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. The label on the jar read, "bubblicious," interesting marketing. 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.

Going for the money shot

Descending into the mist

My camp at Sunnybrook Meadows

September 14, 2015 – Monday (Dosewallips River / Hayden Pass)

Money Shot was ahead of me now, and I had not seen Marathon since a couple days ago when I lost a few hours wandering around the Snow Creek area. It appears this might be a solo day. No worries.

The PNT route from this point descends along the Constance Pass Trail to the Dosewallips River, and then follows it downstream to the west, north, and west again for much of the day. After a quick lunch at the Deception Creek Camp, I continued on and reached Bear Camp in the early afternoon and then Dose Meadows camp. I found a handwritten note from Marathon, so at least I now had confirmation that he was indeed ahead of me. He had met up with Rainbow Brite and Freebird. The trio planned to take an alternate route out of Dose Meadows and up to Hurricane Ridge, where they would be able to hitch a ride into Port Angeles.

I considered staying at Dose Meadows, but it was too early to stop. Instead, I zigged and zagged up to Hayden Pass. A few frozen pellets fell as I enjoyed beautiful views of the river valley behind me. The sky cleared as the trail traversed the west side of the ridge line, presenting magnificent views as the sun set over the mountains.

I was hoping to find a place to camp before dark, but with the very rugged terrain, that did not happen. I hiked several miles with the light of my head lamp before coming to a small clearing at a bend next to a small creek, home for the night.

September 15, 2015 – Tuesday (Elwha River / Humes Ranch)

My small campsite on the Hayden Pass Trail was just a couple miles from the junction with the Elwha River Trail. This river flows mainly north through the peninsula all the way to the Straight of Juan De Fuca, west of the city of Port Angeles. My route follows this trail for a full day or more to the site of a dam that was removed just last year. My intel suggested a couple rainy days ahead, but much of this is rain forest, so no big surprise.

It was another solo day, although I did meet a young dude from Seattle while stopping for lunch at the Elkhorn Camp. Later, I passed by the camp at Mary's Falls, which according to my permit, was supposed to be my camp for last night.

There is a cabin near the river on a side path at the Hume Ranch camp. I went to check out the cabin, expecting a rainy night. I broke a rule and threw my pad and sleeping bag on the covered porch. A field mouse in the rafters kept me company through the night, and the rain never came.

September 16, 2015 – Wednesday (Glines Canyon / Port Angeles)

Slight problem at the dam site

The morning hike followed a path that soon merged with a paved road, Whiskey Bend Road. Parts of the road were washed out, and it was closed to vehicles. To my left, Lake Mills occupied a large swath for a century until last year when the Glines Canyon Dam was removed. Now it is just a vast flood plain filled with decades of silt destined to make its way into the Straight. Further downstream, another dam was removed three years earlier, opening the river for 70 miles of salmon migration.

I stopped to take a few photos and contemplate whether or not to go to town. There were no cars or people around here. A park ranger drove up and hopped out. He looked pissed. He asked me a bunch of questions. I answered them all and showed him my permit. He advised that the roads along this part of the park were closed due to a recent flood. I wondered if this was an unforeseen circumstance of the dams having been removed, but I kept that thought to myself.

The ranger's demeaner changed to less intimidating and more helpful. I told him my friends were in town, and he offered a ride to the Wilderness Information Center. I accepted, and we exited the park area via Olympic Hot Springs Road and turned right onto Highway 101. He said I would not be able to reenter at this place and that I would have to go all the way to Crescent Lake to get back into the park. Not good.

We reached the W.I.C. somewhat ironically in that this is the place we took the bus to a week ago to get our permits and food storage containers. I texted Marathon, and a short time later, a woman pulled up in a SUV with my mates all in the vehicle. She was Nathalie and they had met her on an alternate route up to Hurricane Ridge. She put them up in her parents' home the night before. Her mother had passed away about six months ago, and she had come out here from Illinois to help with her father, who suffered from some cognitive issues. He was with another relative for a few days, so we were taken in.

September 17, 2015 – Thursday (Port Angeles Zero Day)

Nathalie was a wonderful host, and it quickly became apparent that this would be a zero day, and a double-zero for my mates who arrived a day earlier. We enjoyed a pancake brunch, great story telling, and lots of laughs. Freebird gave Nathalie a trail name, Belgian Babe. She was born in Belgium and moved to the U.S. with her mother in 1979.

After plotting out the course for the final sections of the thru-hike, we went back to the W.I.C. to secure our passes for the coastal sections of the national park. This was a largely ceremonial gesture since we rarely end up camping at our designated sites on the designated nights. I asked the ranger assisting us about the intimidating ranger who gave me a ride into town. She chuckled because she knew exactly who I was talking about — the ranger they all refer to as "The Terminator."  Very on point.

Belgian Babe, Freebird, Marathon, and Fitty

We decided to go catch a movie later in the afternoon. A Walk in the Woods, based on the book by Bill Bryson, was playing. The story follows a couple of buds on their hike of the Appalachian Trail, and I recalled hearing about some of the filming locations in Georgia while out on the A.T. last year.

September 18, 2015 – Friday (Olympic Hot Springs / Boulder Creek)

By afternoon, I was anxious to get back into the wilderness. My mates seemed content to stay put and enjoy a bit more of the home cooked meals and comradery. I checked for public transportation options and discovered a bus route heading west out of town with a stop where Highway 101 meets the Olympic Hot Springs Road, the road that Ranger Terminator had forbidden me from taking to reenter the park. Nevertheless, I hopped off the bus late in the afternoon and started the long walk up the road toward the remnants of the dam.

It was still during business hours as I approached the area of the park entrance, which I believed to be staffed to turn around traffic (and pedestrians?). I veered well off the paved road to the left, concealing my presence the best I could, as far as I could get from the rangers. My strategy worked, and I made my way through without issue.

Clearly, this was a very busy part of the Olympic National Park before being closed down by the park service. To be honest, without the dam to control the flow of the Elwha River, it seems like nature will quickly reclaim this place as flood waters claim more and more of the park roads. But I had the place to myself on this evening.

After a couple hours of road walking, I was surprised to hear a vehicle approach from behind. It was not a ranger, but a young fellow out for an overnight out-and-back to the hot springs. He asked if I wanted a ride, and of course, I accepted. Steele is an adventure seeker, rock climber, car camper, and all round wholesome dude from Portland. We parked at the place where the road ends and the trail begins and hiked the rest of the way to the hot springs pools.

We set up camp nearby one of the pools along Boulder Creek, pools built by humans with various sized rocks to capture the thermally heated spring water flowing down the slope. After a nice soak in the hot water, I slept great.

September 19, 2015 – Saturday (Appleton Pass / Sol Duc River)

During another soak in the morning, Marathon arrived and joined us. Some believe these warm waters, despite the slightly unpleasant sulfuric aroma, hold medicinal and healing properties. I hope that this is the case.

Happy trails, Steele!

We bid farewell to Steele and continued on with our voyage, about five miles up to Appleton Pass. From these high elevations, the headwaters of many rivers originate. We find ourselves hopping over many streams fed by on again off again showers.

Can I catch my breath?

From Appleton Pass, the trail descends to Sol Duc River, and at the junction, we are to go left and head upstream. After a few miles and a dinner break, we followed the trail along a tributary called Bridge Creek, we stopped at a small clearing along the creek for the night. I carefully selected an elevated area, under a tree, but not where any pooling of rain water might be a problem. The reason? Heavy rains forecast overnight.

September 20, 2015 – Sunday (High Divide / Sol Duc Falls / Sol Duc Hot Springs)

Well, unfortunately, the forecast was spot on. Heavy rain fell almost all night. It persisted after daybreak and through the morning. I stayed in my dry and cozy tent. Occasionally, I would holler over to Marathon, or he would do the same. Packing gear in this type of downpour is not something that interests me in the least.

Finally, around noon, the rain stopped. We got packed and moving soon after. The trail soon comes to a ford of Bridge Creek. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I held a false belief that Bridge Creek probably had a bridge over it, but that is not the case. We should have done this ford last night, before the monsoon struck. But here we are. Marathon went first, moving slowly and deliberately through the rapid waste deep water. He made it across, so then I followed. It was a pretty scary crossing, but we survived.

From here, the trail follows the high divide through a beautiful area called Seven Lakes Basin. But we would not be getting any views today with the low clouds. Just wind, rain, and cold. There is a side trail up to Bogachiel Peak, but it would be pointless to check it out. Marathon got ahead when I stopped by some rocks that provided some shelter from the cold wind.

Further along the High Divide Trail, I caught up to Marathon and another hiker, a young lady who he introduced as Tory. She was out here for a solo hike and struck me as somewhat ill-prepared for this type of adventure. All of us were cold and miserable up here above the tree line. Tory had already suggested to Marathon a side adventure to a place called Sol Duc Hot Springs. We had some time to decide, because the fork in the road would not happen until we reached Deer Lake, a few miles away.

