopped to gaze at its fluttering wings. Life is good. It was another wet day, but I hiked on through the burn zone and blowdown. There was a giant tree crossing the trail near Dead Mans Lake. An omen, I'm sure. I closed my eyes in hope on the tricky dismount and smashed my ankle in agonizing pain. If a hiker screams in the forest and nobody hears her, did it really happen? I wish someone could have seen me crawling down the trail on all fours... Must have been a sight! It took me about an hour to muster the courage to stand up, and limp into camp, but I made it.

My ankle was the size of a grapefruit and I was days away from people. I considered my options... if it was serious enough in the morning, my shortest option would be to enter Canada without a passport (I did happen to have a paper photo copy on me) and beg for mercy; 18 miles. The PNT joined the PCT about 8 miles from trail, so, I could hike out at Harts Pass where I knew there would be plenty of people and a ranger station; 35 miles. Or, hike on as planned and pick up my resupply box at Ross Lake; 57 miles. Ross Lake, baby, here I come. I remember saying once that it's going to take a broken leg to bump me off, and my leg ain't broke! Ibuprofen, white light, evergreen oil and elevation at night. I may have slowed down a bit but I'm still here. 

Oh, and the sunny photo ops... I'm so glad I took that zero because it was some of the best hiking of my life... Even with a limp!

It's OK To Be Afraid

I don't often get scared on trail, which, quite honestly, surprises me. I used to make my older sister walk me to the bathroom because I was afraid of the dark. Monica, can you believe how far I've come? Out here, I love the night. Alone. Under the stars. I feel protected by the mountain. Sure, I am often cautious, but that doesn't equate to fear, so to speak.

Well, that all went out the window last night. I saw the storm rolling in after summiting Mt. Bonaparte. It looked like waterfalls were dropping from the sky. I wanted to set up camp early to ensure I would stay dry. By 7:00 p.m., I turned my tarp into something resembling a circus tent from the Nightmare Before Christmas. It was a lovely set up, actually, but the camera was stored in the dry bag for protection. I waited for hours in anticipation for the storm to hit.

It didn't pour down like I feared, but the lightning show surely woke me up in the middle of the night. I've never seen anything like it. I counted over 100 strikes above my head. And the thunder… it didn't allow a second of silence between each strike. I felt the earth shake. I was camped in a thick dry forest and legitimately feared a fire. I packed up everything but my sleeping bag and tarp and put on my shoes. Yes, I slept in my shoes, ready to make a run for it should I smell smoke. Oh, what a night. I have a trick when I become helplessly terrified… I sing to myself a little song someone special wrote for me, “I met a girl on 1st Street, she was one of a kind, the kind of girl you may never meet, at least not in this lifetime...”

I woke up to a bright blue, cloudless sky. That wasn't so bad! Seventeen miles onward in the hot dry heat (*note to self, Hot Dry Heat… I like the way that sounds). By early afternoon, I started my descent into Oroville, only to be stopped in my tracks by the smell of smoke and sight of flames circling the hill. A few more miles down, and the helicopters were racing back and forth from Summit Lake to put out the fires. Shit. This was scary. I only had five miles before I would hit town. I ran into the first responding fire crew. They told me the conditions and sent me back up the mountain. I took photos of their maps and found a Forest Service Road around the blaze. Sure, it was going to add 15 miles to my hike, but I was just glad to be out of harms way.

It was less than an hour on my reroute before I crossed a truck. Jason stopped and asked if I needed a ride, even though he was going the opposite direction. YES! He drove me into town and took me to the Fraternal Order of the Eagles for some stories, smiles and beers. We watched the smoke pour over the mountain from the back garden. It sure ended on a high note for me. I checked in with the fire crew at the motel, and was relieved to learn that they had it contained with no reported injuries.

I think it's ok to be afraid, now and then. I mean, I'm not living in fear out here. This little incident certainly shook me up and reminded me of all the ones I love. I have no control in how Mother Nature does her thing, but I am using each experience to better prepare for something more intense down the line. Hey, maybe I'll make the front page again!

Republic, Washington

What a place! Republic, population 1,000 and everything a hiker could dream of…. Potentially more.

Imagine this… you're hiking into a small mountain town for a quick resupply of food. You stop in the bar for a Bloody Mary and some free wifi. Cross the street for a meal that would make Food Network's traveling chef hosts jealous that they didn't discover it first. I need to take a moment to remember the 'oink and moo' burger at Freckles' Gourmet BBQ… a full patty with bacon, pulled pork, cheddar and swiss. I thought I was going to be a vegetarian again. Ha Ha Ha! Oh, and the tater tots stuffed with more bacon, cheese and jalapeños. YES! So, your sitting alone with a beer from the neighboring brewery when you notice the fliers in the window. Hmmmm, you think to yourself, this is a hip town. Looks like they even have live music. You check out the posters, and BAHM!!! Knocked off your feet… Speechless. Your two great friends from your home town are playing a show smack in the middle of Republic in a few days. Not only are they great friends, but also the best local musicians you've ever heard. It was just a month ago when you caught their last performance at Cafe Stritch, Downtown San Jose… days before you took the train out to the trail! How could anyone pass this opportunity up…

I have somewhat of a deadline, but I'm hitting huge mile days and will push harder if it means staying in town for a Brother Grand performance. It gets better, Monkey Leg from Montana made the midnight drive for a quick visit. This life is perfect! The house was packed, the band killed it, we danced and drank, people wearing the biggest smiles I've ever seen.

