PNT Section 7, Part 1: What is This, a Vacation?

Baker Lake

Despite just finishing the longest and possibly most physically demanding section the day before, I woke up energized and ready to start walking again. The closure in the North Cascades had set my route forward by over 80 miles. While only a tiny segment (6 miles) of the actual PNT was still closed due to a 2022 fire, the remoteness of the area around it meant hiking around it would involve both significant backtracking and extremely lucky hitches. I decided it would make more sense for me to skip the 80 miles between where I’d left the trail at Ross Lake and Baker Lake, thus creating simpler logistics when I returned to complete the miles in a later year. 

I easily got a hitch up to Baker Lake with Kay, a local woman who told me she often hosted hikers with her husband. She was on her way to the dam, where he worked, to celebrate his last day and retirement. While it wasn’t the part of the trail I meant to hitch to, I decided to make my new starting point work for me, and circumnavigate the lake counterclockwise. 

Once off the gravel road, the trail around Baker Lake was quintessential pacific northwest. Wooden boardwalks covered in moss, undergrowth of ferns and ivy, mushrooms sprouting on every surface, an old growth canopy, and slimy critters. I felt at home.

I ran into Lentil and Toast, who had managed to find a ride to rejoin the trail further back into the closure. They told me about a  natural hot spring that was just a few miles out of my way. Feeling I still had plenty of food for detouring, I decided to check it out the next day.

I saw almost no one else for the rest of the lake trail. Mt. Baker peeked at me through openings in the trees. Well-maintained backcountry campsites dotted the shoreline. I couldn’t believe how empty they were, even on a weekday. At the first site, a small dock stuck out into the water. I stopped for lunch, and enjoyed jumping off it and swimming in the turquoise water for hours. I didn’t mind that I wasn’t making miles. With my food bag once again full, that no longer felt urgent. 

 

I eventually chose a campsite near the north side of the lake. I had the open-air pit toilet, bear locker, and collection of picnic tables to myself all night. I enjoyed a sandwich I packed out for dinner on the lakeshore, noting the complete lack of bugs in the air. This was truly heaven. 

Hot springs

I crossed Swift Creek on a large pedestrian bridge the next morning, and began to see other day hikers again. 

The trail soon left the forest and returned to a gravel road. Cars filled every available pull-out, their owners dispersed camping on the lake shore below. I waved to the early risers, and got to pet a few friendly dogs. 

I continued on the PNT heading north, aiming for the hot springs Lentil and Toast had mentioned. The path cut through a humid grove of trees and vines. Dew coated my legs, and I spotted more moisture-loving life in the underbrush. When I neared the hot springs, I was surprised to see Krafty and Second Child coming up the trail. We soaked together in the muddy, sulfuric pool with a small group of locals. They regaled me with stories of their long days in the previous section. I informed them of the wonderful lakeside campsites they were approaching. 

I lingered a bit longer after Krafty and Second Child continuing, to chat with a local and her precocious son. I then spent the afternoon trudging around the busy side of the lake on Baker Lake Road. While some segments hide wide shoulders and plenty of shade, others were narrow and winding. I tried to step aside when I heard cars approaching. One truck, who must have seen me from some distance, threw a bag of garbage at me while honking their horn in an aggressive manner. It bounced off me harmlessly, and I was more annoyed that I would now have to carry their litter until I found a trashcan. Perhaps I should have turned around and backtracked on the trail side of the lake. 

I managed to find a nice spot at one of the dispersed sites near the south end of the lake. Surprisingly, the tenting area was also mostly empty. The hum of RV generators could be heard in the near distance. I ate dinner with the Turning family from Seattle, who were celebrating their son’s last summer at home before he went out of state for college. 

Cascade Rail Trail

The next morning, I decided to adjust my course and take an alternate route west on the Cascade Rail Trail. My primary reason for this was that I’d already hiked the more scenic portion of the upcoming section on the Park Butte trail in 2023. But I’d be lying if I said the flat terrain and abundance of food options didn’t pull me to the rail trail as well.