When the three of us reached the decision point, I was mostly indifferent. I did enjoy the last hot springs, but this one is a resort. It would be busy, and I'm certain there would be a fee. I decided to join the others on the side trail to the resort area. As a bonus, we crossed a very cool wooden foot bridge overlooking the Sol Duc Falls, amazing. Fort the next mile, we followed a very busy trail to a parking area, and we scored a ride for the five miles up to the lodge area.

Once we were there, it just made sense to take advantage of the lodging here. In fact, we rented a cabin for the night. We got settled in and then went to take advantage of the spring fed pools. These were actually cement in-ground swimming pools, not the rustic rock walls like back at Boulder Creek. It was pretty amazing, but I was not so comfortable with the crowd, that's just me. I even bellied up to the bar at the lodge for a burger and a beer before bedtime.

Sol Duc Hot Springs Resort

September 21, 2015 – Monday (Forks, Washington)

Tory, Marathon and I had strung our tents out on the railing in front of the cabin, as a bright sunshine was burning the dampness off the roof. I received a satellite message from Money Shot, who I had not seen or heard from in nearly a week. He had already hiked the Bogachiel Trail all the way to the town of Forks. Marathon and Tory hatched a plan to hike a different route back to that trail, but I decided to fast forward to Forks if I could get a ride. I would be cutting a couple days off the hike, but I've already come to terms that I'm not walking every mile of the PNT, and that's okay.

Hiker trash at the resort area

Near the exit to the resort area, I tried something that I've never been comfortable doing – solo hitchhiking. But I had pretty good success by just asking. A lady who is a librarian in Forks and her husband agreed to give me a ride. They were not going all the way to Forks, but they would drop me off at the bus stop near their turnoff.

Within a couple hours, I was reunited with Money Shot in the town of Forks, Washington. The town of about 3,000 is famous as the inspiration behind the Twilight movie saga about teenage vampires. Money Shot may have experienced this phenomena first hand the night before. He did not want to pay for a motel, so he camped at a pavilion in the park alongside some very strange homeless people.

Vampires?

We did some town business, and I used a computer at the library to tend to personal affairs, bills and such. By early in the evening, we had picked up a few provisions at the grocery store and decided to hit the trail. We accepted a ride from an old guy in a white pickup truck to avoid the six mile road walk down Highway 101 to Bogachiel State Park. We crossed the bridge and turned right onto Anderson Ridge Road, back on the PNT route. Within a couple miles, we found an open meadow, probably a pasture, most certainly private land, that would provide a nice flat area to camp for the night. Tomorrow at this time, we'll be camping next to the ocean.

September 22, 2015 – Tuesday (Anderson Ridge meadow / Toleak Point)

Money Shot is even more of a loner than I am, and he rather enjoys and perhaps prefers hiking solo. But he's also shooting a documentary, and it dawned on him over the past week that he has a problem. We're almost to the end of the line, and the only footage he has, with few exceptions, is nature videos. It's great, but he wants to intersperse commentary from the real hikers who have shared this experience with him. 

Before we packed up, we thought this might be a good spot for him to interview me. So I got situated as he set up his tripod, camera, and microphone, with some backup batteries nearby. I was actually a little nervous, and Money Shot suggested that it might help if we smoke the weed that we got from that fellow at the bus stop way back in Sequim a couple weeks back, the "bubblicious" – he still had it! I'm not much of a user, never have been, except for a few of those campfire "safety meetings" on the Appalachian Trail last year. So he rolled a big doobie and we fired it up. I talked for a couple hours, and he was right, I was very comfortable in front of the camera. I think it turned out pretty good, actually.

It do be like that

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, we followed a series of logging roads, and things were pretty uneventful. We got to a place where it's tricky to find the path that cuts through the forest, but we located it, no problem. Then, I smelled it first, then he smelled it. It was the sea! We raced as fast a we could and finally reached a bluff overlooking the beautiful blue Pacific! We had actually made it from the other side of the Rocky Mountains all the way here, to the Pacific Ocean!

First look at the coast

We just took some time to appreciate this moment, then found a route to scramble down the bluff to the beach below. Our trek was not over, and we would have some very slow hiking up 33 miles of coast over the next several days to reach the terminus. But this was really something special, and more emotional than I had expected.

Is this real?

Going for the money shot

We finally began our trek up the coast and quickly found out how tricky this will be. At times, the coastline gets completely bluffed out, and we must climb up and down to the next navigable section of rocky or sandy beach, often fording streams in the process. We confronted the first such obstacle about one mile up the coast where Goodman Creek meets the sea. We made our way back to the beach and soon reached Toleak Point, our destination for the night, with tent sites sheltered between giant driftwood trunks. Once again, our permits and dates are all out of sorts, but it's really just about the good faith effort. We don't expect to see many other humans out here, including rangers.

Ropes assist in traversing the bluffs

Our view of the sea stacks off Toleak Point

September 23, 2015 – Wednesday (Strawberry Point / La Push / Forks)

My first night of camping on the Pacific Coast exceeded expectations. The soothing sound of the ocean waves and the fresh ocean breeze – delightful! After breakfast, we packed and got moving, but not for long. We bumped into our mate Freebird. Money Shot talked him into participating in a recorded interview for his project. They found a spot at the next protrusion, Strawberry Point, where a few old fishing nets had been converted to hammocks.

Prepping for another interview

Meanwhile, I decided to keep on moving, assuming they would catch up. The second day of the coast walk was not as nice – mostly cloudy and dank. But still very awesome.

Remember where you came from

By mid-afternoon, I reached a place called Third Beach. There is also a Second Beach and a First Beach further ahead. But at Third Beach, the route requires a climb of the bluff and a walk through the woods for a about a mile and a half. The trail comes to a paved road, La Push Road, with the coastal village of La Push to the left and Forks maybe ten miles to the right. There is a choice to make here, since there is a large river crossing at La Push with no bridge to cross. The choice is to hike a couple miles to the river and wait for a ride across to the jetty via a local fisherman, or follow the road toward Forks to a bridge and then back to the Rialto Beach, a nine mile detour. I opted for the shorter route through La Push.

The village is a part of the Quileute Reservation, home to about 100 people and one of eight Indian reservations on the Olympic Peninsula, all located on a coast. La Push has a small general store, where I stopped for coffee and a few provisions. Further along, there is a restaurant overlooking the Quilayute River, formed by the confluence of the Sol Duc and Bogachiel Rivers about five miles to the east of here. 

As I was enjoying a fish sandwich and fries, I got a text message from Money Shot. He and Freebird were at the store awaiting a bus to Forks – they wanted to get lodging there to wait out some rainy weather. I decided to participate, thereby avoiding what I suspected would be a a futile attempt to flag a boat ride across the mouth of the river.

We hopped off the bus and wandered around Forks in search of the best deal on a room. We soon discovered that the motels are all owned by the same people, and the prices are fixed. The last place we checked, Olympic Suites, was the exception. We actually got a two bedroom suite for less than the price of a single room at the monopoly motels.

September 24, 2015 – Thursday (Forks Zero Day)

Rain showers persisted overnight and into the morning. I was glad to have the proper lodging for waiting this out. It just seems right that the last couple days on the coast should be spent in nice conditions. We watched movies and ate all day. Freebird decided to move on, but then Marathon finally made his way into town having completed the route through the Bogachiel River rain forest. I asked him how his hike with Tory went, and all he said was that things got weird. We decided to reup the room for a second night.

We caught wind of a unique celestial phenomenon lining up for this weekend that we might get to observe. A supermoon coupled with a full lunar eclipse would rise over the eastern horizon on Sunday night. The forecast calls for clear skies.

September 25, 2015 – Friday (Forks / Rialto Beach / Hole-in-the-Wall)

The daily bus between Forks and La Push is run by the Reservation with limited service. We loitered around town much of the day awaiting the next bus. We did not go all the way back to La Push, but rather hopped off at the place where the detour route cuts back west on the north side of the Quilayute River. This route requires a five mile walk along Mora Road to Rialto Beach.

We reached the beach and found it to be quite busy on a beautiful Friday evening. But the further north we walked, the more the crowd dispersed. After only a mile or so, we arrived at our destination, the camp at Hole-in-the-Wall. The big attraction here is a giant donut shaped sea stack where the waves reach to coast. Ironically, this is our second "Hole-in-the-Wall" camp, the other way back in Montana at Glacier National Park.

Mythical

Coastal camping

September 26, 2015 – Saturday (Chilean Memorial / Cape Johnson / Norwegian Memorial)

In a new twist, hiking requires an understanding of tidal charts when the route hugs the coastline. So we knew we would need to pass a particular one mile stretch by 9 a.m. to avoid waiting around all day for the next low tide. With my mates ahead of me, I got hobbled when I slipped and banged up my knee, scraping a chunk of meat away. I found a place to apply some first aid, but then I realized I had taken too long and there was no longer a passage through the tidal stretch. So I decided to make the most of the situation, grabbed my sleeping bag, found a sunny spot on the rocks to relax on, and waited it out. The pain in my knee was somewhat offset by the sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean.

Where Fitty at?

