The End.
I can’t believe it, but it’s officially been a whole year since I completed my PCT thru hike. Parts of the hike still feel so vivid and real to me but at the same time it’s like another life altogether. I’m happy to have this opportunity to reflect and remember the ending of this experience on this super important day in my story.
Bright and early on September 24th, 2018, the hikers in Stehekin piled onto the famous North Cascades red bus, shuttled to the PCT trailhead, and immediately set off into in the mountains for our final stretch of trail.
The next couple days in and out of North Cascades National Park were bright and sunny and the foliage had taken on a distinctly autumnal look. The few deciduous trees were displaying bright colours, but even better were all the berry bushes beside the trail which transformed the mountainsides into carpets of brilliant red. We also started encountering many bright yellow subalpine larches, the only coniferous tree that changes colours and loses its needles every fall.
The first night we camped at a previously reserved site alongside several new friends, Acid Jesus (also known as AJ in polite company), Juice, Crack Ed, and Clairmont. We were required to hang our food which was quite a challenge given we had only one rope between all of us. Hilarity ensued as we attempted to lift up the weight of all our filled food bags. I went to bed after dark once again, feeling a head cold that had been threatening me for the past few days finally hitting a point that I knew meant tomorrow was going to be a drag.
The next morning I was in full blown cold-mode. I spent most of the day lagging behind everyone, needing to take breaks every 20 minutes to rest my exhausted body. Honestly, it sucked and I felt entirely miserable. Still, I managed to enjoy some beautiful views, especially in the evening as the trail descended into a canyon and followed along a massive rock wall towards my campsite. It took me all day to do the 20 miles and once I reached the campsite I set up my tent, downed my dinner, and went to bed immediately, hoping to sleep off the cold as much as possible.
It was a success! Although still feeling crappy the next day, the cold was much improved and I felt like I had a little more energy. The trail was as beautiful as ever, all the colours standing out brightly in the sun and against a blue sky. I had a hard time focusing on the trail ahead of me as stunning views kept emerging in every direction. The mountains were vast and glacier covered. I took a long lunch break nestled into some bright red bushes among yellow larches, and spent it watching curious pheasants hopping about in the bushes.
I caught up to Macro in the evening as we entered the Pasayten Wilderness and veered off onto our last fire detour. We eventually came upon a campsite already filled with AJ, Juice, Crack Ed, and Clairmont, and a new friend Bearman, which is where we decided to pitch for the night. I pitched my tent on an embankment directly above a rushing river and fell asleep to the sound of water in my ear. Every part of me was keenly aware that tomorrow would be my last full day on trail.
The next day - my final full day on trail - I continued my way on the detour, arriving back to the PCT via a hard but beautiful climb up to Woody Pass. Because some people are not able to get permission to enter Canada via the PCT (an unofficial border crossing), there were several hikers on their way back to the nearest road after having finished their hikes. I was able to see several of my past hiker friends and congratulate them on completing their hikes. It was special to see them and also made the end feel that much closer.
The final few hours of that day were the epitome of bittersweet. All the thoughts I had been having about what an incredible adventure this had been and how it would all be over after tonight flooded my head and I was fully overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. I slowed my pace and took in that evening with everything I had. The mountains had become my home and my family and I felt connected to them in a way I can't describe. They had pushed me to my breaking point time and time again, showing me what I am capable of and what it is worth to experience moments of pure pride and wonder. They taught me more about myself than I can describe in words. And I was grateful to them. I was feeling the excitement and pride and amazement that I would be done by tomorrow, that I would have walked the entire trail, and become a successful thru-hiker. But even more than those feelings of glee, pride, and elation, was deep gratitude to the trail and a profound sadness to know that after tonight, I would no longer be able to call this dirt path and its surroundings my home. I had dug roots into the dirt and rock I had lived on for 6 months, and tomorrow I would be expected to somehow extricate those roots and go back to normal life as if the wilderness hadn't just become part of me.
As a gift, the mountains gave me one last sunset; pink, cotton candy clouds against a fading blue sky. I cried. And I cried, and cried, and cried. Tears of happiness, gratitude, sadness, confusion, and overwhelm. I sobbed my way to my campsite, feeling more full than I can ever remember feeling in my life.
It was late when I arrived at the campsite only 3 miles from the northern terminus. My friends were all finishing up their dinner in a circle and welcomed me with love and warmth, directing me towards the spot they had set aside for my campsite. I felt loved and like I belonged, both with these wonderful people, and in this place in the world. We shared our disbelief and excitement about culminating our hikes in the morning, and eventually drifted off into our tents for our final sleep on the PCT.
Finally, one year ago, on September 28th, 2018, my 180th day on trail, I woke up early and hiked an easy 3.6 mile jaunt to the Northern Terminus of the PCT.
