Day 156- Hiker Bridge Party

From Stehekin at mile 2580 to Six Mile Camp at mile 2591

There was a hiker reunion when at the High Bridge bus stop again. We saw Oops looking a little worn down. Super Girl was there. I hadn't seen him since Kennedy Meadows (mile 700). I hadn't even known Super Girl was still hiking--last I saw him his plan was to hike only CA.

I ate two slices of bakery pizza before Portrait and I left the parking lot. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I bought only two slices. We also trimmed some of the straps off my GoLite saving me a few ounces.

As people left the parking lot for the trail half went up the dirt road alternate and half stuck to the trail. The road was washed out a few years ago and the guide book made it sound like hikers risk death going that way (but they save a mile). We took the trail. If a short cut sounds harder and more time consuming we're not really interested. I also don't want to do anything that will hurt my tendons more like walk on unstable rocks for miles.

The trail was nice anyways. It had a few small ups and downs and it's really hot out for the end of September so I got pretty warm. The smoke had cleared out though. It felt like the first time in days that we were able to look up and see blue sky.

My pack was feeling light. It didn't feel like I had just left town with a five day resupply on my back. It was hard not to wonder why I hadn't swapped packs earlier. The GoLite doesn't feel as padded as my North Face and it's not as light as Portrait's pack, but it was lighter than what I was used to.

We had been following the Stehekin River the whole afternoon. Sometimes it was out of sight but we could still hear it down in its gorge. We hiked closer to the river and it rose up out of its gorge to meet us. From a ways away I saw a bridge with someone on it. We guessed it was Tortoise and so it was, but not just him.

We found a whole party going on. Bone Lady, Cheese, Bucket, No Amp, and Tortoise were all sitting on the bridge. Half the group had their jackets on like they had been there a while (which they probably had). Tortoise tossed everybody a couple of Starburst--if you didn't catch it the candy would probably fall between the cracks and fall into the river below. The whole group was thinking about camping on the bridge. It didn't seem like a nice idea to me--too cold with wind coming up between the cracks. We stayed for a bit and left them going over maps and mileage.

Bone Lady, Cheese, No Amp, Tortoise, Buckket, and Portrait

The trail went up after the river, but not very much. We crossed another small creek at the horse ford instead of the neat looking suspension bridge--it was too far uphill for my tired tendons. My tendons really started to ache 0.8 from camp. I think they know when the day is almost over.

The camp was 0.1 off trail. Lots of flat areas to pick from. We picked a tent site by the noisy little creek that was our water source. No one else showed up by the time we finished dinner around 7pm or by the time the tent was up at dark. I guess they opted for the bridge.

Day 155 Darkness Into Stehekin

From Five Mile Camp at mile 2575 to Stehekin at mile 2580

It was very dark at 4:45 when my watch alarm went off. It was warm in the tent so getting out of my sleeping bag wasn't a hardship.

Portrait and I packed up by headlamp. We couldn't see anyone else up yet. The campsite was quiet and dark when we left at 5:30.

A log bridge took us across the small creek that had been our water source the night before. There was another small creek that we had to rock hopped across--once we were sure the trail continued on the other side. It was a little hard to tell in the night time darkness.

Our chariot to town 

The trail on the other side was nice for hiking by headlamp. It didn't have too many rocks or roots and wasn't badly over grown like the trail from a couple of days ago.

Slowly it started getting lighter. At first it was only lighter than it had been--everything was black shadows instead of inky night surrounding us. Then the lightest colors returned to the world. The light gray rocks were first followed by light yellow Huckleberry leaves and then light green ferns got their colors back. The dark greens and browns of the pine trees returned slowly-the last to show up.

It did not become full daylight. The thick cloud of smoke smothered the sun. The light looked like the dark that precedes a storm. But this storm made my eyes sting a bit and tasted bad.

The trail had been following Anges Creek since yesterday and it started to switchback down to it. The creek had grown a lot since we crossed it near its headwaters around lunch time yesterday. As we had walked along it the waters had slowly carved a canyon into the rocks. Where it wasn't white rapids the water was a light blue and clear. We crossed the creek on an iron and wood bridge fifty feet above the churning water.

