Today it came. The rain that wouldn't quit. The long, slow, bone-chilling process of making it through the day, of slogging endlessly through an impenetrable mist, of figuring out how to stop moving to set camp without dying of hypothermia, of just trying to keep our spirits up through steadily deteriorating conditions.
Leaving behind the Weyerhauser and Northern Pacific railroad land for the Norse Peak Wilderness, we also left behind all sense of visibility and any ability to see the land around us. This morning there was just a light mist hanging overhead, rolling over the now rocky buttes and cliffs around us (the last couple of days, the landscape had been low, green, rolling, much less fantastic than a lot of what we've encountered thus far in WA), but by 11am the droplets started falling. I had my umbrella out from that point on. I picked a kids umbrella up in Vancouver a few weeks ago. Today, it saved my life. By 4pm, there were sheets of rain falling heavier every minute.
Rain aside, we were in high spirits throughout the day. We talked often, of this or that -- details of something from the news, memories from childhood, an idea for a song -- and, we walked. Same old story.
Due to the rain, we started making pretty good time. A sunny day makes you want to sit and relax and enjoy the views, not to mention how much more dehydrated you become through sweating under the sun's watchful gaze. In the rain, the only thing to do is keep on walking. You can't see anything and no one is watching.
After passing a group of goat packers somewhere near a ski resort (around Mile 13 for the day) we were talking about the last day we had such a rain way back in CA leaving Warner Springs on Day 8 or whenever it was. That day we had no umbrellas -- we had just sent them on in our bounce bucket, not to be seen again until or vacation in LA two months later. That day was a cold day, much more so than this one. However by the end this evening, when we finally set camp and the rain was still pummeling us and we were both soaked through to the bone, this day had gotten to be just as cold and uncomfortable as that last one. We also recalled being passed early in the day by two ultra-light ultra-marathon runners, guys in their 60s with little GoLite umbrellas strapped to their shoulders, water bottles attached to their poles, short-shorts exposing big, tanned thighs. We were sort of frantic and upset that morning and these two guys come rolling by, all smiles, smooth sailing, not a worry in the world. Their names were Cat's Paw and Rock Head and we never saw them again. They were doing "thirties" right out of the starting gate. For all we know, they might have already finished the whole damn trail by now . . .
***
A couple of hours later, we've come over Chinook Pass and Route 401 where we jaunted briefly off-trail to a little parking lot where we hoped to find some hand dryers waiting for us in the bathrooms. It was really starting to come down heavily at this point. Unfortunately, this tiny cranny of civilization, tucked away as it was up on this mountain pass was one of the filthier, more revolting corners we had seen in quite a while. The bathrooms were regretably occupied solely by simple pit toilets, full of steamy, stomach turning splatter -- no toasty hand dryers for us today. Back to the rain.
In the parking lot, a guy calls over,
"Hope you guys enjoyed your walk! He he he." He chuckles looking up and waving his arm, in case we had missed the downpour occurring all around us.
"We've got a long way to go," we respond, shortly.
"Oh, really? Where you coming from"
"Well, Canada, most recently."
"Aw man, take it from a military guy. You gotta know when it's all around you, and like feel that it's God's love making it all happen."
What? I keep a smile on my face, false as it may feel. "Yeah, totally, man. We're on the PCT, it is a trail which . . . "
"Oh yeah, man! Like, the John Wayne Trail, or someting, right?"
"Uh, yeah, right."
"Wow. Like I was saying, it's like when a man and woman come together and form a third type of thing, like a trinity or something, man. I haven't got it all figured out yet, but I know. It's like, the Catholic Church teaches you to be scared of it, because, like, in history no one wants anyone else to know that knowledge" -- here he rubs his grubby fingers together the way one does when they're talking about bucketloads of stolen money --"knowledge is power!"
"Oh, um, we should . . . "
"And Brother," he turns to face me full on, "I know that you have dreams so vivid sometimes, I can see it in your eyes -- but we won't get into that right now -- you see, I'm trying to become a preacher . . . "
You're right, buddy, we won't get into it right now. Thanks for reminding us how freaky people can be out there. We'll gladly return to the freezing rain and man-eating grizzly bears in our endless wilderness home now.
So we did. Actually, the guy reminded me ever so slightly of my father (sorry, Dad, I don't think of you as freaky. But that's just because I know you -- oh, is there a lesson here?)
***
The next amazing thing happened just an hour later. We stopped for a Snickers -- and satisfy, it did -- at around 3:45. We got up and rounded a bend, passing a few retreating weekend campers, when who walks up but Cat's Paw! He recognizes us right away, pausing and smiling quizzically. "Warner Springs, and a day just like today!" I exclaim, blown away by the out of this world coincidence of running into this guy today. He said that he was worried about us that day in April and had wished he had said something to us about hypothermia, what to watch for, how to get dry, etc. He had apparently been asking about us since then, to find out what happened to us. I guess we were looking worse off than we remembered ourselves to be. He had gone north to Kennedy Meadows, then jumped to Belden, CA and hiked north from there since June 3rd. His partner had a death in the family, or maybe it was friend, but he dropped off the trail as a result. Cat's Paw said that coming north through NorCal and OR has been really tough, lots of snow, lots of rain. He had scars on his bare legs from falls he had taken through icy crust when there was no trail. He said that coming into WA last week, he had three days straight of sun and that they made up the first solid stretch without rain that he's seen since the Mojave. Oh, God, we gulped. Please let it turn out otherwise for us! We've been good, we promise!
***
It got cold soon after our run in with Cat's Paw. The rain showed no sign of letting up and we were worried by now.
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