Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76

by Mary E Davison

  Weatherman had left his water bottle just outside the shelter. We looked at it in the morning and it was water. We touched it, immediately sending crystal fractures through the water and it all turned to ice before our eyes in about three seconds. Interesting phenomenon.

  People were not in a hurry to leave that morning, but the trail is the trail. After one or two left, so did I. I forgot my red rope. Perhaps it is still there. As I descended, the snow turned to rain, but not before I captured a picture of snow on struggling pink azaleas at Tellico Gap. Sun came out highlighting white dogwood blossoms. Lingering white snow on bare branches of leafless trees gleamed in the sunlight.

  Before starting long distance hikes, you mail food to the places you’ll pass along the way. The goal is to lighten the pack and realistically, you can’t carry many days’ worth of food before needing replenishment. At Nantahala Outdoor Center I picked up a food drop and purchased a rope replacement should I need to hang my food. Nantahala is a Cherokee word meaning “land of the noonday sun.” The Nantahala River cuts deeply into a canyon in which the sun can shine directly only in the middle of the day. That means you descend to get there and climb to get somewhere else.

  Thanks to Nitro’s journal of the year before, I knew there was a good campsite with a great view on Cheoah Bald. Everyone else stayed at Sassafras Gap Shelter and missed the view and sunset I saw that night from Cheoah Bald, only lowering clouds followed by rain the next morning. They also missed a unique wildlife experience.

  On the way up to Cheoah Bald I heard something behind me and turned to see baby wild piglets. I have never seen anything like them before or since. They had longitudinal dark stripes from their necks to their tails, were very cute and seemed to think I was their mother as they wanted to follow me up the trail. I was pretty sure their mother would be very big and very fierce, and I didn’t want to see her. The piglets kept following me, and I had to scare them away with some rocks tossed in their direction. I felt mean doing so, but didn’t want a wild boar sow attacking me for stealing her children. When I showed my pictures to Jeff and Nancy at The Hike Inn at the end of the trip, they showed me a picture of a dead sow filling the back of a pickup truck. I was quite glad I hadn’t met the mother of those cute piglets.

  Leaving my camera on the ledge at Brown Fork Gap Shelter, I did not realize the loss for a couple miles. That was a disaster. What to do? Seth, Emily and John came by and remembered seeing it but no one had picked it up. They took my air mattress with them, saying they would claim a spot for me in the Cable Gap Shelter by laying it down. We knew rain was again imminent and I was really hoping for the cover of the shelter. I went back for the camera, adding 3 to 4 miles on my day. Seth and crew left my air mattress in the shelter as good as their word even though it was a small shelter and not all the trail family could fit and they had to use their tent. I was very grateful.

  An interesting couple of guys were already in residence at that shelter when my trail family arrived. We were all pretty sure they were on the lam from the law. They didn’t act like hikers, staying to themselves and not talking to us as we chattered together. The rest of us had been hiking, more or less together, for a few days. The two strange guys slept with their backs to us when we arrived in the afternoon. When we were taking pictures, they carefully moved somewhere else so as not to be caught on film. We hikers talked together and made sure no one was left alone with those two guys or even went to the privy alone. We looked out for each other and didn’t trust these characters. In the morning we all walked on, and they stayed. They were not hikers. Was the AT their hideout?

  Cable Gap was my last night on the AT for the year but not my last moment with my trail family. Stopping at Fontana Dam Marina, I took one last picture of Scared of the Dark, Weatherman, John, Emily, Seth, Roller Girl and Lightning Rod. I sang them a blessing before I left to connect with Jeff and Nancy from the Hike Inn, who would shuttle me to the airport in Asheville.

  And I’d walked another 75.9 miles on the Appalachian Trail.

  Chapter 7 August 2005

  PCT

  “Two more days and, oh dear, we will be done just when we are getting in the groove.”

