Attitude and Layers (Part 1)
It is early November and you are just leaving Stehekin with 88 miles remaining to finish your PCT thru-hike. This is Dances with Lizards and Brr's story as they make the final push north. Winter is well underway in the high country of Washington's Pasayten. Dances' journal captures the humor, the spirit, and the attitude necessary to complete the journey in these difficult circumstances. This is the second of several accounts from late season survivors (see also Ian Sarmento's story posted in early December).
By Natalie 'Dances with Lizards' Fisher
88 miles to go. We leave Stehekin with our pockets loaded with cinnamon rolls and sticky buns from the bakery that’s been closed since mid October (it’s good to have connections in high places). It’s hard to leave a warm house one more time. We each have about ten days worth of food. 6 days of good stuff. 4 days of boring stuff. Lots of layers. Lots of attitude (Positive Mental Attitude, with a little bit of the other kind). A whole village is now sending good thoughts our way, as well as the whole PCT community. We aren’t just two people out for a walk to see what we can do anymore. We’re being watched. Bets are being made. People are being inspired.
Never thought we’d actually be the last two striving for the goal. Running joke this whole season. The last to Canada wins.
Leaving Stehekin. Brr finally weighed his pack for the first time the whole trip. 80 lbs. Probably always weighed that much.
‘Ready to go for a walk, Dances?’
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’
We’re walking into a snowstorm, and we know it. It’s going to be cold, but we want to try to get as far as we can while the hiking is easy. Of course, with loaded down packs, I only make it a quarter mile before I break down and eat a sticky bun.
As promised, it starts to snow by late afternoon. We make it partway up and out of the valley, cross creeks that are starting to freeze over, and make camp at a place called Hideaway.
74 miles to go. Middle of the night. Wake up to a tent that’s too warm. Realize we’re in a snowcave. Nothing is venting anymore, and it’s all dripping on Brr’s poor down sleeping bag. He eventually musters courage to go outside and uses a snowshoe to clear off the tent. There’s at least 8 inches on the ground. So much for the promised 3-5 inches.
While all this excitement is happening, I see a cinnamon roll sticking out of my jacket pocket. We’ve recently had problems with mice, and the only thought in my sleepy head is: I don’t want the mouse to eat my cinnamon roll! Brr jumps back into the tent to find me mawing down on the sticky treat without a care for snow or anything else.
64.5 miles to go. It’s a slow day to get up to Rainy Pass and beyond. We make burritos and a hiker mocha at the pass, and consider how easy it would be just to hitch out to Bellingham and be warm. Instead, we march on. Past civilization. On to camp above 6,000 ft and tuck in for another snowy night.
Surprised in the morning to hear voices as we’re packing up camp. Flatlander and Bouncer arrive on scene. Snowshoes on, GPS in hand. Making one more attempt at the goal.
I have to admit there was some trepidation on our part at meeting them. We had heard that Flatlander was going to try to meet up with us, we were glad he arrived with a hiking partner.
At this point in the game, joining up to hike with someone is no casual contract. That’s for summer business. Brr and I have been practicing in this kind of weather for the last month. We’ve got a system down that works for us. We know each other’s skills well. As Brr puts it “She doesn’t freak out. Ever.” On an expedition like this, the last week out is not the time to meet someone new and try to fit them into your system. We were happy to say hello. Short conversation. Have to move to keep warm.
They continued. We finished packing and followed their tracks up to the top of Cutthroat Pass (scary name, easy pass), where we sat down to have second breakfast and watched as two figures traversed the ridge and rounded the corner. Then we watched in surprise as one figure, and then another, were coming speedily back across the ridge.
Huh? We wondered with mild curiosity as we slowly packed up and continued on our way. We chatted again as they passed us. The ridge got steep and the snow was a bit icy around the corner. Too much for them. The fun stopped.
I have the utmost respect for Bouncer and Flatlander that they recognized when something was too much. They knew when to call it. That is an important skill. One most people ignore. I also respect that they didn’t try to turn us around. In our heads we were wondering if they would be saying ‘these kids can’t make it, it’s dangerous… etc…’ But they didn’t. They simply said it was too much for them, and wished us well. Thank you.
We continued on.
Traversed the ridge and made the steep descent in a couple feet of snow to Granite Pass. Then across the next ridge. The going was slow. We didn’t have snowshoes on yet. The snow was at the point where it really wouldn’t be any easier in snowshoes. We’d posthole one way or another. The trail following the contour on the ridge had perhaps six inches of snow. Passable enough.
55 miles to go. Setting up the tent. Exhausted. Bummed that we couldn’t make it any further. At this rate, we might not make our rendezvous.
There’s a crack. We pause. Stock still. Assess the damage. One of the tent poles broke. Shattered on one end due to cold. Nothing to do but wrap it with Tenacious tape, and hope it holds.
48 miles to go. Get to the top of Glacier Pass. Another steep ascent just ahead of us. Time for another hiker mocha as the sun sets. Bodies are complaining. Nothing to do but tape what hurts, hope it holds, and don’t look again. Pep talk to the body. Come on, just need you to get me thru a few more days.
We begin the next ascent. Switchbacks across a meadow. Why couldn’t they put them in the trees?! Wading across snow drifts at each turn. Brr gets fed up. We’re about four switchbacks from the top. Pull out the GPS to double check our location. We can just go straight up. The trail stays on top of the mountain for a while. We’ll hit it.
Switch to the microspikes. Glorious microspikes. Time for some mountain climbing. Brr pulls out his ice axe, I put my trekking poles in my pack and use his very sturdy hiking sticks. Up we go.
I climbed up a mountain on a starry night with microspikes and broomsticks.
I didn’t exactly like where I was. It was icy, extremely steep, the alternative was no easier. At that point, the only way to get out of a sketchy spot is to move. One way or another, you have to move. I chose to move up.
Up the mountain.
It was worth it.
Hit the top. Absolutely stunning. Make another hot drink.
We are the only people out in this wilderness. Two small people on top of a snow covered mountain gazing at the stars. One of those nights where I felt like the stars were watching us.
I get this feeling that Mother Nature has finally decided we are worthy to pass. That all the gods have us in their favor. And they are watching. It won’t be easy. She will never let us off the hook, but she will let us pass.
All the stars gazing down at us. Watching our progress as we finally donned our snowshoes and crossed the ridge to Grasshopper Pass and continued to traverse the next ridge. Our slogan becomes ‘When in doubt, follow kitty.’ We know the right direction to go, can’t see the trail, but there are lynx or bobcat prints that seem to know where the trail goes. We follow.
No matter what else happens, I have this moment. This moment in time. This moment on top of a starry snow covered mountaintop. Everything that has happened before, is worth it. Anything that happens after, doesn’t matter.
I have this.
This one’s for the memory books.
Editor's Note: Because of the length of Dances and Brr's story, it was broken into two parts. The remainder of their story will be posted on December 17th.