CHAPTER FIVE
THE NORTH CASCADES: WASHINGTON

The Columbia River to Manning Park

August 27 to September 24

484 miles

 

After a breakfast in Cascade Locks I finally left Oregon via the Bridge of the Gods, an impressive cantilever bridge that was built in 1926. The name comes from a Native American legend about a bridge over the river, a legend based in reality as around 1450 A.D. the river was dammed by a landslide that created a land bridge in the vicinity of Cascade Locks. The river backed up behind the dam to create a huge lake before breaking through and washing the debris away. As I walked over the modern bridge I watched ospreys flying over the river and was delighted to see these lovely graceful fish-hawks.

Stepping off the bridge into Washington State I thought about my walk. I was in the last State and had less than 500 miles to go. For the first time I began to think I would reach Canada. Further south I’d become used to people’s astonishment on hearing I was walking to Canada. Now they were more amazed that I’d come from Mexico, which was nearly 2,000 miles away. Had I really walked that far? It didn’t seem possible.

My first stop in Washington was at the Post Office in the town of Stevenson where I collected my food parcel and my mail, which included the surprise from Warren. This turned out to be the latest edition of the Pacific Crest Club Quarterly containing the letters I’d sent him telling the story of the walk as far as Bullfrog Lake in the High Sierra (my companions had posted the last letter from Independence). I was startled to see my words in print and found reading them very strange. Was I still on the same journey? Today of course PCT walks are documented in online journals and social media on a regular basis and hikers are used to seeing their words and photographs appearing as they go along. Back then this was unimaginable and just seeing my account in print seemed fantastic. It also made me realise just what a long walk this was. This was my 147th day on the trail. It was 92 days since I’d been at Bullfrog Lake. The High Sierra snows felt a long time ago and the Southern California desert and mountains a lifetime away. I’d been a novice in a strange land then. Now I was an experienced and confident long distance walker. Hiking had become my way of life. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. However although I might be much closer to the finish than the start the former was still far enough away for me not to have to think too much about it yet.

I sat in a café reading my words and my mail and then writing letters and postcards. I also bought a copy of Backpacker magazine that had a review of lightweight boots, a new category back then. One of the higher rated models was the high-topped version of my shoes. The only negative point, said the tester, was that the stitching had abraded. I had the same problem. The uppers of my shoes were a mix of synthetic and leather panels so there was a great deal of stitching, some of which was coming undone. I didn’t think I could complain though, not after the harsh volcanic rocks of the last few weeks. I’d hiked 647 miles in them too. Luckily Stevenson had a shoe repair shop and I had the seams sewn up for just $1.50. Now I hoped they’d make it to Canada. Other hikers had commented on my footwear, which was unusual back then. Most of the day and weekend hikers I met wore fairly hefty leather boots like those I’d started out in. However some other PCT hikers had also changed to lightweight boots or shoes. Jay was hiking in $25 work boots which he’d said didn’t last that long but which were cheap and comfortable. My shoes were proving comfortable but I was having problems with my socks. I’d been buying new pairs as I went along and the last two pairs had not been very good. The seams were rough to start with and once they’d been worn for a few days the synthetic material had become fairly harsh too, something washing didn’t remove, and they’d quickly developed holes. In Cascade Locks I dumped them and bought two new pairs – the seventh and eighth in total – that I hoped would be more comfortable. Learning from this experience on future walks I put wool socks in my supply boxes so I wasn’t reliant on ones I could buy along the way.

The guidebook suggested that the first few days out from the Columbia River were quite tough, as they involved a long ascent back up into the mountains, and also not very interesting. Lured by restaurants and cafes I didn’t leave Stevenson until late afternoon and it was well after dark when I reached the Panther Creek Campground after 15 miles of hard-on-the-feet road walking so I just rolled out my groundsheet, got in my sleeping bag and fell asleep. I felt very tired and over-stuffed with food. Although I didn’t realise it until the next day I had now walked 2,000 miles.

Panther Creek was only some 800 feet above the Columbia River so I still had a long climb ahead to reach the mountains. I had a heavy pack too, loaded with ten days food and five paperback books. A waterless 17 miles with 4,000 feet of ascent in stifling humidity led from Panther Creek to an unappealing muddy puddle called Sheep Lake, where I camped anyway as I was tired and thirsty, treating the water with purifying tablets. There were some views of the huge glacier-clad Mount Adams but otherwise it was not a day to remember.

At Sheep Lake there were mosquitoes and the sky was clouding over. Soon it was raining. At least, I thought, I’m back up in the mountains. The rain continued into the next morning and for the first time on the walk I adopted a backpacking technique from home – light the stove, make another hot drink, open my book and wait in the hope the rain will stop. In this case it didn’t quite, just turning to drizzle and a wet white mist by the time I thought I really had to get going. I realised I might have to walk in similar conditions quite often in the days to come as I knew the time for continuous sunny weather had passed and that the Washington Cascades had a wetter more variable climate than the mountains to the south anyway. In September, which was just three days away, the first snows of winter might fall and storms were likely.

At a spot called Blue Lakes the drizzle turned back to real rain so I stopped for lunch in the shelter of a big tree. Jay passed by and told me he was heading for the old Cascade Crest Trail, which was built in the 1930s and which here took a lower route than the PCT (mostly the two coincide with the PCT replacing the older trail), his mind set on reaching Canada as quickly and easily as possible. When the rain eased I set off, sticking to the PCT, only to be caught in a real heavy downpour. All the hills were shrouded in cloud and I saw little. Walking in dense, wet, misty forests continued the next day all the way to a camp by the White Salmon River, which despite its name was just a dry gully where the trail crossed it. A noise of falling water led me to a gushing spring in dense undergrowth fifty yards downstream.

I was just inside the Mount Adams Wilderness now and the next few days looked scenically promising so I was hoping the weather would clear up. And it did. I woke to a clear sky and fine weather that lasted until the evening. The timberline traverse below Mount Adams was excellent. Flowery meadows interspersed with groves of subalpine fir and mountain hemlock gave a soft background to the massive White Salmon Glacier and the steep, fractured icefalls of the Adams Glacier that poured down from the bulky, flat-topped mountain; the white ice flowing in great surges and split and cracked with crevasses. The second highest mountain in Washington 12,281 foot Mount Adams is massive, its spreading bulk making it impressive even though it doesn’t have the cone or dome-like summit of other strato-volcanoes. Far to the north I could see wreaths of dirty cumulus clouds around distant peaks but the sky above Mount Adams remained blue. Snowless Mount St. Helens, much closer now, was giving off wisps of steam. I wouldn’t see it often again as it lies well to the west of the PCT and I was now passing it by. Beyond St. Helens the white bulk of Mount Rainier could be seen. Both these mountains had disappeared into cloud by late afternoon but I didn’t mind as I’d enjoyed the traverse below Mount Adams and was delighted to be back at timberline. The walking had been slightly softer and gentler than the trail across Mount Hood, I think because it was just below rather than on the mountain. I passed many scenic camp sites with views of Mount Adams but feeling energetic I pushed on and descended back down into the forest before camping. Just before I did so a deep rich red-brown coloured pine marten with something in its mouth ran across the trail. This was my first sighting of one on the walk and I was very pleased to see it.

