Day Four:
Between days three and four we rested. In part we rested because we were tired. But mostly we rested for two other reasons: first, we think Vicki likes spending time with us now and then (instead of waiting while we hike). Second, we’d been invited back to Underwood and the Reynier’s with, this time, Brian and Whitney there too.
It was a wonderful visit (there’s that word again). We left with difficulty. The difficulty was compounded by the uphill trudge we knew was coming.
And it was a trudge (with full backpacking packs):
However, once we’d regained the 2,000 feet of “lost” elevation, things started looking up. Passing a rocky part of Nannie Ridge:
Near a small pond, now closing back in on the PCT:
Today the weather wasn’t wonderful. It was absolutely textbook perfect (“wonderful” describes the average weather for the whole trip). The skies were so clear today, so utterly long-range, that we got a monumental view of the famous, famous Japanese icon, Mount Fuji:
:
(Just kidding, that’s Mount Adams in all it beauty and glory.)
Here are the Goat Rocks, seen this time through clear, blue skies:
Starting from 5,700 feet at the trail junction, the PCT climbs to Cispus Pass. Gorgeous? Wonderful? How about views and country of the kind that a person would be privileged to pass through a few times in a lifetime. With my daughter. It not only doesn’t get any better than this; it can’t get any better:
Cispus Pass in sight (notice Tricia as a silhouette at the pass in the second photo):
The view north from Cispus includes all of the headwaters of the Cispus River:
The view west features Mount Saint Helens:
The meadows and creeks and rocks, peaks and spires here were just magical:
By the time we’d passed this area (back into a brief interlude of forest-marching) we were halfway through our day. And we were starting to feel the effects of over 3,000 feet of elevation gain (so far). More uphill past the Snowgrass basin was getting hard. But the views! Oh my God, I swear I’d move to this state if it had more than 10 days a year of weather like this:
We were closing in by now on Old Snowy Peak. The PCT crosses this peak’s west face before setting out on what we’d heard hikers calling the Knife-Edge (and some used the name with apparent trepidation):
Our first view (this trip) of Mount Rainier:
And there’s the Knife-Edge:
Starting across the west side of Old Snowy:
Steep snow crossing (softened by the sun, thankfully, by this late hour):
Tricia was a little intimidated by some of these snow crossings. We kept together though and she made it through. Onto the Knife-Edge:
By the time we reached the Knife-Edge, we were pretty pooped. We’d allowed only two days to cross 30 miles of Goat Rocks Wilderness though and we needed a few more miles to make our next day manageable (not to mention that there’s nowhere to camp on the Knife-Edge). We kept going. Up with the Knife-Edge’s peaks. Down its rubbled, marbly descents.
At one point I looked down the west side of the ridge and saw movement. Movement down there? Yeah, lots of it. Goats. Maybe 50 or 60 of them. On the snow and in the meadows:
Near the end of this two-mile long ridge we saw it. A flat spot with a pool of melted snow. And we knew that we’d make it home for the night (or, as it turned out, at least for part of the night):
Long day. Two pooped PCTers. We set up the tent above tree-line in clear, breezy conditions. The skies were crystal clear. This shot shows the last rays of the sun, seen from our tent as we finish dinner after 9:30 at night:
Normally, 9:30 at night would end today’s narrative. But it doesn’t.
With dinner finished and everything secured, we crashed. And I mean crashed. This had been a big, big day (and one of the best). Tricia usually sleeps well. And I sometimes do (the only thing I dislike about being older is the inability to sleep as easily). And tonight? Five seconds max from headlamps out until all four of us are just gone.
Then I woke up. At 1:30. And it was like I was next to a rushing group of locomotives. I felt like I was on one of those kiddie rides in front of a supermarket. In my sleeping bag.
The wind had come up and it was screaming. The tent was slamming back and forth, bending nearly horizontal, until up-wind Tricia was the only thing preventing it from total collapse. Again and again the tent’s fly flapped violently. I hunkered down, knowing that even if I wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight, at least Tricia would.
Until she wouldn’t. She woke up at 2:00. The dogs looked at us like we were crazy. We thought maybe they were right. How much longer could the tent take this abuse? Would either of us get any more sleep?
I suggested that we needed to move. Tricia immediately agreed. With most of a moon, clear skies, and headlamps, we quickly but carefully packed camp. A quick double-check to make sure that we weren’t missing anything, and we fled. To a lower elevation and shelter in the forest.
The trail is rough here. But there are no nearby trail junctions. We knew that as long as we could see trail tread, we’d be on the right trail. Headlamps and the moon. Across creeks. Down descents that the guidebook describes this way: “and then slip and slide down short, steep switchbacks etched onto a narrow ridge.” Helpful. But why doesn’t the book tell how to do this at night? With a 17 year old?
The wind is dying as we get lower.
An hour and a half into our “second shift,” and we basically know that we’re on the PCT, that we’re lower in elevation, and that the wind at this elevation is nothing but a breeze. But we’ve got no idea at all how far we’ve come. At 3:30, we finally come to some flatter ground. A spot just off the trail looks passable. That’s it. We set up the tent, pads and bags, and leave everything else wherever the hell it is.
We crash (volume two).