After a couple hours, it seemed safe to proceed. I slowly and gingerly made my way along the slippery rocks to a sandy cove. Ahead was a campsite next to the Chilean Memorial, and I was actually surprised to find my two mates waiting there. Then I remembered that they were merely waiting until 3 pm when the tide receded enough to pass the next obstacle, Cape Johnson. A small monument and plaque accessible via a trail off the beaten path honors the victims of the tragic wreck of the W.J. Pirrie in 1920, where only two of the twenty crew members survived.

Traversing Cape Johnson

For the rest of the afternoon, the tide did not present any problems. Still, the rugged terrain made for very slow passage. We reached the campsite near the Norwegian Memorial, our destination for the night, after traveling eight miles for the day. It was another beautiful evening, and an awesome place to camp. The obelisk monument marks the site of a mass grave of at least a dozen of the 18 victims of a January 1903 shipwreck off the coast here. A fourteen square foot hole in the bluff, lined with canvas from the ship's sales, entombs these victims, their names engraved on the monument. The Prince Arthur had traveled 7,500 miles from Norway around Cape Horn to Chile and was nearing it's destination, the Puget Sound, to pick up a load of lumber. It lost it's way in misty and turbulent conditions and crashed into rocks off the coast. Only two crew mates survived the ordeal to share the grisly details.

September 27, 2015 – Sunday (Sandy Point / total lunar eclipse)

There was no time to dilly dally around this morning. We were a couple miles from passing through another tidal zone — we would need to make passage before 10 a.m. The entire hike for the day would be over rocks, with not many sandy beach sections. Also, we were hoping to find a place to witness the celestial event during moonrise, but the coastal hike offers few opportunities to see over the high bluff.

It was our last full day of hiking, and we hoping for a grand finale, courtesy of the cosmos. Late in the afternoon, we approached a feature known as Sandy Point. There were some great tent sites in the woods next to the point, but that's not what caught our attention. The point extends into the see a bit, and at the end of the point, a small knob with an elevation of about 100 feet rises over the surroundings. We scurried up a winding trail to the top and we could not believe our luck. A clear, grassy area provided a perfect view beyond the bluff to the east, a perfect viewing platform!

Best seat in the house!

We hastily set up our tents in the woods, grabbed some snacks and our sleeping bags, and made our way back to the knob. We met a fellow named Chris, a native of Maine on a solo adventure, and we invited him to watch the show with us from our perch. With the sun setting to the west of us, Money Shot decided it was time to use up the rest of the "Bubblicious" strain that we used during my interview a week ago. We blazed for a while, too much for me.

Blood moon super moon

Mesmerized

As the moon rose over the bluff, it was already fully shaded by the Earth's shadow, a blood moon. It remained that way for the next 75 minutes or so. Then an edge began to glow, and it gradually spread through the entire disc. The whole event lasted more than two hours. When it was time to descend off the knob and back to the tent sites, I realized I was too high to safely make that trip. So I stayed up there for another hour or so before the effects of the Bubblicious wore off a little. It was chilly, but what a great night, and how fortunate that everything lined up for us to be able to enjoy this scene. Could this really just be a coincidence?

Perfect end to an amazing adventure

Monday, September 28, 2015 – (Cape Alava/ Ozette / Neah Bay / Port Angeles)

Meeting Chris seemed to be another stroke of luck. None of us had a plan for getting back to civilization, and Chris happened to have a rental car a few miles away. He offered to drive us all back to Seattle, about a four hour trip. Chris had served in the Air Force and would be heading off to University of Wisconsin in Madison for graduate school.

Thanks, Chris!

We all started along the last couple miles of this coast walk. I was thinking about last year's summit of Mount Katahdin at the completion of the Appalachian Trail, and the euphoria and celebration at the peak. This would be nothing like that. This section of beach was a mess, with rotting kelp and tiny dead sea creatures, plus just random things, even appliances, that had washed ashore from places far, far away. The rancid smell and the swarms of flies — almost unbearable.

But alas, with no fanfare or hoopla, we arrived at a place we believed to be Cape Alava, the westernmost point of the lower 48 states and the official western terminus of the Pacific Northwest Trail. Hooray!

Cape Alava

To get to Chris' rental car, we hiked a very well maintained trail from here to Ozette about three miles east. There was a small store and a ranger station, along with some nearby camping and lodging by the lake. We decided to make a side trip further up to Neah Bay, at the northwest corner of Washington. Chris turned out to be a terrible driver and I could not watch as he tried to maneuver the curvy 20-mile road connecting Ozette to Highway 112 barely using the brake pedal. From there it was a quick drive out to Neah Bay, about an hour in total. We toured around and found a spot for a sandwich. This is a part of the Makah Reservation, home to about 1,300 people.

We decided to stop in Port Angeles for the night and got a couple rooms at a motel. We returned our food cannisters to the Wilderness Information Center. Then we went to Goodwill where I scored some fresh pants and a flannel shirt for my upcoming travel back east. I checked for some fights out of Seattle and booked a next-day trip home.

September 29, 2015 – Tuesday (to Seattle)

We contacted our friend Nathalie "Belgian Babe" and she agreed to meet us at the diner for breakfast. I had a flight out of Sea-Tac Airport, while Marathon and Money Shot had made arrangements to stay with Stumbling Norwegian and Honey Bee at their place in the suburbs north of Seattle.

Marathon, Money Shot, Chris, and Fitty Shrimp

We left Port Angeles and completed the 60 mile drive to the ferry connecting Kingston to Edmunds. From there, it was just a short drive to meet up with our friends. It turns out our old pal Spaceman Spiff has been staying there as well after teaming up with Stumbling Norwegian for the last sections of the hike. This will provide an opportunity for Money Shot to get plenty of interview footage for his project. We visited for a bit and then said our goodbyes — I needed to get to the airport at the opposite end of metro Seattle. Chris dropped me off at the airport and then continued on with his solo adventure. 

My flight across the country gave me a chance to reflect on a truly incredible summer.

Pacific Northwest Trail: Western Washington

"So the feds really had been monitoring me, for real?"

August 14, 2015 – Friday (Oroville)

I did not expect to find a desert in the Pacific Northwest, but the hike into and out of the Okanogan Valley was just that, except they call it the high desert. I was kind of glad I did not make it to Oroville in time to go to the concert in Tonasket last night. I even turned off my phone so I would not have to share my motel room with the late-night concert goers needing a place in Oroville to crash for the night. I was rested and ready to go in the morning. I stuck my head out and Freebird spotted me. I let him use the shower and hang out until checkout. The girls, Rainbow Brite and Morning Glory, also had a room. I learned that Rainbow stubbed her toe in the room, tripping over Freebird’s foot, and feared she had broken her toe.

Weatherwise, it was a strange day—hot, dry, and windy. But flood watches were posted for later. The heavy rains did not materialize, but smart phones began to buzz in the afternoon with a dust storm warning. We all stayed in town through the afternoon to wait out the wacky weather. Storms in the area pulled in the gusty winds from the dusty mountains, creating a scary scene in town. Still, many hikers hiked out: Norwegian, Morning Glory, Rainbow Brite, and Spaceman Spiff. Honey Bee would drive 20 miles to tiny Loomis to wait there. Rainbow was not sure how her foot would hold up. Honey Bee dropped off myself, Money Shot, and Marathon at the supermarket across town to resupply for the next nine or ten days through the Pasayten Wilderness. The winds shifted, and the dust was replaced by the smoke from the fire northeast of town. We paid $6 to camp at a campground near Osoyoos Lake.

August 15, 2015 – Saturday (Oroville / Palmer Lake)

Yesterday, Freebird had called a landowner from my motel room to get permission to pass through his farm along the south shore of the Similkameen River, much more scenic than the road walk on the north side. My two hiking mates and I finally left Oroville around noon after a big breakfast at the diner. It was not so hot today as we made our way along the dusty trail. It was unique scenery—high bluffs along a river surrounded by sagebrush and barren mountains. In the river, there were a dozen or so rafts with gas-powered conveyors, set up by prospectors looking for gold. Lots of camper/RV people had set up along the opposite side.

After 12 miles or so, I was pretty far ahead of the guys when I came to the chained 8' high gate. I found a place off to the side where I could pass between the wire links of the fence. A mile ahead, at the site of the old Nighthawk community and store, barking dogs greeted me, and I talked briefly to a woman somehow associated with the landowner—no problem.

The guys fell pretty far behind me, and I started on the paved road toward Palmer Lake and Loomis. Later in the evening, I checked out a state campground at the north end of Palmer Lake. I chose a spot next to an Oroville family, the Bowlins—Dan & Dottie, and a 21-year-old son with special needs, Nathan. The Bowlins offered me green beans from their garden, then bass they’d caught earlier in the lake. But I was delayed because I had somehow got my tent’s rainfly caught in the backpack’s zipper. Eventually, I had to cut out a fist-sized piece of the tent. I used all the remaining tape in my repair kit to shoddily patch the big hole. I’ll hope the drought continues. Marathon & Money Shot joined us for dinner; a great dose of trail magic from tremendous people!

