June 29: Nasty Napeequa

Today's hiking was some of the most challenging that either Eliza or myself has ever undertaken.

The day began a bit late because my watch died overnight and its familiar faint beep of an alarm never roused us. By noon we had only done ten miles, which in itself isn't bad, but we are shooting to cover 25 per day this week in order to make Skykomish by Friday night and have a chance to get our Post Office visit taken care of Saturday morning. However, this is big section K, and it would seem that we are now stuck on the detour from hell . . .

The PCT was originally constructed as a fully-accessible pathway where all people could come to enjoy the grandeur and serenity of America's majestic and wild West. One important and key facet of this trail's accessibility was keeping the damn thing walkable. It was it's founders' intent to keep all trails graded at less than 15 degrees. In doing so, the builders and blazers of the PCT have succeeded in establishing a wonderfully comfortable, well-groomed (and easily groomed) trail which just about anyone could come out and put a few miles between themselves and the rest of the world for a while if they so desired. This is something which I do not believe could be said about the Appalachian Trail. Nor could it be said, as we discovered today, about the Northern WA re-route in Section K here on the PCT.

After walking an easy ten miles -- slowed down only due to a nagging in-grown toe-nail which started bothering me last night (it's not as bad as it sounds, thankfully) -- we forded the freezing, thigh-deep Chiwawa River and started in on our big ascent up to Little Giant Pass. And just let me say, there was nothing at all little about it. This trail was a nightmare. Straight up the mountainside it goes, no switchbacks, no graded, curving traversals, no flat patches for resting. Nothing. It was actually pretty wild. It just kept climbing. Over bouldered, gouged cliff faces, through burnt patches of Douglas Fir, through towering brush which nearly hid the trail completely. It was an exhausting affair. We wondered why anyone would (1) make a trail so ridiclously unpleasant to "walk" on, and (2) actually come out to the woods specifically to climb such a thing -- it's just a pass for God's sake! No peak, no summit -- just a pass!

After a meager lunch just below the trail's summit at the pass, we got our answer to Question 2. The view over the crest of this ridge we climbed on that obnoxious trail was just beautiful. Before us stood a great ridge of sparkling, frosted mountains. Below meandered the windy and healthy looking Napeequa River, our next destination.

After making that challenging climb and seeing what we saw at the top, we decided that it was actualy really nice to have a change thrown into our hiking routine. We used a whole different set of muscles out there today and sweat like filthy pigs. It was a fun time.

Crossing the river at the bottom of the other side, however, was not fun. It was downright frightening. After finally making it accross the charging, frigid, deep waters, Eliza commented appropriately that it was one of the hardest things we've had to do yet on this trail. It puts the day right on par with the day we climbed Mt. San Jacinto in the snow. Ironically, both days were days spent off the actual PCT. We've got to get back on that thing and stay there, is what I think.

While terrifying and very hard, the river crossing was well accomplished, I think. We did it the only way we could have. All of our gear stayed miraculously dry. I only almost lost my footing under the tremendous pressure of the flow. Eliza had to swim accross and drag herself out on a hanging branch, losing first her cool, and second, her shorts to the suddenly sinister-seeming river.

We hugged and Eliza had a good cry aferwards, but we didn't dally long. We were way behind our goal for the day and the sun was sinking fast. A change of clothes and we were off.

On our way up the western bank of the canyon, Eliza said something like "It would only be fitting now that we get attacked by a wild animal," and within five minutes we came right up behind a big, spiny porcupine, waddling down the trail . . .

It feels strange, surreal.