Team All Dead on the bus

The trail went up a little after the bridge and Portrait spotted a car and another bridge. Almost there and with plenty of time to spare. We walked down a short section of dirt road and crossed the bridge over the Stehekin River--one of the cleanest rivers in the country.

We were reading the information board when Bone Lady walked up. The others trickled into the waiting area within a half hour. No one else showed up except the seven of us before the bus roared into sight.

The flowers at an organic farm near town

The bus wasn't a school bus like I had expected, but a red bus with class. The front end looked like it could plow through anything. The best part of the bus: it was full of hikers. Frost got off followed by a dozen other hikers that I had met--most of them recently. Portrait and I wished Frost luck on the rest of his hike. There is no more catching up with people after Stehekin  last town, last zero and nero chances. Everybody on the bus waved goodbye to the hikers milling around as the bus lurched onto the road.

Day 154-T Minus 100

From the bank of the Suiattle River at mile 2553 to Five Mile Camp at mile 2575

It was still sort of dark when we left camp, Portrait wearing my pack and I wearing his, just before seven. Somewhere in the mist above us the sun was up. It was a cool morning so the three mile gentle uphill was welcomed. It was fun climbing up to the mist. As we got closer we could see the mist blowing between trees.

As we hiked Portrait tried to figure out an alternate mentioned in the guide book. He was pretty sure the other route would save us miles and elevation change. And with so much mist we wouldn't be missing views from the ridge. I was all for the shorter route.

We stopped at a creek for water and a snack. We were surprised Bone Lady and the others hadn't caught up yet. I got cold quick having snack and didn't warm up at all on the half mile of flat. Not until the two mile uphill did I get warm again.

100 miles to Canada!

Just before the top of the uphill we stopped for a celebration. One hundred miles left. Just a few more days, really. We made a marker and talked about where we were at mile 100 which was close to Barrel Springs campsite. We had been playing this game for the last few hundred miles--figuring out where we were with 517 miles left, 476, 309, 210. It's been a fun way to review the hike. At the 100 mile mark we make a sign out of red huckleberry leaves and the green lichen that features heavily in most of our signs. As we try to take a picture of us and the marker the wind picked up and scattered some of the leaves. We put them back, but the marker isn't destined to last long. We reinforce it with some sticks--not our prettiest marker, and move on.

In under a mile we are at the first trail junction of the alternate route. We hang a right and walk for just a few minutes downhill before coming to another junction. There is a sign directing us left towards High Bridge, where we will catch the bus into Stehekin, and just behind that sign another one saying the trail is not maintained. We take it anyways. Right away we see signs of the trail being maintained. It seems in better shape than a lot of the PCT that we hiked on recently.  The down trees were cut sometime earlier this summer and there weren't many spots were brush had grown up. There were a number of small streams in gullies that had bridges that had twisted and broke like an earthquake had hit them. Washington was the state of the bad bridges. We have gone off Portrait's GPS tracks and we don't really know what we will find on our alternate. All we really know is that the guidebook said don't take it. We descend for a while which makes me think about how much climbing we may have to do later, but my tendons are feeling good with a dose of Advil and Portrait's lighter pack on my back.

We stopped for lunch on the bank of Agnes Creek. I filled my bottle with a liter of the very cold and very clear water to go with my lunch of sausage cheese, and candy. We don't rush through lunch today--we seem to be doing well on time now and we will be getting into town the next morning--that's no longer a maybe, which feels good. We leave our lunch spot, but not the creek, behind. The trail hugged the banks of the creek always keeping the clear water in sight. The creek grew as we head down stream. It carved out a canyon for itself and we finally lose sight of the creek in the bottom of the canyon.

Portrait predicted we'd be back on the PCT sometime around three. Around two-thirty he started to check his GPS to find out how far away we were from the trail if we wanted to go cross country to it--which we don't--our creek trail is lovely and fast. At quarter of the trail delivered us into a large rocky run--at some point a river surely ran over the smooth rocks, but there's not even a trickle of water now. I pick my way across carefully. And there, on the other side, was our trail. It felt like we had gone through some kind of worm hole. Before entering the worm hole we had almost twenty miles between us and town and at the other end a mere twelve miles. It felt like magic how quickly those miles had melted away because of a walk along a creek.

