A Crazy Idea

If you read my last post, you know that I survived my solo trek to Chinook Pass, where I met my favorite trail angel parents.  The next morning, my sister and my new hiking partner, Carolyn, drove up to meet us.  As I mentioned earlier, Carolyn is the daughter-in-law of a good family friend who had the crazy idea to join me on the next leg of the trail.

Now, I say her decision was crazy for several reasons.  The first is that Carolyn, although well traveled, has essentially no backpacking experience.  While most would prefer to ease into the sport by doing a few single overnighters, Carolyn jumps straight into a five-day backpacking trip along a relatively remote (i.e., fewer resupplies/exist points) section of the PCT.  The second is that, at the time she decided to accompany me for the next five days on the trail, Carolyn barely knew me.  Aside from a few casual conversations at dinner parties, we had effectively spent zero time together.  So, she was trusting an almost complete stranger to guide her through the next 50+ miles of wilderness.  That’s why, looking back, I call her decision crazy.  At the time, however, I was just thrilled to have a new hiking companion.  And thankfully for both of us, she nailed this whole backpacking thing.

My family joined for the first few miles, stopping for lunch at yet another Sheep Lake before climbing a series of exposed switchbacks to the saddle at Sourdough Gap, which offered spectacular views of Mount Rainier’s nearby glaciers and of the trail back down to Chinook Pass.  After snapping a few pictures, they sent us on our way.  We still had seven miles to cover before we would reach our campsite and—more importantly—our next water source.  Unfortunately for Carolyn, the section of the trail between Chinook and Stampede Pass is surprisingly dry, requiring us to carry significantly more water than usual.  At 2.2 pounds per liter, this additional water made a significant difference in the weight of our packs.

The trail hugged the side of the mountain for several miles before ascending the ridge just above the Crystal Mountain ski area.  We contemplated the luxury we could be enjoying in the resort cabins below before all signs of civilization disappeared into the distance behind us.  The trail became increasingly rocky and narrow as it climbed from one ridgeline to another.  The rest of the day’s hike required a fair amount of concentration, which I am convinced helped distract Carolyn at least somewhat from the all-encompassing soreness of that first day.  I promised her she could have a glass of wine when finally reached Stampede Pass, which also seemed to lift her spirits a bit.

We made it to camp just before sunset.  As we descended from the last ridge and made our way into the forest, we saw dozens of white dots speckling the hillside above us.  Until we got closer, I didn’t think it was possible that so many mountain goats would congregate in single place.  Two cowboys who were camped nearby told us they had counted sixty of them, which they said was unheard of in all of their years in those mountains.  Still, we were too exhausted and anxious to set up out tent to be too impressed.

We spent much of the next morning refilling our water supplies at the small nearby spring, which despite being equipped with a narrow pipe to aid in the water flow, provided little more than a trickle. To make matters worse, Nuptse with his boundless energy knocked the pipe and disrupted the flow.  Carolyn eventually managed to finagle the pipe back into the rocks where it had been carefully placed, although I fear the stream of water was even more pitiful than when we had arrived.  From our maps, we knew we would not have access to water until we reached our campsite night.  To get through the next twelve miles, Carolyn filled roughly four liters of water.  Because Nuptse couldn’t fit all of his own water in his pack, I carried close to six liters.  As one thru-hiker pointed out, that’s a ridiculous amount of water.  In fact, that’s how we finally got our trail names.

Hi, I’m Ridiculous! And this is my friend, Too Much.

As we were collapsed on the side of the trail one afternoon, overheated and exhausted, a thru-hiker named Angler came bounding up to us at a pace we couldn’t dream of, at least not with our heavy packs.  In awe, I decided to ask Angler how much water he was carrying on such a long, dry stretch of the trail.  He looked at us sheepishly before responding, “Actually, right now I’m carrying one and a half liters, which is ridiculous.”  (Emphasis in original)  In other words, the average thru-hiker probably carries less than a third of the amount of water I currently had in my pack.  In fact, we later spoke to a couple who said they hadn’t carried that much water since they hiked a stretch in the California desert were they had to go 43 miles without water.  No wonder we had trouble keeping up!  From then on, I was “Ridiculous” and Carolyn was “Too Much.”  Her name was particularly fitting given that she brought an entire roll of toilet paper and later gave away several days worth of food to other hikers after realizing she wouldn’t be quite as famished as she initially thought.