From here on, bar a few days in logged areas, the PCT in Washington would be a delight, a magnificent long finale to the walk in the most sustained area of mountain grandeur and wilderness outside of the High Sierra. I was now in the most rugged and continuously mountainous part of the Cascades. I think the Washington section is the main reason for hiking the PCT from Mexico to Canada rather than the other way as it means finishing the walk on a spectacular high (there are good practical reasons as well but given the illogicality of long distance hiking anyway I’d always put aesthetics first). I suspect if I’d gone southwards I’d have found the deserts and lower hills of Southern California made for a low key finish (and this in fact was to happen three years later when I hiked the Continental Divide Trail from Canada to Mexico).

From Mount Adams the PCT climbs into the Goat Rocks Wilderness where, unusually, it actually follows the crest of the hills. This was real mountain walking on rugged, rocky terrain and I relished it. Goat Rocks is an alpine area of jagged, narrow ridges, small glaciers and peaks (Gilbert Peak at 8,201 feet is the highest). This splintered terrain is actually the decaying remnants of an ancient volcano that once rose to over 12,000 feet and was already extinct some 2,000,000 years ago, since when erosion has worn it down to its current state. The name comes from the mountain goats that live on the rocks. I spent two days crossing this exciting and wonderful landscape split by a night spent high in the mountains. I didn’t see any goats though.

The traverse of Goat Rocks began with a curving ascent round the Walupt Lake Basin in a mixed forest of dense mountain hemlock and open lodgepole pine plus many Alaska cedars with their distinctive wilted look. The views of the Goat Rocks from this ascent were good but they really opened up on the climb above timberline to 6,460 foot Cispus Pass from where I looked across the deep Klickitat River valley to the barren rock and talus wall of Gilbert Peak. After a descent into the Cispus River Basin I climbed back up 1000 feet through glacial run-off washes and dusty scree slopes interspersed with rich alpine flower meadows on the slopes of Old Snowy Mountain to the tiny rough stone Dana May Yelverton Shelter at 7040 feet. The shelter was surrounded by wind and frost stunted four to ten foot high hemlocks and whitebark pine. Leaving my gear in the shelter I climbed to a superb vantage point on the ridge just above it from where there were impressive views of Mounts Rainier, Hood and St. Helens plus the Goat Rocks peaks. Here I sat and watched a fine sunset over permanently frozen Goat Lake after which an almost full moon appeared in the sky. After all the weeks in the forest I felt a sense of euphoria at being back high in the mountains again. A cold wind eventually sent me back down to the shelter where I could see stars through holes in the roof. I noted in my journal that unless it was repaired soon the whole roof would collapse. I guess this never happened as the shelter is now a ruin. I enjoyed my night inside as the walls kept off the wind. I wouldn’t have liked it so much if it had rained though.

The next day was one of two very different halves, starting with more superb mountain walking but finishing with getting lost in the forest and having to push hard to reach my next supply point at the White Pass Ski Area. I wasn’t actually running out of food so didn’t need to be there that day but having decided I could be I was determined enough, or perhaps just pig-headed enough, to keep going. The long, tiring day began with a pretty pink, red and orange dawn that set me up for a grand high-level walk along narrow, winding mountain paths surrounded by jagged rock peaks and grey, debris spattered glaciers. I crossed a 7080 foot saddle, the high point of the PCT in Washington, and then traversed the slopes of Old Snowy Mountain above the shining ice of the Packwood Glacier. Next the trail went round some pinnacles on a narrow ridge between Egg Butte and Elk Pass. A sign warned that there were no passing places for stock on this section of the trail. I was glad I didn’t meet any other hikers, let alone horses, as the trail was very narrow and the slopes below steep and rocky. To the north Mount Rainier dominated the view. This was all splendid stuff and very enjoyable but the day was about to change.

From Elk Pass a descent led through stunted three foot high trees into tall subalpine forest and the meadows of the McCall Basin, a flat hanging valley. Here I lost the trail. After a futile hour going round and round the basin trying to find where the trail exited from it I gave up and decided I’d have to bushwhack in as straight a line as possible to a point where I should find the trail again. That resulted in spending another hour stumbling through dense forest and clambering over fallen trees on compass bearings for a mile to Lutz Lake, where I finally stumbled over the trail. This tiring delay turned what should have been a relatively easy day, with plenty of time to reach White Pass before the post office shut, into an arduous slog. It was midday when I reached Lutz Lake and I still had 11 miles and a 2000 foot climb to go. I knew from previous places that the post office could shut at 4 p.m. and would certainly be shut at 5. I hammered up the climb, paused for a look down at beautiful pale blue Shoe Lake then continued on a pleasant traverse of the rough but scenic slopes of Hogback Ridge before racing down through the forest to reach White Pass at 4.45 p.m. feeling hot, exhausted and very thirsty only to discover that I needn’t have rushed at all. The Kracker Barrel Grocery Store was also the post office and the owner had a very relaxed and friendly attitude to PCT hikers. I could have collected my mail any time during the evening. Probably dehydrated from pushing on without bothering to stop to drink as well as very tired and overheated I felt faint in the very hot store so grabbed some cold cans of Coke and sat outside to drink them. In the register I discovered that Wayne had been here the day before and that Scott and Dave were still four days ahead. All three were planning on reaching Canada in eighteen days’ time. An unpleasant entry from a PCT hiker I’d never met attacked Scott, Dave, Larry and me, saying we couldn’t have gone through the High Sierra as it had been impossible to do so. I’d seen this comment from him in other registers but hadn’t responded. This time, fed up with the suggestion I was a liar, I wrote some choice words and the next day sent him a postcard asking why he’d been saying this. I never had a reply. I could only guess that as he hadn’t gone through the High Sierra he needed to think it had been impassable. The long day ended sleeping under the stars on the White Pass Campground beside dragonfly haunted Leech Lake.

