August 26, 2013
31 miles today

The day began warm and dry. Breakfast hot. Disbelief at our good fortune permeated the morning. The only reminder of outside came when putting on cold wet shoes. Placing such luck in the rearview was tough. But you open a door (fairly novel at this point) step outside and then step away. Soon the wet brush had us soaked again and all moved away from memories of comfort and back to northward.

A high school friend living in Seattle was to meet me at Snoqualime pass. I gave him a fixed arrival time of 1:30. Fixed and certainty are unwise positions to take when hiking. It would be wise to know this, but I don’t. Twenty miles till the pass. We both bonked at around 16 miles and sat down in a field of boulders for recalorie. Picas provided the floor show. I pulled off my socks (also fairly novel). A toenail had died and partially torn away. A bit gruesome but an explanation for that stabbing jab every step. I pulled off the rest between bites. A bit of a blood gusher. Even the Picas had to turn away. Found out that chewing is a good anecdote for pain.

Off quickly, our meeting time still feasible. Trucking along, I mentally reviewed the field reports of the azblaster. All positive. Perhaps next year I will go to kick off and distribute them free to the 2014 crop of hikers. Eliminating TP from the PCT would be a fine legacy. I’ve always wanted to impact history in some way. This could be a chance. My reverie was broken by, “Hey, are you a through hiker?” “Yep.” “What’s your name?” “Blast” “Shit, I’m Thai Kitchen.” With that he came storming out of the huckleberry bushes where he had been loading up Ziploc bags. Thai Kitchen is a great friend of Red Beard who had just finished up the Pacific Northwest Trail. A friend of a friend is a friend. We headed down to his car where he had left out trail magic. Orbit was already there mowing through the family reunion pack size of chocolate chip cookies. A fine conversation followed. Left with hope of a path cross in the future. Our meeting time at Snoqaulime pass slipped out of the realm of feasibility.

Flew down a ski slope to the pass. Late and apologetic. JP stepped out of the car. It had been almost 30 years. Little had changed. His aesthetic, mannerism and voice still the same. We slipped into our friendship and ways easily. He tried to shake my hand. I hugged him. He said, “I knew you’d hug me. I’m clean, you’re filthy. Just right.” He brought pizza and beer. Then he ran us to the supermarket for stocking. All the while we crammed 30 years of review into a compressed time format. Orbit just sat back and took in the ravages and toil that 30 years takes on a graduating class. Soon it was time. So many goodbyes on the PCT. Thanks, John, for the assist.

Left Snoqaulmie in the muck and fading light around 7 PM. But there was good news on the horizon. Orbit had found Hot Springs on an alternate trail that left the PCT and rejoined some miles later. Only 10 miles to a soak. The trail’s name was the Goldmeyer Trail, which I immediately rechristened the Golda Mier Trail in honor of the late Israeli prime minister. She was tough. The rechristening proved accurate.

All started well enough. Ran into a group of very young kids with a dad monitor. The kids were buzzing. “We just hiked 14 miles.” Excellent. Get them out there early. Of course there is always one at the back. “How much further?” These guys say only five minutes. By now all dad’s credibility shot. Orbit handed out lollipops sent by my sister to smooth those last five minutes of effort. A sharp climb to a lake painted in hues of colorless black, white and gray. Then night all around. Headlamps coming south. A meeting where everyone blinds everyone. “Where are you headed?” “The Hot Springs”. “Tonight? Are you sure?” “Yeah it’s only five more miles.” “Well…good luck.” I need to start listening between the lines with locals more.

Crossed a pass and headed down. A roaring river below being a clue to destination. The grade steepened on both sides of each switchback. The trail deteriorated. No loving maintenance here. It started to rain. Bush took over. We slowed. Route finding became an issue. The downslope turned black. A bad sign for mistakes. I was walking point. We were down to one mph. Still our spirits were up. This is what we do. Then that mistake. I remember I was laughing when I stepped on a part of the trail that wasn’t there. Orbit’s words. “You fell off the mountain. Your headlamp light was spinning around. I didn’t like it.” My thoughts. “I can’t stop rolling. So this is how it ends. What a dumbass way to go.” Then I hit a small tree and stopped. Just past me was an edge and black. I don’t want to know about that part. A quick survey before the crawl back up. My right knee was wrecked.

What to do? I love simple answers. Can’t stay here. So go. I dragged my leg and told myself Hot Springs cure everything. But man, was I slow. A great distraction. Orbit discovered a monster salamander that had to be 10 inches long. For those things we get off the couch. The Hot Springs weren’t getting much closer. Change strategies. Orbit set off for camp to return for my back pack. I kept plugging. With a mile to go the welcome return glow of her headlamp. No pride in the matter, I handed over my bag. She slung my pack and took off, though the straps were too big to be of use for her. I’ll never forget watching her cross a single log bridge high over a waterfall chasm all the while drowning under my pack. She’s tough.

Finally into camp at 1:30 AM. Shot, but not to be denied the soak. A half hour of pained wandering until we tracked them down. Not exactly anyone around to ask. Set in a cave they were ecstasy of the highest order. By 3 AM I was moving toward perhaps everything will be okay. Why not? Every once in a while optimism trumps reality.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

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