My pack was overburdened with goodies for the last stretch of trail. The afternoon sun was harsh as Ranger, Otter, and I departed the parking area by a lake. Gentle hills rolled into a big climb. The three of us leap-frogged up the trail, passing groups of day hikers coming down the mountain, all horrified that we were starting a hike up the pass so late. A few warned us that the terrain was brutal and would take hours. Some skeptically questioned us, as if we were doing something illegal. One lady looked like she was taking mental notes so she could report us to the Park Rangers if we went missing. We assured them all we would be ok. We had covered over 2,000 miles and would bet our DarnTough socks that this would not be the worst thing we encountered. I was eager to get deeper into the wilderness.
As I was ascending the hill, a flash of black dashed down the steep slope, crossing the trail 50 feet ahead of me in a blur. I paused, then cautiously continued on. The massive black bear was in the field below, now digging at some roots. He acknowledged me as I talked to him but to my relief, didn't seem to care. I didn't linger, but pointed it out to those coming up behind me. The hill got steep but really wasn't too bad; definitely not the brutal mountain pass that the day hikers had made it out to be. I stopped a few times to take in the views and catch my breath and then descended as the sun set. I wasn't a huge fan of night hiking in the most populated grizzly area, so once darkness fully set in Ranger and I stayed close.
We finally made it to the site on our permits. I was impressed with the care the Park Service put into creating the campsites. Tent pads were spacious and private, the privy was as clean as a backcountry toilet could be, and the cooking area was well-away from camp to keep smells in a concentrated space, complete with a pole to hang food away from eager bears. I pitched my tent and joined some chipper young folks in the cooking area. They pummeled us with questions about thruhiking which we patiently answered as we ate. It was getting chilly as we cleaned up dinner and headed off to bed.
The cold delayed an early camp exit. I hiked steadily once I got moving, stopping only to observe a moose in a valley and watch some mountain goats graze on the bushes close by.
I made it to the top of the 2000 foot climb and sat looking at the incredible scene below. I was in awe of how the earth had created the rocks with a prominent fault line before glaciers had eroded valleys into them. After a while, Ranger and Otter joined me for an extended snack break, then we formed a loose line hiking down the trail. We had only come six miles and still had 18 or so to go by the time we stopped for lunch under the shade of a tree. A waterfall tumbled over the mountain in the distance.
I continued down the mountain and into a burn zone. The sun was piercing and hot and I could feel myself getting burned with the lack of shade. I quickly grew frustrated with the trail as it seemed to take a long way down the valley, winding aimlessly in and out of foothills and over creeks.
Ranger and I reconvened in time to take a shortcut. A quick stroll through some overgrowth led to a wide yet shallow stream crossing and then climbed a bank straight back to trail. It shaved off almost two miles and took probably 10 minutes. It was getting late and we still had many miles to go so it was nice to knock off a few with little effort.
Emerging from the scarred burn area, we hit a massive lake that pushed into the mountains beyond. Clouds were building with the sun setting behind the distant peaks. The overgrown trail skirted the lake for miles. We hiked into the darkness, the mountains and waterfalls cloaked in black. We came to a spot where the mountains were silhouetted against the stars and a waterfall rushed dully below. It was well past dinner time so we stopped there for some quick food. Afterward we were able to cruise into camp with little effort. The Park Ranger had informed us the campsite was overbooked, but allowed an overflow of thruhikers to set up at the horse hitching post. Thankfully there were no horses there, but we set up among old manure on torn up earth. I had slept in worse.
Clouds showed rain.
The patter of rain in the early morning woke me from a deep sleep in the warm night. I still had a couple hours til I had to get up so pushed off the dread of hiking in precipitation.
It was 5:30 when I woke up and stayed awake, yet I dozed. I braced myself for when my alarm went off at 6:45. A few snoozes later (hey, it was still too dark outside) and I knew I had to get moving. The threat of storms in the afternoon forced me to get up, and it had stopped raining for the present. It was still dawn light as I crossed the bridge back to the trail and rainy mist started to fall again. I popped up my umbrella and leaned into the hill before me. Within minutes I was soaked. The rain falling from the sky was dispersed by my umbrella, but the overgrown 4-5ft high thimbleberry bushes with broad maple-like leaves shed their water on me when I brushed them, drenching me from my waist down. It was frustrating and infuriating. I was on the edge of saying warm and the edge of slipping into coldness, but I continued charging ahead until the overgrown trail joined another and widened out. Hiking became pleasant as I emerged from the trees and the rain started to fade into a rain drop here and there.
Ranger and I hiked together as the trail skirted a mountain, climbing up to a pass. It was incredibly beautiful and beautifully incredible; the massive mountains standing tall and proud, spots of birch yellow color immersed with the green pines in the valley below. Taking in the views I spotted a smallish grizzly bear about a hundred feet off trail. It had clearly heard us but was preoccupied with digging up roots and ignored us as we approached and then passed without incident. We crested the pass and started heading down among another beautiful scene of jagged mountains and a blue lake.
