Day 156: the Beginning of the End

I woke up at 6:30 this morning. It was once again freezing cold. Everything in me wanted to stay cuddled up in my sleeping bag, warm and cozy. And while most mornings, I’d allow myself  an extra 30 minutes of journaling, music, reflecting, or just laying there staring at the walls of my tent, today was different. I’m only 55 miles from the Canadian border, 3 days away, and I want to get as close to Hart’s Pass today as I can.

It’s surreal to think about. I’ve been dreaming of the Pacific Crest Trail for twelve years now. I’ve watched countless YouTube videos, Instagram vlogs, read a few books, and submerged myself into everything PCT for the past two years. I’ve spent countless hours training: 6 months of serious conditioning walking everywhere with my weighted backpack, powering through miles on the incline treadmill, climbing thousands of feet on the stair master. My entire life has revolved around the Pacific Crest Trail. And to think, I have 55 miles left of this incredible, indescribable adventure.

I’ve spent the past 5 months walking to the iconic northern terminus, every day imagining reaching it, touching it. But the past few weeks have put this thru-hike into perspective. The northern terminus is simply a bookend. It represents accomplishment, but also closure. In between the southern and northern terminus, the past 5 months, are memories, moments, and a life I’ll cherish forever. In the beginning, I dreamed of the northern terminus. Now, I almost dread it. Sure, it’ll feel amazing to reach Canada, to have hiked 2,650 miles to get there. But I’m not ready for this incredible life to be over. I want to stay on trail forever. Of course, yes, my body is screaming for rest and recovery. But my mind and soul have been liberated by the trail. I have experienced the purity of nature, the universe, and of life. I have coexisted with the trees, the birds, the critters, the lakes, and mountains, the weather, the wind, the air. I have been stripped down to my true, authentic self as a human. No distractions, no one to dictate who or what I am. Just me in my purest state, in love with the natural world around me. Physically, I’ve walked north to Canada. Mentally and spiritually? I’ve walked home to myself.

I began the day around 7 am, climbing 1,400 feet to Cutthroat Pass. Looking south, the distant mountains were gently lit with a breathtaking alpenglow. Distant snow peaks and sharp rocky spires were softened by a thin haze; wildfire smoke? Morning clouds? They weren’t threatening or intimidating, but peaceful and quiet. Northward, over the pass, shined a bright, glaring sun, washing out the mountains in front of me. They stood, silhouetted and upstaged by a blinding sun. I took one last look back, took a deep breath of appreciation and gratitude, and continued on.

I hiked past the 2,600 mile marker, the last official numerical milestone before there terminus. I remember hitting the 100 mile marker in the southern California desert. I remember celebrating and so proud: it was the longest I had hiked in one trip, a moment of pride and accomplishment. I guess I was a little naive. Sweet little me, over the moon after hiking 100 miles. How shocked and proud he’d be to see me now. The other man-made mile markers flash before my eyes. How much growth, hardship, strength, and fun I’ve had over the course of all these hiker-made checkpoints. And now, the final one. 2,600.

I descended into a dense forest for 10 miles, having lunch along a river with some man-made benches at the nearby campsites. A lot of campsites in Washington also have toilets: short trails leading to a wooden box with a hole in it. And while that doesn’t sound the most luxurious or clean, they are so welcomed. The toilets here have been frequent, and the immediate need to go, even more frequent. Thank you, Washington.

I climbed another 2,400 feet after lunch, tackling the 6 mile stretch averaging 2.8 mph. I think about how this would’ve taken me 4+ hours back in the desert or maybe even the Sierra Nevadas. But I am feeling conditioned and strong. And fully aware that this ascent is one of the last. That I probably have less than 5 similar climbs left. And in a strange, masochistic way, it makes me sad.

At the top of Grasshopper Pass, I take in the views. To the north, impressive mountains line the horizon. Am I still looking at trail miles ahead? Or could that possibly be Canada? I finish my 25 mile day just before Hart’s Pass. I started the Pacific Crest Trail soaking in the first moments: the first water source, the first campsite, the first trail magic, the first cathole. And now, here I am, wondering if I’ve already experienced the last of things. I have 35 miles left to Canada. Surely, these are the final days, the final stretch, the final miles. It is so bittersweet. I am so proud to have done this, so incredibly excited to touch the terminus, so ready to celebrate. But I am going to miss this life so much: the adventure, the people, the solitude, and the freedom.