Little Red Riding Hood

If a stranger prays to the Lord for you to make a certain choice in life, I'll tell ya, it's going to get my attention. I might not follow the prayer, but I'll sure listen. Jack, an old scripture citing man, implored me to spend a day at the ranch with Steve, learning how to tend the cattle and pitch the hay. Hiking is about the memories you get to share with your grandchildren… the vistas, the struggles and equally important, the people you meet along the way.

This wasn't Jack's ranch, he wasn't even going to come along for the ride, but the invite stood. Ahhhh… the taste of Foldger's in your cup at 4:45 A.M. I cooked us breakfast – eggs from the barn with fresh ground beef from one less free ranging cow on his land. Everyone has a story, but you get some good ones from those who've lived decades longer here on Earth.

Steve proposed a side adventure to my great big long hike. Here's the story: Long ago, lets say in the early 1920's, the United States of America thought it was time to restore the morals and purity of its people… Goodbye alcohol, hello prohibition and bootleg whiskey! Oh, if only I were alive then. Canada provided many unmanned routes into the dry country. Trucks used to cross the border and hide cases of alcohol in abandoned mines. After prohibition was lifted, America was again let loose to its sinful ways. From a third person account, there exists a bounty of aged whiskey still waiting to be picked up about 2 miles north of the Pacific Northwest Trail. A bounty that could be worth half a million buckaroos. Steve had a bundle of old maps and a mining claim book to reference. I was armed with my GPS to pinpoint the coordinates and the widest eyes you've ever seen. This would not be another zero day, we were on a mission. We stopped for a Bloody Mary to symbolize our freedom from the past era and made our way up the mountain.

Rain… Really? It was in the high 80's when we left. We hiked on through the thick brush, hours and miles of nothing. The cloud coverage kept knocking off my GPS signal… 500 feet SW, no wait… 120 feet NE… We're standing on the supposed site, but I don't see a thing. I wanted to find the loot so bad… not for its monetary value, but we were on a treasure hunt!

I did find a decomposing wolf, however, and if you know me, there wasn't a chance in hell I would be leaving without some bones. I twisted it's head round and round with my bare hands, fur sticking to me from the rain. The black tongue hung out of his mouth, grazing my fingers. Once you start something, you just have to finish. We weren't coming home with the whiskey, but dammit, I'm coming home with a jawbone. My stomach turned upside down three times as I wondered what I must look like. I found a 40 pound rock and smashed its head open. (Why am I sharing this story with you?) I loosened the jaw and detached it from the socket, teeth all in tact. I wrapped the meaty bones in 20 giant leaves, stuck them in my pocket and let out a heavy exhale knowing that I wouldn't be coming home empty handed after all.

Just because we didn't come up on the intended treasure doesn't mean it was a wasted adventure. I could still taste the history and imagine what it must have felt like twisting across the mountain roads with a truck full of contraband. Contraband that would bring joy, dance, sloppy jokes and bar fights to the good people of Northern Washington. Who knows if the legend is true, or if someone hasn't already found it. I mean, if I was the driver with precise knowledge to the secret location, I would surely make the trip up for some free booze years down the line when the smoke cleared. Or maybe I would sell the information to a drunk at a bar. What if the driver went to prison… No... wait... I got it. He was pushed off a bridge by the Federales once word got out about his black market enterprise. And then a rock slide must have buried the mine, locking the whiskey inside forever. I think I'll call that area Drunk Mountain!

I got some bushwhacking miles in, I got my bones, I got a good story and I want to cheers you all to the great unknown.

Housekeeping loves me... Bleach, peroxide, super glue and whiskey!

Braving The Blow Downs

Blow down /blōdoun/ noun

1. NORTH AMERICAN

   a tree or trees that have been blown down by the wind. "crews will be removing blowdown for a number of days

Personally, I think that maneuvering over blowdown is rather fun. When these fallen trees block the trail, I take a moment to myself, strategizing my optimal spot and cross... Right leg saddling a branchless section, hiking poles grounded in front for balance and a graceful ballet pivot with the left leg to swing myself over. It's my daily yoga, my daily little dance. I'm getting quite good at this... especially with all the practice on the PNT!

However, bushwhacking blow downs are a completely different story. Take a look at my hiking puzzle and tell me how you would cross this!!!

Remembering my elementary school gymnastic classes. It's a playground out here!

Or this...

Yup, that's the trail... On a rather steep slope, too! 

A Woman With A Tarp

I remember it vividly, the moment I saw her, a solo female hiker named Mountain Spice. She was sheltered beneath a tarp at a mosquito infested lake on the PCT. I thought to myself, "Wow... I want to be like her one day. A woman with a tarp. She's extreme. She's bad ass. She's doing it like one should." How romantic, only using a small square piece of material for protection from the wilderness.