Noisy birds woke me at dawn. A whole flock of gray jays were in camp but it was a few raucous Stellar’s jays that were making all the noise. Beautiful to look at these birds have a very harsh and ugly call. There was a pair of hairy woodpeckers drumming in the trees too and an American robin bobbing over the ground. The sky was a leaden grey and soon it was raining steadily. Without ever consciously deciding to do so I had a rest day, my first since Ashland thirty days before. I had been feeling weary at the end of recent days and probably needed the rest. The grocery had a laundromat and a shower available to PCT hikers so I was able to do some necessary washing of my clothes and myself. I spent the day alternating between the store and the Continental Café just across the road in the ski lodge. Mike, the manager of the store, was a mountaineer, backpacker and skier and I had a long interesting chat with him about the PCT and the Cascades. Jay arrived at lunchtime – I’d thought he was ahead of me – soon followed by other hikers out for the Labor Day weekend. I sent a postcard to Scott and Dave at Stehekin, the last supply point before the end of the trail, in case I didn’t catch them up. Although Jay was the only other PCT hiker here I found that reading the register, which was full of entries from those who’d skipped sections and come up here weeks and months before, made me feel I was part of a community of PCT hikers heading for Canada for the first time since those long ago pre-High Sierra days. How many, I wondered, had already reached Canada.

Mike offered the loft above the store to sleep in so as it was still raining I moved in there with three hikers heading for the Goat Rocks Wilderness. The rain and cloud meant I never saw the full moon that night, the last one of the walk. I would be back home for the next one. Slowly the walk was drawing to a close. I still had three weeks left though and some tough and spectacular terrain to cross.

Before leaving White Pass I weighed my pack. With six days’ supplies it came to 63lbs, which the pack handled well. I’d grown used to it now and was quite happy with the design. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still low, as they remained all day so there were no views. After all the rain the trail for the first ten miles was incredibly muddy and slippery, made worse by all the horses that had been and were using it - six passed me as I plodded along. I also saw dozens of backpackers out on this last holiday weekend of the summer. The condition of the trail improved in the afternoon and the walking became more enjoyable though the mountains remained hidden. After twenty miles and 2,700 feet of ascent I camped at Twin Lakes on the edge of Mount Rainier National Park. The walk had taken just 71/2 hours. I hadn’t hiked this quickly for quite a while. I’d needed that day off. Of course the lack of views and the damp, chilly air had also kept me moving briskly but I suspect I’d have stopped sooner if I hadn’t rested at White Pass. In camp I noticed that the stitching on my shoes was coming apart again. Would they last another three weeks? (They did, just). I was also having problems with condensation in my single-skin tent due to the very humid weather and had to be very careful not to brush against the damp walls.

The PCT only just touches the eastern edge of Mount Rainier National Park but the country it passes through outside the park is just as majestic and gives splendid views of Mount Rainier. This country is now protected in the William O. Douglas and Norse Peak Wilderness Areas, though these weren’t designated until two years after my walk. The centrepiece of the whole area is Mount Rainier, the highest peak in the Cascades at 14,411 feet, which towers above the forest, dominating the view for many, many miles. Rainier is also the most heavily glaciated mountain in the 48 lower states with 26 named glaciers covering around 36 square miles. It’s still an active volcano, last erupting in the late nineteenth century. The first Europeans to see the mountain were the members of the British naval expedition led by Captain George Vancouver that explored the coast here in 1792. Rainier was named by Vancouver (he named many places in the area) after a British admiral who, as so often in such cases, never even saw the mountain that bore his name (Mount Everest is the most famous example of this Imperial naming). The mountain already had a local name of course, Tacoma. The meaning of this is unclear but the favourites are ‘mother of waters’ or ‘snow-covered mountain’, which both make sense. For many years the mountain was known by both names but in 1890 Rainier was made the official one. There is an ongoing campaign to revert to the local name, which would seem far more appropriate than that of a naval officer from a far off country. The national park was created in 1899, the fifth such park in the USA.

Rainier is not an easy mountain to climb due to the glaciers and the steepness. The first recorded ascent was in 1870 by Hazard Stevens (wonderful name for a mountaineer!) and Phillmon Van Trump. John Muir climbed it in 1888 and described his ascent dramatically in his book Steep Trails. Although impressed he doesn’t sound absolutely certain of the joys of the ascent writing: ‘The view we enjoyed from the summit could hardly be surpassed in sublimity and grandeur; but one feels far from home so high in the sky, so much so that one is inclined to guess that, apart from the acquisition of knowledge and the exhilaration of climbing, more pleasure is to be found at the foot of the mountains than on their tops. Doubly happy, however, is the man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach, for the lights that shine there illumine all that lies below.’ Camp Muir, a refuge on the mountain used as a base camp for ascents, was built in 1921 in memory of John Muir.

I wasn’t planning on climbing Mount Rainier, an alpine expedition that would have meant renting climbing equipment and booking with a guide. I didn’t have the time anyway. I was happy merely to gaze on the great mountain as I walked past it in the woods and meadows, finding pleasure, as Muir suggested, at the foot of the mountain. The morning at Twin Lakes was cold enough for me to wear my warm hat for the first time in months, a reminder that the seasons were changing.

This was the only time I’d been in a popular area on a holiday weekend and I was amazed at the number of people about, especially near Chinook Pass, where the trail crossed an access road into the park that was lined with parked cars. Either side of this busy highway the trails were packed with day hikers all enjoying the dramatic and beautiful scenery. Many of them asked me what I was doing – I didn’t look like a day hiker or a weekend backpacker! The strangest conversation was with a woman who on hearing my accent said she could tell English wasn’t my first language and she’d try and guess where I was from. After a pause she triumphantly came up with an answer. Belgium! I could only guess she’d run through accents she knew – French, German, Italian, Spanish maybe – and come up with one she didn’t know and assumed that must be mine. She was very surprised when I told her I was English. Another woman decided I must be hungry – I was very skinny – and insisted I take some fresh plums, tomato, cucumber and a sandwich. This was more than I needed or could eat at the time but she wouldn’t accept a refusal. Talking to all the people did take time but their friendliness and genuine interest was heartening.

In total contrast to the previous day the weather was fine and there were superb views all day. The trail wound along ridges, across meadows and below crags. Much of the time it followed a narrow crest with only a few trees so there were constant views. Those back to Goat Rocks and Mount Adams were excellent, those of Mount Rainier breath-taking. There were many attractive timberline lakes too, all of them surrounded by tents. By Sheep Lake I met a backpacker walking from Snoqualmie Pass, my next supply point, to White Pass who had hiked the whole PCT in 1975. There was no snow in the High Sierra in May that year he told me. He’d met Scott, Dave and Mark and said they were going to have a rest day at Snoqualmie. That meant they’d be leaving the day before I planned on getting there. Maybe I will catch up with them I thought. I wasn’t going to hike faster to do so but it would be nice to meet them again before the end of the trail.

