[2] a jaunt to the border

...And missed a missed connection w Mr. Musk

She lives! :)

Nota bene: I wrote part one last Sunday in Stehekin and was all set to post it … but the boat with the free Starlink Wi-Fi hotspot that all the hiker trash of Stehekin were bumming off of jetted off while I hit the post button (did I run after the boat shouting noooo eloooon come back? Maybe). So here it comes a week later.

PART 1 - STEHEKIN

Writing this post from beautiful Stehekin, which I’d like to tell you about, but…

I’ll start from the beginning. Last Thursday, the fam dropped me off at DTW and waited patiently while I wept out my guilt and anxiety and ache on their shoulders. It felt absolutely crazy to walk away from them and toward adventure, and for a moment when I turned around and waved at Jibran I felt a pang of silly jealousy for childhood, that time when the family unit was a constant & daily physical presence, and the woods in my backyard was terra incognita enough for me.

But onwards! To Seattle. Super chill vibes, pretty much instantly felt at home — everyone at the airport was dressed like they were going or coming back from a hike. Quincy, an OG homie circa kindergarten days, picked me up from the airport and very graciously hosted me in her apartment, along with her partner Nina and cat Bug. They have a lovely & very tasteful place, and I’d expect nothing less from someone who vision boarded both of our weddings out in the eighth grade (Q, if it ever happens for me I’m wearing converse and you can’t stop me <3). I couldn’t have found better company to soak up some comfort before entering the woods. We did some touristy stuff — watched some dudes throw around fish, ate some juicyyy peaches and Rainer cherries, checked out a cool local bookstore. Lovely last day in civilization. Quincy accompanied me for moral support while I buzzed my head — my hairdresser decided to do a fade. It was mostly for practical reasons, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out aesthetically too.

Joe met Quincy and I the next day for brunch — the last supper :) — and then Joe and I set off for the trail. Joe is a homie from college. He hiked the PCT the summer after we graduated, so he was returning as an alumnus to relive his experience and support me for the first few days. He’s the first of my friends to take the plunge into non-traditional ways of working and living, which I would say has inspired many of us to forge our way off the beaten path. Or onto it in my case…

We parked Joe’s car at Hart’s Pass, a fairly remote trail access point 30 miles south of the border, where PCT hikers have to legally start their journey (we can’t start in Canada for some legal immigration reasons). And off we went.

The stoke level those first four days was incredibly high for me. I know this because despite a pretty tough cold/sore throat that started the first few miles of the trip (just recovered fully yesterday), very rough weather on the first day (shower of hail turned intensely proximate lightning strikes turned rain storm that made the trail a gushing tributary), reports of a wildfire (quickly controlled by the fire patrol, which parachuted into the scene — missed seeing that, unfortunately) I was grinning stupidly. Felt like I was drinking intensely concentrated happy juice — courtesy the wildflowers, the open road, the shooting of the breeze with a good friend. And the mountains, the mountains, the mountains!

I don’t want to play down the very real fears that I felt at some moments, especially during the lightening strikes right  above our heads. I was also anxious about keeping up with an experienced hiker like Joe. But I realized being candid and vocal about fears instead of burying them deep down kills some part of them — we talked through what we’d do when things got dicey w the storm gods and then executed. And it turned out Joe had a similar fear about pacing, funnily enough.

We tagged the Canadian border on day 2. I was curious about what it would actually look like, the physical representation of a strange line a dude once drew on a map. The border itself is marked by a clear cut; a slim, eerily flattened gap in the tree line “not wide enough to stop a grizzly bear”, as put by one of the three buff looking Canadian ladies who’d been briskly striding to the border behind us (and who set Joe and I along at a pretty frantic, can’t let these older ladies with heavy packs cross us, pace). We watched the Canadians cross the border into their homeland, which is a pretty rare occurrence to witness cuz you need a special permit. It all felt a bit Narnia-esque. Then we turned around and headed south — mile zero, after a 30 mile warm up.

Another fear I had: when Joe left, on the afternoon of day 4. I had no idea how things would go without his sage presence.