Dinner with the Bowlins

August 16, 2015 – Sunday (Palmer Lake / Cold Spring)

Dan invited us over to their camper for coffee, fruit, and oatmeal. Our hike for the day would take us over paved, then gravel roads, up a steep climb. But Dan needed some guy time away from the family, so he offered to drive us up to a lake just off our primary route, Chopaka Lake. Freebird arrived, but he passed on the ride while the rest of us accepted. The lake was beautiful, and we hung out several hours. Once we got going, it was pretty warm, and we had a long uphill road walk ahead of us.

A photo of Money Shot taking a photo

Around dark, Marathon and I arrived at another state campground, Cold Spring. We were the only people there until Money Shot arrived after dark. The trail magic from the Bowlins saved us a couple meals, and we all wondered if we had enough food for the 160-mile stretch to Ross Lake, where we had all sent food boxes. After dark, it turned chilly. Money Shot asked about our evening. I told him we had a great dinner and average conversation.

For food purposes, I have budgeted nine days to my resupply box: 10 miles on the first and last day, 20 miles on the others.

August 17, 2015 – Monday (Cold Spring / Goodenough Mountain detour)

Rainbow Brite had met a forest ranger named Rosemary back in Republic, and Rosemary had emailed her about an upcoming detour on the PNT due to a fire closure around Goodenough Mountain. So after breaking camp at Cold Spring, I arrived at the forest road marking the start of the detour. I waited a bit for the other two guys to arrive so we could all go south through the safe zone as opposed to north through the closed trails. When the guys arrived, they announced that they wanted to proceed through the closed trails, assuming the fires were out by now and it would be safe. So we parted ways at this point, and I proceeded southward along the longer detour.

The route went further south than my printed maps went, so much of this day was guesswork and uncertainty—not a good feeling. I went through a large regrowth forest from a fire from six or eight years ago. When I reached Sunny Pass, I knew I was on the right track, and I reconnected with the primary route at Horseshoe Basin around 6 pm. It was a beautiful spot, so I took a supper break. Later, I came upon a large porcupine on the trail. It slowly climbed a small tree and would not let me get a good photo. Around dark, I found a spot suitable for camping, several miles behind my friends, as per a satellite message I received from Money Shot.

August 18, 2015 – Tuesday (Pasayten Wilderness / Upper Cathedral Lake)

I got going early, on my own, through the easternmost portion of the Pasayten Wilderness. The scenery was beautiful, the weather became good, and the trail was nice, with a fairly level layout along the mountainsides. It was a very enjoyable hike, one of the best days so far. I saw a few grouse, or “mountain chickens,” along the way. They don’t often fly away; they usually just hope you pass by them. I stopped to check out the old Tungsten mining site and a cabin there. Later, I caught up to several other hikers. They were from a boy scout troop in Seattle. I was awestruck at the Apex Pass when I got my first glimpse of Cathedral Mountain. Three miles later, I reached the pass between Cathedral and Amphitheater Mountains, and then descended to Upper Cathedral Lake. The scouts were camping there, and it was still pretty early, maybe 6 pm. But it was a beautiful lake, tucked behind the mountains glowing in the evening sun. I found a quiet spot away from the scouts to tent for the night.

Upper Cathedral Lake

August 19, 2015 – Wednesday (Cathedral area / Bald Mountain / Ashnola River)

I did not know if or when I might catch up to the others. I was sure I was in last place among the dozen or more PNTers out here. But I was enjoying the solitude and my alone time.

I have not seen Spaceman Spiff since we left Oroville. Since the beginning, he has been pacing to stay near the two young women, Rainbow Brite and Morning Glory. But he believed them to be much younger than they actually are. They are both about 30 and have had careers and relationships. Word is that one of them is even widowed. They are not interested in a 22-year-old hipster in the way he is interested in them.

I got up in the morning and urinated on a rock not far from my tent. Then while eating Pop Tarts, white mountain goats began to appear just to lick the rock where I had peed, I assume for the salt. First a mom and a kid, then a half dozen others. They were all just a few feet away as I broke camp—another first for me.

Just some mountain goats licking piss from a rock

The chilly morning soon gave way to a warm and sunny day. As I made my way along the base of Bald Mountain, I heard the distinct sound of a marmot calling from above in a loud whistle. I soon spotted him standing on his hind legs on a rock up the mountain side.

The trail made a long descent down switchbacks to Ashnola River, and I stopped at an old rundown shelter there for lunch. Then it was a long ascent up the next mountain. Smoke from distant wildfires could be detected. I wondered if there was a major fire nearby, and how would I ever know about it until I simply hiked upon it.

In the evening, I crossed over a beautiful meadow, a perfect place to camp, except it was a bit too soon to stop. As I hiked on, I met two ladies on an eastbound section hike. They had met many of the others ahead of me, including Freebird, who told them he was trying to catch up to Rainbow Brite and Morning Glory. I kept going and as darkness fell, I was on a pretty steep mountainside with few camping options. Nevertheless, I set up on a clear spot that would not have worked had it been any more slanty. There was a great sunset, enhanced by the hazy smoke, and a bright moon in the night sky, but just a sliver.

August 20, 2015 – Thursday (Bunker Hill / burn zone)

After breaking camp, which took extra time on account of the heavy dew that needed dry a bit in the morning sun, I continued along and down a steep descent. I’m glad I stopped to camp where I did last night; there was no better spot for several miles. I watered up at the creek, just enough to get up the next climb, Bunker Hill.

At the summit, there were nice views to the north and east, but a confusing mess of trails as well. I chose the most worn path and proceeded, assuming it was still trail #533 Boundary Trail. A few minutes later, the trail faded into the meadow, but I cut to the right 100 yards and picked it up, just where the GPS app on my phone said it would be. This is where the trail enters a large burn zone from a 2007 fire. I made my way down the mountain, but the trail faded again. Things did not seem quite right. I checked my phone and my maps. I realized I had accidentally taken trail #456 south from the summit when I meant to take #533 west down the mountain. Ugh!

So I pushed back to see where I had gone off course, about 1.5 miles down and up. I was surprised to see a female hiker approach. It was Grace a.k.a. Morning Glory! She had made the same mistake as me, but I saved her from a solid hour of frustration. We soon spotted the less-than-obvious turnoff to our proper trail. She and Rainbow Brite had stopped in Loomis due to Rainbow’s injured toe. Rainbow was taking time off and riding with Honey Bee in the rental car. Morning Glory decided to hike on, so the two of us proceeded down the burned-out mountainside.

I enjoyed hiking with her. She is pretty and does not make the strange noises that Marathon makes; nor does she stop to pee on the middle of the trail. We exchanged good conversation. She had quit her career in Biomedical Engineering recently. She also confided that she was married for three years and that her husband had died last fall, less than a year ago. This was her first thru-hike, talked into it by her friend Julie (Rainbow Brite). Clearly, she has deeper reasons for hiking this hike than I do. I remarked that there must be something symbolic about this skeleton of the once great and proud forest we were walking through. She added, “and the new growth sprouting within it.” 

We reached a river crossing, a long log connecting the banks. I crossed and stopped for lunch; she stopped on the opposite bank for water and lunch. At another stream crossing, we stopped for water. I removed my shoes and socks to wash my disgusting feet in the cold water. I realized a toenail needed to be cut free. I announced to Morning Glory that I would be performing a "toenailectomy." At the end of it, I offered the nail to her, kind of as a memento of our day together. She politely declined, stating she did not have enough room in her pack. Too soon, I guess. I’ve had several toenails fall off; I suppose they will grow back in time, just like the burn-scarred forest.

Morning Glory is one of those goal-oriented hikers who will keep going until arriving at a predetermined location marked on her maps; anything short of this goal would be a failure. I don’t plan this way, and I do not understand people who do, just like they don’t get me. Being early retired now and not having to unnaturally act that way has removed a great load of stress from my life. Nevertheless, I hurried along faster than normal to keep up. If there had been a suitable campsite, I would have stopped and let her go on alone. But there wasn’t. Thirty minutes past dark, she night hiked over another log crossing to a campsite. I could not see well enough to try it, so we camped on opposite sides of the creek. She said she tends to leave camp between 7:30-8:00 a.m., a bit earlier than me, but still manageable. She said she wanted to hike with me until reuniting with Rainbow Brite in a few days.

August 21, 2015 – Friday (Frosty Pass / PCT junction / Hopkins Lake)

Light rain began after daybreak and continued long enough to make me late. Morning Glory also waited until the rain stopped to break camp, and it was 9 am before we left. It was cold and wet, and the trail was mostly overgrown huckleberries. The cold drops collected on my legs and quickly saturated my socks until my feet were sloshing in cold water inside my shoes. The moisture on my hands coupled with the wind from hiking 2.5 mph turned my fingers blue. It was a miserable few miles to start the day. Morning Glory seemed to be handling the situation better than me. We took a snack break, then began the ascent to Frosty Pass. The rain continued, and at the higher elevations, it mixed with sleet and snow.