From Sheep Lake the steepest climb of the day led up to a notch called Sourdough Gap from where another narrow trail undulated along the crest of the hills to Big Crow Basin. There was a shelter half a mile off the trail here but I didn’t visit it as I could see smoke rising and hear horses and thought it might well be full. Instead I camped in the woods by the trail.

The hills became more rounded and wooded as I left Rainier and its environs behind and the next day was mostly a lengthy descent on the dwindling Cascade crest down to Government Meadows where there was a good cabin at Camp Ulrich. In stormy weather I’d probably have taken advantage of the shelter but it was sunny and still early so I continued the descent. Then, just when I thought I’d be descending right out of the mountains, the trail turned uphill for a 900 foot climb that led up 5754 foot Blowout Mountain, passing about 100 feet below the summit. Succulent sweet huckleberries grew beside the trail and I ate handfuls of these as I climbed. The above timberline trail led to Arch Rock Shelter, which I thought could be useful in a storm (it no longer exists), and had excellent views back to cloud-swathed Mount Rainier. More exciting though was the sight of the rough, jagged peaks beyond Snoqualmie Pass amongst which I would soon be hiking in the enticingly named Alpine Lakes Wilderness. A final descent down steep slopes led to a camp on a flat bench on the steep slopes of Blowout Mountain. A shallow muddy pond full of tadpoles and little frogs looked to be the only water but a search in the undergrowth revealed the outlet stream, which was clear of mud and amphibians.

I was now 35 miles from Snoqualmie Pass, which should have been an easy two-day pleasant walk in the forest. This wasn’t to be however. Firstly I lengthened the distance by 4 miles by taking the wrong trail from my camp in thick mist, flurries of rain and a gusty wind. Only when I came on a sign did I realise I was on the Blowout Mountain Trail and not the PCT. So back up I went to start again. Much worse however was what was to follow when I finally escaped from Blowout Mountain - a horrible day of clear-cuts and logging, a day that was probably the worst of the whole walk. Not that it was hard or exhausting or dangerous. It wasn’t. It was soul-destroying, which was much worse. There were roads everywhere and I could hear chainsaws and bulldozers echoing across the devastated forest. Virtually the whole area had been clear-cut for many miles. The trail was a muddy mess as it wound through the tree stumps and debris. This was a huge tree slaughterhouse. Just wanting to escape this blasted terrain I walked as fast as I could, sweating heavily in the hot sun. Why was I here? Because I wanted to hike all of the PCT of course. It certainly wasn’t for enjoyment. I didn’t expect to see anyone else and so was surprised when I saw a backpacker coming towards me. We stopped in the midst of the devastation for a chat. Paul was a PCT hiker naturally – no-one else would walk here. He wasn’t a thru-hiker though but was walking a week long section each summer. It had taken him four years to reach this point. At that rate it would take another 28 years to reach Mexico! He told me that an Australian PCT hiker called Ron Ellis was about a day ahead and just a few hours away was Greg Poirier, a hiker I’d last heard of in Weldon where I’d been told he’d set off solo into the High Sierra.

Sure enough I soon caught up with Greg and hiked with him for the rest of the day. For once I was very glad of company as conversation was a distraction from the appalling mess around us. Greg had started the trail on March 12, three weeks before me, and had indeed set off into the High Sierra. However he’d soon retreated on discovering how much snow there was. Determined to do a continuous hike and not wanting to trudge up the road in Owens Valley he’d headed east across that valley and then hiked along the White Mountains that paralleled the Sierra Nevada. He’d been inspired to do this by Colin Fletcher’s The Thousand-Mile Summer as that was the route Fletcher had taken. This was the book that inspired my walk too of course and we enjoyed discussing it. I thought heading for the White Mountains had been imaginative and adventurous and felt that Greg was a backpacker after my own heart. Meeting him restored my morale on a day when it was declining rapidly.

Finding a campsite in this trashed land proved difficult. There was nowhere clear enough of tangled branches to pitch a tent. We thought Stirrup Lake might have space on its shores but the trail there had been destroyed and a giant latticework of felled trees waiting to be removed blocked our way. Eventually, just as dark was falling, we found two bumpy but bare spots either side of the trail. Mosquitoes and midges ended the unpleasant day.

The sound of heavy logging operations starting up near camp woke us early the next morning. ‘It’ll be a relief to get to Snoqualmie and out of this mess’, I wrote in my journal over breakfast. I was not happy. This was the only section of trail I wanted to run away from. The situation has only worsened since then according to recent hikers as more areas have been clear-but. It’s arguable that the 40 miles south of Snoqualmie Pass is the worst section of the whole PCT.

The vandalised forest continued much of the way to Snoqualmie Pass and again we tried to distract ourselves with conversation and fast walking. By 1.30 p.m. we were looking down on Interstate 90 roaring across the Cascades as we descended past ski tows to the pass. Snoqualmie had the usual collection of ski lodge, café, store and post office that were found at most high road crossings in the Cascades. I collected my penultimate food parcel and did the usual chores. Would I really only do this once more? I was pleased that the store had paperback books and camera film as I was running short of both and especially pleased that amongst the books was mountaineer Fred Beckey’s classic The Challenge of the North Cascades about his vast number of ascents in the range, and Stephen Arno’s Northwest Trees, which would tell me more about the wonderful trees of the Cascades. I’d read both over the next few weeks. In the trail register I found a message from Scott and Dave saying they planned on reaching Canada on the 24th. That was my finish date too so seeing them again was becoming more and more likely.

On the Commonwealth Campground in Snoqualmie Pass I found Ron Ellis, the Australian hiker, who said he was glad to finally meet me as he was getting fed up with people asking him if he was the English PCT hiker. I’d been asked if I was the Australian or English hiker quite a few times in recent weeks by people who assured me our accents were identical, something that puzzled us both. Ron was a section hiker, that is someone who was doing the PCT in bits. He hadn’t started until May 13th and had then done Campo to Acton before travelling up to Belden and heading north. He hoped to hike the High Sierra and the Mohave Desert after he reached Canada though he knew the first winter snow might prevent him going through the former. He told he me he’d been distracted by the volcanoes and had climbed every one of them since Lassen Peak, taking many days off the trail to do so. I was impressed.

