Day 140-142: The Knife Edge

August 22-24; Mile 2258-2295

Day 140

I left behind my lonely campsite in the morning gloom and donned my rain jacket to protect me from the bugs. As the trail climbed steadily upward, I was soon drenched and had to discard my armor once more. Soon I passed the quiet tents of Adam and DD, both still asleep.

The trees stayed thick and dense until I stopped for breakfast, and there the trail picked its way past avalanche fields and talus slopes with views toward Nannie Ridge. Adams was resplendent to the south, and I marveled at the distance my two feet had covered in just two days.

By noon I was ready for a break from the heat, and I joined a group of hikers in a shady spot by a tiny creek. Folks bunched up in the scrap of shade, with everyone talking about camping at the same spot just below Old Snowy. Adam caught up as I was heading out, and we hiked on together. He and Bubbles had been worried when I didn’t make it to their camp spot, but they had both assumed that I had camped at the planned spot by the pond. I asked if he’d seen the note I’d written in the dirt at the Walupt Lake junction – apparently he and Bubbles had both missed it – and then we exchanged info on our Garmin devices so that we could communicate in case of emergencies.

We hiked up to the saddle, and the views opened up. Seeing the mountains laid out all around me, with fields of blooming wildflowers and cascading waterfalls – this was why I had fallen in love with backpacking. And after months of hiking the PCT, I had finally realized that what I truly wanted was to hike the Washington section most of all.

At Cispus Pass, hikers huddled over their phones at the one spot with cell reception. Folks tried to book hotels in the next town, to call their loved ones – one hiker was even busy paying a credit card bill. Adam stayed at the pass while I hiked on to secure a camp spot, and also because I knew the beauty that lay waiting on the other side.

I had hiked the Goat Rocks area with a Mountaineers group just two years ago, and yet I stopped every few minutes to soak in the scenery and take the same photos I’d taken then. Ribbons of glittering water cascaded through meadows thick with wildflowers. Stands of trees cast long shadows that seeped over the bright green grasses of the valley below. I’d arrived in most thru-hikers’ favorite section of trail.

I hopped past a gushing waterfall thick with memories from my previous trip and began climbing up through the alpine meadows that sprawled below Old Snowy. Soon I came upon my old camp spot, where I’d heard elk bugling at dusk and raced from my tent to watch a herd saunter through the nearby field. It was good to be back.

At camp Adam, Bubbles, and I watched the sun set over the range behind us, staining the peaks a deep pink. Marmots whistled in the distance while the wind gusted over the empty meadows. We ate dinner overlooking Mt Adams before retreating from the chill night air. I barely slept, so excited was I by the wide open sky full of stars.

Day 141

The trail left behind the alpine meadows and headed into the land of rock and ice. Snowfields still covered sections of trail; a seasonal tarn below the trail had great chunks of white floating upon its surface like icebergs in the northern sea. I followed the well-worn boot path upward, placing each foot carefully in the steep sections of trail.

Before long I reached the turn-off for Old Snowy, an alternate path to avoid the steep scree field ahead. Having gone up Old Snowy before, I wanted to hike the actual PCT. Hikers paused at the junction, deciding which way to go: up the rock scramble to the summit of Old Snowy and its 360 degree views, or along the PCT with its final snow traverse? The traverse lay in shadow, and I worried that the snow would be ice at this time in the morning. After watching a few folks walk across, I decided to go ahead.

My heart beat rapidly as I approached the swath of snow, with its long run-out into the broken rocks below. The boot path looked solid, and I placed each foot gingerly as I picked my way across. Halfway through, my trekking pole bit into solid ice and skidded. I tried probing around for a better purchase, and finally got it to stick. The next few steps were slick ice, but after five feet I was on snow again. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as my feet touched down on rock once more. Ahead of me lay the highly-anticipated Knife Edge.

The trail followed the spine of the ridge line, weaving serpentine-like far above the valleys on either side. I had been sure to check the weather while in town – this was no place to be caught in a storm. Mt Rainier dominated the views to the north, a small scudding cloud drifting past its face. Behind me Old Snowy towered above, its blue shadows shrinking as the sun rose high in the sky.

In the distance I spotted four hikers walking onto a field of snow to the side of the trail. It looked to be a perfect opportunity to glissade, and I was not one to pass up on such a chance. After watching the first person’s descent, I hiked onto the snow and lined up to join them. The snow was firm and pockmarked by the sun, and I slid down the bumpy snow at a fast clip, using my trekking poles as a brake. I did more glissading in that one stretch of snow than in all the High Sierras.

After some cross-country travel down to rejoin the trail, I stopped at a sparkling snowmelt creek for my lunch break. Another hiker joined me, and we talked about plans after the trail and about our careers. As it turned out, we had started on the same day so many months ago. I didn’t pause long, as I still had many miles to hike before reaching White Pass.

The rest of the afternoon blurred past in a long descent through thick forest, and I finally reached the road around 8pm. I walked along the highway to the Kracker Barrel where hikers could set up their tents in a field in the back. Adam arrived about an hour later, and we ate dinner together in the gathering darkness by the light of his headlamp.

Day 142

I spent the day at White Pass, resting my weary legs and feet, and visiting with friends new and old. Tinder arrived in the afternoon, and soon afterward the Blue Crew (Dad, Baby Bird, Stryx, Mad Max, Poncho, and a few others) and Handy, Sprinkles, and Grandpa showed up. It was like a grand reunion, and though everyone hiked out that evening instead of camping in the field, I knew I’d see them again. They were just a few miles ahead, and if I didn’t run into them on trail, then I’d see them all again as they backtracked from the closed Canadian border after reaching the northern terminus.