Fitty Shrimp on the Trail: Pacific Northwest Trail: Olympic Peninsula

"Yo, we made it to the coast!"

September 9, 2015 – Wednesday (Port Townsend – Permit Day)

My first full day in the Olympic Peninsula began as I woke up in a baseball dugout at the county park. Since we'll be entering Olympic National Park within a few days, this means more bureaucracy and red tape, something thru hikers dislike or sometimes disregard. We thought about skipping the permit process, and none of us had the bear canister required for food storage within the park. After weighing the risks, we decided to go to the ranger station and do this by the book. Problem here is that the ranger station is at the Park’s Wilderness Information Center (W.I.C.) in Port Angeles, about 75 miles away. We did some research and found we could take a county bus to Sequim, and from there we could catch a different county’s bus on into Port Angeles.

We arrived by noon and took a city bus to within a few blocks of the WIC. For permitting purposes, it took a while to predict our camp stops, because thru hikers can’t say for certain where they will be on what day. But we got our "best guess" permits for six nights in the park. We each signed out a food canister which will need to be returned here at the end of it all. The other part of the Olympic National Park is along the Pacific Coast, and we could phone in our reservations later for that section. We opted for a $35 per person annual pass rather than $5 per night.

We took the bus back to Sequim and waited an hour for the connecting bus to Port Townsend. A large man in military attire, who had come from Texas to hike the mountains, offered us some of his provisions. He would have to return to Texas due to a family emergency. I was a bit freaked out at first, when he said, “Hey, hippie dudes.” To clarify, I am NOT a hippie... or am I? He approached us at the bus stop kiosk with a jar of marijuana bud that he had purchased for his hike. I told him I don’t smoke but that my mates maybe could use it. Then I remembered we are in Washington where weed is legal and there is no longer a need to freak out so much over a bus station transaction.

We got back to Port Townsend just before dark. We went to McDonald’s to charge our devices and also to Safeway for a fairly large resupply for another long stretch without towns or food sources. At McDonald’s we met a guy, aging artist type, living out of his car and using the free internet. We asked about places to stealth camp nearby, and he gave us a couple suggestions. So we hiked a mile or so and cut into the woods at a place he told us about above a paper mill. We were each able to find a tenting place, but not together. It worked out well, and it was free!

September 10, 2015 – Thursday (Port Townsend south / Snow Creek bushwhack)

The first 7 miles south out of Port Townsend, we follow a nice bike path. Then there is a Shell gas station at a place called “Four Corners.” The bus from the prior day had stopped at a bus stop and park-and-ride near here, so we recognized the place. When I got there, my two mates, who woke up and moved out before me, were already there, loitering the way hikers do at these places.

For the next 10 miles, we would be along highways, the first six of those on the very busy Rt. 20, where there is virtually no shoulder — very dangerous. We decided to catch the bus down to Rt 101, but we had missed the bus and it would be about 3 hours until the next. So we would still get there about the same time as if we walked there.

Hiker trash waiting for the bus

So we loitered until about 2:45 pm. By 3 pm, we were getting off the bus at Fat Smitty’s, a burger joint where Rt. 20 meets Rt. 101. By 4 pm, we were walking south along Rt. 101. By 6 pm, we were back in the forest on confusing logging roads, and by 8 pm, all of us were lost. Money Shot and Marathon got ahead of me when I missed a turn-off. I caught up to Marathon, but we never saw Money Shot. We came to a stream around dark, and I kept going as Marathon stopped to get water. I got that feeling I was going the wrong way. I looked at GPS on my phone and paper maps under my headlamp. I went back to the stream. Marathon and I backtracked a bit but decided to camp near a clearing where two logging roads meet. Even though we were completely lost, we were safe, and we were camping under a billion stars. Life was still good. And we will sort through the bullshit in the morning. Being lost again after a couple weeks of highways and town days somehow feels right.

September 11, 2015 – Friday (Lost in the logging roads / Mt. Zion)

I awoke to the sound of a vehicle approaching from up the mountain at the crack of dawn, then the sound of chainsaws off in the distance. Luckily we had tented far enough from the passable road that we went undetected, or the chainsaw people just didn’t care that we were there. There was a heavy dew, and Marathon and I let our tents dry in the sun a bit before trying to find our way out of this place.