So far I hadn’t lost a single day due to the weather. This changed at Snoqualmie Pass. I woke to heavy rain and thick mist. The forecast was for snow above 6,500 feet. Weekenders retreating from the north confirmed this. With steep ascents and narrow trails in big mountains to come sitting out the storm seemed wise. Beyond the pass the trail climbed up into the North Cascades, the most alpine, steep and mountainous section of the whole PCT and which stretched all the way to Canada. The bad weather continued all day with sheets of rain and swirling clouds sweeping through the pass. My retreat was to the café where I spent the day writing letters and talking to PCT hikers as they drifted in during the day. As at the start of the trail the finish was bringing thru-hikers together and by the end of the day seven of us were there. Of the others I was most surprised to meet Ron DiBaccio, who I’d last seen in Cabazon with his girlfriend Cheryl nearly five months ago. Ron wasn’t surprised to see me as he’d been following me since Northern California determined to catch me up. He’d managed to do so now only because of an unfortunate injury. A few days earlier he’d hurt his ankle badly and been rescued and brought down on horseback from Arch Rock Shelter. He’d come here to recuperate for a few days. Not wanting to tackle the snow in the High Sierra he and Cheryl had gone to the coast but he’d returned later to start the hike again further north. Ron had turned up with Robert, who I’d met in Cascade Locks with Jay who himself arrived not long afterwards.

Rain poured down all night and into the next morning. I delayed departure and spent a few hours chatting to Ron DiBaccio and the other hikers. Ron Ellis was the only one to set off in the rain. By the afternoon the rain had stopped though the cloud was still low. Not wanting to delay any longer I started out. The others were going to wait a little longer. Two hikers who were descending told me there was snow on the trail not far above. I encountered the first of it at 5,000 feet – a couple of inches of wet snow sitting on top of mud and making the trail very slippery. Care was needed to negotiate the narrow trail safely as it wound round steep slopes above deep valleys. This was not a place to fall off the trail. My load didn’t help. I was carrying 11 days supplies, the last time I would carry this much, and my pack was top heavy and a little unstable. The landscape was really dramatic even though I couldn’t see the summits and I very quickly felt as though I was back in big mountains. With such a late start and much ascent to do I only made seven and a half miles before camping beside Gravel Lake. This wasn’t the weather for walking in the dark. I fell asleep hoping it wouldn’t freeze as ice would make the trail really treacherous. For the first time I realised that the weather could stop me finishing the trail. Summer was over, autumn was here and winter was on the way. In my journal I wrote ‘every good day now I’m going to do 20+ miles. I want to reach Canada before the winter really sets in’.

Thankfully there was no frost overnight. However I did wake to rain and an inch of soft wet snow covering the tent and the ground. This snow was thawing rapidly and I was soon camped in a rapidly spreading puddle. A very wet day followed. I wore all my clothes and got soaked to the skin, my well-worn waterproof clothing no longer coping with the weather. It was so wet I doubt anything would have kept me dry. The air was harshly cold and I felt chilled. In the heavy rain there were no views. From the steepness of the terrain I guessed the scenery was spectacular. As I climbed the snow on the trail grew deeper and I was glad I still had my ice axe as in places the trail was again narrow and often above steep drops. Carrying the ice axe through the gentle snow free terrain of Northern California and Oregon had seemed foolish but luckily something had stopped me sending it home.

I left the snow for a descent into the Park Lakes Basin and then down 66 switchbacks (according to the guidebook, I didn’t count them – they did seem endless) to a torrent called Lemah Creek by which I camped. The rain had continued pouring down and streams had burst their banks in many places. At times the trail became a stream itself. My feet were sodden, there now being several holes in the tattered uppers of my shoes, not that I thought they’d have kept me dry in this even when new. Inside the tent it was damp and steamy but still quite cosy compared with outside. I wondered though how many days I’d be able to cope with such wet conditions before my gear was just too damp for me to stay warm and dry enough not to risk hypothermia. The storm had lasted for three days now with barely a let-up in the rain. I was glad I had a waterproof bivi bag to pull over my down sleeping bag. I hadn’t used this much but now it was essential for keeping my sleeping bag reasonably dry.

At 3 a.m. in the morning I woke briefly and looked out. The rain had stopped and I could see a few stars through the trees. Hopeful the storm was over I drifted back to sleep, waking at dawn to silence. No rain was falling on the tent. There was a pool of water at one end of the tent though, caused by condensation running down the walls, and the foot of my sleeping bag was damp even though it was inside the bivi bag – I guess the pressure had forced water through the latter or the waterproofing was punctured, even a tiny pinhole could let water in. I needed to dry out my gear soon or life would become very uncomfortable.

In the tent porch I discovered a hole in a bag of trail mix. Some small creature had crept in and had a snack. I ate my own breakfast from inside the sleeping bag then donned my wet clothes, at which point the rain started again. Reluctant to leave the shelter of the tent I decided a second breakfast was a good idea and passed the morning reading The Challenge of the North Cascades – an apt title – and smearing glue on the tears in my shoes in the hope this would at least slow down the deterioration. As I sat there Jay and Robert turned up. They’d been camped just a quarter of a mile away. After they left I finally packed up as the sky was starting to clear and the rain had stopped. The damp air was chilly but I soon warmed up on the long slow climb up the side of Escondido Ridge. As the weather improved so the views opened up and I could finally see I really was in the middle of some spectacular and rugged mountain country. Across the deep Lemah Valley the hanging glaciers of Lemah Peak glistened in the sunshine. During the ascent I heard a couple of gunshots and shortly afterwards met two hunters with rifles who told me the autumn hunting season had opened the previous day. This was something I would now have to take into account. My clothing was mostly dark and sombre and designed to blend in. Only my blue pack stood out. I wished I had something red or orange to wear. I didn’t want to be mistaken for a deer.

At the top of the climb was a pleasant rocky cirque with a small pool at its heart. Here I found Jay and Robert having a break. Jay had spread his damp gear over the sun warmed rocks to dry, a great idea I immediately copied. The sun was hot and everything was soon steaming merrily. Once his gear was dry Jay strode off leaving Robert and me to follow soon afterwards. The trail continued across the upper part of Escondido Ridge with views of over Escondido and Waptus Lakes to magnificent snow-capped peaks. On one a huge easy angled rock slab that I estimated was at least a 1000 feet long reached almost to the summit, a dramatic feature that drew the eye. Finally I was seeing the magnificent peaks of the North Cascades. The day ended with a long, easy angled descent down what seemed interminable switchbacks to the Waptus River by which we camped. This was to be the pattern through the North Cascades – long climbs to ridges and high passes followed by long descents into deep forested valleys followed almost immediately by the next climb. Along with the section in Yosemite the North Cascades had the most ascent and descent per mile on the PCT. I realised too that the steep slopes meant I had to think in advance about camp sites. There were rarely any flat areas during the ascents or descents so starting one late in the day was unwise.