My satellite phone alerted that I had a message, and we came to a nice campsite where I stopped to check it. It was from a forest ranger named Rosemary (not sure how she was able to contact me). The message read: “PNT closed due to fire – East Bank Trail Head to North of Ross Lake Resort. Rt. 20 closed both ways, no hitch option. NPS ranger will assist at trail head. Wait/camp there.” I shared the information with Morning Glory. The closure was still a couple days away from us. Since I was freezing, I told her I would take lunch now, set up my camp, and wait a few hours for the rain to stop. I told her I don’t enjoy hiking in the rain, and I hate being cold. There were great views for the next several miles, but we were missing them due to the rain and clouds. She thought about staying also, but decided to keep moving. She left and I was not sure I would catch up to her again. I got my tent up and crawled in my bag to warm up. It was not yet noon and I’d gone less than five miles. I dozed off and the rain continued.

When I awoke, rays of direct sunlight occasionally illuminated my tent. It was nearly 4 pm. I cooked some Ramen noodles and packed up. My plan to wait out the weather would pay off. With a few hours of daylight remaining, I got going, crossing over Frosty Pass then downhill. I reached a confusing junction just as a woman approached from the upper fork. It turns out this is the spot where the PNT shares the tread with the more famous and popular Pacific Crest Trail for 15 miles. The woman, Doctor Beaker, had hiked from Mexico and would be completing the PCT that night, just a few miles away at the Canada border! I congratulated her and continued on, wondering if I might one day attempt the PCT as well.

Great views here, and I decided to stop to stealth camp high above Hopkins Lake. Spectacular! So as to not disturb the alpine vegetation too much, I tented on a nice bed of pine needles and tiny pine cones. It was going to be a cold clear night, and the smell of pine reminded me of Christmas time. It was one of my favorite camping spots to date, anywhere.

August 22, 2015 – Saturday (Holman Pass / Devil’s Pass area)

I woke to a thick layer of frost on my tent and the ground around me. But the sun over the mountains to the east quickly melted it and dried things out. Early in the morning, I met a guy who was finishing up the PCT that day after just 3½ months. Then another guy who started in April.

The crisp morning quickly turned to a very warm day, and I’d been out of water for a while. Fortunately, I heard the trickle of a small spring in the crease of a mountain near a switchback in the trail. I sent a satellite message to warn Money Shot and Marathon about the closures ahead. They were still half a day or more ahead of me.

The scenery in the morning was pretty great, but not so much in the afternoon. Around 3 pm at Holman Pass, the PNT separates from the PCT and heads to the west. Almost immediately, I was climbing over downed trees and bushwhacking through overgrowth. The small bit of the PCT I experienced was really great—great views, nicely maintained, more places to camp, less isolation. I would say this moved me from 10% to 40% chance of hiking the PCT next year, and 50/50 for some time in the future.

I hiked to a campsite one mile shy of Devil’s Pass and found a nice campsite. I had a hot supper and some tea before bedtime—not too shabby!

August 23, 2015 – Sunday (Jackati Ridge / Devil’s Park / Highway 20)

Yesterday, I had more messages from Ranger Rosemary about the fire closure, trying to get a handle on how many hikers were out here. I let her know that I was loosely part of a group of about nine scattered PNT hikers who would arrive at the trailhead on Rt 20 by this evening, me being the last that I knew of. All day, I was wondering how I could be getting these messages directly from forest rangers, how they found out I was even out here. Is the government actually monitoring us all the time? All of my wildest conspiracy theories bubbled to the surface.

Money Shot messaged me that they were transported by a ranger to the Ross Lake Resort. They both had resupply packages there, but mine never arrived; they did not have it. I wondered, without my food, and no way to hitch to a resupply town because of the road closure, what would I do for sustenance?

I hiked on to Devil’s Pass. Rather than take the primary route, I chose the shorter (mileage) Jackati Ridge alternate, described as steep and grueling. Not sure what I was thinking when I decided this; shorter is not necessarily quicker. There were footprints of just one other hiker who had gone before me. It wasn’t so so bad, or at least I thought. When I actually reached the Jackati ascent the trail became rocky and seemed to go straight up the side of the 7,000 foot mountain. But then I noticed old switchbacks somewhat worn away from erosion. The rock turned to scree—small gravel bits, very unstable. Higher and higher I went, more and more frightened. The loss of footing here, sliding down the side, it would be a couple thousand feet of sliding; there were no trees to grab hold of. At one point, the switchbacks disappeared and there was a 30-yard scramble up the slope. Wow, I was so happy when I finally reached the top and let out a loud yee-haw!

In a few miles along and down the ridge, I stopped around 3 pm for a late lunch at an old beat-up shelter, Devil’s Park Shelter. I didn’t cook, just had a tuna wrap with corn chips. Studying my maps, I believed I could get to the Ranger rendezvous point before dusk. I got going and just past the shelter, and I stopped abruptly when I noticed a large dark blob on the trail ahead. It took a second to register that I was looking at a large black bear. It had not yet noticed me. I got behind a tree and started singing loudly. The first song that came to me was “Die Die Die” by the Avett Brothers. I belted it out: “Nobody knows what lies behind the days before the day we die. Die Die Die, Die Die Die, Die.” Not sure why this was the only song I could think of. Whatever, it was effective. When I looked again, the bear was gone. I waited a minute and walked through, “Die Die Die Die!”

The smoke got thicker, and I came to a long series of descending switchbacks. After 7 pm, I found the highway—a truly surreal scene, like post apocalyptic. No cars, hazy smoke, ashes falling. I followed the abandoned highway west toward the eerie red sun in an ominous evening sky. After three miles, I arrived at the place where a sign on a kiosk advised to stay and wait for the rangers. But it was too late. They would not be back until morning. I cowboy camped at the empty gravel parking lot leaning on a big rock, nobody else around, the stars not visible through the smoke. Very strange scene.

Not great news

August 24, 2015 – Monday (Highway 20 / Ross Lake Resort / Big Beaver Trail)

Somehow, I slept pretty well on the abandoned parking lot. When I woke up, I brushed a thin layer of white ash off my sleeping bag and other belongings. I went a quarter mile down a trail to the creek, reading about the gold prospectors who worked these parts more than a century ago. Back at the parking lot, a retired couple, Allister & Gail, arrived. They are Canadians on the PNT, although he is originally Scottish. I had heard about them from trail lore, but somehow never met until now. They are purist thru-hikers who won't accept a ride that would bypass trail miles, ever.

A ranger finally came by. All three of us needed to go to Marblemount, or any other town where we could resupply. But with the highway closed, that would not happen. The ranger had MRE kits in his truck, and told us to take whatever we needed. A&G took 15 of them. The ranger left, but another one arrived half hour later with more meal kits. I took seven of them. A&G were granted permission to walk five miles west to the Ross Lake Dam trailhead; I accepted a ride from the ranger. From there, it would be a two-mile hike to the resort where I hoped to finally catch up to my colleagues after a full week.

Rangers totally hooked us up. So cool!

The ranger phoned in back country permits for a couple nights along the Big Beaver Trail, the only way for us to get out of the fire zone. About 11 am, I reached the resort, a flotilla of more than 15 cabins on the lake. The resort had been evacuated five days earlier when Rt 20 was closed. The staff was there, and they told me my friends were in Cabin #1 and that they had been expecting me last night.

Ross Lake Resort, completely socked in

I found Marathon and Money Shot in cozy twin beds with fresh white linens, still loafing around. The owner, who must have been losing lots of income because of the fire, had let them stay for free while I was cowboy camping in a gravel parking lot with ash falling on me. I was able to get a shower and charge my devices before they wanted us out. Some of the guests who had evacuated left tons of great food behind, and with the MRE food the rangers gave us, we would be okay for the next several days through North Cascades National Park.

It was a quick stop at the Resort, but a good and productive one. A guy from the staff offered to take us by boat about four miles up the lake so we could avoid hiking through the worst of the smoke. We accepted the offer and soon we were at the Big Beaver Campground and on our way through North Cascades National Park on the Big Beaver Trail. Money Shot realized he’d left his satellite tracker back at the resort. He had to hike 4 miles back to retrieve it. But Marathon and I had no plans to hurry. We took a long water break around the giant red cedar trees. Soon after, we set up camp at the Thirty-nine Mile Campground. It’s further than the camp on my back country permit, but not a big deal. With the highway closed, we will be the only campers in the park for a couple days. Money Shot caught up to us about 10 pm, having hiked eight bonus miles.

Marathon enjoying a ride across the smoky lake

August 25, 2015 – Tuesday (Big Beaver Trail / Twin Rocks)

After breaking camp, we hiked a little over four miles and broke for lunch. I have not been on a scale, but I believe I am down at least 20 lbs. from the start of this hike early last month. But it feels pretty good. We marveled at a huge redwood tree near our lunch spot, well over 1,000 years old. We speculated what must have been going on around here at that time. And how did this tree survive all the weather, fires, loggers, etc.?

