PCT 28- Between Two Worlds (Tales from the Border)

PCT 28- Between Two Worlds (Tales from the Border)

The embers of the bonefire glow bright with a red that seems to warm the face. Around me are the laughing faces of Canadians and other traveller, here along the banks of the Simikameen River. The night sky seems to shine like no other night along the trail, and I can just make out the milky way, the center of which we all revolve about. There is a sence of warmth and yet distance. I finds myself in that land in-between, niether arrived to the next journey, and my thoughts still at pace with the rhythmn of the walking life. For this is the fate of all traveller at the end of their long journey.

Laughter and stories, swirl about the campfire, woven in the words of Ferench, Spanish, German and English. A world apart from the self meditative state of a quiet forest, only to echo the sounds of a deep ravine or the calling howl of the wind. For I've emerged upon a new community that I call home for the next few weeks, yet still somehow yern for the one that remains south of 49, of those warm summer days.

This evening I pour over the memories of the last three summers worth of experiences, so thick you have to reach out your hand to whip then away. The two journies along the Pacific crest and the life in between. Now as I Look back to those days, I find that the fire deep within has truely been rekindled. A particular email from an old friend strikes most. It reminds how the trail affects you greatly when you come back to the city. When the voicesof spirits no longer walk with you. Instead youare left with concrete, steel and clocks. And yet somehow to bring partir that wilderness home with you ispart of the real lesson. I remember watching Flop stare out upon the watersof Lake Chelan, with a look of sorrow in his eyes. And as I read from a hiker
fromthe last hike I an reminded how important that we remember thatwe take the trail withis always. Home is part of the journey. But as I have learned in this last hike, so is return.

Soto the life before me, I hope it leads me as well as it has before. And to Ladybird, may you find that journey that lies within on each day. And hopefully ill see you again on the trail some day to complete the stories to be fully written.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 27 - The People Along the Way

PCT 27 - The People Along the Way

One thing that I have written little about through this trip is the hiking community that we have shared time with. Now that the end of the trail just 80 miles and 4 days away, it seems many of us have landed in the little town at the head of remote Lake Chelan, Stehekin. Most of the day has been spent in the all time favorite hiker passtimes; talking with others, drinking and eating food. The Bakery here has been a focal point of many, but most have just sat on the deck at Stehekin Landing looking out, just staring upon the mountains. In each there is a sadness that the days of summer are coming to close. Line is always amazed to think that when we started this long trek back in Quebec, that there was 5 meters of snow in the ground. Myself as well feel the clock ticking by, and yet so close there is an urge to take it slow. But the trail calls.

Tonight most of the hikers here in Stehekin got together for dinner at the Resturant and had dinner together. We all reminised stories and places that we have seen. We shared a table with Irish, Flop, & Damp Dan, while another crew of hikers was at the table next to is. To realize that you have spent a summer with such a fluid or tight community, brings a connection of a traveller that I have not really felt since my years on Camp Staff. Line (Accent) counted that we have hiked with over 200 other hikers on this trip, now as we tell stories of the others we habe seen, I realize that we all share a special experience. The regular guests of the resort look over from time to time at the scrappy dresses bunch with long beards and inquire with the waiters who we are. With rolling eyes he responds, "Those are just Hikers..." and leaves it at that. For our community exists for a summer and the disbands into our other lives that we live in the "real world".

Through this trek I have meet some of the most extraordinary people. From Austin, a 75 year old woman that just rafter the Colorado River and was full of life. To Gordon, a dedicated Trail Angel, who seemed always to be at the next road crossing with gateraid and more stories to tell of trips, trails and life. The Trail Angels like the Saufley's, Anderson's and Heitman's, who took in hundreds of hikers into their own homes to allow all of us to rest or tired worn out feet. To all the random people we meet that gave us rides to our resupplies while hitchhiking, who's stories ranged from the bazaar to the heartwarming. And to each Postmaster of those small mountain towns, that for the summer deal with hundreds of hiker resupply boxes. After meeting so many people, I have became more confident that the heart of real people is warm and true, giving me back my faith in humanity.

