PCT Day 127
September 4, 2021
Mile: 2240.0 to 2261.7 (21.7 miles)
Start: Burnt Pond tentsite
Finish: Coleman Weedpatch wooded tentsite
This morning our new hiking friend Wetfoot woke up about the same time as us which is to say late in hiker lingo around 8am. She went to go pee around the corner and when she came back her eyes were round with wonder. Apparently the smoke from wildfires had cleared and you could now see the glacier topped Mount Rainier essentially from our campsite. We rushed over to gaze in awe at the striking snow-covered peak rising from the dark forested hills as azure skies streaked with wispy cirrus clouds had replaced last night’s thick haze of the smoke blown in from wildfires many miles away. Shannon and I shrieked with delight and with Wetfoot we all did a little celebratory dance in the dusty campsite at how beautiful life was and how little surprises like discovering the tallest mountain in Washington state while on a bathroom break can make your whole day.
We chowed down on breakfast amongst the thick stands of vibrant Rowan, or Mountain Ash, bushes. Large, opulent clusters of the jeweled crimson berries hung heavily from the elliptical leafed branches and eager mountain birds flittered from branch to branch snacking on the sour fruit. It was quite exciting sitting next to the berries and having tiny determined winged critters dart by your face, nearly landing on your hair as they chowed down on the Mountain Ash berries. I love seeing the vibrant and showy Mountain Ash drupes next to the trail as we hike as the pop of color just shakes up the green landscape so nicely – they’re so bright that you can easily discern them from mountain sides hundreds of feet across the valley from you. The intensely sour, somewhat mealy fruit is packed with Vitamin C and if you need a wake-up call on the trail, just throw one of these edible berries in your mouth and you will pucker up beyond belief as your brain gets sent in overdrive trying to figure out why its body subjected it to the sourness. They’re supposedly a good survival food as the hardy berries last throughout the winter months when other wild foods have long past. And as we were finding out now, the birds love them too.
We headed out in the shady subalpine forest, the sunbeams sparkling through the dense foliage as we picked our way through the woods. Tiny clear creeks crisscrossed the packed dirt but we easily leapt over them, not thinking twice that these innocent looking streams might look a lot scarier later in the day after snow from the glaciers melted. The trail was fast and flat for a while until we came to a lava field where dark gray porous boulders the size of an SUV were tossed about haphazardly and the PCT was lost amongst rock fields, sand and weathered logs. I looked to our east (right) on the trail and seeing the humps of the summit of Mount Adams, realized we were about to cross a glacial runoff from the massive glacier cleaving the towering peaks. As the sun melted the thick ice cap on the pinnacles, snow avalanched down the flanks taking with it rocks, trees and anything else in its way. The debris mixed into a soupy slurry that cascaded down the mountain and blocked the trail ahead of us in rushing torrents of milky meltwater.
As we tried to figure out a safeway across the volcanic rock field and fast-moving river, I noticed that the milky stream’s current was starting to pick up noticeably which was alarming. Earth shaking cracks rang out from the mountain’s peak as the glacier calved shooting up clouds of mist, snow and rocks far above us. Our heads went up in high alert trying to figure out where the huge booms and rumbles were coming from and if the supposedly dormant volcano next to us was coming alive. Shannon and I guessed that as the sun rose, more snow melted and broke off from the alpine ice sheets and filled the stream. Since it’d been such a drought in the western United States this year, we hadn’t had much experience with the iconic dangerous river crossings as many PCT hikers normally encounter. Luckily it was still mid-morning and the glacier only had a few destabilizing hours of sunshine so far so the river crossing in front of us was tricky yet manageable. I think if we’d arrived here later in the afternoon after a full day of sunshine, it might be a different (and more dangerous) story with traversing the rushing water.
The whole area smelled of sulfur and we sincerely hoped that this was not from nearby volcanic activity but couldn’t figure out why else it reeked of rotten eggs. Sitting comfortably on a bed of faultlines dotted with volcanoes, Washington State was on the far eastern edge of the notoriously active “Ring of Fire” that stretched from Japan all the way across the Pacific to the west coast of the United States and as far south as the Philippines, New Zealand and Chile. I was hoping that maybe the awful stench was from Shannon having just eaten something weird that disagreed with his stomach and not a new magma hotspot erupting at the base of the supposedly dormant Mount Adams. Yikes!
Carefully we balanced on some logs stretched out over the knee-deep torrents that looked more like streams of cement pouring off the mountain instead of water. Even in the 10 minutes that we’d been basking in the sunshine of the glacial outwash, you could hear the creek’s roar increase in volume and actually see a visual difference in the level of the meltwater stream. We didn’t want to linger any longer and risk getting stuck on this side of the roaring river and being forced to camp early to wait out the water levels, so we pulled a few backpack gymnastics, hopped over the basin and continued on our way northbound.
Instead of dense evergreen forests the trail widened and opened up into gorgeous alpine meadows tinted in fall colors of auburns and golds and dark cherry reds underneath the searing blue skies. Above us Mount Adams towered in all her might and we sat in a sunny field of grasses and desiccated violet gentian to marvel in the high peaks. We ran into Wetfoot again who was filtering water from a beautiful creek and couldn’t stop commenting on the gorgeous alpine climate and warm early fall weather we’d had the good fortune of running into. Shannon and I chowed down on snacks in the warm meadow while watching nature’s TV of mini-avalanches breaking off the glaciers and erupting in huge plumes of snowy mist. It was pretty amazing feeling the rumble of the rock and snow fall miles away shaking our bones while basking in the heat of the sunshine. I felt like I could easily stay in this field forever.
