From campsite at PCT mile 2374.45, elev. 3782, walked 16.24 miles (plus .3 miles on road) to Summit Inn at Snoqualmie Pass (.3 miles from PCT mile 2390.69, elev. 2998).
Dear Trail Friends,
Although I had intended (again) to make this a short day and to camp somewhere just a few miles before Snoqualmie Pass, I changed my mind when -- despite being a gorgeous campsite with great logs to sit on, flat areas for my tent, a stream nearby and cell coverage, I found that the cell coverage was not good enough to download the emails with the travel information I wanted to research.
Chrissy and I had discussed the possibility of my coming home early (the fire continues to spread and be out of control--the second proposed detour which involved over 100 miles of hitching rides on walking along highways has now also been closed due to fire, like the trail itself and the first proposed detour. I find some of the hikers are talking about stopping at Stevens Pass, and possibly returning next year to hike the missing piece.) and driving to Santa Barbara with her. It sounds like it would be fine with Peter (who offered to drive with her when I was unavailable).
So now the tricky part is seeing if I can change my reservations for Seattle to Oklahoma City to reservations from LA to OKC, without losing a ton of money in penalties and perhaps more expensive flights. As it turns out, there's something gone haywire with DSL and wireless on Orcas and my email provider appears to be down, so even here at Summit Inn, with five bars of coverage and wifi, I can't download the emails that contain flight info. I don't even remember what airlines I used.
Now it is Thursday, my zero day, and I didn't realize til I was eating breakfast that I never finished this blog. Guess I was more tired than I knew. Anyway, I woke up this morning and Orcas email was working again. I've made a reservation ( and am in hold with United by telephone to get the new reservation la to Denver compiled with the old Denver to OKC, also to see if there's any refund on the old Sea to Denver after paying cancellation fee). Don't you hate all these details? I'd rather be walking in the woods.
And yet. Yesterday evening as I left a perfectly lovely camp in the woods I realized that I felt pulled back to my civilized everyday life. That I was almost bored with the natural beauty. Maybe it's my way of coming to terms with the inevitable (fire closures making the hike to Canada essentially not do-able).
I know that meeting a hiker (Freedom Train) whom hadn't seen since just when I began in N California, who said hikers were asking about me, influenced me. It's nice to feel wanted. And at breakfast I ran into Barbara, the retired English professor hiking with her dog Angel, who I also encountered in N California and with whom I had thoroughly enjoyed dinner at Callahans (near Ashland OR). Freedom Train had decided to hike south from Stevens Pass instead of taking the detours -- later I learned from Barbara he was following a girl he had met who was heading southbound! Nevertheless, seeing him (who began at Campo at the Mexico border this year and so had a special investment in finishing in one year) cheerfully turning around helped me to relinquish my attachment to making it to Canada this year.
I was, as it turned out, delighted with my decision to hike down to Snoqualmie Pass. As I hiked the last little climb I noticed I was depressed (bored with the beauty maybe) and then a little bird started hopping along the path in front of me. It brought a vivid flashback of a moment with Chris on the Camino when a quail walked in front of us, just as if it were another pilgrim. I even made a video of it. This little bird seemed to go forward on the trail -- hop, hop, hop -- then pause, look over her shoulder and wait for me to catch up, and then go forward--hop, hop, hop-- again. This continued for quite awhile until I could hear other hikers approaching and at that point she took flight. As the hikers came around the corner I saw a radiant smile on the first hiker (a woman). "You sure look happy" I said. "You look happy too" she said. And I realized it was true. That little bird hop hop hopping led me back to the trail and the present moment. From there on I enjoyed the hike down, especially the excitement of looking at the mountains ( for the moment clear and smoke free) I will probably be climbing into on Friday, and looking down at the highway, the cars and trucks, sounds of traffic, buildings, the ski lift I hiked under -- a sense of excitement: what will this new trail town be like? How will I find my way to the hotel?
Photo 1: the mountains ahead --clear, no smoke. A sense of great excitement both hiking down into town and seeing the mountains ahead. Let's use these beautiful mountains as Bonnie's wave of the day. Shall we all saddle up and ride one of these mountains, as a metaphor for the new day and whatever dreams and prayers we hold most holy today, and for Bonnie and her health and happiness as she rides the wave of living with lung cancer.
When I got to town, after taking out my guidebook notes and figuring out which way to turn, I made my way to the Chevron gas station and convenience store and a little restaurant in a trailer in the same parking lot, called the Aardvark, where hikers seemed to be hanging out. From there I went to the Summiy Inn next door where I found a room was available and I showered and started my laundry.
Then I went back to the Aardvark, which alas had closed at 8. (It was now 8:20). But the kind owner Dan made me dinner anyway, a delicious chicken curry with lots of fresh crunchy cabbage and cilantro. Turns out Dan was an "army brat" and grew up all over the world, becoming fascinated with world cuisines. He spent 10 years in college-majoring in business, then political science, then journalism -- and most recently managed the ski lift here, before opening the Aardvark.
Photo 2. Dan's (owner/chef of the Aardvark's) collection of different hot sauces from around the world. Look closely -- no two (well, maybe two...) are alike!!
Photo 3. Working our way backwards through my day, I knew you would be fascinated to hear about what it is like when "nature calls" via the rectum and there simply are no nice level areas with little underbrush. Here I left my pack on trail and bushwhacked my rather steep way ( the photo doesn't capture the incline) down my requisite 20 steps (my substitute for what they say it should be: 200 ft from trail, which would be almost 70 yards or 70 steps!). Once again I dig my cathole broad to make up for the fact that I simply could not dig deep (dense thick roots) so I would still have enough dirt to fully cover up my poop. I knew you'd be fascinated by this! We were laughing at breakfast about how natural it is on the trail to discuss stuff like poop. hiker Toto from Kansas (who hiked the Appalachian trail last year and will probably skip a year before hiking the Continental Trail to become a "triple crowner") said his wife has to keep reminding him "you're not on the trail anymore." (As in, sniff, sniff - did you take a shower today? )
Photo 4. I was listening to some poignant horn and cello music (yo yo Mann collaborating with other musicians to play Ennio Morricone I think film scores -- I don't know who he is being a popular culture illiterate but maybe you do...) as I came upon these former wildflowers gone to seed. At once I had a feeling that went perfectly with the music that fall had arrived on the mountain and in my life. That just as these flowers are releasing their seeds to the wind, so I am learning to let go and release the things in my life.
Photo 5: continuing to work backwards, early in the day, resting in "inverted posture" -- so admiring the majesty of the trees. I feel so close to these trees. I am learning, especially when I have a relatively steep slope to my head ( which is great for my brain to be below my heart and lungs to get all that "free" circulation of blood and oxygen via gravity, but logistically hard to maneuver myself into position), I can snuggle in sideways close up to trunk, then turn and clasp the tree tight between my thighs (like riding a horse) as I carefully lower back and head to the earth. I love the magnetic feeling of the earth under my back and the looking up through the trees into the sky. The geometry and motion of branches is so different looking straight up. And that moment of clasping the tree has a definite sense of erotic intimacy, a physical feeling of closeness to the soul of the tree. Which I love and which had me reflecting ongoing on how it is to be a tree, so tall and strong and rooted in one place for an entire life, ones only motion the swinging (sometimes churning) of branches in the wind and the swaying of the trunk. At one point I was listening to Bbethoven, some pretty complex motion in the music, and the many many diverse movements of branches in wind seemed to dance perfectly to the music.
Photo 6: still going backwards -- the beautiful world around me in the early dawn light. A new day.
That's all for now. Happy trails.
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