  The three books titled The Pacific Crest Trail by Jeffrey P. Schaffer, Ruby Johnson Jenkins, Ben Schifrin, Jeffrey Schaffer, Andy Selters and Thomas Winnett were the classic guidebooks for the PCT when I started my PCT hikes. Two were for California and one for Oregon and Washington. Wilderness Press books and the narrow strip map of the trail were the main tools to get you where you were going, along with compass and common sense. I generally found them quite adequate although when near roads, I occasionally found the directions confusing when compared to the trail under my feet. Some hikers called the guidebooks “the book of lies.” Perhaps all that means is that some hikers had different experiences than the authors in certain sections of the trail.

  My two experiences on the AT taught me, among other things, that no two years are the same. The weather my first year on the AT was near ideal, edging to hot. In my second year there was lots of rain and even snow. Likewise, your own physical condition can vary from year to year, day-to-day or even within the same day. When the guidebook said a particular trail section was easy, it meant it was easy for them. You may have a different point of view. If it said a climb was difficult, perhaps on the day you made that climb, it was your best day and you felt like superman or superwoman and thought it not difficult at all.

  What I especially liked about the guidebook was the description of geology, flora and fauna. Those who just want to walk from one end to the other may not be interested in the details, but I appreciated them. Today a hiker can use an AP or GPS or Half Mile maps and they need not carry guidebooks. Half Mile’s maps are better than the guidebook maps. But I am pretty old school and liked pages in my hand. I learned from other hikers to tear out the pages for the section currently being hiked and leave the rest at home. I bought double copies of the Wilderness Press guidebooks, one to keep whole and one to tear up and take appropriately when hiking.

  In 2005 I squeezed out eight days on the PCT from my vacation time in addition to the AT hike in the spring. The guidebook called the section from Snoqualmie Pass to Stevens Pass a classic, week-long backpack. Kathy was my hiking partner, and her dog Tasha came along.

  It was truly beautiful from the moment we started from Snoqualmie Pass on the first day’s 2,300-foot climb among rocky crags to the last day descending through banks of Pearly Everlasting like clouds covering the sides of the trail. Readily available huckleberries for snacking lined the trail most of the way to Stevens Pass.

  It wasn’t an easy hike as there was considerable climbing and descending. The weather was northwest sunshine combined with northwest liquid sunshine. But the scenery was spectacular: trail blasted out of rock at Kendall Catwalk, views back to Snoqualmie Pass, travel through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, great views of Lemah Mountain with its craggy spires above Spectacle Lake, the tarn on Escondido Ridge, Cathedral Rock and the general feeling of walking on top of the world interspersed with descents into deeply cut valleys.

  Kathy’s husband, David, was our trail support, taking us to trail and picking us up. He also hiked in to meet us at Cathedral Pass with a food drop. That’s true love; it wasn’t a short hike. He also brought fresh grapes, baby tomatoes, red sweet peppers, oranges and nectarines. We couldn’t carry all the fresh fruit and veggies, but we ate as much as we could on the spot and carried some of the treats with us for dinner at our campsite below Lynch Glacier on Mt. Daniel. I wrote in my hand written journal that night, “Two more days and, oh dear, we will be done just when we are getting in the groove.”

  The next morning we had the case of the disappearing stream. We had filtered our water the night before from a very nice stream, and not a small one either. In the morning, my hands had gotten muddy stowing the tent. Stepping back to the stream to wash them … the stream was gone. I was so startled I looked around three times to make sure I hadn’
t gotten lost in those few steps from our campsite. Nope. This was the same place I’d gotten water the night before. Now there was just one smallish puddle.

  That’s what happens when a glacier stops melting in the night. We had heard varying reports from other hikers about this campsite and availability of water and had been glad to find water when we camped. Now we knew why reports varied. Streams are often higher late in the day from snow melt and lower in the morning (good to know when having to ford high mountain rivers and creeks) but this was the only time I ever saw such a stark difference between a three-to-four-foot-wide bubbly stream at night and absolutely NO water flow in the morning.

  I took a picture at Deception Lakes someone told me I should sell to a puzzle company; Glacier Lake and Surprise Lake were also beautiful. My feet hurt so badly by the time we reached our last camp spot that I sat on a log five minutes before I could take off my boots and waited another five minutes before I could put on my camp shoes.