It seems as though other hikers had the exact same mindset of resting in these alpine meadows for a while as groups of mules, hikers and loud families passed us by. Below the meadow near the creek were a handful of tents already set up by hikers staking their weekend claims on the public land. Despite the beauty of the place, it started to feel a little too crowded so we decided that it was time to move on. We headed out down a dusty hard packed trail through mushroom-filled conifers and blueberry bushes. I wish I knew more about the edible mushrooms out here in the Pacific Northwest as there were some really gorgeous ones but as the saying goes, “There are bold mushroom hunters.
There are old mushroom hunters.
But there are no bold, old mushroom hunters.”
I didn’t really want to risk it and die from being stupid about fungus identification so just took pictures instead of bites from the wild mushrooms.
We passed by more milky gray glacial streams that were clearly offshoots from the Mount Adams snowpack with their opaque waters. Innumerable bushes and thickets of huckleberries and wild blueberries surrounded the trail and it was difficult to stay focused on hiking and not snacking on berries. I’m really starting to get good at picking berries while walking and contented myself with that until we hit our lunch spot.
Lava Springs was a clear bubbling torrent of water that filtered through porous lava rocks before collecting at the surface in a man made basin. We sat in the shade here, cooking up a mess of rice and Spam singles while chatting with Wetfoot who also had the great idea of enjoying this little sanctuary. The creek burbled nearby as it traversed the volcanic rocks and shrill “Peek! Peek!” calls erupted from the towers of boulders as noisy furry little pikas dashed to and fro. It was hilarious watching the melodramas of the rabbit-like pikas fighting for territory with the chipmunks.
With full bellies, the warmth of the sunshine, the slight breeze in the hemlocks and the bubbling of the spring-fed creek, our eyes started to flutter shut in a post-lunch siesta. I heard the sharp squawk of the flock of Canada Jays in the distance but didn’t pay them much mind until I heard rustling by my feet. Not even 3 feet from my leg one of the jays was sneaking in to grab one of my granola bars that had fallen out of my food bag. I sat up waving my hands at the bold bird which didn’t want to move and was taken aback at its boldness. While I was contemplating what to do, another jay dive bombed my head as it went to snatch a packet of my beloved Spam. Enough was enough – you don’t mess with my Spam. Like a crazy person, I stood up yelling and hollering at the jays who jeered obnoxiously at me but took to the trees. Shannon woke up immediately and together we rushed to scoop up all of our food back into our packs, watching carefully for the flock of “camp robbers” (what we later found out were the nickname for these overly inquisitive avian critters). Nap time was over! It was all hands on deck to protect our food supply.
Back on trail, we popped in our audiobooks and made quick work of the trail, stopping only once to let a grouse cross in front of us. The grouse didn’t seem to be overly concerned with us humans so we watched the forest chicken peck away at the seeds and grasses, letting it take its time crossing the trail before continuing on the trail. We passed several reed-filled ponds, clusters of mushrooms and old bear scat filled with huckleberries. One of the comments in the Guthook navigation app mentioned bear sightings in the area which wasn’t surprising because of how thick the brush was with berries. We still kept a headphone out of our ears just to be able to hear anything large crunching in the woods but it was a relatively quiet afternoon.
The trail was very dry today with ponds almost having evaporated over the summer in the drought plaguing the west coast. The trail itself was so dusty that we had to leave at least 100 ft of space between each other so the person in the back wouldn’t be choking down dirt the entire time. Shannon was in front at one point and I couldn’t stop laughing at the perpetual dirt cloud that surrounded him. I was trying to remember which of the old Peanuts comic strip characters dusty ol’ Shannon reminded me of and it was finally some time before it hit me that he looked just like that kid Pigpen who constantly had a dust cloud surrounding him. In reality I probably looked exactly the same with the amount of grit I was kicking up with my Topos but it still brought out a couple chuckles. Hey, when you’re absolutely covered head-to-toe in dust and there’s no end in sight, all you can really do is laugh at it.
The plumes of wild orange-red fruit of Sitka Mountain Ash gleamed vibrantly against the deep scarlet-purple leaves of the changing foliage of the low bush blueberries. In the setting sun, the jagged peaks of the Goat Rocks Wilderness danced in tones of auburns and golds that appeared to be cloaked in light. We heard that we might see mountain goats in the wilderness tomorrow so we were excited that we were so close already to see the ragged ridgeline.
It was also my birthday tomorrow which was exciting as I was closing in on a personal milestone. Last year’s birthday had been a pretty rough day mentally for me, stupidly wrapped up playing the “life comparison game” and consumed by the stress of returning back to work after a leave of absence for health reasons. I’d almost had to check myself into a hospital for fear that I’d act on the suicidal urges that had overwhelmed me. My bestie Julia had answered the call when I was covered in tears, the blade of the knife in hand and not knowing what I was going to do next. She had been through rough times as well and having her listen to my choked sobs, not judging and asking thought-provoking questions was what I sorely needed. It wasn’t the first time I’d been so close to taking my own life in the past few years but with the help of therapy, medication, an incredible support network and setting boundaries I was hoping that it would be the last time I’d go through the horror of this mental health crisis.
This past year I’d come so far in a positive direction and felt so grateful for all the things I’d accomplished with the help of my support network. It was a miracle to have graduated from therapy, to finally feel at ease with my life, to be accomplishing a life goal of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail and to have left my work position where I was soon replaced by 3 people to take over the work a single person had been doing. I felt like I finally had the resources, confidence and empowerment to take hold of my life, to not feel trapped in a dead-end job where moving up was not in the cards, permanently leaving a place I didn’t feel connected to and setting healthy boundaries with everyone in my life. Tomorrow was the start of a new me, a healthier me, a me that was coming closer to feeling that unabashed passion and love of life again. It was time to start living again.
