The Final Stretch · Sep 26, 08:20 am by Jennifer Pharr
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
In my younger years, when I attended Catholic school (yes, plaid jumper and all), all the students recited that prayer every afternoon before going home. Now that I am older and nearing the end of Washington State, once again I hold those words close to my heart and repeat them on my lips in an utter loss of what to do in order to finish the trail and, once again, return home.
I spoke these words of guidance this past section when I was forced to choose from several differing routes. The original PCT seemingly was not an option because of the flooding and landslides in 2003, and because it was officially closed. So my options were to take either the official re-route – which is well marked, but extremely brushy and not very scenic; the unofficial re-route—which is poorly marked and brushy, but extremely scenic—or the roadwalk which . . . well, trust me . . . roadwalks are always the worst option.
Wavering between those three options, I was surprised to learn from Scott Williamson that the original PCT was now passable, thus giving me a 4th and final option. If you’re not familiar with the PCT, then you probably haven’t heard of Scott Williamson, so let me fill you in. Scott is currently attempting to complete his 9th thru-hike on the PCT; he is the only person ever to yo-yo the trail (Mexico-to-Canada-to-Mexico) in one year, and he probably has more hiking talent and outdoor knowledge in his left pinky than I have in my entire body.
Considering those facts, I realized that Scott’s idea of “passable” might be different from my own. However, besides being an amazing hiker, Scott is also one of the nicest most down-to-earth individuals that I have ever met and I struggled to believe that Scott would verbally endorse a highly dangerous and potentially fatal route. So all things considered, I decided on option 4 and set out to hike the original, yet officially closed, PCT.
And, although obviously passable due to the existence of this update, my past 100 miles on the deserted and indecipherable PCT were the hardest, most trying, and most exciting miles I have ever hiked. I saw bears, coyote, elk, and eagles. I danced and waded my way over 6 river crossings where there had previously been bridges. I wandered unknowingly through large areas of devastation where the trail had been washed away, and bushwhacked for miles in places where the trail had been totally overgrown. I scrambled up rocks with all fours and slid down numerous slopes on my butt. I navigated under, over, and around more fallen trees than I care to recount. And when it was all said and done, I was beaming with pride, but running on empty . . . I have never been so exhausted in my entire life!
So when I exited the Glaver Peak Wilderness and came to the dirt road leading me to my final town stop and separating me from the final section, I had to choke back tears at the sight of the message board. There in big bold print was a sign saying they had closed the last section due to wildfires. Canada was closed. I’d hiked 2,500+ miles to get to Canada, a country I had never been to before, and now there was no way I could get there on the PCT.
Sitting at the trailhead bemoaning my fate and wondering what to do next, I was relieved to see the daily bus to Stehekin coming up the road. Surely Stehekin would hold the answers of what to do next. Following this ray of hope up to the front of the bus, I met Alton, the very friendly, very bearded bus driver, who then informed me that Stehekin was . . . closed. Yep, closed. (Seems to be a theme.) Come to find out there are fires threatening the town, and the one access road is now closed with a guarded barricade.
At this point, with no hope of post office, phone, or re-supply, things were looking pretty bleak. But thankfully Alton, sensing my anxiety assured me that the Ranch and Bakery were both outside of town and open, and everything else would work itself out and be okay.
At first, I wasn’t convinced, but after Alton took me to the Ranch where I could shower and eat, I felt a little better. Then when he took me to the local bakery, I not only had the best cinnamon roll ever, but also found my Post Office boxes that had been left there by another hiker who knew I was coming (YES!). After that, Alton took me to find a local forest ranger who sold me a map for $10 and suggested an alternate route (nice!). Following the good news, and with some spare time, Alton then took me to Rainbow Falls and the historic schoolhouse, before sneaking me into town that evening.
Yes, Alton snuck me (crouched down in the back of the bus) through the patrolled blockade and into town. Typically, he wouldn’t even be allowed through, but they needed his bus to transport firefighters to the Ranch because it was the only place where they could eat dinner. He agreed to help me sneak into town because by now we were very good friends, and I informed him that if I couldn’t get into town to call my mother and let her know I was alive, she would pretty much be in a state of hysteria for the next 5 days. He, having a mother, understood this concept and took me to the only phone available within a 30-mile radius.
One phone may seem pretty unrealistic, but Stehekin prides itself on being “rustic”, meaning no phones, no televisions, no computers, and no contact with the outside world. I am soooo over “rustic.” In fact, with Stehekin sandwiched in between the North Cascades and Lake Chelan, if you’re not hiking in, then you either have to take a boat or waterplane to get there, because there are no—I repeat NO—access roads and no other way into town. How cool is that? Yes, after a brief and reassuring phone call with my mother, Alton and I watched the flames grow above the few summer cottages and general store that make up Stehekin and, in turn, saw the multiple hoses and helicopters dipping into Lake Chelan in an attempt to save the town. We also befriended many a firefighter who were all eager to be taken to the Ranch for dinner. Riding back out of town with my new friends, I decided that if all of my other careers fail, then a “wildfire parachute jumper” might be next on the list.
So it’s now Monday morning September 11th and in a few hours my friend Alton (one thing I will say about Stehekin is that it has GREAT public transportation) will return to the Ranch and, once again, whisk me away to the trailhead where I will be able to resume my walk to Canada. I’ll be able to hike about 10 miles on the PCT before I am forced off on alternate trails to the west, where I am uncertain of mileage and water sources and many other details that might otherwise prove helpful. But what I do know is that I’m still headed north and everyday I’m a little closer to Canada. And now, appropriately enough, I am no longer headed to Manning Park as my final destination, but instead to a little town 40 miles inside of British Columbia called Hope. How good is that?
The odds of this letter making it out of town are questionable to say the least. But I have great faith that we will both make it to our final destinations.
Until then, all my best and serenity, wisdom, and courage to all,
jp
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