Talking to Robert that evening I learned that he and Jay were having worse problems with the rain than me. Jay, said Robert, had a non-waterproof single-skin tent so to keep the rain out he had to throw his plastic groundsheet over it which then meant ground water would soak through the tent’s porous floor. Jay’s pack was leaking too and he didn’t have a waterproof cover or liner for it. Used to the damp British climate I was using a waterproof cover over my pack along with water-resistant stuffsacks inside so my gear stayed reasonably dry. Robert’s problem was the size of his tent rather than its performance. With tiny hoops at each end it only rose a foot above the ground, which meant that whilst he could stay dry lying inside he couldn’t do anything such as cook or sit up. To try and overcome this he rigged the space blanket he’d brought for emergencies over the front to make a porch. It didn’t look very effective. My tent was roomy and waterproof and had a large porch in which I could store wet gear and cook. Robert’s mini-tent was undoubtedly much lighter but in stormy weather I’d much rather have the extra weight. Sitting in the tent in the rain I was warm and comfortable and didn’t feel restricted or claustrophobic.

Robert was still sitting in his hooped mini-tent/tarp rig when I left early the next morning, keen to get going as the sun was shining. Slowly the forest opened out to give views of the rock tower of Cathedral Peak. I met some hikers and horse riders descending the trail who gave me news of PCT hikers ahead including Larry who’d been at Stevens Pass, the next road crossing, looking ill from a stomach upset several days earlier. I hope it was nothing serious. (I never heard of Larry again on the trail but later I found out that he had completed the PCT).

A climb led to Cathedral Pass after which there was a dipping and rising traverse across the steep glaciated slopes of 7899 foot Mount Daniel to Deception Pass. A notice beside the trail advised following a detour as a glacial stream up ahead was dangerous to ford. The hikers I’d met earlier had told me to ignore this as the creek was easily crossed on logs. I did and it was. Throughout the day there many views of the waterfalls, cliffs and hanging valleys on the steep mountainsides, a wonderful vertical world. Steep, there was a word that summed up the North Cascades. Beyond Deception Pass I had the best view of long glacier clad 7,960 foot Mount Daniel, the highest peak in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, looking very dramatic with big cumulus clouds towering up behind it. From Deception Lakes I took the old abandoned Cascade Crest Trail over Surprise Gap to Glacier Lake as it was almost 2 miles and a few hundred feet of ascent shorter than the PCT and I could see no reason to prefer the latter. Why the two trails diverge here for a short while I couldn’t imagine. From the bootprints in the mud it looked as though all the hikers in front of me had gone this way too.

Initially the rough, steep, decaying old trail was worth taking for the views back to massive Mac Peak above Deceptions Lakes. The real reward came at Surprise Gap though with a superb view over Glacier Lake to the distant white cone of 10,525 foot Glacier Peak, the next stratovolcano. However unlike the range to the south the Cascades here were not wooded hills only occasionally rising above timberline with the giant stratovolcanoes widely spaced in a line amongst them but a rugged alpine mountain range with glaciers, cliffs and rock peaks amongst which there were also occasional volcanoes. For the first time since the High Sierra I felt as though I was walking day after day in real mountain country. This continued for the remainder of the walk, making the last fortnight wonderful. Here in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness the final glory of the PCT was beginning.

From Surprise Gap I descended the steep boulder strewn trail to Glacier Lake where I camped. I’d walked 22 miles and climbed 4,000 feet and felt fine. The day had been splendid and my gear was dry. The walk felt like it was properly back under way after the disturbance of the storm.

September 14th dawned beautifully clear. I was delighted as it was my 33rd birthday. I’d have hated spending it in a storm seeing nothing (that has happened!) or even worse in an ugly despoiled area. On this day both weather and scenery were splendid. The clarity of the views was superb as a cold dry east wind blew all day preventing any heat haze from forming and keeping the humidity low. Trap Pass gave a good view of the rock towers of Thunder Mountain after which there was a long gentle descent through slowly declining hills to ski lifts at Stevens Pass where, unusually, there was no ski resort or store, just the highway. Across the pass the trail soon disappeared back into the forest where it stayed, with just one good view of the rock peak of Lichtenburg Mountain across Valhalla Lake, all the way to Janus Lake where there was a rather decrepit open-fronted log shelter called Janice Cabin. Here I found Jay and Ron Ellis and, as I soon discovered, many cheeky mice that scurried over the floor and tried to get into our packs. Jay and Ron had bagged the small sleeping platform so I set up my bed on the floor. I did have a comfortable self-inflating mat though whilst Ron only had a thin piece of closed cell foam and Jay nothing at all. We hung our food from nails in the cabin walls to keep it safe from the rodents. I lay in my sleeping bag looking out at a brilliant clear starry sky. There’ll be a frost tonight, I thought, before I fell asleep. It had been a good birthday.

Sure enough the ground outside the cabin was white at dawn. The sun soon rose though and a warm day followed. The changing colours gave the lie to the illusion that it was still summer though; reds and browns were beginning to predominate amongst the undergrowth and along creek banks. It was an up and down sort of day over pleasant rocky hills with good views of distant mountains, especially, again, Glacier Peak which had a large cloud curving dramatically over the summit. Ron had set off before me (and Jay before him) but I caught up with him sitting on a hillside admiring the splendid view. Close by was impressive 9415 foot Mount Stuart while to the south could be seen the peaks around Snoqualmie Pass and big, white Mount Rainier which seemed to be floating above the forests. Ron and I then hiked together for the rest of the day past pleasant lakes and through wooded cirques and up steep slopes to a shoulder of Skykomish Peak where we stopped to eat some delicious blueberries before traversing below the summit in soft evening light and then descending to pretty Lake Sally Ann where we found Jay already camped. The view over the lake was lovely and I noted in my journal ‘this is the best site in quite a while’. Mostly I was camping in forests with no views as the steep terrain of the mountains here didn’t lend themselves to high camps.

I woke to a beautiful soft dawn. To the south the dark-edged peaks were rose-tinted. The day was magnificent. Again a cold wind, this time from the northeast, kept the air clear, giving a sharp-etched look to the mountains. I thought it the best light since the High Sierra. The trail led under Skykomish Peak and then around treeless slopes covered with red and purple berry bushes to White Pass and Red Pass. Ahead was the glaring almost painful white of Glacier Peak. From Red Pass we had a stupendous view of a vast array of rugged glacier-covered peaks. The 756 glaciers of the North Cascades make up nearly half the glaciers in the USA outside of Alaska. From Red Pass it looked like it with big glaciers and snowfields visible on almost every mountain.