It’s been tough, I won’t lie, but in hindsight, feels pretty great that I’ve handled what the trail’s thrown at me. I’ve dealt with getting my period by surprise and having to improv homemade pads with paper towels, leaves, medical tape, and a Kula cloth (google it :), uncharacteristically hot and humid days for the PNW, the sweat and blood induced chafing that comes from not being able to change your DIY pad for 12 miles of a highly exposed and unpleasantly sunny section of mountain pass, and also, unexpected bears.

I encountered the first bear about 10 minutes after I’d found my favorite bear song (super fun trail game I made up  — which pop songs sound best if you replace all the words and iterate bear? Party in the USA is best contender). I suppose I was tempting fate. The bear emerged from a bush about an arms length away from me, and instead of running away … it kinda just stared for a bit. Which, fair enough, I’d interrupted its business, in its home. I  started singing an, then reciting the Quran at it while backing away. it must have had some traumatic Sunday school experiences cuz it backed away too.

I was pretty shaken because of the proximity to bear, my subsequent 4 hours of solitude — nary a soul in those woods — and the humbling reminder that I’m not at the top of the food chain. this whole trek been a hugely humbling, almost pilgrimatic experience in that way — I’m such a tiny tiny piece of this big big world.

On the plus side, i walked at a pace I didn’t know I was capable to avoid having to sleep in bear country that night and make the last shuttle into Stehekin. (See pictured sign — I felt like both a bloody carcass and an odorant at that point). 8 miles in 2 hours and 45 minutes. I was basically jogging. I’m trying not to let fear be my primary motivator of my movements bcuz fear is the mind killer but sometimes, all a gal’s got is her fight or flight rxn.

I’m re-narrativizing this story to make it funny instead of scary as it was in the moment so tomorrow when I head back out there I don’t shit my pants every time something rustles in the bushes. But it was pretty goshdarn scary, especially when I saw the second bear, about a mile from the ranger station, which was a lot bigger than I wanted it to be… At that point I was pretty ready to be out of the woods.

Stehekin has been incredible. It’s late here now and I’m guessing I’ll be too lazy tomorrow morning when I post this to write about it, but I hope you’ll google it // accept this list of mayhaps true facts, passed on to be word of mouth, in place of a more flowery description:

The only ways to get to Stehekin are by ferry (2-3 hours), seaplane (30 mins), or hiking in (2-4 days).

Last week, the horses got out of the ranch about a mile away from the ranger’s station cuz some goofball left the pen unlocked. All but one came back.

The Stehekin school — a one room grade k-8 log cabin — started the curriculum used by many rural k-8 schools throughout the country. Several of its students go onto be valedictorians at the public high school in the town nearby (no high school here; students board with their friends’ families).

An older very kind hiker named arrow told us that when he stopped here during his PCT trip in 2017, a kid driving a pick up truck offered to give him and his hiker friend a hitch into town, with the caveat that the kid was 15 so it was technically illegal for him to be behind the wheel, so Arrow would have to drive.

It costs 6$ to run a load of laundry, and $1 for 2 mins of water at the Stehekin public showers. You can pay in quarters, which you can get from the general store.

The Stehekin lake, which I jumped in as the sun set over the mountains across the water, is the third largest in the US, after Crater Lake and Superior. If you swim out to the middle, with a friend watching you from the shore, you can’t barely see your own feet, much less the bottom.

Stehkenites report their local news at the post office bulletin board: George passed away last week at the hospital, Missy was in the room with him.

According to my neighbors in the tentsite over, who have been here several days nursing a nasty case of plantar fascitis, the sherif picked up the dead horse with a crane and dragged it down the road on a open flat bed. At that point, the bears had gotten to it, so it was missing several limbs. Like that warrior in the Odyssey who dragged his dead opponent’s body for so many days around the walls of Troy.

***

Logistics: I’ve covered about 110 miles the first 6 days, slightly faster than I’d predicted. Took a zero mile day and a half in Stehekin, and will head out in an hour or so to the Stehekin bakery and organic farm. Onwards to Steven’s pass next. I’ll update the spreadsheets w estimated dates of arrival at the various town stops in WA after I arrive, inshallah