DAY 158: SNOW AND MUD

miles: 22

September 24th, 2013.

Where to begin.

It's been too long since I last posted, and I'm sorry I've gone missing and left the blog hanging at the very end of the journey...

It isn't over yet!

We are just getting started, in terms of the snow, misery, and climax of the story. Please - stay with me, as there are a few more posts to come in final conclusion of this journey.

So. Here we are, waking up in the dark in our completely saturated tent, in the saggy, wet, sop of a campsite on this dark, September morning. We are about to enter the Glacier Peak Wilderness and the weather is still looking crummy (not just "crummy", actually "scary" would be a more appropriate adjective) as we stuff our damp sleeping bags in their shredded, useless stuff-sacks.

Everything is wet.

The morning started off drizzly and cold. Taking down camp took longer than usual


Summary of hiking in Washington too close to October:

Views only 15% of the time.
Extreme physical fatigue and deteriorating bodies...
Ongoing struggle to keep gear dry.
Fight agains hypothermia.
Difficulty with taking in enough calories to stay warm.
Eating strategy: eat while walking, no warm food, no cooking, only Snickers.
Being prepared for 3-seasons but entering 4-season hiking (WINTER IS HERE).
Systems were mastered for spring/summer hiking but fall/winter hiking caught us off guard.

Rugged. Isolated. True wilderness. Exposed. Hungry. Exhausted. Exhilarating. Raw. Bittersweet. Freezing. Unmatched beauty. Freedom. Urgency.

The morning started out in a freezing, cloudy haze. I left camp in a hurry because I feared I would lose my fingers if I didn't start moving. Body heat is hard to keep up these days... Once we were hiking we warmed up quickly. After about an hour, at just the perfect moment, the clouds lifted and began exposing dramatic views of Glacier Peak Wilderness.

WOW.

Most of our morning was spent standing on cliffs and vistas having our breath taken away (literally) as we took photos. We eventually realized we would never make it to Canada if we didn't keep moving, we couldn't afford to stop so often, so eventually we put our cameras away and resigned to walking as fast as possible.

Smiles taking in the view

Helping mark the way.

The mountains after a dusting of snow.

Dr. Slosh and Ben.

Ben heading uphill - the views keep getting better and better.

Clouds drifted in and out of sight.

Just above cloud line.

Although it looks sunny, it is actually quite cold if you stop moving. As you can see - we are also increasing in elevation ever so slowly... eventually causing some concern. (see the trail ahead entering the snow line?)

After some exhilarating ridge walks with dramatic cloud displays, we turned a corner (abruptly) and suddenly were in THIS landscape:

YIKES.

This is the trail.

Luckily, the trail goes down, down, down, down, down, to the valley floor you see here.

Ben slipping and sliding around in his Cascadias and shorts.

After an agonizingly slow descent to the valley floor, we finally exited the snow region and were glad to be down, however, we were greeted with thick, slippery, mud. This was no regular mud.

I never thought I'd say this, but I may go so far as to say that mud might be one of the most treacherous conditions we experienced on the trail. Who knew?

The mud slowed us down even more than the snow did. Is it possible that the mud is slicker than snow/ice?? It was for us. I don't know many times we both almost fell on this day.

Certainly dangerous. MUD. Dangerous mud.

Our pace was slowed down significantly by the 6 inch deep mud troughs (probably to about a one mile and hour pace in some places). I think we had it particularly bad because it was after a very recent rain/snow storm and the water was using the trail as a means to get downstream, creating rivers to walk through. Ice cold rivers with hidden mud pockets waiting to throw you off the trail and onto your face.

It can be ridiculously demoralizing to fall on trail, depending on the days mood and spirit.

I stopped taking photos early in the day due to the mud factor (still bitter) but wished I had some photos of the latter portion of the day because it was stunning. The day ended with swirling trail through gigantic forests, mossy areas, rivers upon rivers upon rivers, upon rivers and bridges, and non-bridge stream crossings.