  Funny, I had to read old notes from this trip to remember the feet hurting. Hikers have selective memory. What I remember most, with the aid of my pictures, is the incredible beauty of this hike and hiking it with Kathy and Tasha.

  I’d walked another 74.7 miles.

  Chapter 8 August 2006

  Transition to Retirement—PCT

  “We’re going up that?”

  Obviously, if I were only to hike for a week or ten days on a trail each year, it would take me a very long time to complete any trail. But I was about to be retired. Time rushed by, and I was doing the things needed to leave my congregation in as strong a position as I could, prepared to move into their future when I left. I didn’t take a hike on the AT that year. There was too much to do in preparing to retire. But I had an opportunity to take one last church backpack trip, which would be the start of a lengthier hike on the PCT. I would officially be retired after accrued vacation time expired on day ten of the trip.

  Six of us started out from Stevens Pass: Brenda, Mike, Cindy, Linda, Kathy, Tasha the dog and myself. We were supposed to be seven, but Bill had back problems and knew he shouldn’t attempt coming. He looked very sad as he and David dropped us all off at Stevens Pass.

  The rest of us were in fine fettle in spite of a somewhat drizzly day. We camped at Janus Lake, Pear Lake, and Sally Ann Lake, coming out Indian Pass Trail to White River trailhead. Those first four days were especially scenic hiking: lakes, high meadows filled with flowers and great views of glaciated Glacier Peak, as well as other rugged mountain ranges with enough snow for great pictures.

  We had challenges in the walking and joy in the togetherness. I was still pastor, leading Holden Evening Prayer each evening along with times of reflection and prayer. We helped each other as called for and commiserated together about sore feet and blisters. The fourth day was 15 miles, a stretch for us. Since the trail was all downhill, I thought we could do it. But the trail didn’t cooperate much. Overgrown, buggy and hot, we were plenty tired by the time we reached White River Trailhead, where drivers picked up the church hikers and Tasha after their four days. Kathy and I ate the fresh town food they brought us. I was interested in going a little farther, but Kathy, having decided she wasn’t going one more step that day, put her tent up while I was saying good-bye to the others. Well OK, the next day we were going on—to Canada.

  The bridge over the Suiattle River had washed away, and information on line strongly urged us to go on the Little Giant official detour, which we did. Slowly topping Boulder Pass, the top of Little Giant came into view. A few steps more revealed the whole mountain called Little Giant with its steep cliffs, as well as the deep Napeequa Valley. I remember thinking incredulously, “We’re going up that?”

  The Napeequa was a magnificent sight, a deep, high mountain valley with a straight-up mountain on the other side and not a road or sign of civilization anywhere except for our winding trail switchbacking down seemingly endless turns from the pass. Going down those switchbacks a short ways, we found a campsite.

  A deer, completely unafraid, nibbled on huckleberry bushes next to our tent as we got up the next morning before daylight. The deer’s eyes caught the light of our headlamps, glowing back at us. Descending that long series of switchbacks, we forded the Napeequa, our first major river ford, the current strong and water up to mid-thigh. We slowly climbed up Little Giant, a steep trail we were glad to be going up and not down. If going up was hard, going down would be a total nightmare. The descent on the other side was a much more reasonable grade, but by the time we reached the bottom my feet were really hurting.

  The river ford felt exhilarating, cold water comforting sore feet. On the other side of the river we met David, Becky and Tasha, Kathy’s dog. David whisked us to Trinity Campground, and I missed 3.5 miles of the PCT. (I completed that 3.5 miles July 9, 2018.)

  Not only was I tired and my feet aching, that road was dangerous, a narrow winding dusty dirt road with cars zipping around blind corners.

  We feasted that night, but didn’t stop for a rest day, going on the next morning with the addition of Kathy’s dog, Tasha. Kathy and I again made a good team. In the mornings I was full of energy and leading us on. When I flagged in the afternoons, especially when it was hot, Kathy seemed to get a burst of energy to get to camp and I followed. It was really HOT. We were grateful neither we nor the dog got heat stroke. We were VERY grateful for a creek in the shaded fold of the mountain we were traversing, collapsing beside it for an hour or so.