I easily hitched from the dam back to Concrete, and began my flat walk from there. The miles went by quickly. I found the mindlessness of footfalls uninterrupted by roots and rocks peaceful. 

I saw no need to top off my food supplies, as bars and quick stops were plentiful just across highway 20. A diner at one stop approached me as I inhaled my sandwich, and asked if I was thru-hiking. He was familiar with the PNT, as he’d hiked it in 2019. We exchanged complaints about the conditions, and raved about the remote beauty of it. He was surprised to hear I’d run into so many others, as he’d met only one other thru-hiker during his trek.

The rail trail was surprisingly scenic. Streams flowed under bridges covered by oak canopies. Ducks paddled in ditch ponds. Fields of grape vines and potatoes stretched out before the cascade foothills. 

But in addition to picking out flora and fauna, I found myself studying the human-created artifacts, like a singular game of I-spy. 

I was delighted to find a self-service trail stand with cold drinks and apple sauce. I noted that I hadn’t eaten trail food since my last day in the North Cascades. Looking ahead on my maps, I likely wouldn’t have to for some time. I texted a trail angel in the next upcoming town, and she confirmed that I could spend the night tenting in her yard. 

Billie’s in Lyman felt like attending a cookout at an old friends’. She and I instantly hit it off, and stayed up past sundown talking about life. She and her husband kept bringing out random containers of leftovers for me to eat, and laughed at my unending ability to help them clean out their fridge. Her cute dogs couldn’t get enough attention. The crab sandwiches she served me tasted like something I’d expect at a nice restaurant. I felt like I’d left the PNT for a fancy vacation!

PNT Headquarters

The rail trail was covered in fog the next morning. I watched a herd of at least 20 deer cross ahead of me, seemingly unaware of my presence. I basked in the morning quiet, enjoying having the path to myself. 

The miles to Sedro-Woolley passed by quickly. The path took me right into the small downtown area, where it was shockingly difficult to locate the unlabeled PNTA building. I found it unlocked, but quiet and deserted. It was 11:00- maybe they were out for lunch? 

I enjoyed a huge BLT, then returned to the PNTA building an hour later. Still no one home. I spent a moment observing the wooden trail markers and informational posters that lined the small office space. I thought about how fitting it was that the building was essentially deserted, like the trail. 

While the PNTA has no suggestion for how to return to the main trail from their alternate route into Sedro-Woolley, the unofficial solution seems to be hitching up highway 9. One look at the whizzing traffic and lack of shoulder made it clear this was not a road I would be walking along. A local named Anthony picked me up in his jeep, and drove me the base of Anderson Mountain.

The trail was uncharacteristically well-marked in the area near the PNTA, likely because ease of access their proximity to this section allowed. This was a phenomenon Nick and I had lamented several times in our days walking together, observing that maintenance and signage were always best represented in areas where they were the least-needed: near trailheads, population centers, and road crossings. 

While I understand the choice by underfunding organizations to take the path of least resistance when it comes to installing signage, I couldn’t help but feel that some of the efforts put into this area were unnecessary. I counted over ten signs like the wooden one above, which matched those I’d seen in the PNTA offices. Very few of them were placed at trail junctions, where they might have aided in navigation, but rather space sporadically throughout the woods. 

I constructed anther mile-marker, thinking with sadness about how I’d not had the opportunity to do so for 800. As a thru-hiker, something about skipping miles is always disorienting in the scope of the overall journey. Even in instances of closures, where I had no choice, I have always felt like I was missing something in those miles. 

Shortly before the trail passed under I-5, I stopping in a gas station for a cold drink- one of the many luxuries this section was providing. There I ran into Harrison and Miles, two young men who were also on the PNT. Harrison had started in Glacier, like I had, while Miles had just recently joined at Baker Lake to finish out the trail. We discovered we were both planning to stay with trail angel Mary that night. I left them to their snacks, and continued on my road walk toward Samish Lake. 

 

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