Giant red cedars in North Cascades National Park

It was a nice hike again today, and the trail through the National Park was in great shape. Money Shot got ahead of us, and Marathon and I stopped for a supper break at the Stillwell Camp, my second designated campsite on my permit. But we moved on to make more miles on this pleasant evening. Just past Stillwell, there was a tricky river crossing. Marathon waded through, while I crossed over a maze of fallen trees.

Later, we stopped for the night at Twin Rocks campsite along the river, just at the foot of a significant climb to Whatcom Pass, which we would save for tomorrow morning.

August 26, 2015 – Wednesday (Whatcom Pass / Brush Creek / Boundary Campground)

Marathon and I broke camp and started toward the big climb up to Whatcom Pass. Money Shot must have camped up on the pass last night to get some sunset footage. I got a bit ahead of Marathon at a water-up stop. As I made my way higher and higher, I got great views of the glaciers to my south. The only problem, the valley was filled with smoke from the distant fires. Inversion traps the smoke, and when I got to a high enough elevation, I looked down on the layers of smoky film, like layers of milk in an empty glass. The trail was rocky with lots of switchbacks. In some places, it was unsteady and held together by some man-made barriers.

As I approached the pass, the trail opened to a large meadow, and there were several side trails leading to the peaks. I made the correct decisions and arrived at the trail to the Whatcom Campground. A perfect cold brook meandered by, and I stopped for a long picnic lunch. I gorged on fancy cheeses and meats that were left behind at the Ross Lake Resort by the evacuated guests. I was a bit worried that Marathon never showed up and I was hoping he did not have a mishap on the climb.

I was treated to an amazing sun halo during lunch

From here, the PNT follows the Brush Creek Trail down the mountain for quite a ways. After a three-hour climb to start the day, I was looking forward to going downhill for a while. At the next campground, Graybeal, I started to see other humans for the first time since entering North Cascades National Park. Only the PNT hikers were allowed to go the route we took due to the closure of Rt. 20. But the people up this way are able to access the park from other trailheads not impacted by the fire, so we no longer have the place to ourselves.

Late in the afternoon, I arrived at a junction with the Chilliwack Trail, which would go into Canada if one chose to go that way, and then I crossed a cool foot bridge. In spite of the early climb and the long lunch break, I was still set up for a big-mile day. In the evening hours, I kept meeting with park service interns or junior rangers—at least a dozen of them in all. They planned to stay at U.S. Cabin Campsite and do trail maintenance.

My day would end sort of how it started, uphill. It was a gradual but sustained incline for a couple hours. I arrived at Boundary Campground, just at the western boundary of North Cascades National Park. I did not have a permit for a third night in the park, but I found an open campsite. Marathon arrived about an hour later. We hiked a little over 15 miles on this day, mostly uphill.

August 27, 2015 – Thursday (Hannegan Pass / Artists Point / Chain Lakes)

Hiking out of the Boundary Campground signified the end of my three-day hike through the park. I must say it was much cooler than I expected, with its old-growth forest and rugged glacial peaks. A mile uphill, I arrived at Hannegan Pass and caught up to Marathon, who was laid out for an early rest stop. He saw a bear in the meadow before the ascent. Others also reported seeing it, but I missed it. Beyond the pass, there were more spectacular views, and we took photos of each other with glaciers and blue skies in the background. I got a photo holding the “GO CATS” U of Kentucky towel my brother gave me last year, which I carried along the entire Appalachian Trail, and now the PNT as well.

Rep'n my shcool

My food was holding up well at this point, and I had been enjoying the meals from the MRE kits the rangers gave me back at the closed highway. I thought I would have enough to make it a couple more days to Concrete, WA, our next trail town. I got ahead of Marathon again, and I greeted many day hikers who must have parked at a nearby trail head for an out-and-back to Hannegan Pass. There were more views to my left as I made my way through the valley.

Around noon, I reached the trail head parking area, full of vehicles—more than I had seen in over 200 miles. I talked to some guys who met Money Shot, and they said he had walked on. From here, the trail would follow a gravel road for five miles, at which point I could either hitchhike north to the tiny town of Glacier, WA, or proceed south on a paved road up a long climb to a ski area and tourist parking spot at a place called Artists Point.

I decided to wait for Marathon, so I had lunch at a picnic table. A ranger approached me and we talked a bit. When I told him my trail name is “Fitty Shrimp,” his face lit up. “You’re Fitty Shrimp? We’ve been following you!” I guess the rangers had accessed the web page for the map share, connected to my satellite tracker, from Ranger Rosemary, who apparently got it from Rainbow Brite. They had been getting daily updates about my progress, the movement of my blue dot on the map every 20 minutes, on a computer at their headquarters. I found this to be comforting, but at the same time, a little creepy. “Ah ha!” I said. “I knew the Feds were watching me!” We laughed. He snapped a picture so he could prove to the other rangers that he had met the one and only Fitty Shrimp. I felt like a bit of a celebrity.

Marathon caught up, and we asked some hot Canadian girls from Vancouver for a ride to the paved road five miles ahead. They obliged. When they dropped us off, Money Shot was also just getting there. A retired couple from Texas gave us some snacks, which we let Money have since his provisions were running low. We walked another half mile to Silver Fir Picnic Area and Campground, thinking we could find someone to drive us eight miles up the curvy steep road to where our next trail head would be.

We were not having much luck, even when we stood on the road with thumbs out. Number one, this is a touristy area and tourists tend to not pick up hitchhikers. Number two, it was past 4 pm, so almost all the cars were coming down the mountain. We decided to expand our options, and hitch to town the other way, or up the mountain if that was offered up, whichever happened first. We were lucky; a guy and girl who had passed turned around to come get us. They were going up to Artist Point to walk a trail over toward Mt. Baker for sunset. We were so glad we got a ride; this road had no shoulder. It would have taken at least four dangerous hours of uphill hiking.

At the recommendation of our driver, we bypassed our trailhead and went with them to the parking area. It was a beautiful evening, so we decided to deviate off course a couple miles to enjoy the scenery and get some pictures of Mt. Baker and Mt. Shuksan, taking a chance that we would find a vacant campsite along the Chain Lakes Trail. This turned out to be a great decision. We were greeted along the way by a herd of over 20 mountain goats. They were traveling from the valley up the steep mountainside, crossing the trail right in front of us. We took lots of pictures. Not much further: a grand view of Mt. Baker, standing over 10,000 feet high! Around the next bend, the goats were following each other single file high above, knocking loose rocks down the side.

A view of Mt. Baker from the Chain Lakes Trail

We spotted the lake and made our way down. There were four sites, and luckily, one was open. We set up our three tents and fixed our supper. It was a beautiful evening, and the setting sun painted a brilliant glow on the cliffs beyond the lake. The noises we heard were from falling rock and scree from the caravan of goats high up on the sheer cliffs. At one point, a young one could not get through and was holding up traffic. It bleated pathetically. In time, the entire herd turned back and found a safer passage. It seems the goats spend the nighttime high up where predators cannot get to them.

As darkness fell, a bright full moon rose over the tree line behind us. Money Shot spoke of getting sunrise footage in the morning as the rays illuminate Mt. Baker. If only the weather would continue to cooperate...

Camping at Chain Lakes

August 28, 2015 – Friday (Chain Lakes to Baker Lake)

The weather did not cooperate with our early morning photography hopes. Heavy rain and wind pummeled us much of the night and into the daylight hours. The mountains were lost in the white blankets of cloudiness. We packed and hiked two miles back to the parking area and met some Rangers who gave us snacks and drinks. The rain had stopped, but the raw chilly wind did not. There were almost no cars in the parking area that had been bustling the evening prior.

We used the pit toilet facilities and got moving down our route, the Wild Goose Trail which connected to the Lake Ann Trail. A few people were heading back on this trail from overnight camping at Lake Ann. Our PNT route then turned onto the much less traveled Swift Creek Trail. Money Shot was seriously low on food and wanted to get to the Swift Creek Campground on Baker Lake, where his guidebook stated there was a small camp store. There was a creek to ford, but not too bad. Then we came to a section where the mosquitos were hell. I applied some repellent and offered some to Marathon. But he does not like to use the chemicals. I had to laugh as the swarm followed close behind him as he constantly swatted at them.

Swift Creek crossing

We got to Baker Lake around 6 pm only to find that the store had closed down a couple years ago. We had a decision to make at this point. We could continue around the east end of the lake, or take the west alternate, a road walk on a not-so-busy road about 18 miles to the town of Concrete—less scenic than the lake walk, but quicker to town with a chance to hitchhike. Either way, it was too late to do it this evening. We tried to ask for a ride, but on Friday evening, people were arriving here, mainly in RVs, to “camp” for the weekend. I wrote a check for $18.00 to pay for a campsite. It started raining again before we got the tents pitched. I was feeling agitated, weary, and long overdue for a town day or two. It rained a lot, through most of the night. This was near the spot where my brother had planned to come from Seattle to camp, except as fate would have it, I am coming through during the only days he could not come because of prior commitments.

