September 1, 2013
26 miles
mile 2600

Clear skies mean cold as there is nothing to trap the earth’s heat. This knowledge came to me in a shivering way. Learned on day 122 that your tent also can serve as an extra blanket. Education through necessity. But I’d say a little late. Still it made the difference. Awoke to a correction. Arriving in the dark allows one’s imagination to dictate the scenery. Thus I imagined we were snug up against the river as I could hear it clearly. Went to collect some water in the morning and met the reality of light. We were on the edge of a canyon, the river far below. Neat.

Off quick, as the success of the day rested on catching the 9 AM shuttle into Steheekin. Was back to three mph so the six miles were not an issue. The only hazard being an aggressive squirrel who threw pinecones from ahigh at every passing hiker. The maniacal laugh following each throw didn’t help. Rolled into the Highbridge Ranger Station with plenty of time to spare. The station now appeared to be more of a private home. Nonetheless there were two packages innocently waiting on the front porch. The morning sun spotlighting their importance. Orbit and I laughed at the perfectness that life can sometimes be. Way to go to Jill. A plan that worked.

We tore into the packages. With my passport and permission papers I was now good to enter Canada via the PCT. On to Doc’s package full of brownies, photos and heartfelt messages to each of Orbit and Sons. The highlight being a Doc In The Box. (Currently unavailable in stores.) Kisses Doc, who, by the way, is back in med school and finishing up. The prelude to what will be an unusual life I hope. We sat in the sun and ate the brownies as they warmed. And decided that Steheekin was in need of our brief company. The 9 AM shuttle in, the 12 back out. Plenty of time then for the necessary miles in the afternoon.

The red retro bus was on time, and we sped at well above three miles an hour into town. Stopped at Rainbow Falls to have a look for gold. Then to an extensive organic garden. There I enjoyed the preferred destination of my second half century, a finely crafted rocking chair. And then the stop of stops, the bakery. In the eight minute layover Orbit took care of our immediate calorie needs, while I ordered a pick up pizza for lunch on our return journey. Has anyone ever heard of a $51 pizza? If interested, proceed to Steheekin. Which we did shortly.

The village is tiny and set on a 50 mile long lake. Immediately we ran into Bob from Ithaca, who I had picked up hitchhiking in a borrowed truck way back in Mojave. He was off trail now and just up for a hang out. He shouted beers and we headed over to the campsite for a chat. But before that I popped into the general store and bought a little foot love. The REI stocks went into their namesake. A good conversation with Bob. He spoke of the frustrations of teaching biology in intercity New York where policing trumped education. His relief at retiring still palpable. Another goodbye. Another bus ride.

Picked up our pizza topped with diamonds and headed back to the trailhead. A woman sat down next to us. “Are you guys through hiking?” “Yeah.” “Cool.” We talked a bit about hiking. She was very knowledgeable. I asked her if she had done the trail. “Yeah I did it this year and 2005.” “Wow we didn’t see you, when did you start?” “June 3.” The dawning of awareness. “And you’re finished now?” “Yeah.” It could only be one person. Anish. This speedster who finished the trail in 60 days and broke the record. Of course she was out for a day hike with her boyfriend. Some people just can’t get enough miles. An instantly likable person.

A brief report of her hike. She slept 5.5 hours a night and walked the rest of the time. Eating on the move. She listened to no music, and took a total of two ibuprofen in two months. After finishing she slept 15 straight hours and then felt fine. She did it for her own enjoyment as there is no award or prize money for breaking the record. Finally, she was of the opinion that Scott Williamson (who passed me going south) was shooting to get the record back. What a lucky break for us to have met her.

Orbit was quiet as we tore into the pizza. The whirling obvious. “I think I could do it.” “Probably you could if you didn’t stop to boil coffee.” Stay tuned. The giant ham croissant, two Mountain Dew’s, a similar sized bacon croissant, brownies, two chocolate milks, beer, two scoops of ice cream and multiple slices of pizza anchored me to the table. Don’t know if the eating disorder that afflicts all through hikers has been formally diagnosed. If not it should be as its elements are quite simple. If there is food you eat it.

