A Fleeting Trail Fam: Miles 400-500

Note: these posts correspond to dates 7/29/21-8/3/21

Day # 23

swirling silt ribbons
imprints of eddies, bone dry
you can’t drink paintings

Mount Adams as seen from the non-existent water source

Somewhat a roller-coaster of a day.  Had a lovely, fast morning spent dreaming about town food.  In my haste to pick up the pace, I passed the last water source before the Mt Adams-adjacent burn area.  Even with rationing, I ran out of water about 6 miles from the next spring.  It wouldn’t have been as awful if shade weren’t so sparse and if the flies could have left me alone for one goddamn second.
I took a side trail to a stream listed in 2020 as “chocolate milk” by one Guthook user only to find it 100% dry.  At least there was a good view of Adams.
I tried not to let on how delirious I was with thirst as I passed knots of day hikers.  The spring, when I finally found it, was absolutely humming with flies.  I sobbed to myself as I filtered into my Camelbak, but I was so dehydrated that no tears came out.
Things turned around when I put on my rain gear (to keep the bugs off) and forced myself to take a long, slow water break.  Afterwards I put on a playlist that is approximately 50% Green Day by volume and scooted down to rt 23 at 4 mph pace.
I got a hitch into Trout Lake, picked up my first package since Stehekin, and basked in the glory of hot food & cold brews.

Day #24

we are mad magnets
leaving comfort, wanting want
this compass pulls south

4 pm shuttle crew driven by Doug. PC Bombadil

I wish I felt like staying in town.
I loitered pretty long drinking coffee at the diner and doing internet chores by the grocery.  A community potluck was scheduled for the evening and the taco truck smelled amazing, but all that I really wanted was some miles under my feet and a quiet place to sleep in my tent.  I got off the afternoon shuttle at 4:40 and banged out 10 miles before settling down at Mosquito Creek, which luckily had more huckleberries than mosquitoes.

Day #25

salt water ignites
frictious flames lick shoulders, hips
liquid births fire

Hazy “view” from the Sawtooth Trail alternate

The pack chafe is real.
My back has been a bit scuffed ever since this journey started (I have very sensitive skin).  But this stuff is on another level.
It was spitting rain a bit this morning, which is unusual for WA in late July.  I took an early break at the top of the Sawtooth alternate (worth the breeze but not the views) and the stinging was already bad.  By the time I met familiar hikers Factoid & Bombadil at Indian Heaven Lakes every part of my back/sides that had been in contact with my pack or straps was raised & red.
Misery does in fact love company.  Factoid’s feet are being blistered to pieces‐-one of his toenails resembles a see-saw–and the mutual pain we shared somehow made it more bearable.  We hobbled at mach speed to make the distance pass faster.

Day #26

true trail fam’s still there
when you come back from shitting
chatting, straight chillin
Today was wonderfully lazy.
When I sleep poorly, it takes an hour or two to coax myself into packing up.  Everyone is usually gone by the time I get out of my tent, allowing me to pass as a disgruntled zombie at least until midday.
I was surprised therefore to find Bombadil & Factoid still hanging around at 7:30, though all the other campers had left.  They were mostly packed up, but as I went through my morning chores they just kept chatting, as if a delayed start was no big deal.  In mid-bubble NoBo culture this might be common, but for SoBos such behavior appears rare.
This camaraderie continued in hopscotch fashion throughout the day.  We cranked out miles and ran downhill an hour or two at a time, then allowed our pack rashes to cool off in the shade of the first oak trees all trail.
At Panther Creek we heard from a NoBo that there was trail magic 5 miles ahead, so we busted butt to get there before they turned off the grill.  Russ & Kathy had been inspired to do trail magic after witnessing similar acts of kindness on Dixie’s Wanderlust videos.  The couple insisted on complimenting each other in the most endearing ways, which added to the wholesome nature of the event.  I had intended to push on a couple extra miles, but instead succumbed to the vortex and camped just across the Trout Creek bridge.

Day #27

Jurassic trees, all
ferns, moss, and melted ice caps
watch for therapods
Yesterday we caught the first glimpses of the stereotypical “Washington”: big logs, burbling streams, copious doses of ferns & moss.  Today we had lunch by a stream that seemed copied and pasted from pre-history.  The temperature and humidity have been elevated since Trout Lake (though still nothing compared to the East Coast), reminding me of Earth’s thermal maximums.
I made another water-related calculation error and ran out at the top of the last hill.  I begged a quarter liter off Bombadil, who didn’t have much either.  The dehydration was made worse by sustained logging areas and brutal sunshine.
The water source, when we finally arrived, requiered a sandy slide down a not-really-a-trail.  Still, it was cold & heavenly & paired perfectly with my one and only electrolyte mix (shout out to Skrätch Labs)  We bombed down another 3.5 during twilight hour to reduce the mileage into Cascade Locks tomorrow.

Day #28

deep, nauseous hunger
stumbling towards Oregon
hot coffee, cool sheets
The Tapatio Ramen didn’t sit well last night. Nor did the constant crinkling of Half Hook’s sleeping pad help matters.  Even though Trout Lake wasn’t that long ago, Bombadil, Factoid, & I were ready for some town food, real beds, and some serious rest.
The cobble-strewn trail seemed to putter on forever, though we could hear traffic in the distance.  We grasped at passing thimbleberries & blackberries, saving the bulk of our hunger for the Bridgeside Diner.
At the road we ran into Treasure, a SoBo who had recently ended his hike due to family matters, doing trail magic.  Pumping tunes however turned out to be too much for his car battery, so we shook cables with one hand and stuck out a thumb until someone eventually stopped for a jump.
Bridgeside had outlets and unlimited coffee refills, meaning it was the best kind of diner.  Town chores commenced, hiker boxes were raided, and a lemon meringue pie was purchased.  Some kids were selling smoked salmon out of coolers on the Oregon side of Bridge of the Gods.  A lady handed me, free of charge, the best peach I’ve ever had in my life.

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