Truth
The high point of Oregon (7,560′) is not far south of Tipsoo Peak . . . and about 8 miles north of Mt. Thielsen. That is the setting of this story about personal challenge and pushing yourself beyond what you think you can do. I cannot imagine that anyone who has spent extended time on the PCT does not test their limits somewhere along the way as Liz ‘Rest Step’ Fallin did near Tipsoo.
Mt. Thielsen
By Liz Fallin
I'm a proud PCT section hiker. My trail name is Rest Step. I love nothing more than heading into the mountains, just me, my pack, and the trail. In the summer of 2016, I did four hundred miles, including the North Cascades. I had never been more fit, and reaching the Northern Terminus was one of the best days of my life.
Weeks later, I was laid low by new, chronic health issues. The biggest challenge was the grinding fatigue, which laid me low for months. Second only to that was the need to stay constantly hydrated. I fought all winter and spring, and although I certainly wasn't up to my previous level of fitness, I figured I could at least do the southern half of Oregon for 2017. Destination, Shelter Cove and points south.
Fast forward a couple of days. I found myself approaching Windigo Pass, and the water cache graciously filled by an anonymous trail angel. Water was so critical to me. Without enough hydration and electrolytes, I would be in serious trouble. My heart would start pounding. I would get dizzy. I wouldn’t be able to see straight. I certainly wouldn’t be able to walk much. This was my biggest problem: how to balance the need for far more water than normal, with the inability to carry that much excess weight.
The cache was huge, and there was magic. I was thankful for both--a chance to rest and snack, and fill up with the necessary water. If the cache had been empty, I would have needed to hitch a ride to Diamond Lake, and that might have ended my hike.
The next water source was thirteen miles south, with two thousand feet of elevation gain. This isn’t a huge deal, especially for someone used to hiking in the Cascades near Seattle. But now it was clear I couldn’t do that in one afternoon. I needed to load up with water for a day and a half. That meant five liters, over five miles and 1100 feet, to the high point, followed by eight miles of easier trail to the lake. It was crazy, and bore almost no resemblence to how I saw myself as a hiker.
Mid-afternoon, I hoisted my pack. The weight had increased by more than 50%, heavier than the recommended pack weight by several pounds. This meant that I took a lot of the weight on my shoulders, which is really uncomfortable. I hurt in several different ways, and despite the snack, I was headed into despair. I tried to reason with myself, but some primitive force in my body was starting to make itself heard. The lizard brain.
I put in my earbuds, cranked the music, and headed up the hill. I focused on using the rest step, and regulating my breathing. Step, straighten the knee, and breathe. Step, straighten, and breathe. Do this as long as possible. Stop and rest. Gulp some water. Repeat.
Ten or fifteen minutes later, my lizard brain started screaming “GO DOWNHILL”. Retreating would have taken me back down to the cache, and a potential hitch. I fought to ignore it, and pushed myself uphill. Step, straighten, and breathe.
Lizard brain was getting louder, when I met some northbound thru hikers. I have no clue what their words were, but it was all about encouragement. I could do this thing, they said.
Several rounds of this, multiple kind hikers, much encouragement, three miles, and 900 feet later, I reached a wide open campsite. I dropped my pack. My body was done for the day, and I set up my tent and crashed.
Morning arrived, after a fitful night's sleep, and breaking camp seemed to take forever. I had to push myself to get ready to turn right, uphill, southbound. I still had three liters of water, which was probably enough, but I had to be careful.
Once again, I hoisted my pack. But. My body started heading back downhill. My lizard brain started heading back downhill. I felt sick to my stomach. Everything in me was screaming “TURN LEFT! GO DOWNHILL!”
I made my feet stop. I almost literally grabbed my shoulders, and forced them to turn right. Uphill.
To this day, I’m still not sure how I did it. But I made myself take a step. Uphill. And then another. Uphill. And then another. For two miles, and then I stopped.
I had reached the high point.
It was easy from here, flat trail and then down to the lake. Fresh water and new friends awaited.
This is the true story of my hike.