In a little over an hour I was there, having completed the entire trail. Standing with my friends at the iconic wooden terminus directly beside the US-Canada border marker. I had walked home.
We laughed, we cried, we drank champagne, we took a million photos, and then just like that, it was over. After six full months of literal blood, sweat, and tears; of heartbreak, pain, wonder, and unadulterated joy; of walking the entire length of a country through some of its most remote wilderness on the soles of my own two feet, everything I needed to survive on my own back; it was over.
My feelings about the hike are still like that. A jumbled mix of emotions, memories, and thoughts that are simultaneously clear as crystal, fuzzy and detached, overwhelming, and confusing. The year following my hike have been a whirlwind, to say the least. A challenging, emotional, and heartbreaking whirlwind. I can honestly say it’s been the hardest year of my life, but it’s also been important and worth it, u think. So much about myself and my life has been entirely untethered, and while that has felt painful and scary, it’s led to new growth and opportunities, and I’m still in the process of learning what might be possible for me in the future. I fully believe that this process began the moment I decided to be brave (and a little reckless) and take the leap to make this harebrained idea a reality... to leave my life to go walk in the mountains for 6 months. And the more I reflect on it, the more I realize that the lessons I learned on trail are the very same ones that have propelled me through the events after it.
Photo cred: Dan Dodge
Park shuttle to the trail
The next couple days in and out of North Cascades National Park were bright and sunny and the foliage had taken on a distinctly autumnal look. The few deciduous trees were displaying bright colours, but even better were all the berry bushes beside the trail which transformed the mountainsides into carpets of brilliant red. We also started encountering many bright yellow subalpine larches, the only coniferous tree that changes colours and loses its needles every fall.
Larches and mountains
The first night we camped at a previously reserved site alongside several new friends, Acid Jesus (also known as AJ in polite company), Juice, Crack Ed, and Clairmont. We were required to hang our food which was quite a challenge given we had only one rope between all of us. Hilarity ensued as we attempted to lift up the weight of all our filled food bags. I went to bed after dark once again, feeling a head cold that had been threatening me for the past few days finally hitting a point that I knew meant tomorrow was going to be a drag.
The next morning I was in full blown cold-mode. I spent most of the day lagging behind everyone, needing to take breaks every 20 minutes to rest my exhausted body. Honestly, it sucked and I felt entirely miserable. Still, I managed to enjoy some beautiful views, especially in the evening as the trail descended into a canyon and followed along a massive rock wall towards my campsite. It took me all day to do the 20 miles and once I reached the campsite I set up my tent, downed my dinner, and went to bed immediately, hoping to sleep off the cold as much as possible.
Huge wall of rock
It was a success! Although still feeling crappy the next day, the cold was much improved and I felt like I had a little more energy. The trail was as beautiful as ever, all the colours standing out brightly in the sun and against a blue sky. I had a hard time focusing on the trail ahead of me as stunning views kept emerging in every direction. The mountains were vast and glacier covered. I took a long lunch break nestled into some bright red bushes among yellow larches, and spent it watching curious pheasants hopping about in the bushes.
Bright, sunshiny morning
Mountains carpeted in red
My favourite view of the day
Macro on the switchback below me
My pheasant friend
I caught up to Macro in the evening as we entered the Pasayten Wilderness and veered off onto our last fire detour. We eventually came upon a campsite already filled with AJ, Juice, Crack Ed, and Clairmont, and a new friend Bearman, which is where we decided to pitch for the night. I pitched my tent on an embankment directly above a rushing river and fell asleep to the sound of water in my ear. Every part of me was keenly aware that tomorrow would be my last full day on trail.
The next day - my final full day on trail - I continued my way on the detour, arriving back to the PCT via a hard but beautiful climb up to Woody Pass. Because some people are not able to get permission to enter Canada via the PCT (an unofficial border crossing), there were several hikers on their way back to the nearest road after having finished their hikes. I was able to see several of my past hiker friends and congratulate them on completing their hikes. It was special to see them and also made the end feel that much closer.
Yellow aspens
Truffula tree plants having some bad hair days
Looking towards Canada
The final few hours of that day were the epitome of bittersweet. All the thoughts I had been having about what an incredible adventure this had been and how it would all be over after tonight flooded my head and I was fully overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. I slowed my pace and took in that evening with everything I had. The mountains had become my home and my family and I felt connected to them in a way I can't describe. They had pushed me to my breaking point time and time again, showing me what I am capable of and what it is worth to experience moments of pure pride and wonder. They taught me more about myself than I can describe in words. And I was grateful to them. I was feeling the excitement and pride and amazement that I would be done by tomorrow, that I would have walked the entire trail, and become a successful thru-hiker. But even more than those feelings of glee, pride, and elation, was deep gratitude to the trail and a profound sadness to know that after tonight, I would no longer be able to call this dirt path and its surroundings my home. I had dug roots into the dirt and rock I had lived on for 6 months, and tomorrow I would be expected to somehow extricate those roots and go back to normal life as if the wilderness hadn't just become part of me.