We spent most of the next day hiking through what seemed like incredibly lush forest, but which had effectively rivers or streams. Twelve miles later, we reached our destination: the Ulrich Cabin, a marvelous and endearing structure erected in the memory of Mike Ulrich, a forester who died in 1957.  The cabin is nestled in the heart of the
national forest and is perched at the entrance of the enormous Government Meadow.

When we arrived, several other hikers were cooking on the porch, drinking cheap whisky, and generally making themselves at home in the first-come, first-serve cabin, which is complete with a fire place, miscellaneous cooking supplies, and several cots.  Although the thought of not having to sleep on the ground was appealing, we soon realized that this was a rowdy bunch and chose to sleep outside instead.  We set up our tent just on the edge of the giant meadow, which filled with a thick layer of fog as the darkness settled in.  We sat around the fire pit and swapped stories with some of the other hikers before crawling into bed, lulled to sleep by the sound of their distant voices.

The next morning, several elk were grazing in the meadow, barely visible through the dense layer of fog.  Over the next several miles, the moisture in the air became so think that it saturated the trees, which poured enough water on us that we put on our rain gear for the first time. The sun peaked through the clouds and the fog began to clear just as we entered  entered the Falls Creek burn area, a section of forest which had been struck by a large fire in 1988, leaving only ghost-like trunks where the tall trees had once stood.  The burn area, filled with the bright leaves of the blueberry bushes turned red by the fall air, stood in stark contrast to the dripping moisture of the forest directly behind us.

From the Falls Creek Burn all of the way to Stampede Pass, the PCT is dominated by the impacts of a booming timber industry.  The area is bisected by countless logging roads and contains some of the largest clearcuts in Washington.  After a grueling 14 miles, we finally reached our intended campsite only to find it had been taken over by a group of hunters.  Although I had tied a neon orange string to Nuptse’s pack, I was still worried an unobservant hunter might mistake him for a dear.  We chuckled to ourselves that our biggest threat on the trail was now other human beings, and I reflected on how wonderful it would be if the entire PCT was in protected wilderness area.  Thankfully, we found a flat area a short distance down the trail and set up our tent in the howling wind, using large rocks to secure it.

Shortly after sunset, a group of three German hikers, having encountered the same shortage of campsites we had, came down the trail desperately looking for a place to set up their tent.  We barely managed to give Happy Oats, Captain Quick, and Messy Fruit a welcoming hello before hunkering down in our sleeping bags to escape the chilling wind.  The next morning, Nuptse attempted to sneak into their tent.  Although they seemed grateful for the company, I had to laugh when I went to retrieve him and saw them sitting neatly in a row eating their oatmeal with their perfectly matching attire and identical sleeping bags.  If they can hike over 2,000 miles together, spending each night in such tight quarters, their friendship can withstand anything.

A few miles into our hike the following morning, I saw a pair of hikers that I soon recognized as my parents walking towards us on the trail.  They had surprised us by driving to Tacoma Pass, which is nothing more than a gravel forest road they had originally been told might not be suitable for RVs.  There, they met “Not Phil’s Dad,” a trail angel whose son, “Not Phil Collins,” had thru-hiked the PCT.  He had set up several camp chairs under a canopy tent and offered passing hikers an array of foods, and would stay there in his trailer until he ran out of food.  After taking a short break and trading stories with Not Phil’s Dad, we made the final ten-mile push to Stampede Pass.

The sky was clear and blue, and throughout the day, we could see the jagged peaks of the Enchantments to the North.  The only downside was that Carolyn’s knee had begun to ache, and got worse and worse as the day went on.  She seldom complained, but I could tell she was in a fair amount of pain when we finally reached Stampede Pass.  I am starting to wonder if perhaps I’m a curse to all of my hiking partners.  Although Carolyn would not be able to continue on the final leg to Snoqualmie Pass, “Too Much” had just completed her first backpacking trip, a 51 mile trek through the heart of the Cascades.  By any measure, I would call that a success.

Nathan surprised me by driving up to meet us at Stampede Pass, and we we all ate dinner in the warm, cozy camper.  Oh, and Carolyn FINALLY got that glass of wine I’d been promising her since day one.