Sometimes one of the most enduring memories of travelling like this is the people you meet along the way. And that has made it all the better...

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 26 -- Following the Marmot's Whistle

PCT 26 -- Following the Marmot's Whistle

We trek most of the day up along ridgelines, connecting from one to another. Deep below, the headwaters of great watersheds begin from late summer snowfields, down their raging courses with name like the Sauk and the Wenachee. The trail keeps reaching higher as the crest heads straight for the mountains of DaKooba's inner sanctuary. We climb above the treelike into a world of vivid reds, yellows and oranges of the last high alpine flowers of the seasons fading into
fall. Behind mountains not seeen by many and only spoken like lore from the Cascade Alpine Guide deep in granite greys and metamorphic purple hues reach skyward giving a man time to dream of lofty peaks. With all these sights the high whistle of a marmots call draws the hikers attention away from dreamy sights. Standing alert from his hole, of seems he is the spirit of this alpine haven. This is part of what makes the Glacier Peak Wilderness so special.

Located just east of Darington, this wilderness by it's very nature is remote. Each year districtive floods erode away miles of trailhead roads and routes, placing the mountain further with each mood of the river. And yet there is a lure to the hiker to follow old paths and climb over washed-out bridges, there just is no other place that feels deeper then here. Even as we look from ridgeline trails, we know the valley floor 4000' below is here the trail will descend to the old growth groves only to ascend the next ridge again.

My first encounter with this mountains was after high school as I worked on a trail crew. Days spent in those backcountry valleys bucking out logs to build punchon bridges, working the two man crosscut through old growth hemlock, and brushing out miles of overgrown trail, came with tireing days. Yet my first view of the High Cascades, came from days walking Vista Ridge or Fire Creek Pass, meadows with indescribable views. To walk now again and see the logs that took two days to make the 5 cuts needed to clear the trail, now stacked with 2 new blowdows was sobering. The power of natures forces is something to behold. Motion of water, wind and land move the forest and rivers, creating an obstacle course that honestly was fun to cross.

For years these trails have been stated as impassible by the Forest Service, yet out trek found this to not be true. For the adventureous, the challenges of the trail brought with it a earned joy when reaching the alpine zone. Respect for DaKooba's power comes after a long sore day. With views north towards the distant mountains of the last section of trail, the enjoyment of this true wilderness before the final push seems to warm us at nights. Watching sumset fade over Fortress Mountains silowet and long marmots whistle, brings a reminicing memory of those long summer days... Soon our walk will be done.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
Http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

PCT 25 - In the Shadow of Becky's Peaks (Alpine Lakes Wild)

PCT 25 - In the Shadow of Becky's Peaks (Alpine Lakes Wild)

My first long backpacking trip was in these mountains. I remember that first day like it was yesterday. Elise had just dropped me off at Fish Lake Meadows, just below Cathedral Rock. The mist was still streaming up from the rivers surface as the Cle Elum meandered it's was across the flower covered valley floor. Before I left, we sat beside the rivers edge and talked about what we though life would me like. Today, that friend fights a growing cancer with as much life and spirit as she had that day. I am always insipered by her view of life. Now I walk again with another kindered spirit along the high trail of Fred Becky's Peaks. It has also been a joy to share these moments with another likewise youthful spirit.

These mountains sing to me as home like no other. As I climb up the ridgeline of Kendells Katwalk, the masses of day hikers pass us by. This is a place of high discovery for new eyes tothe mountain lore. The beauty here is painted on the rocks reaching out towards the horizon. The high tower of Stuart, like a watchtower upon the cathedral hill, always stands off over the last ridgeline. This ridgeline we walk is home.