August 29, 2015 – Saturday (Baker Lake to Concrete)

We broke camp and hung out at a covered shelter area with picnic tables. We strung out our things to dry the best we could, and we got nervous when the Sheriff drove through, wondering if he would chase us away for loitering. The rain would stop, but then start up again. Not until early afternoon would we finally hike out to the road in a steady downpour.

We thought we would get to Concrete by 8 pm or so and get a room. But a mile or two in, the Sheriff pulled over and offered us a courtesy ride—first Marathon, then me, then Money Shot. He was very cool and looked up our blogs and my map share on his dash screen. He said he had been an avid trail runner and was familiar with the trails we’d been on through much of Washington. Several miles later, we were surprised to come upon Rainbow Brite walking in the rain. It was the first we’d seen her hiking since she broke her toe in the Oroville motel. She, being more of a purist than the rest of us, declined the Sheriff’s offer for a ride.

Thanks for the lift!

Soon we were in town, and while there is not much to Concrete, it was nice to be in town. Plus we’d arrived several hours sooner than planned, so it was a bit of a bonus day. We had the Sheriff drop us off at the North Cascades Lodge. It was run by a Korean man who came to the U.S. 40 years ago. His American-born son helped with the business. We checked in and cleaned up before going to a pizza joint next door. It was our first town meal in exactly two weeks—a personal record for me. It made the pizza taste extra delicious, and we each knocked out a large pie.

Back at the Motel, we discovered that Morning Glory (Grace) had stayed the previous night and was taking a zero day. She was waiting for Rainbow to finish the long road walk into town, and she finally did arrive around dark. Freebird also arrived. The Sheriff had gone by them both a couple times to try to give them a ride to town, but they each elected to hike.

A very friendly cat, owned by the motel manager, popped in to entertain us in our room. It ended up spending the night. I scolded Marathon when he had washed his filthy socks in the sink and laid them out to dry in front of the microwave I had been using to make S’mores. The room was already a mess with wet hiker gear strewn about. It rained more into the night. I suppose the fire threat is over for now.

August 30, 2015 – Sunday (Concrete – Zero Day)

None of us were real excited to get hiking, so around check-out time, we each gave the owner our credit card to re-up for another night, the first “zero day” since August 14th. For most of the day, we laid around, watching movies, petting the cat, and eating junk food from the little store next to the motel. I never made it down to the main part of town to do my town business (laundry, groceries). The retired Canadian couple rolled into town. They had reached the creek (Swift Creek) but could not ford it because of the rain. They waited a full day for the water to recede.

August 31, 2015 – Monday (Concrete - Double Zero)

Another dreary, rainy day. The PNT out of Concrete has a couple options, but most everyone had decided to take the Rail Trail. It’s an old railroad bed that parallels Rt 20 much of the 22 miles to the next town, Sedro-Woolley, WA. We checked out of the motel and went a mile or so to downtown. I did my laundry, then went to a bakery where many of the others were hanging out, eating, loitering. Gradually, people were working up the motivation to hike on. Me and the other guys were going to wait out the rain. Around 6 pm, we finished up at the grocery store. As we were about to leave, it started raining harder. To hell with this, I’m getting a room. I went back to check in with the Korean motel owner. He got me a nice room. My two mates hiked on to camp in the rain along the Rail-Trail.

September 1, 2015 – Tuesday (Concrete to Sedro-Woolley)

Having a nice room and king-size bed all to myself was pretty nice. I hung around until late morning before checking out, and then I enjoyed a big breakfast at “Perks” next door. It dawned on me that I had not hiked in several days. It was time to move on, even though there was still some light rain, on and off.

After walking the rail trail for a few miles, a sign directs hikers out to Rt. 20 for a creek crossing using the highway bridge. While on the brief road walk, I stopped to gaze upon a sign for a bus stop, so strange that there would be bus service so far from a town. There were just four stops here per day heading west, but just as I was checking the schedule, the bus driver pulled next to me and opened the door. Confused, I climbed on board. When I offered to pay the fare, she said there is no fare for this bus. This seemed like an incredible stroke of luck, or just fate. I could skip a boring walk between towns and catch up to my friends. I’m starting to feel like less of a hiker and more of just a traveler at this point.

Soon I was back in town, Sedro-Woolley this time, a pretty big town as the greater Seattle metro area nears. I thought I would look for a sporting goods store as I desperately needed socks. The only socks I had were given to me by a lady way back at the Yaak music festival in Montana. The heels had completely worn away. I found a place to buy socks, and after looking at my soggy shoes, I decided it was time to retire them as well. I found some good hiking shoes on sale, and observed a moment of silence for the old ones that had carried me the last 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail last year plus another 800 miles or so this summer.

I found Money Shot at the library, and Marathon soon arrived in town. We decided to eat at a Mexican Restaurant, very good, and then hike a couple miles out of town to a motel. The motel was super sketchy, the kind where people pay by the week. It was next to a store selling marijuana, the first I’d seen in Washington, one of the first states to legalize recreational weed. We checked into room 66, but could not get the key to work. The owner came to help us, but there was a knock from within; this room was already occupied. So they placed us in the next room, where my mates strung out their wet tents to dry, a hiker ritual in town. After weeks without towns or even road crossings, we are now on a stretch of the PNT which is quite urban, and until we cross into the Olympic Peninsula, that’s how it will be. Lots of road walking ahead, but also, plenty of town services.

September 2, 2015 – Wednesday (Sedro-Woolley to Anacortes area)

The three of us checked out of the sketchy motel and started walking along Rt. 20. The motel was actually about halfway between Sedro-Woolley and Burlington, which was just three miles or so away. I must say, backpacking along a busy highway is not fun. In fact, I feel pretty stupid doing it, like, “What’s the point?”

I got to town first, a sunny and very pleasant morning. Money Shot joined me, and we had lots of lunch options. We decided to eat outside at the Burlington Cafe, and texted Marathon as to our whereabouts. He later arrived with a fresh new haircut, buzzed to the scalp. I had noticed the barber shop along the way, right next to a former gas station converted to a coffee shop called “Foxy Lady.” Seemed strange at the time. Marathon said he did not have the $10 cash on him to pay the barber, who did not accept credit cards. He went next door to the coffee shop barista, a young woman clad in a very revealing bikini. He bought a coffee for $3.50 and included a very large tip on the card. She gave him $10 of the tip back to pay the barber. We learned that these “coffee shops” were springing up all across the western Washington urban areas, often with provocative names like “Java Jugs,” and always staffed with nearly naked young women. Washington struck me as a very strange place, very conservative in its eastern cattle regions, and then much more liberal the closer we get to the Puget Sound.

After lunch, we discussed skipping the next section of the road walk and taking the bus to the next town, or as close to it as we could get. But with nice weather, we decided to walk toward Anacortes, about 12 miles away. Marathon and I stopped at the I-5 highway that runs along the west coast from Mexico into Canada. We took some pictures at the sign. An hour later, a pickup pulled over; Marathon was already in it, so I hopped in as well. The man drove us to a store near Anacortes. We passed Money Shot along the way taking footage near some railroad tracks.

We contemplated an alternate route skipping around and south of Anacortes, but Marathon got a text message from Spaceman Spiff, who we had not seen in weeks but had been waiting for us in Anacortes for several days. So Marathon left to hike into town, and I left later. His route was nicer and included a walk over an old steel trestle crossing the Fidalgo Bay. I did not cross the highway when I should have, so I missed out on the scenery and walked facing fast-moving traffic on a spur highway, feeling stupid the entire three or four miles.

Anacortes, on Fidalgo Island, is a big town and very commercial. My friends and I hung out at the Donut Shop for hours until after dark, about when Money Shot finally rolled into town after taking video of trains. The four of us did not want to pay for a room, so we hiked just west of town to a system of trails in what they call the Community Forest. We had a tough time finding a place to camp, but we settled on a place where two trails intersect. I was literally on the trail. We were just yards from homes and private property. I was pretty sure the early morning runners, bikers, and dog walkers would have to detour around us. Thru hikers, while technically homeless, try to remain invisible to town people, so I was not excited about this camp site, but it is what it is.

September 3, 2015 – Thursday (Anacortes Community Forest / Deception Pass)

So I was correct about how the morning would go. I could hear runners passing by my tent and chatty women on a morning stroll. So we all packed up and moved out one by one. I was first. The Community Forest is a very confusing system of intersecting trails adjacent to the west side of Anacortes. None of us took the same route, of that I am sure. But we would all end up for lunch at the same place, a historic store next to Lake Erie (yes, there is one here, too). It started pouring soon before I arrived there. An elderly lady and man let me hang out until after the rain, and the others once they arrived. The couple had owned this business for past 45 years of its 95-year existence. We left the Lake Erie Grocery more or less in a group, but Spiff quickly left us again.

A couple miles later, as we walked a paved lane, we noticed a horse in a stable. A happy shaggy dog ran out to the road to greet us. We went to pet the horse, and we noticed that the dog, an Australian Shepherd I believe, was  a ways ahead of us, turned around and looking at us as if to say, “C’mon you guys, this way!” We continued down the road, being led by our new friend. He would periodically lap from puddles on the road and pee on something to mark his trail. The road ended and we continued once again on a path. We were more than a mile from the place where we found the dog, or rather where he found us. We kept thinking he would turn around and go home, but he never did. Despite all of our trickery, he kept coming back. He had adopted us.