We passed some lovely campsites along the banks of the creek--the PCT now followed the creek. One of the campsites had the paths and tenting areas outlined in smooth river rocks. At another we took a snack break, I took more Advil, and we switched our packs back. Mine felt extra heavy after a day of Portrait's light pack.

We had mostly given up on seeing Team All Dead again. We figured they may have worked some magic of their own: gotten out of camp earlier than us, hiked through the night, took up trail running. We weren't sure, but we were just three short miles from camp at a water source having a snack and drinking our fill when Bone Lady and Cheese came into the clearing behind us. They had been behind us all day after leaving camp late. We were all going to the same campsite for the night, and all planning on a before light start for the next day. They took the lead and were quickly out of sight.

By the time we got to camp they had a campfire going to cook their dinners. Portrait went for water for the both of us while I settled onto a log by the fire. It was one of our earliest nights into camp in a while and it felt good to start dinner while it was still light out. The other members of Team All Dead, Buckket and No Amp, trickled into camp and then Highlife, who we hadn't seen since Ashland joined us just as the campfire died down. Nobody lingered. I was tired. We all seemed to have town on our minds. Our foodbags were light and thoughts of the Stehekin bakery were heavy. It wasn't completely dark yet when I crawled into my sleeping bag in the tent.

Day 153-Adventures in Butt Scooting

From small campsite on the ridge at mile 2530 to the bank of the Suiattle River at mile 2553

Shortly before first light an owl flew low and silent over the campsite. I looked up at its belly as it soared pass. It was the first owl that I had seen on the hike and seemed likely that it would be the only owl I would see. I imagined it was on its way to somewhere less desolate--there were hardly any trees on our part of the ridge. I shook Portrait awake to tell him what he had missed and then we started getting ready for the day's hike. While he packed up I had a pot of hot oatmeal mixed with a hot chocolate packet. The sun wasn't in view yet when breakfast was eaten, packs were closed, Advil was taken, and hiking was underway.

We had been just shy of the top of the pass last night. It didn't take long to gain the pass and meet the sun, hot pink through a haze of smoke. On the other side of the ridge there was nothing but rocky side hill. Looking out I could see the trail wander its way north through the rock strewn ridge. If we had kept going last night we would have been covering that rocky ground in the dark. My tendons shook in fright at the very idea. Starting the downhill my tendons felt stronger than they had the night before, but I was thankful to be doing this stretch of trail in the morning.

After a mile or so, the sun still pink as if it had just risen, we came to Mica Lake where we had planned to camp the night before. The lake was mostly frozen--cold and unwelcoming in the pink light of morning. We found most of Team All Dead packing up camp with their hoods and insulated jackets on. We said good morning, but didn't talk long--we have to focus to make the type of miles that we need. And we knew they would be passing us soon enough. We crossed Mica Lake's outlet and then started on the long downhill. Cheese was the first to pass on one of the long switchbacks, with No Amp passing shortly after.

No Amp, Cheese, and Bukket still in his tent.

I could hear a river in the valley--one of the many we would be crossing that day. The closer we hiked to the river the worst the trail became. Trees were down and we scrambled over and under them. Large patches of the switchbacks were washed out. Shrubs had grown up on either side of the trail making hiking feel more like wadding. All the scrambling over rough sections and slogging through bushes was slowing us down and was becoming frustrating. We were trying to keep an eye out for an old section of the PCT that had suffered a severe enough wash out from the river below that the trail and the bridge across the river had to be replaced. the new section of the trail was a mile longer and it was a mile we didn't want to do. We ended up finding the old trail easy enough--well it was overgrown many hikers thought like us and didn't want to add miles to their day.