In the next day we weave our way below the twin towers of Thompson and Huckleberry, cross the long talus field below Chikamin Ridge. Layers of compressed mudstone that long ago found themselves buried deep in the oceans of Mesozoic times, now reach high towards the heavens as they are made golden by the dawns light. Every now and the I pick up a rock and break it along fine lines to reveals another world in the fossils of an ancient sea. And yet the views of Park Lakes and the small meadows below, bring us back to the present and the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

On that first solo trip, I brought along a book to keep me company, "Challenge of the North Cascades" by Fred Becky. In it was a page after page of descriptions of the inner sanctuary of Lemah, Overcoat, Chikamin and Dummot Chief. I remember coming over the ridgeline and putting a face to these giants that had become part of my own mythology woven frpm his descriptions. To see them again, was to look upon the face of heaven itself. Needless to say we had good skies.

Near the base of Three Queens, we came upon two hikers, who I immediately recognized. Wayne and Rick from work were out for the weekend to explore these upper reaches along the crest. We talked and swapped stories of trails we all had seen along the way, snapped a few pictures of eachother and parted ways. There is something special about meeting hikers and friends in the backcountry. Each shares that great experience of discovery, and chance meetings seem somehow part of the fate of the travelling experience.

That night after climbing out of the deep valley of Lemah Creek, we camped at the same campsite I stayed at when I was young. As the sun faded, we saw grand silowets painted with alpenglow lines of gold, pink and orange. The chill in the air on the clear night and the half moon seemed to speak of the trips end upon the horizon. But for the moment, the feeling of being deep in the wilderness and looking upon beautiful cliffs and glaciers fading to black was enough to bring warmth to our bundled hearts.

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com/

PCT 24 -- Reflections upon the Path (Snoqualmie Pass)

Snoqualmie Pass MP 2400

 There are few words that can match the sense of coming home.  The warmth of the familure seems to flow over the soul. That placement within all that has come before. And yet, there is a deep feeling of difference. That feeling that the distance had placed upon the heart. I feel as though the land I have traveled before me had touched upon the way I look upon my life and others. In the end, an experience that has been transcending. We sit around coffee tables… Talking casually about distance and miles, place around the world, in which to roam, in which to reach out and touch that inner harmony again. This is the trials and tribulations of a Thru Hiker coming towards the end of the line. In the next 250 miles, comes the last great finally to a hike that has been utterly marvelous! A dream walked upon the very soul, and realized by the slow progression of feet upon the earth. I can only hope to bring light to such a journey, yet my mind only finds itself rapped into the folds of another, on an island far deep in the south pacific, a world away.

 The last week has been a trail, against the elements. Wind, Rain and Pain has come my way, and yet the ever constant, has been the trail before me. There is still more to hike. And yet the feet pull me forward. Every person has that point, where will and soul must collide. Where the true questions seem to resonate within and only ask the hard questions. Where does the trail go after Manning. It is on the mind of most every hiker these days. Talk of the after life, the world beyond the trail. And yet for each their heart is still on those endless days of summer. Those long miles, and high mountain passes. Will they ever end. For so long, it has seemed like a secret dream of each, and yet as we walk north it seems to become the resolve of each to answer those questions that set us out on this journey in the first place, to look for the residing calm in deep.

 In the last few years I have seen much, far more then I though before. A world has opened up before me, miles of trail seems to stream seamlessly before the dreamers eyes. And yet the final questions still remain. Society demands a heavy toll, and yet the soul demands much more… Which path… Which course…. After seeing the sunrise among the dawning petals of a desert rose, or upon the High Sierra Peaks, how can a man come back down from the mountains? Once it resides deep within, almost a candle lit beyond mark. The answer seems to reside in the fact that the trail keeps pulling me, like many others forward. It seems that many within our own little world have heard the piper. And are lead by the melody of that distant horizon. Each day spent reaching out towards the fine line of gold. I always wondered how travelers face each day alone, Today, I feel a glimpse into their eyes, into their world… It seems to give a man a certain courage that has not been felt before.

Well a few days rest, and we are back… To the trail that calls our names, and seems to haunt our dreams. The distant mile further to mark, and yet our heart calls out for more. The spell of the wild seems to call like a Robert Service poem. And yet, home calls as well… It is the spell of every wilderness traveler, what happens at the end of the trail…

 I guess we will see…

 

-- Ridgewalker