Well folks, I’ve done it again – hiking over 700 miles without a single update.
In that time, California has ended, Washington has begun, and Oregon came and went, taking with it a mere 17 days of hiking and a fair portion of my remaining sanity.
You hear often on the PCT that Oregon is the most boring of the states. It makes sense; little compares to the jaw-dropping Sierras in Central California or the ever-anticipated Cascades of Northern Washington.
Still, I can say with confidence that Oregon has my heart. Alpine forest broke open into colorful valleys, and volcanic peaks jutted up through cartoonish clouds. We slept under glacial mountains and navigated fields of mushrooms poking out from fractured soil. We watched a waterfall thunder down glassy black obsidian rock, crashing into the shards as misty rainbows shot up from colorless stone. We hiked under a mile an hour, multiple times, lost in the euphoria of ripe huckleberry bushes. It felt like the land of lovingly crafted details and big, big impressions.
Our miles, obviously, ramped up as we make our way north. I did two 35-mile days, then a 40-mile day, then a 42er. I did the 24 hour challenge to see how many miles I could walk from midnight to midnight. The answer? 53.5, up 7,000+ feet of steep volcanic rock and down steep, unstable ankle rollers and through thunderous rainstorms (sans raincoat, I might add) and past dried-up water sources. We could’ve picked a better day, and I would’ve done far more miles, but the adventure of that day alone warrants its own blog post.
If I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Like many PCTers, we hopped onto the Crater Lake Rim Trail as an alternate route for just over 10 miles. The views were good, but the real treat came at the end of the day: a sunset swim in one of the world’s most iconic volcanoes. The bonus? We had it almost entirely to ourselves.
As day hikers scrambled back to their cars in a race against the fading daylight, we sat at the lake’s edge drinking a beer and cooking dinner. Like so many other moments along trail, I was struck by the magic of having a moment alone with my people, taking in the wild beauty in ways rarely seen by the masses. More than owning a place, more than owning anything, I find solace in this fleeting ownership of a single moment. A single memory, forever mine and mine alone.
It’s a good thing, then, that I like memories, because just like that *snaps fingers* Oregon was over.
Our core group of ten, who have been hiking together for the past 1500(ish) miles since Bishop, walked over the Bridge of the Gods into Washington State. We hooted and hollered and hugged one another. Today, we celebrated with pizza and a thunderstorm in our first Washington town. Tomorrow, conflicting deadlines and mileage preferences will drive our crew to form two groups for the remainder of trail. But to have made it here together feels magical in and of itself. I’m sad to push ahead and leave so many friends behind, but I’m excited for the challenge that lies ahead and the high of achieving such a lifelong dream.
In all of this, the end of California and the joys of Oregon and the beginning of this final chapter, I consider the power and humility I feel within such a wild undertaking. I wonder who I will be as I come out the other side, and try to remember who I was when it all started.
I try not to get lost in all of it, but rather treat this thinking as a meditation. I observe my past and present self without judgement or attachment, letting them flit and play within my mind. And then I find the parts I love most, the attitudes and habits that feel most authentic, and I turn them over in my mind until they become as real as blood and bone. I ask them to come home with me, when memories are all that’s left of my time on trail. And they agree, I think.
So on we walk, my best parts and I, toward the end.