At the junction of old and new PCT I sat and had a snack while Portrait went on a scouting mission. And I had another snack. And then another. He was gone long enough that I started to theorize about why he hadn't returned. My best guess was he was talking with Team All Dead about the best way across the river. I was still sitting there when Buckket came along and said he'd give a shout if it appeared Portrait had been washed down stream. Before Buckket was even out of sight down the old PCT he stopped to talk with Portrait who was on his way back to the junction. He said the old trail didn't look like something I'd want to do with two hurt tendons. He said there were a couple of maybe crossings across the river but they all involved something like jumping from one rock onto a rotting moss covered rock or onto a small wet rock. He was covered in prickers from the overgrown trail and annoyed at how much time was wasted. We were down to the new bridge and new trail quickly.

After the river we climb upwards for a while. At noon we are walking through a damp pine forest. Everything has moss growing on it. The light is dim. The ground is soft underfoot. Logs make inviting seats and lunch is on my mind, but Portrait wants to get to the next river before stopping. There is more sunshine on the river's banks and less moss. The river is clouded with silt. Upstream there are a few dozen trees down. They are bleached gray and limbless. There is a small campsite that we settle down in for lunch time. Lunch has been limited--the scouting mission this morning ate up too much time, and to make up for it, lunch needs to be shortened. And there's flies. They land on us--dozens of them on our hands, and clothing, and trying to land on our food. We pack up, and take the bridge over the gray river.

We walk along a side hill in the open. It's hot--we put sunscreen on and I put my hat on that hasn't gotten much use lately. I can see the trail snaking along the shoulder of the mountain on the other side of the valley. In every crease of the ridge little rocky streams trickle down the slope. We find Tortoise sitting on a rock near one of the small streams eating a hot lunch. Portrait tells him about a short cut--another bridge out that was replaced five miles downstream. He had an older guidebook and hadn't know about the five extra miles--and was already low on food. He parts way with the plan of getting to Stehikin on Saturday, maybe before the post office closes, because he's nearly out of food. That seems to be the case for most of us this section. Everybody seemed to be looking at their foodbags with skepticism.

One very old tree

Portrait didn't think we'd make it to the junction of the old and new PCT. I didn't think much about it at all--Portrait was good at estimating our arrival times. But somehow we started making better time than expected. The trail was much better than it was during the morning. There were fallen giants of trees down but they were all cleared. On the biggest of the giants someone had written on the cut end that the tree died at 658 years old. It was almost as big around as I was tall. I couldn't help but touch the smooth cut of the tree and wondered about all that it had lived through.

It wasn't late yet when we reached the junction. There was a sign saying the trail was not maintained. Opus had told us that when he went through the log over the Suiattle River was still there, but we had no way of knowing if the log was still there--except someone would have left a note saying so. There was no note, so we left behind the new PCT for the old. Right away we had to cross a swift moving silty river. It took a few minutes to find the well beaten track to a log over the river. Watching Portrait go first over the river the log looked high above the current. There was another tree that was down next to the log making a bit of a hand hold, but it drew away from the log making a shaky railing. It took Portrait a few false starts to let go of the second tree and trust his balance to the one log under his feet. When it was my turn I had the same trouble letting go of the railing that gave a very false sense of security. After one wobble that made me shrike I took a seat on the log and scooted my way over the river.

Portrait on the first log crossing

On the other side of the river we entered a different land. Everything seemed old--the trees were silent giants, the plants were also huge. It was damp, dark, and mossy. We looked around for the dinosaurs, but figure they must be hiding from us. The trail hasn't been closed for long--we can clearly see where the trail is, but there are downed trees and plenty of them. A hundred hikers before us have made new trails over and around the downed trees that are easy to follow. Even with the obstacles we make okay timing.

It is dusk when we reach the bank of the Suiattle River. It looks like it has seen destruction. The down trees are gray, the rocks and mud are gray. They sky is just as gray and a low mist makes even the living trees on the ridge across the river look gray. And the water is gray with dirty white foam. The bank is wide from past floods and we pick our way over the rocks, sand, and debris towards the main flow of water. There are little campsites with fire rings on the sand, but we want to be on the other side of the river. We don't know what's over there, but neither of us want to make camp knowing that first thing in the morning we have to cross the river.

We saw the log right away and stared at it in disbelief. Was this really the log that everyone was taking across the river? Was this the log that Opus told us to take when we saw him in Seattle? This log that was about a foot thick and on an incline? This log that would put someone a dozen feet above the choppy water at the far bank? Surely this wasn't the log, but we saw no others in the failing light. At the sight of it, I really did not want to wait until the next morning. Better to get it over with while I had the courage to do so. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing I had that log to face in the morning.

