"You'll love Washington." "Washington is AMAZING." "Washington is my favorite state." "Washington is so incredibly beautiful." I had never been to Washington, but I had heard many good things about it. With all these high expectations of Washington set before me, I crossed the Bridge of the Gods into the final state. At first, it was awesome. We filed across the bridge as wind whipped around me and waves tossed beneath me, and cars flew past me. It was sketchy and scary and exhilarating all at once. But it didn't last. Not a quarter mile into the new land I formed my own opinion: I hated Washington. The first thing the trail did after crossing the river was head up a 3500 foot hill. It was overgrown. It was hot and a humid. There were no incredible views. The once-huge juicy blackberries had shrived up into pitiful raisins, still clinging to prickly vines that grabbed at my bare legs as I walked past. All in all, it was just short of miserable.
I had caught up with the rest of my trail family (well, most of them), and we had had a happy reunion in Cascade Locks. I was eager to spend a bit more time with friends before I had to take off again, as I inevitably would have to do. We spread out a bit on the trail, hiking in small groups or alone. A runner came bolting down the trail toward us and I stepped aside. Then another one, and another one. There was a race going on. If it wasn't for my previous love of running and races I would have gotten annoyed at the frequent stops to let runners pass (stopping so much on uphills breaks your stride). Ahead, I saw a huge tent; an aid station. I didn't let myself get excited for the possibility of trail magic; it was certainly just for the runners. But Southbound was hanging out in the shade of the dual-purpose oasis. Runners mingled with hikers as we fueled up on fruit, cheese, and drinks before quickly moving on.
I hiked with Steak for most of the day, as he was still hurting from his recent ridiculous mileage and not up to his usual speed. It was dark by the time we made it to the top of the hill and joined Southbound and Spygot. I felt like I could go further if not for the light, but I set up my tent and made some dinner before turning in. No one talked much; everyone was tired after the long climb. I decided to hike their hike for a while, as they seemed to be averaging the same daily mileage. I would enjoy the company, at least for the time being. It was nice to be among a familiar crew again.
How had everyone gotten so fast? Or had had I gotten so slow? I was used to being in the front of the pack all day, usually hiking alone or leap-frogging with some of the other faster group members. Sometimes I didn't see anyone all day until they joined me in the campsite in the evening. But now it was reversed. I still was the first to leave in the morning, hiking as quickly as I could with few breaks. But soon I would hear footsteps behind me to see someone catching up. Then another tramily member would pass, and before I knew it, I was at the back of the pack. Despite my 3mph pace I couldn't keep up. They had all gotten their trail legs and my short stride couldn't compete. It was frustrating. I no longer set the standard pace or mileage, but merely walked until I found them or got tired, whichever came first.
As evening approached I started to anticipate catching up to my trail family. They would certainly have stopped by then. They weren't at the first potential campsite so I moved on. They weren't at the second. Frustrated, I continued hiking into the dimming light. By my estimation, they were probably an hour ahead of me. The next campsite was 4.5 miles away, and I assumed they had decided to push to there. I didn't want to be hiking until 8:30 so I pulled over at an unmarked camp spot among some pines. I was alone, and it was a bit eerie, but I didn't want to night hike. I recalled waiting hours for them in the desert, stopping early to camp so they would be able to catch up before dark. We had never agreed to stick together, but I felt myself growing angry that they had gone ahead without me. I had hoped to hike their hike for a while, but it didn't seem like that was happening. What was the point of trying to hike with people if I was never going to see them?
It was labor day weekend. My hopes were high for the possibility of trail magic. I really really wanted some. I would get excited as I approached every road crossing, only to find empty parking lots. At one point I smelled meat grilling and lively chatter, but was disappointed only to find unsharing picnickers.
There was a potential for town at the end of the day, and although I had carried 5.5 days of food to avoid a time-sucking town stop, I was considering going in. I knew that was where everyone else was heading, and if I didn't go in then I would end up several miles ahead of the others from my group. If I ended up ahead, the likelihood of seeing them again would be next to nada. I could just slip past them while they were in town, and the whole frustration with trying to make good time while still hanging out with people would be over. But I hadn't said goodbye, for I had just recently said hello, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to leave them just yet. I debated the conundrum of town much of the day.