DAY 157: NON STOP RAIN

This is what it looked like.

miles: 11

"Are we really going to hike today? Are we really going out in this?"

These are the questions.

As I moped around in and out of bed, trying to take advantage of my last few hours where a bed was available to me, I felt like crying. I dreaded the freezing temperatures and wet misery that was the weather outside, that I just felt despair. I so badly wanted to stay in Skykomish until the weather turned... Am I wimp? Then I felt guilty for feeling so ready to be done, and all because of this weather! Apparently I am a pretty fair-weather hiker, I'll admit it. I'm very miserable when cold and wet. I can handle the heat JUST FINE. I actually LOVE the heat and sun, the desert was my favorite place.

The cold makes me feel fragile and vulnerable: hypothermia never leaving my mind as a potential threat at any given moment, while I'm hiking in wet/cold conditions. The constant fear of freezing to death, or at the very least, losing some fingers.

So this is what I dwelled on those last few hours in the hotel room.



So... procrastination happened. As usual. And we wound up leaving the hotel after 2:00pm. Smiles, Dr. Slosh, Rocky and myself.

Skykomish really was a "Great Northern Town"

We thought it'd be a hard hitch out to Stevens Pass, but we were surprised to find it was one of our easiest! As soon as we hit the road, Ben walked up to an RV at the gas station and asked them if we could have a lift (BOLD, I know). Sure enough, within moments we were piling into an RV rental, driven by a couple of German tourists out to see some sights. They both spoke barely a word of English, so it was difficult to make small talk. In fact, they seemed to be very confused as to why we were wearing trash bags and being dropped off on the side of the road at Stevens Pass, but they nodded and smiled profusely, pretending (I think) to comprehend our explanations of what we were doing. We thanked them, forced gas money onto them, and were on our way.

Geared up in our best trash bags and ready to go. (Ben - the gnome on the right)

As soon as we hit the trail the trail, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but we were confronted with a path through 6 foot tall grass that soaked you with freezing water. The water ran down your neck, your pants, and into your shoes, completely drenching you to the bone. I wanted to take a photo of this, because it was so unbelievable, but I couldn't manage to get my phone out in time (and of course, as it always is in the rain, my camera was tucked away in a dry bag). UN BE LEIV ABLE. Even if it weren't raining, you get soaked when the trail is like this.

So we marched through the tall sopping wet grasses, cursing the trail and lack of maintenance as we went. Me, still feeling like crying (a common feeling as of late) for no reason. I think I may just be at my wit's end with this weather.

Hiking in the rain is tough business. It is not for everyone.

And apparently it is not for me.

This terrible iphone photo pretty much sums up the hiking we did this afternoon.

As we hiked and climbed and hiked and climbed through the thick and slippery mud, we continuously squeezed through wet foliage patches, sharp bushes, and dodged tripping hazards. This was no easy trail. Section K was starting off on a rather gnarly note, throwing all of the most unpleasant hiking conditions at us, icing it with a whopping 39 degree evening. A few miles in, something a big disconcerting happened as well: we began passing thru-hikers heading SOUTHBOUND (the opposite direction from us) as they evacuated the trail and headed back down where they had come from. One of these hikers was Goku, a trail friend we had not seen since the Sierra section down in central California! Due to the language barrier, it was hard to understand exactly why he was turning around (this was alarming because he was a particularly hardy and strong hiker) and we questioned him, eventually leading him to show us a few photos on his camera. What he showed us was terrifying: snow and white out conditions.

Goku was done, going home, throwing in the towel. This was extremely sad, but set off a red flag in our minds, in terms of the potential for trip-ending conditions in our near future.

We had skipped to Stevens Pass in order to hopefully AVOID the bad weather coming our way, but it was becoming clear that it may have caught up to us and arrived prematurely.

Ben and I had a lot to talk about that night, as we unfurled our sleeping bags in our damp tent. I shook with anxiety. Was it unsafe to increase in elevation? Apparently others had turned back and/or hole'd up in their tents during a blizzard out there, where we were headed. I am semi-comfortable in snowy conditions, but not comfortable or confident enough to spend 5+ days in those conditions.