Portrait sat for this log crossing. He tucked his feet up so they don't dip in the water and he started to scoot. He made slow progress. When he was about halfway across he stopped to take a break and I realized I would be crossing the river in the dark. He has both our headlamps, but other than that I have everything I need on my back to camp on the river bank, but I'd rather be on the other side. I wanted to start while he was still scooting his way across the river, but it seemed like bad etiquette. So I waited. Slowly he made it to the other side, with a few breaks. I watched him climb off our sketchy log onto another log on the river's shore.

I tossed one leg over the log and sat down. It felt surprisingly stable underneath me. I put both of my hands on its smooth surface, palms down, fingers pointed towards the water, about a foot in front of my body. With elbows locked I put most of my body weight on my hands, lifting my but just barely off the log and moved forward. I moved in increments. I moved slowly, but once I was past the only runty branch on the whole log, I realized I felt safe above the water. I felt safer on the crazy log more than I felt on the first log crossing on the old PCT. It was dark and I could only just see Portrait, headlamp shinning towards me, on the far bank. My arms started to ache with tiredness. They weren't used to doing so much work on this hike--their only job was to occasionally lift up my pack. Lifting up my body was left to my legs, which were dangling high above the water now. I took a long break on the log while Portrait took a few photos of my unusual perch.

Me, on the slanty log

He moved aside when I got close so I could dismount the slanty log for the log safely on the river's bank. As secure as I felt crossing the river it felt better to be on the far side. I got out my headlamp and we moved away from the river. Finding a spot to camp was my main focus. I didn't really care about getting back on the PCT, but it seemed likely there would be camping at the junction. There was a well-worn path that we stumbled upon that lead us back to the PCT and back to the forest...and sidehill. My spirits sunk a little at the sidehill--there's never camping on sidehills. Portrait saw what he thought was the glow of eyes in his headlamp, but minutes later it turned out to be a campfire. We came to the junction of the old and new PCT and could see a small campfire near the river. We followed the light more than a trail to the fire thinking we would find Team All Dead relaxing. Instead we found two southbound section hikers. We chatted for a bit, but I was wiped out--I wanted camp, dinner, and then sleep. They showed us a campsite that we wouldn't have found in the dark by ourselves. Portrait brought his dinner up to their fire to chat while I ate mine at our sight leaning against a log. The river was loud, but seemed less threatening on this side of the bank.

Day 152-Broken Bridges

 From the field at mile 2509 to campsite on the ridge at mile 2530

Views of smoke

At sunset we have two miles left to hike-half of that up hill. Portrait was reading to me as we hiked because I was miserable and slow and he was bored trailing along behind me (and at heart he is a Fastie). 

A broken bridge upstream from the new bridge

Canada feels oily. We hike, getting closer, but we don't make enough progress. Our finish date keeps sliding away from me. Days ago we had ten days left and we still have ten days left even though we hiked passed the 2500 mile mark and caught up with Bukket and Cheese this morning. By evening it doesn't feel like I've made it anywhere.

Another broken bridge, but usable 

I am weary. Portrait did the math earlier in the day and by the time we hike to Stehekin my tendons will have hurt for 520 miles. By Manning Park in Canada it will be 606 miles. As I climb upward the sky is streaked with pink around the snowy stone giants across the valley and I wonder how I'll look back on Washington. Portrait said I'll remember it as painful, and I'm sure that will color my memories. More than painful I think I'll remember how disappointed I was in myself. How everyday I fell short of our goal and pushed town and Canada one day further away I felt failure. I'll remember not feeling any joy at a firery red sunset. I will think of Advil and how my happiness depended on how much I took and when.

As we hike into dusk my head throbs with the pressure not to cry. Portrait remarks how lovely the area is and I say nothing. Each time I catch a glimpse of the trail winding its way upward I want to sit down and close my eyes and just stay there.

