PNT Section 3, Part 2: Reaching Washington

It’s not just about the walking

A scourge of mosquitoes had descended on my tent in the night, and showed no signs of tiring by morning. I packed up and continued around the lake quickly. At the last developed campsite, I ran into Denali. She was hiking the PNT east after starting at the midpoint of the trail, and would then turn around and finish the remainder going west- a strategy to avoid the worst of the heat and snow. Her eccentric clothes and long grey braids promised that she had interesting stories to tell, and I chatted as long as the mosquitoes would allow. She warned me about avalanche debris blocking the next section of trail, and informed me of a road walk that would take me around it. She also excitedly whispered, as if it were a secret, that the older gentleman at the campsite had offered to take her for a ride around the lake on his beautiful sailboat.

As we parted ways, she giddily headed for the shore, adding, “It’s not just about the walking, right?”

As I caught my last glimpse of Priest Lake, and family of Canadian geese swam from the shoreline. I mentally marked this nondescript part of Idaho as one I would return to in the future. 

The rest of the day was spent alternating between forest roads and trails through old growth. As I climbed, the trees seemed to get bigger and bigger. I’d struggle to get the bulk of an impressive Hemlock into frame, certain it was the most impressive specimen, and would then encounter an even taller giant around the next corner. 

The first blueberries and huckleberries also greeted me on this section of trail. There were more than I could pick. I briefly paused in the mosquito onslaught, grabbing a few, then hustling on to clear the cloud of blood-suckers around me. I reminded myself that it could be worse; they could be fast enough to keep up. 

Sullivan Creek

The next day was spent circumventing the section of trail Denali had warned me about. When I arrived at the cross-roads, the decision was easy. I was already running low on food, and couldn’t afford to potentially be slowed by blowdown over the next ten miles. Most of the alternate route was cruisy forest services roads with plenty of shade, wildflowers, and water. Only one car passed me the entire morning. 

Western Columbine

In the afternoon, my route joined up with the busier Sullivan Creek road. I passed miles of nice-looking car camping sites. Their occupants gave me puzzled waves. A few cars stopped to offer me drinks from their coolers. As I neared Sullivan Lake, traffic picked up, and the sounds of rowdy beach-goers cut through the trees. The water looked refreshing, but wasn’t as tempting after the pristine beauty of Upper Priest Lake. 

Hiker Rash

As I took a break in the shade, I noticed a familiar color spreading on my lower calf. Hiker rash, also known as Disney rash, is a build up of pressure on the small blood vessels in extremities, often brought on by strenuous exercise in hot conditions. I’d experienced it often during the hotter months on the PCT. It was unobtrusive while walking, but painful to touch. Even the slightest brush of grass, or worse, whack from a trekking pole, resulted in spine-shivering agony. Needless to say, I was happy to be walking on a road, and not bushwhacking, when it came on. 

That night, I camped in a hidden spot near the lake, setting myself up for a quick and easy morning into town. Savoring the last bit of stale protein bar from the bottom of my food bag, I dreamed of a hot meal. 

The Historic Washington Hotel

I woke up early and hungry the next morning, eager to get to town. I had five pieces of gummy candy in my fanny pack, which I planned to ration out over the last four miles into Metaline Falls. I walked along the lower portion of Sullivan Creek, where it emptied into a wetland. I witnessed an owl and several deer transitioning to their daytime hiding places as the day broke around us. I came to the sight of where Mill Pond Dam previously blocked the creek. Informational placards explained that it was built in the early 1900’s as a hydroelectric project, disused by the 1950’s, and finally removed in 2017.  

The trail soon joined with paved highway 31. The blind curves, small shoulder, and the high speed limit would normally be intimidating, but there was no traffic at 7:00 a.m. The first car to pass me slowed to a crawl, asked where I was headed, and offered me a ride. My stomach eagerly accepted. My chauffeur was a tree-cutter named Justin who had a self-proclaimed habit of taking morning drives around the lake to get time away from in-laws he currently lived with. In the brief drive, I wished him luck with his ambitions to buy his own home. He bid me a safe journey as he dropped me in front of the only open restaurant in town, the Farmhouse Café. 

I had a filling breakfast that did not disappoint, picked out a postcard, and set out to explore the town. The business district seemed to span all of two blocks, and contained a movie theatre, small grocery store, bar, and the historic Washington hotel. The hotel looked quiet, but I called the number on the door, and was cheerfully greeted by the owner, Arlie. 

He informed me that I was the first hiker he’d seen in a few days, but that a group of about five, including my Aussie friend Nick, were just ahead. Arlie proudly showed me around the old building, which had stood since 1910. He had inherited it from his mother, who used it as an art studio in her time; her paintings still lined the walls. 

He then showed me a room designated just for PNT hiker use, as we are apparently his primary clientele in the summer months. He noted that the building had no air conditioner, and the metal roof made it prone to overheating. Just happy to be safe from bugs and direct sunlight, I didn’t mind the lack of climate control. 

I then got a shower, and graciously gave my dirty clothes to Arlie to launder. When I emerged, two more thru-hikers, Toast and Lentil, greeted me. Both looked to be in their early 30’s, like me. Toast was an outgoing woman who immediately began chatting, while Lentil hung back silently. I wrongly assumed they were a couple, until Toast mentioned that her boyfriend was coming to visit later that day. I left them to their own showers, and went back out to resupply. 

I met a friendly local cat outside the grocery store. It was a small establishment, but had everything I wanted. I got my requisite bagged salad and kombucha, my attempt to offset the junk food I fueled myself with on trail, and ate them outside on the pavement. I then noticed an ice cream shop across the street opening up, and headed there for desert. The movie theatre only screened on the weekends, and as luck would have it, I had arrived on a Saturday. I’d enjoyed the first installment of Pixar’s Inside Out, and made plans to return in the evening instead of going to bed early. 

Back at the hotel, another hiker, a younger woman named Thrift Shop, had joined the group. I could already sense she was even quieter than Lentil, and overwhelmed by company around her. Toast’s boyfriend had also arrived. I invited them all to join me for dinner and a movie, and we headed to the bar together. Oddly, the bar seemed overwhelmed with to-go orders, and apologetically said they couldn’t serve us more than fries. We all split a few orders, and chatted about our hikes so far. 

Experiences are more vivid on trail

After eating, Thrift Shop, Lentil and I were the only ones still excited for a movie. The theatre was a charming historic building. Half of the built-in seats had long since been removed, and replaced with a collection of couches and lounge chairs. We enjoyed the movie introvert-style, barely speaking. While I’m certain I would have enjoyed the sequel under normal circumstances, the story felt highly personal, even magical, in the setting of a thru-hike. Something about the endorphins and disconnect from regular life makes every experience more vivid than normal. I knew the movie would hold a special place in my heart for years to come. 

That night, I tossed and turned in the oppressive heat, the whir of fans filling the silence. I headed out early the next morning, eager to be done with the exposed road walk out of town before the sun hit it. I had another quick breakfast at the café, and said goodbye to my fellow hikers. They seemed to be considering staying another night.

As I passed the café again on my way out, two more hikers waved at me through the window. It seemed I was now in a PNT-sized hiker bubble. Not wanting to feel crowded on this isolated trail, I vowed to pick up my pace.