Ron and I parted on Red Pass as he was leaving the PCT to meet some friends for an ascent of Glacier Peak. I’d enjoyed hiking with him but was, as usual, quite happy to be on my own. Saying farewell to Ron I left the pass for a descent down a wide glaciated scenic valley. The day ended with a somewhat reluctant entry into some really dense almost claustrophobic feeling woods by White Chuck Creek. I wanted to be in the sunshine and to see the mountains! After crossing many creeks I found a campsite by one of them, Glacier Creek, that did have a good view.

I was now in the Glacier Peak Wilderness and approaching the magnificent mountain itself, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful on the PCT, and also one of the most remote of the stratovolcanoes. Of all the regions of the PCT this was one I immediately wanted to return to and spend more time in (as I did many years later when I made an autumn circuit of Glacier Peak). From the Glacier Creek camp I climbed up to Fire Creek Pass, a tremendous viewpoint for Glacier Peak and for the vast spread of the North Cascades. Below the pass I reached a fine cirque that held lovely partially frozen Mica Lake. There followed a leg-pounding, steep, long switchback descent through the forest to glacial, avalanche prone Milk Creek. As I descended I could see the trail switchbacking straight back up the other side of the canyon for 1900 feet. The straight line distance to the other side of the narrow canyon was short but the trail distance was long. Beautiful this wilderness might be, it was also rugged and tough. The bridge over Milk Creek had been wrecked, by flood or avalanche, but the water was shallow so fording it was no problem. (In 2003 more serious flooding destroyed a long section of the trail in this area and the PCT had to be rerouted. The trail wasn’t repaired until 2011). The 21/2 mile long ascent began straight after the crossing. It only took an hour and a quarter but it seemed longer as I was getting tired and it was very hot. From the top of the climb there were more good views including to the northwest where I could see what could only be distant Mount Baker, the last stratovolcano before Canada. 10,778 foot Mount Baker lies well to the west of the PCT and isn’t visible from many places along it so I was pleased at this view. I was to see it much more closely when I hiked the Pacific Northwest Trail in 2010 as this crosses its slopes.

Camp was down in the forest by the Suiattle River after another steep switchbacking descent. I was deep in the forest here, surrounded by huge and impressive Douglas firs. After all this time the forests could still surprise and delight me. Here these ancient old growth trees, some of which could be over a thousand years old, thrived on the damp climate and grew to massive size. Moss and lichen hung from the branches and there was rich undergrowth below the trees even though the sun rarely reached the forest floor for long due to the thick high canopy. There were many fallen trees, also covered with moss and lichen. There was an air of timelessness in the quiet sombre forest, a feeling of slowness and stillness.

Before I camped I passed a group of cheerful hunters and their horses. I went on until I could no longer here them then camped just off the trail. Later in the evening I was sitting in the tent after dark reading by candlelight when I was startled by a rifle barrel poking through the open tent door. The hunter waving it just wanted to know the time and whether I’d seen any other hunters. I was happy to direct him to the party I’d passed but I did wonder how the jumpy hiker who’d displayed his gun to me on the slopes of Mount Hood would have reacted to having a rifle pointed at him. I was initially too startled to be alarmed and the hunter did quickly speak so I knew he was friendly. Unsure where he was in the dark I don’t think he even realised he’d pointed his rifle at me or intended to do so. It just happened to be in his hand.

This was a well-used site and the local mice were obviously used to campers as they were very bold. One of them ran all over my shoes, garbage, pans and pack, examining each closely and coming within a few inches of me completely unbothered by my presence or the light from my torch. It seemed to have an unhealthy fascination for my sweaty socks and spent rather a long time sniffing them. Remembering the trail mix that had been nibbled at a previous camp I hung my food bag, which was fairly empty now, from a tree branch. As usual since the mosquitoes had stopped being a problem I slept with the tent door wide open. I woke suddenly in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in my head. A mouse was tugging at a strand of my hair! I sat up and it raced away. Not wanting such a shock again I zipped the door shut. I’d survived rattlesnake country and had no problems with bears. I wasn’t expecting to be molested by a mouse.

The following day saw the start of my last week on the PCT. I didn’t want to think about finishing yet though. I still had over 100 miles of challenging high mountain wilderness to enjoy. I also had one more supply point, at Stehekin on Lake Chelan, which was ten miles off the trail but could be reached by a shuttle bus provided by the North Cascades National Park, which I would enter very soon. As I was running low on food I was keen to reach Stehekin as soon as possible. From the Suiattle River I climbed to Suiattle Pass and superb views of aptly named Fortress Mountain and Glacier Peak where Ron should be making his ascent. The crystalline and metamorphic rocks of the North Cascades give them a distinctive very different to the mountains further south and Fortress Mountain typified this. The mountainsides along the trail were beautiful with bright autumn tints of red, brown and yellow. I knew that soon they would be covered with snow.

Twice during the day I came on brand new sections of trail that weren’t in the guidebook or on Warren’s maps. Signs pointed along these as now being the PCT. The first led more directly to Suiattle Pass than the old route, the second went up and around two superb rock-girt cirques below Plummer and Sitting Bull Mountains before descending to the South Fork of Agnes Creek. Here the old and new PCTs reconnected and there was a long gentle descent beside the creek in its deepening canyon. There was just one view down into the gorge through which the big creek crashed but otherwise the ravine was hidden. The South Fork joined the West Fork down in the forest and here I met a porcupine which tried without success to climb a tree when it saw me but failed to get any grip on the bark. I watched it a short while then walked on, leaving the creature in peace.

Late in the day I arrived at a backcountry campsite called Five Mile Camp, deep in majestic forest. As I approached I could see figures and heard voices that soon became very familiar. On hearing me approach they turned towards me and we all let out whoops of glee. After 12 weeks and 1400 miles I’d finally met up with Scott and Dave, just 100 miles from the Canadian border, along with Mark, who’d been with them for several weeks. We had a grand reunion, all trying to tell our tales at once. I was delighted to see them as I’d just about given up hope of doing so. Too tired to pitch the tent I slept outside only to be disturbed several times by a deer that kept approaching me noisily then backing off when I shone a light at it.

The next morning it was just a short walk down to the roadhead to catch the shuttle bus to Stehekin. We were in the little settlement which is strung out along Lake Chelan before noon. Stehekin is unusual as there is no road access. It can only be reached by hiking, horseback, boat or plane. The shuttle bus runs 10 miles to the trailhead but that’s it for road transport. Stehekin has a post office, store, cafe and the Purple Point Campground where we stayed. As it was a Sunday we couldn’t collect our mail so we sat round eating and talking. There were many stories to tell, especially when Jay arrived and joined us. A last gathering of PCT hikers, I thought.

