Guess who! It's me: Fey!
I have to say it's a little surreal to be back on the trail. In some ways it feels like I'm picking right back up where I left off, but so much has happened since I left. While the decision to leave the trail was a challenging one, the last two months proved to be exactly what I needed. The many questions I had about Catalyst that cycled through my brain daily while hiking turned into action items. Jen, the Creative Director, and I got ourselves organized, clarified our business model for 2017, more than doubled our digital content, and even hosted a launch party for the third volume of Catalyst the night before I left for Seattle. I'm feeling both hopeful and at peace with Catalyst, and Adam and I have decided to head back to Charlottesville after the trail while he transitions into the real world so I can continue to work closely with Jen.
From Charlottesville, I took a train to Washington, DC, and from there, a flight to Seattle by way of Chicago. The heroic Margaret and Michael fought their way through Seattle traffic to pick me up during rush hour, and then we battled the traffic once more as we headed back north. The following morning, we began our four hour adventure on what we were told was a harrowing journey to Harts Pass. The narrow dirt road that drifts up the mountainside has no railing and is considered one of the most dangerous roads in the world (according to YouTube?) Luckily for us, it was a beautiful fall day, and while a little rough, the road was completely manageable.
Adam hadn't had cell service in days, but this is Adam we are talking about, and as planned he was resting against a tree like a regular Johnny Appleseed at the trail head right on cue. My stomach did a little jump when I spotted him from the backseat. He was hairy, smelly, and more attractive than I remember. In Adam fashion, he wasted no time getting me packed up, and Margaret, Michael, and I pretty much just stayed out of his way. In an hour or so, we were on our way. Without M+M's willingness to participate in this adventure, we never would have been able to hike the last 40 miles together, and it was such a special opportunity. Much gratitude to trail angels of the year, M+M.
That first day of hiking was a peaceful 8 or 9 miles; the trees were changing, the trail meandered high above the valley on a ridge. I realized how incredible it was to have started the adventure in early spring, and now the air was crisp, and autumn was beginning to hint of winter so far north. What a privilege to observe the seasons so intimately. We spent the day catching each other up, as we had minimal contact over the past two months. We passed a ranger who praised us for being in such high spirits, as he couldn't understand why all the hikers he passed that day seemed so grumpy at the tail end of their journeys - what is there to frown about he wondered. We played along as though we too didn't understand why anyone would be tired after 2630 miles. We camped alone, ate dinner, and it almost felt like I had been there all along.
I slept so deeply, which is unusual for me when tent camping. It felt like the appropriate way to sleep in the fall air. We took our time packing off, feeling no need to push ourselves that day. We might make it to the border, or we might not. But only 29 miles remained to Manning Park; either way we'd be in Canada tomorrow. We met a few other hikers that day. Raging Pineapple seemed in a daze, pouring tortilla chips from the bag to her mouth while filtering water. She murmured something like "I'm ready for my rest."
Adam and I spent a lot of time reflecting on the earlier parts of the trail. Many of our best social memories are from early on in the desert; the Sierras provided real adventure and unprecedented scenery. Adam described Oregon as peaceful and pleasant. And Washington provided a harsher climate but plenty of time for thought. Adam explained that he's more comfortable just being, that he enjoyed hiking alone. His energy is relaxed; I'm proud of him and can see a change. He seems at peace, like his best self.
We kept up a good pace, such that we realized we'd be coming up on the monument that marks the border of the US and Canada before nightfall. About a mile out, we noticed something a little odd. Across the valley, a long clearing of trees ran down the mountain side. Aliens? I wondered. Nope, Canada. The border is literally marked; a cleared no man's land that runs through the forest. We could hear the chatter of voices below, and we knew we'd be descending down the mountainside to the Northern Terminus.
As we came up on the monument, I teared up, but Adam just smiled. It's a good thing I didn't hike the whole trail because if I had, I'd for sure have dropped to my knees shaking with sobs. There were four others there, who were casually taking photos and taking turns signing the trail register. They snapped a few photos of us, and we made small talk. I think I would have preferred to be either with friends or alone, but maybe making it to the terminus isn't really the point anyway.
It was getting dark and cold, so we skimmed the register quickly for friends and then hiked on to a campsite just a half mile further. There we sat around the fire with strangers, and I was struck by how similar the conversation was on the last night of the PCT as it was on the first: where are you from? What kind of gear do you have? Have you thru-hiked before? It was uninspiring, but I was grateful to be with Adam, and that was enough.