We backtracked a bit further up the road, then tried an even less traveled road to the west. But that road ended, and our resources indicated that we could reach the gravel road where we needed to be, Snow Creek Road, if we could just bushwhack our way through a quarter-mile of untamed forest. This turned out to be the most miserable 90 minutes of my life—thick brush, a huge pile of fallen trees and decaying logs, and stinging nettles ripping apart our sweaty arms and hands. At least I had long pants on; poor Marathon only had shorts. Thorns from the blackberry brambles became more prevalent the deeper we got into this mess. Sometimes, 10 yards of progress would take 10 minutes, as I had to keep trying different ways to get out of an impassable route.

I was so relieved to reach the road. I could not see Marathon, but I heard his grunts and moans, and he finally emerged. We stopped at a water source a couple miles along, and I moved on while Marathon stopped for a lunch break. Further along, I stopped for lunch, but Marathon never showed up. The next four hours, I was completely lost on a series of forest roads. I walked an extra 10 miles that day, often back and forth on the same lane, trying to find Mt. Zion Trail. Well, it said that on my maps. But the sign at the trail head said “Snow Creek Trail.” That was only a small part of my bad navigation. At one point, I was looking at my phone’s GPS for clues when I stepped in a hole in the road. My trekking poles went flying, my phone came apart on impact, and I tore my pants and bloodied my knee as I hit the gravel hard.

Later, on the ascent up to the top of Mt. Zion, I came to a scenic overlook facing west toward the sunset. When I climbed the rock for a better vantage point, I was surprised to see Money Shot taking time-lapse footage of the sunset. He’d found a tent space nearby among the spruce trees, and I pitched my tent not far from there. We shared our stories of horror, and what we had been through—turns out he’d had very similar experiences in the past 24 hours. I ate supper under the light from my headlamp. I was happy to retire for the night, with a painful knee abrasion and itchy welts on my arms from wrestling with the stinging nettles.

September 12, 2015 – Saturday (Mt. Zion / into Olympic National Forest)

Money Shot left very early to do some sunrise photography. Marathon was probably far ahead of us by now. But I can’t say that for sure. The fact is, we all get lost and backtrack, so who knows where the others might be at any point in time?

I came upon a couple of weekend hikers on the way down Mt. Zion. One of them shared a remedy for stinging nettles. The oils in the stem of a fern, a particular fern that happens to grow near nettles, will alleviate the irritation—great to know!

There were a couple more confusing junctions, but I used extra time and the process of elimination to hopefully not screw it up again. No mistakes were made, but there were several times I was just not sure. I entered into Olympic National Forest early in the day, and passed through the Buckhorn Wilderness into the evening. I probably had hiked 18 miles when dusk fell, and there was a nice campsite at an old miner camp where I spent the night. There have been some very chilly nights, but crisp clear days lately, nice for hiking. The upcoming sections through the Olympic Mountains are said to be the best scenery on the PNT, so I am hoping for more good weather.

September 13, 2015 – Sunday (Buckhorn Wilderness / Home Lake / Constance Pass)

For the first hour, I wandered around confusing trails out of the mining camp. I finally found the solid path up a series of switchbacks toward Marmot Pass. The views kept getting more and more amazing the higher I climbed. I met a couple young guys who had just climbed to the summit of Buckhorn Mountain. I could tell by looking at it that I would not want to go up there (it was a side trail, so I did not have to).

Buckhorn Wilderness - Olympic National Park

From there, the views got even better. I stopped near the Boulder Creek shelter for water and lunch. I took an incorrect trail out of Boulder Creek, but I recognized my error within ten minutes and went back. I found Money Shot having lunch at the same place I’d just stopped. We both just laughed. Looking back from where I'd just come from, I said, "Don't go that way." Not sure how or where I had gotten ahead of him, and we both agreed that Marathon must be ahead of us.

Home Lake

After a few miles, we arrived at picturesque Home Lake in the Olympic National Park. This is the place we were supposed to camp last night, according to our backcountry permits. But we would be behind schedule for our entire trip through the park, and I really don’t think it’s a big deal. After Labor Day, there are just not many people out here.

Looking up toward Constance Pass from Home Lake

From Home Lake, we climbed Constance Pass, and then stopped for a rest at some man-made rock shelters on the windy bald peak. I moved on to stop for the night at the Sunnybrook Meadows Camp. Money Shot apparently night hiked past me. He had stayed up at the rock shelter after I left because there was an unusual atmospheric thing going on, creating the illusion of clouds bubbling up from the valleys below, likely foreshadowing a period of bad weather. He said it was the coolest sunset he’d ever shot. I would have to agree.