Sweetly Bittersweet · Sep 29, 12:55 pm by Jennifer Pharr
I’m done—totally, officially, 100% done. I had a faux finish at the Canadian Border on the 14th, and then after a short break I returned to Oregon to complete the 60 miles I had previously missed due to fires.
It was an ending filled with adventure, confusion, and a lot of emotion, but in retrospect it was an appropriate if not perfect ending to what has become the best four months of my life.
When I left Stehekin two weeks ago, the town was on fire, Canada was on fire, and the trail was officially closed. But with a $10 map and a generous allotment of rations I started heading north/northwest on an alternate route. While originally disappointed to not finish at the official terminus, I soon began to appreciate and actually prefer the route I had chosen. I am sure that it could have been no less scenic than the official PCT, and without a guidebook or detailed information it constantly tested me and encouraged me with unknown obstacles and surprises. It was almost like one of those “choose your own ending” books you read as a kid, but so much cooler, because it was actually real life.
The most memorable parts of my final stretch came from seeing four bears within five minutes of each other, being able to finish the final miles of my hike near the immense yet serene shore of Ross Lake, and stylishly hitching my way out of Canada in a dump truck. Yes, a dump truck.
You see, when I finally reached the Canadian Border it was nothing like I had expected. First of all there was no sign that said Canada! How was I supposed to take a finishing picture without a Canada sign? Secondly, true to form, Washington State had chosen to mark my farewell with 30 hours of continuous cold rain. Thus, my comfort level was not as high as I would have otherwise liked when I reached the border. And thirdly? Well, I was sorely depressed. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of my hike, but instead it caught me off-guard and left me feeling empty inside. The fires, detours, and last day and a half of rain had completely occupied my mind and all but masked the reality of the ensuing ending. Therefore, when I unexpectedly came across the unpretentious international boundary sign on the side of a dirt road, I really didn’t know what to do with myself. It was over? My hike was really finished? All the hard work, all the obstacles, all the challenges, and this is where it had taken me—a cold, wet, dirt road in the middle of nowhere!?
Being an open and otherwise deserted border crossing, I actually walked back and forth between the US and Canada several times. Was I really there? Maybe it just needed a minute to sink in? But several minutes passed, nothing happened, and I resolved to continue hiking north on the road to the nearest town of Hope, British Columbia.
Trudging along in the midst of my despair that stemmed from a sudden loss of purpose, I unexpectedly heard something rumbling up the road behind me. I didn’t move. This was the first sign of civilization I had encountered in several days, and I was bound and determined to either get a ride or get run-over by the oncoming monstrosity. Although my determination faltered a bit after identifying the beast as a park service vehicle and realizing that federal employees weren’t allowed to offer rides, I nonetheless put on a prize winning performance of pitiful and won myself a ride inside the large green dump truck. Riley, the driver, was not only willing to overlook regulation, but he also shared the front cab as opposed to being jostled around in the back with steerage and garbage.
Riding ever deeper into Canada, Riley soon sensed my lack of direction, and as opposed to leaving me in Hope, offered to transport me all the way back to the US. Seemingly a good plan, I agreed. For me, it was a logistical solution as well as a free ride back into the States. For Riley it meant company on an otherwise lonely drive from a small boat dock named Hozemeen on the northeast shore of Ross Lake to the park headquarters at the southeast end. Hozemeen, which would otherwise be no more than 30 miles as the crow flies from the lake’s south shore, turns into a six-hour one way trip by car because the only access road to the small port comes in from rural Canada.
Overall I spent five hours in the truck with Riley. After my first official weigh station and commercial immigration inspection, it was decided that he would drop me off in the small Washington town known as Sedrow-Wooley. Sedrow was decided upon not only due to its close proximity to I-5 and access to Greyhound, Amtrak, and an airport shuttle, but also because Jason, a fellow co-worker of Riley’s had offered to let me stay at his house for free.
Like Riley, my new host Jason proved one of the most gracious individuals I could ever hope to meet, and despite his offer to let me stay at his house in Sedrow-Wooley as long as I wanted, I knew that I needed time, a computer, and a good friend to help me decide upon my next move. That’s why the next day I found a great last minute fare and an open seat on a flight down to Northern California where “Running Moon,” after 18 months and 1,000 miles now my “official” boyfriend (worth the wait), picked me up that evening.
From Running Moon’s, aka Steve’s, homebase of Napa, I was now able to set up command central, where I exhausted every resource available to decide if and when I could go back to Oregon and hike through the 60-mile section I had previously skipped due to wildfires. Coincidentally, the major fire in that region had been named the Puzzle Fire, and that’s how I now viewed this region – the missing puzzle piece to my otherwise complete thru-hike. Doing research, I found it fairly difficult to get an affirmative answer as to whether the wilderness section involved was still technically closed, but after two and a half days of phone calls and fretting, I booked a Thursday Greyhound ticket to Sisters, Oregon in order to attempt the trail irregardless of conditions. Despite everyone telling me I should be more than happy with the 2,600 miles I had accrued, I knew my heart and, moreover my type A, goal-setting, personality would not be satisfied unless I had tried my absolute hardest to complete, if not chronological then at least an unbroken thru-hike.
Thus leaving sunny California, I arrived 17 hrs later in the cool, brisk, Fall winds of Central Oregon. By the way, you know you really want something badly when you are willing to suffer through a 17 hour Greyhound ride to attain it. (I have almost as many stories from that lone bus ride as I do from the entire PCT!) But, thankfully, at the end of my long journey I was met by Sarah McDougall, a former C-ville resident and Women Build volunteer, who dutifully whisked me off first to the ranger station to confirm that the trail was still closed, and then to the PCT to hike through anyhow.
Whereas reaching the Canadian border somewhat caught me off guard, I was now thoroughly prepared to make these 60 miles the last and concluding chapter of my odyssey. After all, the setting just seemed right for an ending. The literary symbols were all in place: the fall colors and fallen leaves, the burned trees and smoldering logs, not to mention the dusting of snow which covered the trail above 6,000 ft. Yes, all signs suggested that the blaze of glory was now over, and that this season of my life had now come to an end. And oh, what a season it has been.
Coming out of the woods on Sunday to meet Sarah and her husband Chris, everything felt right and at peace. I don’t necessarily credit the revelation to the final 60 miles, although I can’t imagine having missed them (Mt. Jefferson is amazing), but rather to the time that has elapsed since reaching Canada. The past few days had heightened my sense of awareness and appreciation, they have revealed the blessing of the past four months and the memories which will always last, and they have helped me say goodbye to a world that holds so much majesty and possibility in order to return to a reality that shares just as much beauty and potential.
I used to think that a thru-hike was a completely egocentric and self-serving endeavor, but after having completed my journey and being left with an overwhelming desire to continually improve both my community and myself combined with a newfound courage to see it through . . . I smile and think to myself: perhaps thru-hiking isn’t so selfish after all.
So to all the readers and supporters, thanks so much for sharing in my journey and best of luck on your own. And if you’ll grant me one last indulgence, then I’d like to submit one final update within the next few days. I need to roll the credits if you will and thank some people who made this hike possible, and I’d also like to take a stab at the question, “why thru-hike?” It was asked long ago, and I have been putting it off until now, but I think that I am at a place where I might be ready to answer.
Until then, thanks again, and happy trails! jp
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