The Highs and the Lows

Today the trail starts out with the 2000 foot climb and then, after a little meandering, a 3500 foot descent. This is the way it has been in Washington. The trail goes up and then back down again, unless it goes down and then back up again.

Learning to expect the unexpected is one of the first teachings of the trail, but seriously, can we really ever do that? As I approach the Oregon border, I am not feeling the sense of elation and accomplishment that I assumed I would be. Instead, I am melancholy, even sad. Washington has been such an important place in my life. It’s where I went to college, medical school and residency training. It’s where I got my first job and got married. It’s where I became an adult. It’s where my mother lived for over 25 years so it continued to feel like home to me long after I moved to Montana. I feel much more like a Washingtonian than an Oregonian or even a Montanan. When I first decided to hike the PCT, I assumed I would go north-bound. I wanted to walk home. It took me a while to adjust to the idea of going south, hiking Washington first. So Washington state also turned out to be a proving ground for me.

The Washington section of the PCT is 505 miles long and considered some of the hardest miles of the whole Pacific Crest Trail, done at the beginning of the journey before we have our “trail legs” (I’ll let you know what that means if and when I ever find out) It’s no small accomplishment. It’s almost 1/5 of the total journey and more than 1/5 of the total effort. More than one month out of the anticipated five months.

What I’m noticing right now is that I’m tired. The blisters I got on day one have never healed. They remain deep, painful fluid filled pockets at the back and side of each heel. They change the way I walk, especially at the end of the day and on the downhills so that I land on my midfoot, which has given me pain and numbness in the metatarsals and toes. I can’t sleep on my back because the pressure of my heel against the air mattress causes sharp shooting pains. Who knew that blisters could throb? I certainly did not. My knees ache at night. They don’t want to be straight for too long, but they don’t want to be bent for too long either so I shift from side to side with short stints of sleeping on my belly which causes back pain. And as much as I am eating, I am still losing weight. My backpack waistband belt is already at its tightest setting. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I shrink out of my backpack. 

Washington has been my introduction to the PCT, and it has been an excellent teacher. It has delivered unparalleled scenery and splendor along with physical challenges far beyond anything I have ever taken on. 

I have climbed a total of 97,815 vertical feet and descended 101,982 feet. I have lived out of doors for 33 days, with only two nights in hotels. We have had snow, a heat wave, rain and mosquitos. There have also been psychological challenges. Washington has been, for me, a walk with grief and also with love combined. It is said that we cannot selectively numb emotions. The intensity with which we feel the good, pleasant, positive emotions is also the intensity with which we feel the difficult emotions. I am nothing if not emotionally intense. 

I lift my head from these musings and notice that I have gobbled up the final 2000 foot climb of Washington state for breakfast, it’s all downhill from here to Cascade Locks. There are a few brief glimpses and views back where I have come from. I see Mount Adams looking small and distant, to the west is Mount Saint Helens and further in the distance the tip of Mount Rainier. Did I really walk all this way? As if on cue, the trail rounds a corner and Mount Hood comes into view briefly. That is where I am going next. 

Coming into Cascade Locks the melancholy is still clinging to me. My son was supposed to meet me here, but I am ahead of schedule so we had to rearrange that meet up to Timberline Lodge. There is no one to greet me at the end of this section. It’s an awkward thing to cross the Bridge of the Gods on foot. There is actually no designated space for foot traffic so cars, humans and horses alike share this bridge which is part of the official route of the PCT. Even more awkward, I walked on the wrong side of the bridge, with the flow of traffic instead of against it (Duh!) In the middle, I got to high-five some northbound hikers who were also crossing at the same time, two women looking proud and strong and celebrating. We cheered each other on, hooting and hollering in the strong wind coming up the Columbia river, my hair whipping every which way, and the melancholy melted away.

 Here I come, Oregon!