The next morning I collected my last food parcel, my last set of maps and a mass of birthday cards and then sat on the dock watching float planes fly in and out along with the ferry that plies the lake and planning my supplies for the last days of the walk. It really was nearly over. I chatted to the park ranger who told me the forecast for the next few days was mixed. Late in the afternoon I caught the bus back up to the roadhead at High Bridge where there was a good shelter that I shared with Scott, Dave and Mark. Canada was 88 miles away. Mexico around 2,400. It was hard to believe. I really had walked all that way.

From High Bridge the first fifteen miles of the trail were in the North Cascades National Park. The PCT only cuts across a small corner of this magnificent park but its tangled alpine peaks are in view from it for much of the last 100 miles. Most of the park is managed as wilderness and much is pretty inaccessible due to the extremely steep and rugged terrain, the dense old growth forests and the more than 300 glaciers.

We left High Bridge together but I soon pulled ahead. The others were planning on 61/2 days to the finish, I hoped to do it in 4. Whilst it had been very enjoyable meeting up with the others and I’d been especially glad to see Scott and Dave again I wanted to finish on my own. As at the start of this great adventure I wanted to feel the PCT was mine. And I wanted to relish these last few days in the wilderness and experience them as deeply as I could. I was restless too. The realisation that I was almost certainly going to make it to Canada suddenly became very real and I was urged on by excitement and the nagging fear that something might go wrong at the last minute.

The day was spent mainly in forest, with some views of rocky peaks, on a long very gradual ascent by Bridge Creek to Rainy Pass and the North Cascades Highway, the last road I would cross. The trees and the rich vegetation were lovely. The highlight of the day though was a close encounter with a black bear. I rounded a bend in the trail and there it was about thirty feet away and walking towards me. For a second or two we both froze and then the bear ran off, uphill, rippling through the undergrowth and brushing aside bushes as though they did not exist. I was surprised by the fluidity and grace of movement of such an apparently bulky and ponderous animal. I realised too why the advice given by bear experts is never to run away. There was no way I could have outrun it. This was the closest I’d come to one of these prime symbols of wilderness and I was glad to have had such a close encounter.

At Rainy Pass I left the North Cascades National Park and climbed through the forest to camp by Porcupine Creek. The ascent continued the next morning up out of the trees and through meadows and rock fields to the narrow notch of Cutthroat Pass and a sweeping view of the North Cascades. The splendid vistas continued all day. From the pass a long traverse took me past arid-looking rock peaks across several scree and talus slopes. I was on the east side of the Cascades here and in the rain shadow of the big mountains to the west so it was much drier than most of the region. Of the many soaring peaks I could see from the pass the rock pyramids of Tower Mountain and Mount Hardy stood out. The bushes beside the trail were red and yellow, their colours amplified by the bright yellow needles of the alpine larches (a final new tree!) and the yellowish Golden Horn granodiorite rock. It was all wonderful and my heart sang. I felt I could walk through such country forever. Another traverse round the glacial Swamp Creek valley with yet more superb views, especially to Methow Pass, led to a long descent to the West Fork of the Methow River. The day ended with a steep 2,600 foot climb that climaxed with a set of very steep switchbacks that went straight up the canyon wall from Glacier Pass. Once the terrain eased off I searched for a camp site, finding one beside a tiny trickling creeklet amongst alpine larch and subalpine fir. Up here at 6,600 feet the air was chilly. A crescent moon appeared in the sky. I wasn’t surprised to find a frost on the ground the next morning.

My penultimate day on the trail was another wonderful timberline walk through a spectacular landscape that took me into the huge (531,539 acres) and magnificent Pasayten Wilderness, (which I was to cross from east to west on the Pacific Northwest Trail many years later). The PCT stayed high on a traverse between several passes with views that included ones west to the vast array of peaks of the North Cascades National Park and beyond them the big white snow cone of Mount Baker. In this dry terrain there was a noticeable lack of creeks. The alpine larch I’d been enjoying the last few days gave way to subalpine fir and Engelmann spruce, tall spire-like conifers with short curved branches that shed snow easily. The autumn colours of red and yellow were vivid now, making the mountainsides beautiful and bright. Just once I dipped down into deeper forest to Holman Pass before climbing back up 1200 feet for my last wilderness camp by a barely flowing spring on a small flat area on the mountainside. I sat in the tent watching the trees and the sky and thinking about my long journey. I knew it had to end. I knew too that I wanted to do more walks like this. The satisfaction had been intense. The pleasure enormous. Some may concentrate on the heavy loads, difficult terrain and aching feet and think that long distance walking couldn’t be really enjoyable. I couldn’t imagine anything I could enjoy more. This, for me, was what life was all about. I thought back over the walk, back to the Mohave Desert and the heat, the High Sierra and the snow, Yosemite and the snowmelt creeks, marvellous Crater Lake, the endless rich forests, the beautiful mountains – Shasta, Jefferson, Glacier Peak -, the wildlife, the flowers, the narrow trail winding ever onwards through the wilderness, and shivered with delight. I would be back. On the trail anyway if not the PCT.

My hopes for a final spectacular day were dimmed when I woke to a cloudy sky. The sun did almost break through soon after dawn, turning the peaks across the valley a dark sombre red, but soon after I set off rain began to fall and a chill wind swept the mountains. I walked fast, not just with keenness to reach Canada, but also to keep warm. There were glimpses of rugged Three Fools Peak and down to pretty Hopkins Lake but mostly I saw nothing but dripping trees. I didn’t feel disappointed though. How could I after what had gone before? At 12.45p.m. the trail, now in forest, opened out at a little clearing in which stood a stone obelisk, Monument 78. I had reached Canada. I had completed the PCT. The rain was torrential and the cloud was drifting through the trees. It was as unlike the beginning in the hot desert under a blue sky as was possible, which I felt was appropriate. I took some photos of my wet pack leaning against the monument. The pillar opened up and inside I found messages from other PCT hikers. I added a few comments of my own. Today there is a PCT monument here as well.

As the border is in the wilderness I still had 7 miles and 1000 feet of ascent to walk through the wet forest to Manning Provincial Park and the road that would take me away from the PCT. Here I camped for the last time, on a wet campground noisy with the sound of traffic. I was no longer in the wilderness. At Monument 78 I’d felt elated and relieved. I’d made it! By Manning Park I felt numb and very sad. A highlight of my life was over. I was aware that the fact that I wouldn’t hike the next day, that I had finished the PCT, hadn’t really registered yet though and that it probably wouldn’t until I was in Vancouver or even on the plane back to Britain. What I didn’t know was that it never would register. In one sense I would never leave the PCT. It would always be with me and many times in the years to come I would recall events, landscapes, camps and more and suddenly be back there on that wonderful trail. I couldn’t ask for more. But now it was time to go home.