I was so focused on the descent, I was stunned when I looked up. A rainbow slid from a jagged peak into the valley below. It got more vibrant as the sun started to emerge behind us. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen; so beautiful it hurt. A little further up an emerald pool became visible along with the rainbow which prompted another pause in the hike to take endless photos. Finally the rainbow faded and we were able to focus on making miles. We got down to the bottom of the valley and into tree line again, and paused for a water break to dry out wet gear. We went a mile more and stopped for lunch in the warm sun. The clouds were moving in again so we couldn't stay long.
We continued down the mountain and got to a junction where we could choose to meet an uneventful road walk or take a pretty trail around the lake. It would have been an obvious choice, if not for the reality that the sky had darkened and threatened rain soon. The road walk held a lodge to take shelter in. But I guessed we still had at least a half hour or so before rain hit and wanted to enjoy the road less traveled. It was worth the risk. We turned onto the trail to the lake and descended a few switch backs.
I heard Ranger call my name from behind. I spun around to see him stopped far behind me, nervously pointing. I wasn't sure what he was trying to say. I followed his finger carefully and spotted a moose standing in the grasses about 10 feet off trial, slightly agitated. Supposedly as I had walked by, the moose had jumped up as if to charge. Ranger passed cautiously, clinching his bear spray tightly.
A few minutes further, we unexpectedly stumbled to a hut set against the lake with a dock out to the water. Observing the clouds from the dock, anyone could see a wall of rain would be coming in shortly. We decided to wait it out under the newfound shelter. About 10-15 minutes later it hit in a steady pour.
We sat contentedly in the hut watching the world going on outside. The rain spread ripples across the lake and dripped from the awning in a steady stream. A few flashes of lightning and accompanying thunder bellowed in the valley. I had much to do... I was far behind on my journal and vlogs... but that could wait. There was nothing like this present moment, and the present moment was beautiful. I couldn't believe the day after the next is when we would finish. I wanted this to last forever.
The rain died down and we headed out. The clouds were receding to the west and the trail was wide as it skirted the lake. In no time we emerged from the trail to a drive-in campground area and walked toward the next trailhead. A few guys in a car pulled over and handed us snacks. We gratefully accepted and made our way to the porch of the closed general store. It was still early, 5:30, but we willingly stopped to cook dinner under the rare dry shelter. We spread our stuff out taking over the space.
Finally, we headed into the last stretch of eight miles to camp. It was already after six and we knew we would be hiking at night, but I hoped we could still get there at a decent time. The trail was wide and well traveled. We met a lot of friendly folks completing day hikes. Early on we passed between a massive bull moose on the left and a mama and her baby on the right, all less than 20 feet from us. They were busy with chewing up aspens but I was nervous that they would change their mind and focus on destroying hikers instead. To my relief, they let us pass without a second glance.
Ranger and I hiked solo for a while and then joined up as we started to climb out of the valley. It was steep and darkness had fallen, though I could see the ridge against the fading light. The narrow trail switchbacked up, blasted into the mountain at times. In the blackness I could see we were standing on precipices. I got dizzy with only a narrow beam of light to guide me and hugged the walls, knowing that a fall could be deadly. Finally after an agonizing couple miles we made it to the top. I wished badly I could see the views I had worked for, but the fog would have obscured anything even if it was light. I was eager to get to camp and go to bed. The next couple days were going to be big.
It was a semi-warm, humid, and sticky night, and I woke up more than I wanted. When I climbed the hill out of camp, peaks of the mountain range were sticking out of the clouds. It was incredible, like something only in the movies or glossy photos of nature magazines. The fog obscured the rest of the views but gave us a window into the dark, glacier-accented peaks. I wondered what else was beyond the fog. I tried to take a photo but the mountains were so vast, so powerful, that a photo seemed to shrink them down into something comprehensible and didn't do them the justice they deserved.
It was the last full day. I reflected on finishes and what this one would be like. I had felt numb of emotion leading up to Katahdin, the end of the AT, and it wasn't until I touched that sign that all the feelings crushed me with an intensity I had never felt before. Finishing in Canada on the PCT was a little different. I had been so focused on just finishing I had let go of the joy of the journey because I was in a time crunch to get to a job. Finishing that trail was more of a relief than anything, yet I cried... just because I felt like I should. I had no idea what to expect for this end... what kind of emotions would come up... for I wasn't just finishing the Continental Divide, I was completing my Triple Crown.
I hiked alone and reflected all morning, the clouds thickening over the mountain peaks, lifting and flowing in the valleys. It was a very dynamic atmosphere. It was cold and wet, but I hiked well. The trail descended, skirted along a blasted cliff, then traversed a mountain until it headed up the last 2000 foot climb of the CDT.
I found a decent enough spot for lunch and waited for Ranger to catch up. We ate, watching a cloud ascending from the valley below, changing shapes as it reached some mountaintops and joined the dark and desolate cloud reigning over the peak. The sun managed to come out briefly and I put my tent up to dry in the shadows of the clouds. It worked well enough.
