A few trucks roared past, pulling me into the waking world. With little else to do I started my drive South to start phase two of Operation FIG. This time I was leaving my car at the trailhead and walking away from it, planning on catching a ride back to my car once I finished in Burney. I stopped mid-drive to make some pancakes and wash up, then continued on down to Mt. Shasta where I resupplied and did some laundry.
Thruhiking with a car was an interesting twist. I could drive anywhere in town with ease, but on the trail my feet did the work. It was a nice balance. I finished up some chores, got a bite to eat, and then drove to the trial head. To my delight I saw two backpackers trying to get a hitch back to the trial, and I eagerly pulled over to give them a ride. It turned out they were the couple I had camped with on the ridgeline earlier that week, and now that I was walking South for this final section, it appeared I would be seeing them a lot.
They took off ahead of me while I secured my car and got my stuff ready, then I headed out for the final section of the PCT. Fall was in the air. I was thankful for the cool, crisp breeze that drove the gnats away. It was all uphill, and since I didn't start hiking until the afternoon I only made around eight miles until I stopped to camp just before sunset. I figured the couple had gone on ahead, but as I settled in for the night they came striding up the trial. I was happy for the company and delighted to have cell reception. Its a completely different attitude when you know you have connection to the outside world, and a luxury to browse the internet all snug in a sleeping bag.
My sleeping pad had a hole in it. I had to blow it up 3-4 times throughout the night to prevent myself from sinking all the way to the ground. I woke with the sun and packed up. The air smelled of smoke, but google said there were no new fires so I set off.
The cloudy sky trapped the smoke in the valley and throughout the day it appeared that the smoke was building and thickening. I began to smell freshly burnt stuff- a sharper, more pungent and intense smoke aroma. For a while it seemed like I was right on top of a recent burn until the wind shifted and I crested a hill and the smoke faded away.
The trail wound through a gold and green tunnel with mellow ups and downs. Each gentle breeze sent leaves fluttering to the ground. I didn't see anyone all day until I came to a roaring river where a few fly fishermen were casting lines in the cold water. I was more tired than usual, and I was tempted to stop and camp by one of the lovely spots along the river. My feet were hurting, but it was still a bit early so I decided to move on.
The sun was setting when I arrived to the next camp spot, and after careful deliberation I pitched my tent. There was only one good spot but I wasn't sure if the couple would make it that far, as I hadn't seen them all day and it was getting dark, so I took it. But just as I was making dinner I saw two headlamps bobbing across the creek and coming closer. They had a two-person tent and if I waited until they arrived to offer to move they would politely decline so as not to make me go through the hassle. But there was no way they would have a comfortable night in the remaining spots, so I quickly ripped out my tent stakes pulled my tent to a smaller, slopier spot that I had in mind as a backup spot, perfect for a one person tent.
My tent was easy to move, as it was mostly free standing. All my stuff was scattered inside, making it heavy, and I didn't want to drag it and risk getting holes in the floor. I picked it up by its frame and wrapped my arm around the bottom, testing the durability. I heard a snap and a pole jutted upward, collapsing the door walls in on themselves. I carry-dragged it ten feet over to the new spot, contents spilling out as I went. I quickly picked my stuff up and went to assess the damage.
The two hikers greeted me as they came down, setting up their tent where I had just moved from. I began to repair the pole. At first glance, it seemed like it would be an easy fix, but soon I realized there was absolutely nothing I could do to hold the pole in place. Sticks weren't strong enough, string was too flexible, and my pole splint wouldn't work for this situation. So I tied the tent up and staked it out, cushioning the jagged edge of the broken pole so as not to rip the fly. The end result was a lopsided tent, partially caving in. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't very waterproof, but it would do. Everything was breaking.. my sleeping pad, trekking pole tips, and now my tent. It was time.
After this night, I had one night left. One more full day and then I walk into the final victory. At the time, finishing in Canada felt like the end. My mindset for FIGing was just to treat this section as a random backpacking trip rather than completing the PCT in order to feel the satisfaction when I made it to Canada. But now that I was actually finishing the section, connecting the two pieces of a really long trail... it was real. I was going to officially finish the PCT. I was living those "last nights" all over again. I was excited to be finished. Finished once and for all.
It was a good last full day, a quiet day. There were some hills in the morning before the trail broke onto the ridge and displayed the blue mountains dotted with fall yellows. The sun ducked in and out of the clouds. The miles seemed to get longer and longer the further I hiked.
I followed some very clear, fresh, and defined bear tracks heading my direction. He must have turned around at some point, because the last print I saw was going the other way. I camped relatively close to the tracks, praying he wouldn't come into my camp. Based on the prints he had huge claws. I heard the other two hikers arrive at the campsite and set up nearby on the other side of the hedge. If a bear did come, at least I would have backup.
I set up my tent in view of Mount Shasta and watched the sunset as I cooked dinner. The clouds swirled overhead, glowing in the dusky light, and the mountains turned a deeper blue as the sun sank behind them. I thought back to my other "last night" at Harts pass just before Canada, and how disappointing that had been. This experience contrasted that one sharply; everything was perfect. The crickets came out and started singing as I gazed out my tent door at the mountain's silhouette and watched the starts come out. This trail had not been what I thought it would be, but had been such and incredible journey. Just 24 miles more...
They went by quickly, the miles. Soon I was crossing a roaring dam with dizzying, gushing water and before I knew it, there it was. The place I had left a few months before to do my jump skip ahead. The journey was now complete, all gaps were filled in. Complete satisfaction washed over me and I felt the incredible sense of accomplishment all over again. I was finished now, really finished. It was done, over... I had walked 2650 miles from Mexico to Canada. I smiled to myself as I turned away from the trail, and headed home.
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