Now, I rarely sleep in a shelter, even when it rains. There's nothing I love more than closing my eyes under the shooting stars, when you're alone in the open... Vulnerable... Cowboy camping... Like a fresh little baby drinking it's first breath of air. I know, it is more than necessary to have something to protect yourself from the elements. My little hypothermia scare taught me that. Even if I camp in a sleeping bag on the dirt, I've always carried my tent, just in case.

For my PNT trip, I decided to be "that women with a tarp." Now, this hike is not comparable to the Pacific Crest Trail. I skirt a constant latitude similar to that of the Nordic climate, (at least it is in my mind): rain falls daily, if only for an hour or two, mosquitoes swarm in the millions, creek and river fords are a common occurrence, and I'm always on watch for the wild animals. Perhaps a tarp isn't the ideal gear choice, but I don't care, I want to be her, and after making it 400 plus miles, I think I can say that I am. 

I'm using a 10 ounce 8' x 8' cuben fiber tarp for my shelter, crafted by my friends at Hyperlite MountIn Gear... and by golly, I love it. It takes time and experience to learn how to set up this kind of ultralight system, but once you've got it down, you're gold. Tents might be easier to rig and protect you better from the bugs and rain, but when you wake up and start hiking, everyone is on the exact same page... The only difference is that I'm lighter and I'm cooler... I'm that bad ass women with a tarp. 

Expectations

Expectations are silly little things. We often attach them to people and places, but feel let down when they don't meet our needs. You never know what to expect on the trail or when coming into town. That's what makes this journey so fantastic, I suppose. I live in a constant surprise of what my day will bring.

I met Sheri, John and father Fred in my first town stop. They invited us to sit at their table as we gorged down our burgers and beer. Kindred spirits from the moment we met. Fred had a homestead outside of Polbridge, Montana and Sheri and John were up for a quick visit from Ione, WA. We got to talking and realized that the PNT runs just outside of their riverside retreat, a few hundred miles in the future. I promised a visit when I got close.

Two weeks later, and I made it to Metaline Falls. I checked into the Historic Washington Hotel, a delightful resting spot for any hiker with laundry included in the $40 room! Onward to the 5th Avenue Bar and Grill for my favorite, a triple BLT no mayo extra beer. Naturally, the retired couple sitting behind me should be from a small village in the country of Montenegro, just miles from where I spent my early married summers. Zdravo! Kako si!? What a night we spent reminiscing of the Adriatic Coast!

After a delicious breakfast at Cathy's Cafe, I got ahold of John and Sheri and made my way to the neighboring town of Ione, Washington for a zero day with my new friends. We picked thimble berries all over their property and took the boat out for a ride up the Pend Orielle River, under the Orange Bridge, scouting out bald eagle nests. Sometimes, I get this feeling that I must be doing something very right in my life when I find myself filled with these perfect experiences. They treated me to dinner at Dillon's new hot spot, The Block... a hikers paradise. His place was packed with friendly locals, rounds of drinks, hip decor and delicious food. See for yourself, you won't be disappointed. Mary Kay and  DeLane (from the PNT board, who also own a kayaking company that can arrange a quick trip up the river to enhance your hike), met us at the bar. These trail angels are stations smack in the middle of Metaline Falls, and if any of you hikers don't at least make a quick stop to introduce yourselves, I will be personally offended.

The night ended with a jacuzzi bath (!!!) and hours of conversation, bonding me and my new friends as family. I don't quite know how to express my gratitude... all I can say is thank you from the top of my heart. 

The trail has been tough on me this past week, but I keep pushing forward, expectations on the side. Who could have guessed that I would be rewarded with one of the best days ever? My only regret was missing the Down River Days where all the neighboring towns come together and race their snowmobiles across the river... That's right, snowmobiles! I hope to be back next year to catch the extravaganza, but hikers, if you're in the area on the last weekend of July, you must check this out! It's a process, leaving your expectations behind, but life is so ridiculously full when you let go and just ride.

My Luxurious Life

I wear a hand made silk gown, woven by my spider friends, while I walk through the thick forest.

Potato soup fondue, anyone? It might look like watered down instant spuds with a melted chunk of cheese to you, but I'm right back in a winter Swiss chalet with this meal.

I think it's time to treat myself to a stone water foot massage as I ford my daily creek.

Sorry if I seem unavailable, my secretary (dad) is holding all my calls (mail) until I return from this summer vacation.

Oh bartender, I'll have a whiskey sour on the rocks (Black Velvet with a Crystal Lite lemonade packet while literally sitting on a rock).

Mineral mud bath? Enough said...

My private chauffeur is never late to pick me up (because I'll be road walking until/if I get a hitch into town).

I don't drink from the tap, it's only the freshest spring water for me.

I know about the 800 thread count sheets, but have you ever slept on a 800 down filled mattress (sleeping bag)? Now that's what I call the high life.

It's hard to keep track of all the wild flower bouquets sent my way... I swear, I must have 1,000,000 secret admirers.

Oh, what a fancy life I live. 

Would You Still Love Me If My Legs Looked Like This?

Bushwhacking Babe