Glacier Peak

We pass some snow at what I think is the top of the climb-many miles ago it seems that Portrait told me I had only .6 left to climb. It is not the top and I finally stop, dejected next to a flat sandy campsite that I know I can't have. It is beautiful here: sparse trees, snow patches cling in depressions, the huckleberry bushes are that lovely shade of red, the view of mountains around us is impressive, and above it all the moon is a thumb nail crescent in the darkening sky.  When Portrait asks if I want to stay there I burst into tears while saying I want to go home. But of course I don't want to go home.  I want to enjoy hiking again.  I want to have fun, I want to be wowed by the views, and happy at the end of the day and to look forward to the next day. 

Day 151-The Trail Provides

From campsite on Grizzly Peak at mile 2490 to field at mile 2509

I spent most of the night slipping downhill and inch worming back to the top of my sleeping bag. It was a warm night though. Just before 6:30 when I was finishing up my blogging I happened to look up at the sky a saw the space station moving across the small clearing above me. I shook Portrait awake and he was able to catch a glimpse of the lone bright dot in the morning sky. Once it was gone it was time to get up.

I had big plans for the day. I took Advil in camp and picked up the cuben fiber pack. It weighed almost nothing. It was cotton candy and spider webs light. I could see us going 23 miles--we were practically there already as we left camp just before 7:20.

Glacier Peak just after leaving camp

My tendons were feeling great. I had full confidence in pack swapping to help them heal before Canada. We hiked downhill--with no pain breaking through the Advil--through a field full of white dandelion puffs. I wish I saw it when the flowers were in full bloom. The whole field must have been solid yellow. Now it looked like fall with a riot of leaves painted in reds, yellows, and oranges.

We passed a campsite about a mile from Grizzly Peak that looked perfectly flat. We could have made it there last night had we known there was a spot to make camp. It's a hard thing to guess at--I didn't want a repeat of the day we left Snoqualmie Pass and night hiked for a couple of hours because we couldn't find camping.
Around 10 my tendons started hurting faintly as the Advil wore off. I had thought the Advil would last longer than that. We were on a downhill to a small stream and I wanted to wait at least that long until I took more Advil. Once I was drinking water and eating cookies in a small campsite I decided to push until lunch before taking more Advil. At the end of break Portrait gave me just over a pound of weight from his load--he was missing his ultra-light set-up but wasn't complaining.

It was 11:30 when we left the snack spot with the goal of 2.5 more miles before lunch at the next water just after the 2500 mile mark. We hiked uphill first through another beautiful autumn field of huckleberries clinging to the side of the ridge. There weren't any trees and the summer sun beat down on us until we crossed to the other side of the ridge and went down through thick forest towards water.

We could hear the water below us when Portrait realized we had gone 0.07 miles past the 2500 mark. We walked back (me with some reluctance). We made a sign out of some green lichen that clung to itself like velcro and outlined the numbers with pine cones. Then it was onward to lunch down the hill.

Portrait took off his pack and I saw when he dumped it on the ground the Earth shook with its force. He sat down next to me, took off his shoes, and gingerly rubbed his tendons. He was getting tendinitis, too. We had to switch back. My tendons groaned in protest (my shoulders did as well). We couldn't have two of us hobbling along to Canada.

Team All Dead also marked the 25,000 mile mark

On the uphill after lunch we made a list of pieces that could be cut off my pack. Every inch of extra strap, unused buckle, and empty pocket went on the list. I could feel my pack trembling in fear. We made a list of everything else I could send home--every once would help my tendons. The list were long, but still wouldn't give me as light of a pack as the one I put on that morning. What I needed according to Portrait was a different pack, and I agreed. But I couldn't get one without phone service and there wasn't supposed to be any for the rest of the hike.

We were on an exposed sidehill with a view of a dozen ridges before far away smoke hid the others from view when we heard a beep beep. I think it was an electronic beep, Portrait thought it was a bird. Whatever it was, there was cell service right there. The trail provides, and it gave me what I needed. I called home. My Mom said she could put the GoLite pack I started the hike with in the mail in the morning. I should have it in Stehekin on Monday morning. I was thrilled--now I just had to walk four more days with a heavy pack, unless the trail provided a post office (or trash can).