At two it was time to go. Right. I heaved up, judging my pregnancy to be at about seven months. I was working my way up to 2 mph when I rounded a bend to see Orbit pointing. “Rattlesnake. No disasters this close to the end.” I waddled cautiously by. The heat and the kicking begin to get at me. Early labor. Off trail quick. Whew, glad to be rid of that. Now it was time for miles. Except that it happened again, and again, and again. Seven times in all. I spent more time in the bush then on the trail. The blaster overworked and exhausted. The PCT keeps knocking me down. I pop up and say is that the best you got? Knocked down again. Okay, that was better. I’ll stay down longer in the count. Repeat the mantra. September 3, September 3, September 3.

Eventually there was no more fertilizer. I was empty. Cautiously picked up speed. Found Orbit in the dark. Her headlamp fading. Together we pushed on to snowy pass. At a trailhead parking lot full of Labor Day cars, we put two and two together. It was late. The camping spots ahead were probably full with the occupants of these cars. Here was flat. Here was a toilet. Here one could start in on leftover pizza secure in the knowledge that comfort was nearby. So I lay down and ate myself to sleep.

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

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

August 30, 2013
30 miles
mile 2535

Waking up wet is corrosive to one’s natural optimism. Wet and cold makes optimism seem unnatural. And so it was. Three hoods were not enough to relieve iced brain. But body memory was enough. Pack and move. A fact. Wet gear is heavier. I was developing a hostility toward northern Washington. Took off in everything I owned. The rain seeking entry points. Slow going. The gloom and rain began to lift. Which left me constantly delayering to avoid overheating. To delayer is another way to say stopping. 3 miles in the first two hours. Should be 6 miles.

Collided with two locals headed south. They assured me of an improving weather report. I replied with something grumpy and unclever. Then I looked up. You don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, as Bobby liked to say. And you know what, it did look better. Maybe I should snap out of my pity meanderings. Climbed up to a high trail that skirted a long ridge. The mountains reappeared and began to shine. I rerecognized the sun. A German Shepherd fled down the path in front of me. Closer examination revealed a new breed of super Marmot wearing mink coats worthy of a PETA campaign.

Today the PCT threw pass after pass at me. I battled on happily as my heavenly waterfall was no more. In a moment of stillness I caught my aroma. And recoiled. My last shower was in Oregon. Having signed on to Orbit’s campaign of no warshing in Warshington (East Coast and proper pronunciation of terms. See appendix.) I had no one but myself to blame for my stench. And now I understood why the Marmot was fleeing. The Blast Orbit initials logical.

Split some mountains and then made my way down a long Moraine Valley carved by a departed glacier. There I met Orbit by a stream for a formal lunch amidst the steam of our packs. The fine weather produced fine spirits, and we had a lovely chat. Then the boss called us back to trail work. The path lowered into a world of moss. From floor to ceiling all was green carpet. Stayed on the valley floor for an hour, knowing it was a prelude to a big climb. Came to a river rager that signaled the base of the climb. It’s torrent had severed the spine of a bridge oppressor. Here I stopped and dealt with the sock issue.

My new REI socks had proved garbage. Within a week they were 60% holes 40% socks. Which means and translates into blisters. Luckily Orbit had found a pair of forgotten men’s socks drying on a rock. Unluckily they were wool (for which I have a deep animosity) and too small. Those I was wearing now. I removed them and wiped away the blood. Wool eats my skin. Back to the REI garbage. I reversed them so the holes went to the top of my foot. Creativity recycling garbage. Crossed the bridge ruins and started gaining altitude. Passed a fit 70-year-old man who at 120 pounds was carrying a 45 pound pack. Unfortunately he had pulled his quad and was having a hard go of it. I thought of ways to help but selfishly discarded them. All to their own my copout.