  On day ten we met Scott Williamson, who was doing a yo-yo thru hike. He’d come all the way from Mexico, reached the Canadian border and turned around to go all the way back. Scott held the unsupported speed record for the PCT for years. He was a good-looking 30- something, long, lean drink of water with an absolutely miniscule pack. We wondered what he could possibly have in it.

  Six Mile Camp was memorable. Both of us remarked that night that somehow we felt…nervous. We took extra care to make noise and keep a clean camp. When we reached Rainy Pass we read a notice that Six Mile Camp had been having bear problems. We’d had a kind of sixth sense about a bear there, and we were probably right, though we didn’t see it.

  “Aren’t you afraid of the bears?”

  Almost the first question asked of backpackers is, “Aren’t you afraid of the bears?” Bears are not lurking in the forest waiting for people to walk by to eat them for breakfast. Bears are large omnivores, who live in the forest. Unless they have become habituated to think of people as a source of food, bears, like most wild animals, try to avoid humans. Most hikers are excited to see any large game, including bear.

  We walk in bear’s homes as visitors. Good visitors do not leave any sort of food or smellables, anything with a strong smell, within bear’s reach along the trail or left about camp. The unfortunate result of leaving edibles or smellables for bears is that in their search for food, they become aggressive towards humans and have to be removed or shot. A fed bear is a dead bear. Surprising a bear on the trail or walking near cubs can also provoke an aggressive response. I don’t exactly fear Black Bear, but I respect them. They are bigger than me, have claws and I would lose a fight. Avoiding provocation or temptation is key.

  Bear canisters, containers bears can’t open, hold food and smellables attractive to bears. Our bear canister required turning a lid as well as pushing with a thumb in a particular spot at the same time. Carrying a bear can is required in some wilderness areas, important to preserve hikers and bears. Hikers generally dislike carrying bear cans as they are heavy, adding weight to the pack. Techniques for hanging food are used when not carrying a bear can. Some hikers sleep with their food, not a ranger- approved technique, although many thru hikers get in the habit as they begin in areas where convenient trees are not available.

  “That’s not a dog.”

  At Rainy Pass, Carol, who had volunteered to support us, took us to a cabin in Mazama. By day twelve we finally had a zero day and two nights in a bed. We also visited Winthrop for dinner at a
Mexican restaurant.

  Our next three days took us over Cut Throat Pass, past the Golden Horn, Glacier Pass and into Hart Pass to meet two more friends, both named Becky, who brought us dinner and a food drop, driving 25 miles over a rocky road to do so. My goodness, it’s nice to have friends.

  Unfortunately the Mexican restaurant in Winthrop gave me food poisoning. Anything I ingested shot right through me all the rest of the way to Canada. Kathy was amazed that I could keep going. I begged diarrhea medication from every passing hiker. I tried three different kinds but none of it really helped. (I tested negative for Giardia when I got home, and I recovered quickly when I was off trail.) I used all my toilet paper. Then I used all Kathy’s toilet paper. I used the gauze pads from the first aid kit. I was about to use our bandanas before we reached Canada and found a privy with toilet paper. It wasn’t the most pleasant part of the trip. On a backpack trip anything can happen and sometimes town stops contain the danger.

  We did enjoy many wonderful views between Rainy Pass and Harts Pass. And I saw the only cougar I have met while hiking. In retrospect it was actually funny. We were winding through a tall brushy area, and I’d gone ahead of Kathy and Tasha, out of sight around a corner or two. I looked up and saw the cougar on the trail right ahead of me. The cougar looked at me. I looked at the cougar. The thought in my mind was, “That’s not a dog.” At the time, I wasn’t sure it was a cougar as I thought cougars were more of a tawny gold and the coat of this beast was darker. Later I saw the cougar picture that adorns many National Park Visitor Center walls, and it was identical to this critter. It was a cougar, for sure.