We hiked on. My glow from getting a new pack in the works wore off as my tendon pain increased. I started to look for a place to have snack as the trail started a series of switchbacks downhill. There was a little campsite with a few sitting rocks next to a fire ring that pulled me in. I was moving towards it when Portrait asked if I had seen the boulder I had just walked by. I hadn't so I backed up. It was the best rock chair I had seen on trail yet. I climbed up with my PopTart and Portrait and settled in. It was a hard spot to leave fifteen minutes later.

We came across a very small spring coming out of the ground right above the trail. We stopped to fill up-there was no water listed in this section excepted a lake. I took a liter and a half to get me into the next day. When we got to the lake a mile later it was so lovely I wouldn't have had any problems drinking its still blue water.

We climbed up to the ridge after the lake. The PCT gave us a ridge walk through huckleberry fields for a couple of miles. Every so often we had views of Glacier Peak to our left. The peak kept getting larger--that was where we were going.

The sun started to set as we got to the end of the ridge walk. We dropped down onto one of the mountain's shoulders and followed the slope down. We were kept an eye out for campsites as we went, but the side hill provided nothing. At the bottom, just before dark, was a trail junction in a small grassy field. With no debating we called it home.

Day 150-Leaving Steven's Pass

From Steven's Pass at mile 2476 to campsite on Grizzly Peak at mile 2490

After a short town stop with many chores Portrait and I got back on trail around 11 o'clock. We had gotten a ride with a fruit farmer who had picked up No Amp and Buckket as well. We dispersed after hitting the trail. Portrait and I kept stopping in the first mile to check something on the last bit of internet, bathroom break, put on sunblock. Little Dipper passed us while I was putting sunblock on my ears. It seems unlikely that I will be seeing much of her on trail even though we plan to finish on the same day.

Portrait was carrying my pack again. On the scale at the hostel it had weighed in at 40 pounds. His cuben fiber pack that I was carrying weighed in at eleven pounds. I could hardly feel it on my back and I knew Portrait felt every once of the weight on his back. He said nothing about it though.

For the first climb my legs were feeling good. I had taken Advil in the trail head parking lot to help keep my town rested tendons feeling rested. We were at the back of the group that had left town and I kept expecting to see everyone taking lunch by one of the many small streams we crossed.  When we did find them Little Dipper, Jack, and Gut Feeling were just leaving, but No Amp and Buckket were still sprawled on the ground. We had the goal of taking a short lunch, less than an hour, and even though I didn't even take off my shoes and get comfy, we hardly left before the hour was up. I blame the beautiful orange butterfly that seemed to mistake me for its home. It kept landing on me and staying long enough for Portrait to make a movie. Finally I shoed it away so we could finish our uphill.

It was only another mile to the top of that pass. Then it was a few miles down to a creek. We finished off Portrait's water early to help lighten his load. I took more Advil on the way down-we still had most of the day's hike ahead of us.

The creek in the valley was beautiful. The water flowed down a large, smooth, moss covered rock into a little pool.  It was so clear in a little pool that I could see every pebble underwater. The water looked like it had never known dirt. I drank a liter there while having a PopTart for snack. I left with only a half liter of water--the next source was 1.5 miles away.

It was uphill for that 1.5 miles but I didn't drink any of my half liter. The new water wasn't nearly as pretty. It was sluggish as it moved through piles of mossy rocks. It tasted a little mossy as well.

The climb continued upwards after the water. We hiked out of the pine forest into sunny huckleberry fields decorating the hill side. Their red leaves turned firery as the setting sun lit them up. There was a lot less haze from the fires and the sky turned pink as we climbed the last half mile. We got our first real view of Glacier Peak-which we should be getting to soon.

Grizzly Peak had a small summit with a view of Glacier. Tucked into a grove of runty pine trees was a campsite. When we were in Seattle Opus had warned us the Grizzely Peak campsite had a wicked slope and to not get fooled by the idea of sleeping on a peak. We knew that when we picked our spot for the day, but the mileage was right.  It may not be the best sight, but I was feeling my best in a long time, and I didn't want to ruin that with a three mile night hike down to the lake where everyone else there.was camping.