Part Nineteen – Part of The Journey is The End

Water of the bluest blue, reflecting the clear wide sky, rippled as the big metallic boat hull cut through the lake. To my right, a group of weekend hikers were sitting, reminiscing about their experience in the mountains from the past few days. They seemed happy, and although I felt like I should be too, I remained torn between the desire to complete my journey and the one never to let it end. Unfortunately, I knew that only one of the two would inevitably be fulfilled. I looked away, my gaze lost in the vastness of the water, and gently fell asleep.

Back in the civilization of Chelan, I went to the store to resupply and waited to be picked up by “Splat” and her parents, as well as Jennie, Mike, and their golden retriever Olly. They’d let us stay the night with them in Wenatchee, before dropping us back on trail the next morning at Harts Pass. At dinner, I suddenly got a call from “Shortcut”:

“Oi! Where are you at?” she asked straightforwardly. “Beer Slide” was on the phone with her too.

“I am in Wenatchee, why?” I asked confused.

“Whaaat? Oh mate, we were waiting for you! We are in Mazama right now!”

They had made me believe they were gone to Seattle after reaching the border but actually had stayed in Mazama to surprise me, thinking I was coming tonight.

“Oh no way!” I reacted, gutted I missed the opportunity to see my friends one last time before finishing the trail.

We chatted for a few minutes and promised each other we would meet again soon after the trail.

The next morning, we drove up to Harts Pass. There, I thanked the parents of “Splat” for their generosity. His dad will join her at the monument on the other side of the border. I started hiking up by myself. The section from Harts Pass was one of the most beautiful on the trail so far. “What a great way to end the trail,” I thought. Quickly, I caught up and passed by “Refill” and his girlfriend “Nasty Cheese,” two German hikers I had conversed with before and while on the trail through social media. On our last day, we had finally met.

My pack was too heavy for three days of hiking. Caught in the spirit of celebration, I had bought too much food, and way too much to drink. I chuckled at the thought that I was currently carrying a bottle of champagne as well as a bottle of red wine – the complete opposite of being lightweight on a thru-hike. But for once, I cut myself some slack. Throughout the day, I continued crossing paths with people coming back from the border. For them, the journey was over. They were walking with a big grind on their face. I smiled and congratulated each one of them. Soon, this would be me too. The mood on the trail was light and positive from these repetitive interactions. After reaching the campsite at dark, I and the rest of the group built a bonfire and had our last dinner together under the stars. Of the 165 days I had spent on this trail, today was one of my favorites. Still, I cannot believe this was all coming to an end.

 

Canada

Sunday 17 September – I woke up before everyone else and left camp as the sun rose through the hazy morning. I walked by a few tents in which fellow thru-hikers were starting to wake up. On top of the pass, I took a look at my map: only downhill from here. Four miles left. A feeling of melancholy seized me. As I lifted my eyes from my phone and looked North, I realized that there, around the corner of that mountain, was Canada. I struggled to grasp the weight of what was happening. During the past few days, I had tried to make everything last a bit longer, in vain.

Part of the journey is the end, and as I made my last steps toward it, memories came back, one after the other, flashing through my head. Memories of people. Of moments. Forever etched into the safety of my mind. 

3 miles.

One after the other, I kept bursting into tears uncontrollably. But those were not tears of sadness. No. They were tears of joy. Tears of relief. Tears of pride. Tears which flowed from the infinite gratefulness I felt for having been privileged enough to experience such a journey. 

2 miles.

A journey that allowed me to grow and see past my limits. A journey that gave me the opportunity to live in the present for months. A journey that allowed me to see things that words couldn’t describe. A journey that made me trust myself again. In all these moments of hardship, when all my body wanted to do was to stop, I kept going. I kept moving forward. Not because I wanted to, but because I deserved to know what not giving up on myself felt like.

1 mile.

I kept my head down, looking straight at my feet. I refused to check the map. I didn’t want to know how close I was, nor did I want to see the monument from afar and spoil the end for myself. My steps resonated through the quietness of the forest. Suddenly, I heard voices down the trail. They got closer, and closer, as I walked down switchbacks. I made a last turn, and then… there it was. At the end of the path. A wooden pillar, standing tall in the middle of a fire line marking the border between the U.S. and Canada, and the end of the Pacific Crest Trail.

I slowed down my pace until I arrived in front of it. A group of hikers was there, including familiar faces, and some new ones. In unison, they cheered me as I stood awkwardly between them and the monument. Slowly, I took a few steps toward it. I raised my hand and gently placed it flat on the rugged wooden pillar. 

0 mile.

I did it.

The End

After reaching the monument and spending time with other hikers celebrating our accomplishment, I went back on the trail with a heavy heart. Although I had just reached Canada and the official end of the PCT, it didn’t completely feel over for me as I still had to hike 30 miles back to Harts Pass. On my way back there, I continued being greeted and congratulated by soon-to-be-finished hikers. This felt like a victory lap. At my last campsite, I met a Triple Crowner with whom I chatted for a little. When asked about his favorite trail, he mentioned the Continental Divide trail with no hesitation. The seed had now been planted in my mind. 

The next morning, I reached the dirt and dusty road that led down from Harts Pass to Mazama. The crunching sound of my feet walking on the gravel faded as I stopped in the middle of the empty parking lot. A peaceful silence overtook the place, only interrupted by the sound of the wind blowing against my face. The pressure in my body suddenly dropped and I felt incredibly light. 

This was it. My long walk had come to an end.