Living in the Now · Sep 11, 09:34 am by Jennifer Pharr
My first two days in Washington State were ideal, highs in the upper 70s and lows in the 40s at night. It was extremely pleasant and gave me great hope for my final stretch.
Then my third day I climbed 6,000 ft up the slopes of Mt. Adams, set up camp, and awoke the next morning to a cold, damp fog. I set out to hike in the fog and soon found that, although it hadn’t rained a single drop, both my clothes and my gear were saturated with water. It was like I was hiking through a rain cloud. However, I consoled myself that, as cold as it was, at least it wasn’t snowing. Or, rather, wasn’t snowing yet. For as the day passed by the winds continued to blow, the fog grew, and the temperatures dropped . . . oh, and the trail continued to gain elevation.
I had made it to the Goat Rocks Wilderness by then, where, had I read the guidebook or paid attention to the name, I might have expected a treat. Having ignored both, however, I was surprised to round a turn and spot several white mountain goats ahead of me on the trail—a nice treat on an otherwise gloomy day. And whereas I was struggling with the wind and cold and wet rocks, the goats seemed quite at ease. I was actually jealous when, after spotting me, they sprinted off to a distant meadow with astonishing agility and speed.
With the goats motivating me to continue forward, I resumed my climb up to a mountain pass and the beginning of an exposed ridge walk. Within a few yards of the pass I looked up to see another hiker cross the ridge and descend my way. He was a southbound thru-hiker and, in general, looked the part except for the fact that his customary beard was temporarily dreaded up with icicles. This guy literally had frozen snot and facial hair clinging to his face!
His experience and appearance suggested that my hiking forward might prove somewhat treacherous, but he had gotten lost (which I didn’t plan on doing) and sported a huge beard (which thankfully lacking, meant I didn’t have to worry about the face-cicles). With the billy goats as my motivation, I added one more layer of super light, yet amazingly effective clothing, and headed into the abyss.
I say abyss because after moving out from behind my sheltering boulder over to the other side of the mountain, I was enveloped by a choking fog and biting wind that blinded me with its accompanying sleet. I could see the trail directly beneath my feet and that was it. (Once again, had I read my guidebook that morning, I probably would have realized that heading into a section entitled “the knife’s edge” in a winter storm might not be advisable. But truthfully, as of late, I have had major problems with the official guidebook. It is an opinionated source written by a complete pessimist with an obvious vendetta against much of the trail, thus I find it best referenced on a need-to-know basis.)
Currently, all I needed to know was how to get down out of the storm. Actually by being forced to focus on solely the trail tread right beneath my feet, I found it rather easy to stay on course. The only thing I was truly worried about was that the wind, as strong as it was, would knock me over causing me to either lose the trail or slide down one of the ridges. But with thoughts of the billy goats, a heavy reliance on my trekking poles, and (I’m sure) at least one or two angels, I made it through the two miles of snow and sleet on the exposed ridge and down to broader ground.
Fortunately, by the time I stopped that evening, I had made my way down to below 5,000 ft where the precipitation fell as heavy rain. However, as soon as I breached 6,000 ft the next day it changed back into snow! And whereas most of it didn’t stick because the ground had been so warm, it was nonetheless 36 hours straight of what The Weather Channel refers to as a wintry mix . . . (here’s the catch) in AUGUST! I’m in southern Washington in a summer month and getting snowed on? Unacceptable!!
Needless to say, this little incident is making me a bit leery of being in the Northern Cascades in mid-September. Thankfully, however, after two days of improved temps, I have officially thawed out and am now within 250 miles of the Canadian Border.
It feels rewarding yet surprisingly bittersweet to be so close to the end. It’s easy at this point to think about home and work and friends and family. Yet not wanting to miss out on fully embracing my final weeks, I recall my lesson from the snow storm and instead of focusing on the unknown before me, I simply keep my gaze on the present path and continue to trust and enjoy what I know to be there.
Until next time, jp
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