As a gift, the mountains gave me one last sunset; pink, cotton candy clouds against a fading blue sky. I cried. And I cried, and cried, and cried. Tears of happiness, gratitude, sadness, confusion, and overwhelm. I sobbed my way to my campsite, feeling more full than I can ever remember feeling in my life.
It was late when I arrived at the campsite only 3 miles from the northern terminus. My friends were all finishing up their dinner in a circle and welcomed me with love and warmth, directing me towards the spot they had set aside for my campsite. I felt loved and like I belonged, both with these wonderful people, and in this place in the world. We shared our disbelief and excitement about culminating our hikes in the morning, and eventually drifted off into our tents for our final sleep on the PCT.
Finally, one year ago, on September 28th, 2018, my 180th day on trail, I woke up early and hiked an easy 3.6 mile jaunt to the Northern Terminus of the PCT.
In a little over an hour I was there, having completed the entire trail. Standing with my friends at the iconic wooden terminus directly beside the US-Canada border marker. I had walked home.
We laughed, we cried, we drank champagne, we took a million photos, and then just like that, it was over. After six full months of literal blood, sweat, and tears; of heartbreak, pain, wonder, and unadulterated joy; of walking the entire length of a country through some of its most remote wilderness on the soles of my own two feet, everything I needed to survive on my own back; it was over.
Photo cred: Dan Dodge
My fav pic, a candid shot of Macro and I laughing at how we unintentionally picked our own countries’ flags to stand by.
The amazing folks who celebrated with me from left to right: Bearman, Juice, Acid Jesus, Marco, Crack Ed, and Clairmont. (Photo cred: Dan Dodge)
Macro and I hiked the additional 8 miles past the border to Manning Park, where one of my closest friends, Monica, picked us up. It was all very surreal to me, and still the emotions of the night before are far clearer in my memory than the actual completion of the trail. It was an experience that was both incredibly special and strangely plain. Nothing was different, nothing stood out, I continued to be me, feeling the same as I had when I woke up that morning, only this time an additional 3 miles had made me a successful PCT thru-hiker. In a few hours I was showered, wearing some of Monica's clean clothes, and comfortably seated in a car headed to Portland, cancelling out our last month of on-foot miles in a few hours of speeding along the interstate.
My feelings about the hike are still like that. A jumbled mix of emotions, memories, and thoughts that are simultaneously clear as crystal, fuzzy and detached, overwhelming, and confusing. The year following my hike have been a whirlwind, to say the least. A challenging, emotional, and heartbreaking whirlwind. I can honestly say it’s been the hardest year of my life, but it’s also been important and worth it, u think. So much about myself and my life has been entirely untethered, and while that has felt painful and scary, it’s led to new growth and opportunities, and I’m still in the process of learning what might be possible for me in the future. I fully believe that this process began the moment I decided to be brave (and a little reckless) and take the leap to make this harebrained idea a reality... to leave my life to go walk in the mountains for 6 months. And the more I reflect on it, the more I realize that the lessons I learned on trail are the very same ones that have propelled me through the events after it.
A year and a half after the start of this journey, I find myself in almost exactly the same scenario... Leaving my job, my friends, my family, and jumping off into the unknown - this time moving across the country to Victoria, British Columbia. I wish I could say that the trail taught me enough to avoid the severe anxiety, fear, and stress that I felt before that adventure, but the truth is, I’m still a nervous wreck right now. What the PCT did teach me though, is that I’m stronger than I think I am, that even the worst moments can feel better with a little change in perspective, and that change can be terrifying but that doesn’t mean it isn’t the best thing for me.
My time on trail also helped to connect a little more deeply with myself, and to understand more about what recharges and grounds me. Since returning home I’ve escaped to the backcountry a few times, once even spending 4 days utterly alone in the woods, and I’ve found that nothing leaves me quite as peaceful, content, and connected to myself. I’ve made an intention in my life to make time and space for activities that leave me grounded and well, so I expect a lot more hiking in my future.
Thanks to everyone who has followed along on my journey! If you’ve stuck with me through all these lengthy, wordy posts - you are amazing. And even if you haven’t, thanks for reading this one, you’re amazing too. The support of my friends and family not only got me through the hike but also through the incredibly challenging year after it. I’m a stronger, better person than I was before I set out on trail, but it hasn’t been an easy route, and I doubt it will suddenly get easier from here. Still, I know now that I’m down for the adventure!
Happy trails everyone!
Love Patches :)
Comments
Post a Comment