My climbing pace increased. My old self in slow return. Injury to me has physical and mental components. I had noticed caution and hesitation since my fall. I worked to discard them. I wanted to reach Canada strong not dragging. In racing, a negative split means the second half of a race is stronger and faster than the first half. It is the hallmark of a race wisely run. At 60 days we had walked roughly 1,000 miles. At Approximately 120 days, if all went well over 1,600 miles. That is the first component of a negative split. The second I began to work on.

The climb was long. By summit, sweat had added greatly to my crust. The light in retreat. But, wow, what a view. For 360° the Cascades raged. I got dizzy spinning. Wanted to be a God and go pinnacle leaping. But alas, mortals just start down the other side. Caught up with Orbit who gave me my daily numbers briefing. Thus informed we discussed the feasibility of various destinations. She pointed to a massive opposing slope coated in switchbacks obviously caused by Zorro having a seizure. “At the top of that is mile 34 and our camping home.” “Not happening,” I replied. “Agreed, it’s too late in the day.” She pulled out her beloved maps and began exploring contour lines that created a 3-D landscape in her head. “We’ll camp at the bottom. That will be 30 miles. Should be something flat.” Plan.



Black set in. The switchbacks grew sharp and steep. A memory. A little PTSD maybe. Eyes on the edge. And always down. my knee began it’s late day complain as the Aleve wore off. I spoke gently, “We’re almost there.” Crashing water gave our destination away. No camping spots on this side. Across the bridge. None either. The bridge is bed then. At this hour there will be no more crossers. I gathered for the fire while Orbit ran the tough errands. Not used to being the weak link. Wet wood will burn hot with loving encouragement. I loved. And added pages of my book yet to read. Soon hot food was headed where it belonged and gear was evaporating. Then to bed over the roar of the undamned below.

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

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!

August 28,2013
31 miles
Mile 2476

My ears registered rain before my eyes took in the gloom. Everywhere I looked the rain was part of the landscape. August in Washington. I recognize the courage of the people who call the northern part of the state home. I packed away all dripping. Careful to keep my core warm, which is key in a place where winter is winter and winter is summer. Up into the cotton I climbed. Visibility dropped. I came upon Grouse (the big brown bird of lore) and Pica, too depressed to scatter. I stepped over them. At the top of the pass I breathed clouds.

Then a straight shot down to a lake of blue depth. Pleased that my knee seemed to be improving rather than deteriorating, I allowed an optimistic future back into my thought process. Crossed a debris field of fallen rock that roared. Took me a while to figure out that I was walking across an underground river.

The pattern of the day repeated itself again and again. Pass a lake, climb a pass, descend from a pass, pass a lake, repeat. One aberration though began to appear more and more. Normally when you come to a branch in the PCT it is safe to assume the harder branch will be the PCT. The easier branch will be some local trail that of course stays flat while the PCT branch climbs away into the mist. Suddenly, in northern Washington, the easier branch is often the PCT. This warms my heart.


Found myself alone all day. By plan, Orbit would forge ahead to Stevens Pass. From there she would hitch into town, buy six days of supplies for our push to the border and then meet me back at the pass. By then I should be there, and we could push on for a couple of hours. Plans. Humans keep making them to pass the time. But the rest of the animal kingdom seem to get along fine without them.

Climbed one last pass to find the top of a chairlift. Had a chat with Maticway Connector going South. Then beelined down to Stevens Pass. Honored by the honorary. There I found some trail magic, a signal, but no Orbit. Through texting I learned of her obstacles. The rain started in. I investigated home possibilities. Settled on a loading dock for the ski resort. Try as it might the rain couldn’t reach me. I glowed at my good fortune. Even found an RV hookup to charge my phone. Five stars on the PCT chart. I hung out my laundry to dry and hunkered down to wait.

Around 9:30 orbit arrived in a taxi with a $70 fare. Ouch. My waiting dock became a hotel dock. Dinner was spread. A chicken, mayo salad and good beer. Not one of Orbit’s shining culinary selections, but enough to stave off self consumption. To sleep dry, knowing you will awake in the same state, brings a calmness to the nights pursuits. And that is how it went.

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

If you’d like to help out and donate, please click here!