We climbed up the remaining hill and came over the pass. I started down, Ranger already a small form in the distance. He was stopped, taking a video of a grizzly charging down the hill at full speed to the treeline far below. He was a massive beast, and running that far that fast would have taken an enormous amount of energy the bear wouldn't want to spend. I was eager to hear the story. When I caught up to Ranger, I learned that he and the grizzly had a stare down for 30 seconds before the bear decided to surrender and run.
When my attention turned to the trail ahead, I realized that we would have to go down the same hill as the bear and back up the other side in order to get to the next pass. Even though it was a short hill, I didn't feel like walking up yet another one. I had already decided the last climb was the last climb. My eyes followed the side of the mountain. It looked like there may be a way to traverse. It was only cutting off a half mile and a 200 foot climb but that route seemed a lot harder than I thought it should be. Why not rebel one more time and make our own path? So we found and followed a very old trail. It was overcome with rocks but it was still a visible scar on the land until a scree bed erased it. Trail crews had probably abandoned the old trail because rock had fallen from the cliffs above and obliterated all of the hard work the they had put in. Making a new, longer but lasting one would be less work in the end. The shortcut was slow going with all the shuffling and slipping and sliding over the loose rock. My feet were stretched as they tried to conform to the landscape.
Ranger bailed halfway through and cut down to the new trail, but I kept going, figuring bailing would take just as much time as pushing through at that point. I managed to find and pick up the trail again after the end of the rock scramble and started to make decent enough timing. I popped out onto the pass and merged onto the real trail. The "shortcut" probably hadn’t saved a lot of time but it was still an adventure.
I descended the massive mountain into the valley below, trying to really be in the moment of the last day. Eventually I gave in as I reached the floor of the valley and listened to some stuff to make the miles go faster.
I could smell the lake before I got there. A warm breeze brought the scent of fresh water and sweet air to me. I was surprised to come to a building with people inside, with electricity no less, and more structures further on. I found Ranger filling up his water from the spigot next to a station maintaining border security. I hadn't expected all of the civilization. By my knowledge I had been in deep wilderness, and seeing all the buildings startled me out of the magic. Still, I walked onto the dock with Ranger and we sat and looked at Canada for a bit. Ranger moved on to get to camp nearby while I stayed a few moments more, looking into the end. I tried to reflect on the trails but I had already thought much about them. There was nothing new to think.
I moved on a half mile more. I took off my shoes and waded across a wide but shallow river in the fading light to get to camp on the other side. Ranger had already started a fire by the time I emerged onto the bank and I went to go grab some more fuel. It struggled under the wet wood but caught, and once it was secure I went to set up my tent.
I made ramen for dinner next to the fire. It was a fitting meal for the last night of being a thruhiker. We quietly watched the fire as we dried our shoes and socks, steam rolling off them. My feet soaked up the dry heat after being waterlogged for 2 days. Stars shone brightly overhead. The rain and mist had officially moved on, and it seemed like we would have perfect weather for a finish. After adjusting the fire, we retired to our tents.
As I lay there I thought back to the first night on trail. That windy night, sleeping in my new tent for only the third time ever on top of a hill with a guy named Kevin who I had shared a bus ride with. Lightning had flickered in the distance and I unworriedly considered the possibilities of storm. I had been exhausted from the travels yet sleep evaded me. I was eager for the adventure ahead, unsure of what would come. Now, I knew what had come... all the things that had transpired to get me to the end of the trail. And I lay three miles away from the end of a great adventure.
I woke up multiple times that last night. My whole body was hurting, as if it knew that the end was near and it could start to shut down. It seemed like my back was out of whack. I had twinges in my shoulders, and my toe somehow felt broken. I still slept really well, and when I woke we took a leisurely exit by 9am.
It was three miles to Canada. Three miles to the end of this long dream. It seemed like it had come too fast. Ranger and I hiked solo for a few miles and met up just before the finish line.
I was drawn like a magnet when I saw it. The world fell away around me; nothing else mattered. Two monuments sat on the border signifying two treaties between the two countries. I started gasping, reaching for the solid medal monument. Overwhelming emotion. A pained yelp followed by uncontrollable sobs. I tried to figure out why I was crying so hard... What was I feeling that required these tears to run so heavy? Sadness. Simply sadness. A fresh wave rolled over me as I realized that as much as I wanted to be done with the Triple to start a settled life, the trails gave me an opportunity to live the life I loved. And now it was over. It was over....
When I composed myself I looked over and saw Ranger sitting on his bear canister, casually eating food and looking at me. "You okay?" he asked. "Yeah fine," I said wiping my eyes. Though it was hard to say goodbye to the trails, I knew great adventures of a different character lay ahead. We sat for some quiet moments, staring at the water, the sun popping in and out of the clouds casting an ethereal glow into the end.
