PNT Section 7, Part 2: Trail Angels

Mama Walker’s House

I guess you could say Mary Walker is the most notorious trail angel on the PNT. She’s certainly the only one I’d heard mentioned by name before starting the trail. I’m not sure what I envisioned before I arrived at her place, but it certainly wasn’t the Ritz Carlton of trail angel experiences! Her beautifully renovated home was situated on the shore of Samish Lake. It was so clean, it felt almost wrong for us dirty hikers to step inside. But Mary quickly made Miles, Harrison, and me feel at home. She had almost an entire floor of her home set aside for hiker use, complete with three full-sized beds, a washer dryer, and private bathroom. Harrison and I immediately informed Miles, who had just started hiking that week, that this sort of luxury experience was a rarity.  

After we got cleaned up, Mary went into full care-taker mode, demonstrating how she earned her trail angel name. She invited us to sit on her picture-perfect deck, and take whatever we wanted from a cooler that looked like it had been stocked by a professional caterer. She left to get “some snacks”, and returned with a huge spread of delicious goodies. 

Feeling refreshed, we all decided it was time to test out the lake water. Samish Lake is a small, shallow body surrounded mostly by quiet residential properties. The water was especially low at this point in the summer, which meant very little motorized traffic. We were undisturbed as we paddled out on the boards Mary kept on her dock. The water was warm and perfect for floating. Her dog, Boondoggle, swam out with us, and brought us random objects (mostly rocks) in the hope of instigating a game of fetch. 

Mary soon made us a delicious home-cooked meal, and we traded trail stories. She had been a trail angel for a few years now, but had attempted to thru-hike herself for the first time this year. Unfortunately, an injury took her off trail by the time she reached Idaho. She and I instantly bonded over our shared love of this trail. I asked if I could take a zero here the following day, because I felt we still had so much more to connect over. In true trail angel fashion, she was overjoyed for me to take further advantage of her hospitality. 

That night, Miles, Harrison, and I sat on the porch, enjoying the firepit. I learned that Harrison had a similar hiking background to myself- he’d done one other long trail (Appalachian) before starting this one. Miles, who was completely new to thru-hiking, seemed thoroughly fascinated and entertained by the stories we told. He lamented that he might not be “cut out” for thru-hiking after being on this trail for a week, due to the exhaustion he was feeling. Harrison and I reassured him that he was more than capable, as he’d begun one of the more rugged trails in the country, trying to keep pace with someone who already had trail legs. We laughed together about the trail name Harrison suggested for Miles (Welfare King) because of his tendency to mooch. I enjoyed the rare opportunity to connect with other hikers, glad we’d happened to arrive here on the same night. 

After bidding goodbye to my new trail friends the next morning, I spent the day lazing around Mary’s property, playing with her dog, and eating the delicious food she kept putting in front of me. As I’d hoped, we had time to talk more deeply about hiking and life. I had the privilege of learning about the hardships her family had encountered, and got the impression that they would not have faired half as well without her strength.

Weeks later, after finishing my hike, she sent me a custom trail tag she made out of shrink-plastic. Similar to the angel I’d met the day before, Mary left a special impression on my heart. When the miles get harder, and the views blur together into apathy, it’s human connections and kindness like this that motivates me to keep hiking.

Marc’s Way Cool Barn

The next day, I headed out refreshed and full, quite possibly for the first time in weeks. Due to the abundance of private property in this section, I planned to stay with another trail angel just a short trek away. Mary had vouched for Marc’s hospitality, which was all the reassurance I needed. 

The morning consisted of cutting through mountain biking paths up into the Chuckanut Mountains. The hills were dotted with cute lakes and dispersed campsites, which were shockingly uncrowded. Something felt oddly urban about this wilderness area. Perhaps it was the dull hum of I-5 in the near distance, or the knowledge that I was within walking distance of several towns, but I just didn’t feel like I was out there anymore. 

As Mary had promised, the views from Oyster Dome did not disappoint. I spotted the San Juan Islands in the distance, and watched huge ships make their way across the bay. Finally getting a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean made the ending feel very close. On my way down, I passed hundreds of day-hikers making the climb up for the same views. The first mile along highway 11 was somewhat scary, with it’s blind corners and lack of shoulder. I found myself stepping over the guard rail each time a car passed, precariously clinging to it to keep from sliding down the embankment. But the highway flattened out after I passed by the town of Blanchard, and I enjoyed the mindlessness of a simple road-walk.

I did not actually carry any food for this stretch, and was happy to find my instinct of it being unneeded was correct. I stopped at a self-service farm stand for a portable, healthy mid-day snack. Passing cars smiled and waved at me, apparently enjoying my trashy bugs bunny aesthetic. 

It took me no time at all to reach the small town of Edison, where trail angel Marc lived. He was busy at a big family gathering when I called, so I decided to get some dinner in town and meet up with him later. 

I enjoyed a cider and a personal pizza at Terramar Brewing & Distilling. To my surprise, I was unable to finish the meal. I was still packed full from the mothering I’d received at Mary’s. Confident I’d want a late-night snack, I packed it up with me, and met up with Marc. He drove me to his property a few minutes away, and apologetically explained that he would be unable to spend much time with me, as the family gathering currently in process was a rare and special occasion. After so much time around people in the last 48 hours, I was contended with having an evening to myself. 

If Mary’s place was the Ritz Carlton of trail angel experiences, Marc’s Way Cool Barn was the Bellagio. The renovated garage sat separately from his house, and included a private bathroom, full kitchen, two TVs, and plenty of space to relax. The images of scantily-clad women and motorcycles completed the man-cave vibe. It was obvious this had been his passion project. He showed me a newspaper article featuring his barn and the hikers he hosted here. If he hadn’t been busy that evening, I know Marc would have been another person I would have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know.