Dad's Visit · Sep 22, 11:45 am by Jennifer Pharr
When I told my family of my plans to hike the PCT, their reactions were varied to say the least. Mom, never being the one to hold back, immediately dictated that I find alternate summer plans. My eldest brother tried to insist that I take a satellite phone and left me with the parting words, “don’t die.” My other older brother, being an English teacher, received the news with one of those drawn out sounds like a “humph,” “hmmm,” or “uh-huh?” Which in his mind I am sure led to other poignant and elaborate thoughts . . . but for the life of me I can’t figure out what they are. And then there’s Dad . . . . When Dad heard I was doing the PCT, he immediately went out and bought every PCT trail map he could find to plaster over his walls and track my progress; he told all his friends what I was doing and how proud he was of me, and he also started making plans to come see me during my hike so that he could experience the PCT as well.
Well, with fishing season coming to a close and things winding down at the beach, my father finally flew out to see me this past week. His timing was impeccable as he arrived the day after I had been detoured out of the 60-mile Cascade Crest Fire Complex. With his help I was promptly returned to the nearest section of open trail and not forced to spend a day and a half trying to hitch around the section on deserted gravel roads. And although Dad wasn’t exactly willing to hop on the trail with a thru-hiker and push out 25-mile days, he was primed and ready to get his rental car as close as he could to a later point of egress. This way, by taking my pack and leaving me with a day sack, he allowed me to complete my daily mileage before mid-afternoon. And then, after picking me up, he would whisk me away to dinner and a hotel every evening! Quite the treatment!
And after four days, I’m totally spoiled. All my hiker friends tell me I’m going soft. However, my calluses, aches, and pains remind me that soft is still a long way off. But the four days of luxury, creature comforts, and hanging out with Dad have gotten me geared up and fairly well rested for my third and final state—less than a mile away. Yes, after finishing this update, Dad will leave to return home, and I will journey out from Cascade Locks, OR across a bridge and into Washington state. The bridge I will hike over is actually called “The Bridge of the Gods,” most find it appropriate for those who have made it this far into the journey. I still find it as a bit of an overstatement, but could possibly justify the 2,100 + mile marker being named “The Bridge of the Titans, or Demi-gods, or possibly, the Damned.”
The latter I fear might be the most appropriate seeing as how I have heard nothing but horror stories of Washington’s cold, wet Septembers. (Speaking of horror story, did I mention that Dad and I stayed at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, which was the same hotel used in the movie, “The Shining.” Freaky, huh?) In spite of my fear and inhibitions, however, I’ve resolved to effectively continue placing one foot in front of the other until my goal is attained, and I am at the Canadian Border. After all, Dad’s presence has reminded me that the three states along my trek are not that dissimilar to a family with 3 children. California, the first child, received the most time and attention and will also have twice as many photos as the other states. Oregon, the middle child, often complains of being overlooked due to the obstacles presented by his neighboring parties. Yet, when appreciated for his subtle distinctiveness, always becomes a favorite. And then there’s Washington, the third and last child, always the hardest to deal with, but often the hardest to let go of as well.
I think I’m gonna like this state.
Until next time, jp
Oh, and a special thanks to Dad, who is always supportive and proud of me no matter what I do!
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