Epilogue: Hart’s Pass

August 31-September 1; Mile 2592-2624

When I walked across the Canadian border in July, the last 32 miles between Bridge Creek/Rainy Pass and Hart’s Pass stuck in my mind. I had reached the end, but I still wasn’t done. Days turned to weeks, and the fire continued to grow. I had all but given up on the idea of finishing my fire closure miles in one summer. And then something incredible happened: the temperature dropped and the rain returned.

On Wednesday my friend sent me a text to ask about my plans to finish the section between Rainy Pass and Hart’s Pass. Because the trail had officially reopened. It was two days before Labor Day weekend, I had nothing planned, and the weather looked beautiful. All I needed was a way to handle the car shuttle between the two trailheads. And then on Thursday a person in my running group sent out a message to see if anyone was interested in doing a key exchange between Hart’s Pass and Rainy Pass on Saturday.

Sometimes you end up three days short, and sometimes everything aligns perfectly. Plans were set, bags were packed, and before I knew it I was back on trail – for the last time.

Day 38

Steph and I drove to Rainy Pass early Saturday morning, past the smoldering hillsides where the Easy Fire still lingered. The roadway was lined on either side by churned-up dirt where the dry grasses had been removed to create a fire barrier. Charred logs peeked out from between the trees along the highway, and the remains of a massive mudslide were strewn along the north side of the road. At Rainy Pass we consolidated into my car, and after dropping me off at Bridge Creek, Steph drove up toward Hart’s Pass to leave my car at the other end.

The short stretch between Bridge Creek and Rainy Pass crossed a few little streams and mostly paralleled the highway. I emerged into the bright sunshine and crossed the empty roadway where I had seen cars line the shoulder for half a mile on either side during the peak of the fall hiking season. Today was like walking through a ghost town.

After signing the trail register, I began the gentle climb through the trees. Memories swirled around me: from backpacking this section with Dov in October 2021 and talking to thru-hikers, to hiking with Handy and Fun Fact in 2023 as they set off to finish the section between Rainy Pass and the Canadian border.

I crossed several creeks before the trees thinned out and I had my first views toward Cutthroat Pass. The trail meandered around toward the top of the ridgeline, past stands of larches still sporting bright green needles. Berry bushes lined the trail, untouched due to the fire closure, and I feasted upon plump blueberries and huckleberries.

At Cutthroat Pass I met Lisa, a backpacker out for an overnight trip to Snowy Lakes. We stopped for lunch together at Granite Pass and shared stories from different backpacking routes in Washington. As we hiked into the afternoon, she peppered me with questions about thru-hiking and the PCT, and I basked in the company after so many lonely miles on trail. We both paused in awe when we saw the burn scar from the Easy Fire – and how close it had come to Methow Pass.

I stopped to filter water and said goodbye to Lisa, and after passing the turn-off for Snowy Lakes I was on new trail once more. The climb up to Methow Pass was pleasant but hot, and I was glad to be dropping back down into shade once more. Soon after I ran into Steph! She handed me my car key (though I had brought an extra just to be safe), and we talked about the dry stretches of trail that we had each covered.

I continued descending through the trees while massive mountains soared above me. At a creek crossing I met two hikers doing the PNT (Pacific Northwest Trail), and I stopped to chat with them for quite a while. Sea Dog had done the PCT in 2022, plus several other thru-hikes, and I asked about his experience on the PNT versus the CDT (Continental Divide Trail). We swapped stories from our hikes in 2022 – which fires we had been stopped by – before I hiked on toward camp.

I powered through the last two miles to reach my campspot for the night: a flat area in the trees beside the Methow River. There was a fire ring and three plank benches for sitting, plus a wonderful log to sit beside the river and soak my feet in the cold water. Five other hikers pitched their tents nearby, and we spent the evening eating dinner together and sharing stories.

Day 39

The forest was still dark when I woke at 5, a good half hour before my alarm was set to go off. Every mile that lay between me and Hart’s Pass was along trail that I had never seen, through the staggering peaks of the North Cascades. I packed up my bag and slipped past the other tents, crossed the river, and hiked into my final morning on the PCT.

Brush lined the trail for the next several miles, but occasionally the river valley would pass through a wide-open avalanche chute with views straight up to the ridges thousands of feet above me. The grasses swayed in the morning breeze, and golden sunlight slanted in through the maze of trunks, setting the forest aglow. As I came to the first opening, my gaze was swept up toward Azurite Pass where the ridgetop was stained red by the low-angle light. I watched the alpenglow fade before hiking on through the bushes.

After crossing the aptly-named Brush Creek, the trail began to climb in earnest. Before long I was treated to stunning views across the valley as I ascended across talus slopes lined with huckleberry patches on either side. I paused above Glacier Pass to take in the scenery, but found myself stopping again ten minutes later when I came across a ripe patch of berries. The huckleberries were large and juicy, and I filled my cook pot halfway before forcing myself to keep hiking.

Less than a mile later I came to the thickest patch of blueberries I had ever seen. I sampled one – a berry at the peak of ripeness, so juicy and sweet that I dropped my backpack again and spent the next half hour filling an entire Gatorade bottle with the pale blue berries. Simply combing my fingers along the branches of the plants sent the berries falling into my hands; they were so ripe I barely had to pick them.

My hands were dark blue by the time I finally stowed my fortune and promised myself I would make it to the top of the hill without stopping again. Views opened up all around me, the hillsides stained red by gashes of berry patches turning toward autumn. At Grasshopper Pass I turned in circles, imagining how the trail would look in four weeks when the deciduous larches changed to gold before dropping their needles for the winter.

The trail led onward across large talus slopes before passing an off-trail spring near Syncline Mountain. I paused to grab water – the only source for thirteen dry miles – and ate lunch in the shade with one of the hikers from the night before. The exposed trail was hot in the afternoon sun, but I barely noticed. Fewer than six miles remained of the entire PCT. I was so close.

After a quick lunch I set out through some of the prettiest terrain of Washington. High, rocky ridgelines with stands of larches sweeping down the hillsides; thick forested valleys below expanses of talus where the trail cut a line across the jumbled rocks. My feet sailed along, and with each buzz of my watch the mile counter in my head ticked down toward zero.

With less than a mile remaining, the trail wove through a stretch of old burn scar. The forest floor was covered in the crimson leaves of berry bushes, and the mix of colors – red, green, black, white – was vibrant in the bright sunshine. Through the trees ahead I spotted the ranger’s cabin, the trail register with its American and Canadian flags, and finally – finally – the end of my hike on the Pacific Crest Trail.

I had covered over 2650 miles, across more than six months of hiking, through smoke and rain and lightning and heatwaves. Across snow and sand, soft dirt and hardened lava. Twenty-mile days no longer seemed daunting. Spending weeks in a tent was comfortable and familiar.

Was I a thru-hiker in the strictest sense? Probably not. But my goal had always been to see as much of the trail as I could before it burned. Now that I had walked every mile, I could finally go home.