The dreams of labor day magic came true, as the sign at the trailhead promised food, drinks, and fun. Thirteen trail angels from a hiking club had brought all kinds of food to do their traditional labor-day trial magic. Tables were piled high with all kinds of dishes, boxes of food sat next to coolers housing drinks and ice cream, and a half-circle of chairs faced it all. I joined the other hikers and a newborn kitten for an extended lunch.
I was so full I had to waddle, but I made good timing to the road. I had decided to leave it up to chance to get to town. If I could get a ride quickly on the ill-traveled road, I would head in. If no one would stop to pick me up then I would move; I figured I could make it seven or so more miles before the sun set. When I arrived at the road I found a crowd of hikers waiting for a shuttle that would be arriving soon. It looked like I was going in. I recognized a few faces, but many of the hikers were strangers. Soon I found myself bouncing down the road in a truck bed buried under a slew of packs. My butt and legs got numb on the long ride down the mountain to Trout Lake.
I located the rest of my trail family and spend the evening watching movies and eating real food before turning in to my tent. I was glad I had gone into town, but I knew I would pay for the lost miles later. It was crunch time, and I had a little over 2 weeks to hike 400 miles.
Washington was getting much better. The trail was no longer overgrown, the views were just short of magnificent, and I was able to spend more time with my tramily. But the longer I spent with friends, the more frustrated I became with the time stress I had placed upon myself. Back when I was in the Sierras, I had agreed to work at my usual fall job in California at the end of September; that would give me plenty of time to finish the trail and have a few days to rest and recover. But then I decided to head up to Minnesota mid-hike to lead an unplanned Outward Bound trip which set me back 3 weeks. I had skipped ahead, which saved me a bit short of 2 weeks of hiking, which meant I was over a week behind where I thought I would be, which meant that I would have to make up the lost time by doing big mile days. I had been pushing miles for an incredibly long time and I was getting tired. It had been a fun challenge, but now that I was with family, I wanted to spend more time and enjoy the journey.
I was torn. I really wanted to cross that border among friends, the same who had taken the first steps with me. I wasn't tired of hiking; in fact, I felt like I could go on for a few more months yet. But I had also agreed to starting work, and I was eager to get back to California and merge into a fun fall season. Plus, it was a personal challenge to see if I could finish on time, even if it would be alone. I pondered the option of calling into work to see if I could start later, but was indecisive if that was a good move or not. I already was planning on taking off two weeks to finish the section I had skipped which would already make for an incredibly short fall work season.
As I hiked, I wracked my brain for any possible way I could have it all. I only needed 2 more days. Heck, even one more day would be nice. I agonized over the situation, trying to figure out the best move. Go fast? Go slow? Tramily? Alone? Challenge myself? Enjoy the journey?
"What do you want, Arrow?" a voice asked me. My face contorted with confusion and tears spilled over in frustration. I don't know! I wanted to shout, I don't know what I want! How did I want to finish this hike? Doing huge miles, ending alone but proud of achieving a hard challenge, and rushing to work? Or taking it easy, spending time with people, enjoying the views and towns, and lose a week of income. I didn't know what to do. I stabbed the ground and threw my trekking pole in frustration. It did little to help. I focused on hiking to vent the negative energy.
As the trail climbed higher, I discovered why everyone said they loved Washington. The trees opened to reveal an incredible mountain range, the Cascades, similar to the Sierras except they were red-hued rocks. The beauty took me by surprise. Each mountain range I had hiked through held its own personality. The Appalachians were welcoming and friendly. The Sierras were beautiful and dangerous. The Cascades were silent and ancient. Incredible. Hiking was hard but pleasurable the rest of the afternoon, as each turn of the trial offered new scenes. Smoke billowed in a plume in the distance, a huge mountain guarded over a turquoise pond, and a line of mountains marched off into the north.
I joined Southbound and Spygot at the knife's edge. The trail followed the ridge of a sharp mountain, the earth dropping off thousands of feet on either side. We took the edge at our own pace and met up at the fire detour. Part of the PCT was closed because of the nearby fire, and hikers were turned onto a notoriously difficult detour around it. I took lead and we started with an incredibly steep downhill, searching for a good place to camp.
A few miles later we reached the bottom and decided to call it a day. I was satisfied but not content with the mileage for the day, but I agreed to stop with the others. I knew I was setting myself up for incredibly long days in the end, but who knew, it may be the last night with the trail family-- unless the deadline could be changed. I had decided to call my employer the next day when I got to town to see if it was even possible to take off the first week of work. Maybe all the indecisiveness would be for naught and the choice would be made for me.
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