PNT Section 4, Part 2: Second Chances

Bushwhacking, again

My hitching buddies soon outpaced me after leaving the highway. By evening, I’d reached the second bushwhack of the trail. At less than a mile in length, I wrongly assumed it would be a fraction of the difficulty of the six-mile-long Lionshead. But two hours later, the sun was setting, and I was nowhere near the end. The confusing messages from past hikers on FarOut mentioned a horseshoe nailed to a tree, orange flagging, and other vague waypoints that I couldn’t seem to locate. The trees grew too close to push through, and any open area was full of thorny brambles. Progress was slow and painful. As the sun set, emerging mosquitoes ignored the blood from fresh cuts to make their own bites. 

I cursed and cried for the first time on this hike as I fought my way through the last 0.2 miles. I finally stumbled out of the thick woods onto a faint single track. I followed it to a stream where I guzzled water and pitched my tent in the near-dark. Too tired to eat, I did my best to wipe the blood and sap from my skin before crawling into my quilt. 

Smokey skies

Rock monster

The next day was easy hiking, but full of smoke. Thankfully, it seemed to subdue the flies, who hung in the air lazily without attempting to bite. I passed another potential bushwhack point that would save me four miles. But after my traumatic experience the evening prior, I was in no mood. 

I celebrated mile 500 with a jumbo Honey Bun, and rejoiced in the simple pleasure of eating something without being eaten myself. 

A few miles of the trail intersected highway 21, which I knew eventually led back to Republic in the north. One passing car pulled over to ask for directions. I was unable to help them, but amused they thought a pedestrian hiker might know the local roads. They mentioned they had been re-routed on their way to a nearby lake, because of a fire burning to the west. That explained the smoky haze. 

A rattlesnake surprised me my coiling up on the shoulder before I noticed it. After that, I chose to walk down the yellow line, stepping to either side when the rare car approached. I pitched my tent at a car camping spot, and enjoyed the luxuries of a pit toilet and picnic table. I was somewhat unsettled by a nearby cow skeleton, and the deserted site. I heard ominous howling in the night that was certainly too low to belong to coyotes. 

Okanogan National Forest

The next day began with a steep climb, which rewarded me with hazy views at the top. 

I ran into an east-bounder (EABO) named Nar, who was friendly and eager to chat. He informed me he was using only a paper map and compass, as he had begun the trail unaware of smartphone navigation apps most hikers relied on. He also shared that he’d gone straight through the trail closure in the North Cascades, and implied that the trail conditions were good enough for others to do so. He offered to give me the schedule of the trail maintenance crew stationed there, in order to avoid them. I couldn’t begin to guess how he had that information. 

The bugs stayed docile all day, and I enjoyed picking raspberries in peace. 

I sighted several rafters of turkeys, who ran from me silently. 

I followed a set of large canine footprints for miles. In the middle of deserted national forest land, I found it hard to believe anyone was taking their huge dog on a long walk. It strengthened my suspicions that the howling I’d heard the night before was a pack of wolves. 

Most of the accessible water sources were piped springs, which also supplied the troughs for the many grazing herds of cattle. I found myself unintentionally causing brief stampedes in my intrusions, unaccustomed as they were to human presence. But I was paid back that night, when I hunted for twenty minutes to find a tent sight not covered in cow pies. 

Republic, the sequel

After an easy three miles to the highway, I again hitched into Republic to resupply. The PNT curves around the town in a horseshoe shape, offering hikers three separate opportunities to enter civilization. I enjoyed the cheap accommodations, walkable main street, and surprisingly diversified dining so much the first time, I decided to spend another night there. I hitched in with Mike and his grandson Ben, who talked my ear off about his annual, and clearly beloved, summer visits to the area. Mike seemed interested about hearing the details of my hiking plans, and was the first man of his generation I’d encountered who didn’t seen bothered by the fact that I was doing it alone. 

Hitting mile 500 seemed to kick my metabolism into high gear. I got a quick breakfast of pastries and chocolate milk at the natural grocery store, then another meal of bacon, eggs, and toast at the Knotty Pine Diner. After checking into the motel and resupplying, I returned to 18 North for a scrumptious and veggies-heavy lunch, complete with homemade dressing and a virgin mocktail. 

I then explored the fossil center, a museum that offered tickets to a local dig sight. It had been closed when I’d passed through before, but seemed to be one of the primary local attractions. 

I didn’t spot any fellow hikers, and guessed they’d arrived the day prior. I grabbed a pizza from the gas station, and enjoyed it from the comfort of my motel bed while numbing my brain with cable TV. 

Bottomless pit

I woke up hungry the next morning, and grabbed a variety of snacks from the convenience store. When they didn’t satisfy, I hit up the diner again for a breakfast burrito, and then grabbed a huckleberry milkshake on my way out to hitch. I knew I was once again in the state of hiker hunger, which meant my stomach would now be a bottomless pit until I stopped walking. 

I hitched out of town with a couple on their way to local site to RV camp with friends for the weekend. When they learned what I was doing, Gary and Didi informed me they had section-hiked the PCT in Washington over the course of five years with their children over a decade ago. We traded fond memories, and they mentioned flying into Stehekein on a private bush plane.