We managed to get about 11 miles in before dark (which comes early these days, as the days get shorter, and shorter, and shorter) and camped in a very crowded little campsite. We were worried that the semi-flat spots we were able to find would fill with water and flood in the middle of the night if the rain kept up at the rate it was falling. We had heard of so many hikers who either made poor camp site location choices, or had no choice but to camp in a sunken area that collected water and pooled, drenching them and all of their life-sustaining belongings inside. This is my worst nightmare. We have been lucky to remain dry throughout every overnight rain storm, so far....

The conversation that night was grim.

DAY 156: SKYKOMISH via THE DINSMORE'S

miles: 0

[NOTE: it's been a really long time since I've updated, I know, I know. Now begins the final posts, stay tuned ya'll]

Where were we.... OH - Seattle.

Dread.

As I sat looking out the window of the multi-story apartment building where we were staying, over the hills of Seattle, I was overwhelmed with dread. The clouds were rolling in, cloaking everything in a thick, white, cold haze. I could only imagine how much more extreme the colors, temperatures, weather systems, were out east in the mountains, our final destination today. Later that morning we would be shuttled out to Baring, Washington and dropped off, sent out into the cold, once again.

I wasn't ready for cold. I don't think I'll ever be ready for cold again.

Justin and Sarah made breakfast and coffee and we all ate in the warmth of their home, still a luxury to me. Feeling so grateful, spending time with an exuberant canine, in the coziness of a real home... I tried not to think about the freezing temperatures that awaited us.

After breakfast, Ben and I packed up our belongings and got in the car.

**JUSTIN & SARAH: We are forever thankful for the ride to the mountains! YOU SAVED US. Come to Portland soon you two! **

As we left Seattle, the weather got more and more dreary and ominous and in no time we found ourselves standing in the driveway of trail angels Jerry and Andrea Dinsmore of Baring, Washington. We said goodbye to our city friends and thanked them for the ride, and hurried inside, as it was raining sideways.

The goal was to say hi to people, figure out a plan, and convene with Smiles and Dr. Slosh at the Dinsmore's and then hop over to Skykomish for a restful nights sleep and an early start to the trail - Section K, here we come.

While we were waiting for Smiles and Dr. Slosh to arrive at the Dinsmore's, Ben got busy and mended/altered our ponchos, making snips, adding sleeves, and making them EXTREME PONCHOS.

Ben testing out the new sleeves. 

Ben posing for a glamour shot in his new sleeved poncho success. 

Lots of games were played.

I got sleeves too.

The sleeves would encompass the whole hand.

Milling about.

Scrabble happened.

While we waited around at the Dinsmore's we played a few games, weatherized our ponchos, and organized our gear. Once Smiles and Dr. Slosh arrived, we packed our things in a flurry and made our way to Skykomish, a few miles away. Hikers were arriving in hoards, wet, cold, and miserable, and we felt bad taking up a bed at the Dinsmore's, that we didn't need (we had come from Seattle, were dry, clean, and happy) so we decided it might be the right thing to do  - open up that bed for those who actually hiked in, in need of the services they provided there. So we got a room in Skykomish, as did Smiles and Dr. Slosh (hotel neighbors!) and were thrilled to see so many hiker faces there as well! We reconnected with Belgian Red, Scout (formerly known as Rafiki) and others... and I'm a sucker for a clean, quiet place to hide. No matter how far into debt I go.... The privacy is worth the world to me.

Who knew I'd love hotel rooms so much on the trail, that I'd go into debt booking them? I didn't even care. DIDN'T. EVEN. CARE.

The folks who run the Cascadia Inn are the most welcoming people. (THANK YOU AGAIN JERRY FOR THE RIDE TO SKYKOMISH!) We were pleased to find this place was the cleanest, cutest, coziest place ever, and it was affordable too.

Baring, WA