We came to a picnic area about one mile from a bridge at Deception Pass that connects Fidalgo Island to Whidbey Island. We stopped to consider our options with respect to our new canine buddy. Taking him with us could not be an option. Even if we were willing to provide for him, we would be going into Olympic National Park soon, where dogs are not allowed. Also, he was a super friendly dog who obviously belonged to someone. The chain collar had a tag, so we called a number on it. We reached a veterinarian in Anacortes who could not determine the identity of the owner based on the info we could provide. They gave another number which put us in touch with the Anacortes police, who gave us another number for non-emergency 9-1-1. We were frustrated. Since there is no leash law in the county, nobody seemed to care. We were just concerned about the dog’s safety and well-being. The last number was to the Humane Society. We did not call it; we were afraid they would euthanize our friend.

We could not outsmart him

In the meantime, there was a couple living on the south end of Whidbey Island, Jeremy & Jodi, who camped near us way back in Glacier Park two months ago. They said that if we called when we got to Whidbey, they would come get us and put us up. So I called. We made arrangements to get to Oak Harbor 20 miles away, and they would meet up with us there the next day.

We moved on and stopped at the bridge. There was a narrow pedestrian lane, a quarter mile or so across the suspension bridge, 160 feet to the tidal waters rushing in and out. It was named Deception Pass by early explorers who thought it must be a river because of the rapid currents. Dogs hate bridges, and this one was scary even to me. We had a talk with our buddy, who we had now named “Shithead.” If he was to cross the bridge with us, he would need a leash. So I made one from my bear line and a carabiner clip. Our first attempt to cross failed. Shithead turned around and pulled me back. So we tried again. This time, he led me and the others safely across to Whidbey Island. I suppose there was no turning back at this point.

We introduced the dog to lots of tourists at the parking area across the bridge, but none would take him off our hands. We decided to camp at the state park in the hike/bike site. We pitched our tents, and Shithead humped me from behind while I was putting my things in the tent. I guess he likes me. We didn’t have much food, but we shared with him what we could, and I let him lap water from my scoop. Around bedtime, a light rain began. I made up a bed for Shithead under my tent’s vestibule. He wanted in, but he was stinky and muddy. I left the zipper open so he could rest his shaggy head on my stomach. He went off a few times during the night, but he always returned. I met lots of trail dogs and their hiker companions on the A.T. last year. Some of the humans shared stories about how their dog had adopted them, not the other way around, and I wondered if that’s what Shithead had in mind here.

A good boy

September 4, 2015 – Friday (Deception Pass to Oak Harbor)

Hard to believe it is Labor Day Weekend already. We thought we would try to pawn off Shithead to anyone in the park who would take him. Marathon walked down to the toilet as Money Shot and I broke camp. Marathon returned without the dog. He said he was hassled by the ranger for not having the dog on a leash. When Marathon explained the situation, the ranger said he would take the dog and try to find the owner. This was a huge burden off our backs, and we hiked on, about 14 miles through more confusing state park trails and then rural roads.

Update: We discovered an article about this dog a few years later, after he had apparently been pulling this same stunt with numerous hikers. The article stated that his name is Yeti. His owner finally got a tag for his collar that reads, "I'm not lost." He always finds his way back home.

By 5 pm, I reached busy Route 20 again, and I waited at a bus stop rather than road walk the last few miles to town. Marathon caught up and we found out from the driver and some fellow passengers about a three-day music festival in Oak Harbor this weekend, just about to begin. This could be kind of fun! Downtown, the show was about to begin. We went to a Pizza Restaurant and called Jeremy. Within 20 minutes, he and Jodi had arrived. Money Shot was still walking, so I called him and we went to pick him up. We were still a good ways from their house, about 35 miles to the southern end of Whidbey Island. They plan to start a bed & breakfast next year, and this would be a good trial run. Jeremy brews his own beer, so we had a good time sampling his batches. They were great hosts. Once again, the generosity of people we’ve met along the way has surpassed anything we could have imagined.

September 5, 2015 – Saturday (Oak Harbor)

The weather was great. We thought we would go back to the music festival for the day. Our hosts prepared a great breakfast and we loaded up the car for the trip back to Oak Harbor. Money Shot had a problem. He had ordered shoes to replace what remains of the beat-up pair on his feet now. But the shoes were in Anacortes, and he is 30 miles away in Oak Harbor. But it turns out that Rainbow Brite, with her broken toe, was renting a bike in Anacortes and riding it here tomorrow. She would get the shoes to him (you can't make this stuff up!)

It was a beautiful day at the festival. We alternated between the two stages, connected by a street lined with dozens of food and trinket vendors. I grabbed a foot-long corn dog for lunch, and it was awesome. Our backpacks made us stand out, and we answered questions from lots of locals and military types, as this is home to a huge Air Force base. Several people invited us to stay the night at their homes if we needed a place. Well, we stayed until the music stopped, then hiked a mile to camp in the back yard of a hippie couple we’d met earlier, teachers at the local community college.

Weekend festival in Oak Harbor

September 6, 2015 – Sunday (Oak Harbor)

It was pretty much a repeat of Saturday—music, food, relaxation. Rainbow Brite and Freebird arrived late in the day. We were all adopted by Rick and Laura for the night. All their kids are grown and they had lots of extra beds. They loaded us up into a couple vehicles and off we went. Their friends had offered to host a big dinner. We had a good time with our new friends.

For much of the evening, we answered questions about our adventures. Freebird kind of stole the show, as is usually the case. In these situations, I’ve come to doubt some of his stories, in a way that Americans began to doubt newscaster Brian Williams and his war stories. Freebird has done a lot of hiking, multiple times on many of the long trails. It’s what he does. So there is lots of name-dropping and “been-there, done-that.” But when Rick was telling a story about a rafting adventure last summer in Grand Canyon, Rick and Freebird realized that they had actually met there. Turns out Freebird was the hiker who was rafted across the Colorado River by Rick's group. This really freaked me out, and everyone else

It dawned on me that Freebird’s stories were probably all true after all! I feel bad that I doubted him; maybe I was a bit jealous that he got to do all these cool things without ever having had a real job. After his parents sent him to Yale, Freebird decided against Wall Street. Instead, he went to Hawaii where he became a competitive windsurfer during the sport’s heyday in the early-mid 90’s. He showed us some video of him that was used in TV commercials (he had sold his rights to the clip for a mere $100). He is probably in his late 40’s now, a few years younger than me, I would guess.

September 7, 2015 – Monday (Labor Day – Oak Harbor to Fort Ebey)

Rick drove us to the harbor and took some pictures, hoping to promote the PNT and make Oak Harbor into more of a trail town as the route gains more popularity. Until he met us, he did not know the PNT passed right through his town. Freebird and Rainbow Brite hiked out first. Marathon, Money Shot and I went to Wendy’s for lunch, then to Safeway for groceries. We planned to road walk to the west shore of Whidbey Island, then south toward the ferry over to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula.

By evening, we had reached Fort Ebey State Park, where we explored old military bunkers built into the cliffs during World War II. Fortunately, there was never a Japanese invasion, so they were never used. We did not want to pay to stay at the state park camp site there, so we found a stealth spot hidden behind some thick brush high atop the bluff. Money Shot got some great footage of Mt. Rainier, rising high above the horizon more than 100 miles to the south

.September 8, 2015 – Tuesday (Fort Ebey to Port Townsend)

The PNT route follows some confusing winding trails through Ebey State Park, and then a scramble down the steep bluff to the rocky shoreline along the Strait of San Juan de Fuca. It would pass through another old WWII fort at what is now Fort Casey Park. It’s about 12 miles total to the ferry landing, called Keystone (or Coupeville) Ferry.

I broke camp first and wound my way through the forest. True to form, I got lost and found myself at Rt. 20, nowhere near the coastline. So plan B — I followed a paved trail along the highway east to the town of Coupeville. There I was able to get a town meal, then I hung out until the bus to the ferry arrived. I arrived at the landing and had time to get ice cream before the next ferry (they depart every 45 minutes). I had hoped to meet my two mates here, but I did not see them.

By 3 pm or so, I was across the water and strolling along the artsy hippie town of Port Townsend. My mates arrived on the next boat, and we reconnected for a pizza feast. We met an interesting guy who is solo sailing a sloop around the world, and he ate with us. We loitered around without a room or plan for overnight accommodations. We hatched a plan to go to the county fairgrounds a couple miles away. We wanted to find a spot where we would not be hassled for trespassing. There was a little league complex, and we each chose a dugout. I slept in the visitor dugout at Field #2. I’m starting to see motels as an unnecessary luxury when you only need a secluded place to sleep a few hours. Where the PNT route passes through or near these towns, there is a fine line between “hiker” and “hobo.”

Home for the night