Washington, Part 1: The beginning of the end

The end is close.

Maybe it’s good that I approach the terminal. I’m running out of ways to describe, break the camp, walk all day, prepare the camp and repeat, to an infinity. That does not mean that I am not enjoying myself. But the routine of life on the path has become, well, the routine.

In addition, there is a lot of pressure here. When I first registered to write for the walk, I thought I would have a few dozen readers, mainly friends and family. But with some of my publications now seen by thousands of readers, I feel the responsibility of making it worth reading. There was a moment in Kennedy Meadows when I found myself at a table with three other hikers, all of which they sat in silence reading my last publication (in which they were mentioned). It was an uncomfortable silence. If I am honest, it reminded me of sitting at a table with three of my teachers for my thesis defense.

Now, I understand that this is not that Great of a problem. But I want to do what I say it is worth saying.

Approximate traffic performance

My first day in Washington offered me my first taste of things to come when someone walked to the camp from the wrong direction. He was a sobo hiker (south). This drip became a torrent in the following days when I began to happen more and more through hikers.

I started having the same five -second conversation with them. It is a strange feeling. When you pass to someone who goes in the same direction as you, there is the possibility that you are again (after all, I found a group that I have not seen from the mountains). But when you go in opposite directions, you know that you will not cross the routes again.

My favorite conversation happened today. Leaving the way to let it pass, I smiled and said aloud: «Tomorrow!» Obviously, he was not humorous to chat (or listen), he murmured «yes, you too» while sliding. I guess you can’t please them all.

Other conversations have been more interesting. Excursionists request information and advice, treating me as if it were a kind of experienced authority. They say: «Wow! You are almost there,» and prematurely congratulate me for finishing the path. They ask for not how my walk isBut like this was. It is a strange sensation.

Go to postcard

I will admit it, I walked a little road at the beginning of Washington. The route outside the Cascade locks is not dictated by convenience or landscape, but by a strangely gerrymandado arrangement of public and private lands. And what is more, is absolutely covered with poisonous oak.

I have dealt with Poison OAK before along the way, but I must mention that it represents an absolutely existential threat to my walk. When I was a teenager, I had to take a couple of days out of school and a visit to urgent attention after some exhibition. Then, the decision to walk along the road, save a few miles, see a waterfall and avoid finishing my early walk with a mass eruption was easy.

But between saving a few miles and walking in the afternoon, I managed to overcome the packages of attention of a couple of friends who would have been waiting for Trout Lake. This is not exactly the first time that the USPS disappointed me so far on this walk.

In a particular city, a very friendly but not overwhelmingly competent worker went back to recover my 5 (!) Packages. Smiling with obvious self -satisfaction, it emerged with three boxes. The other two were there. I had simply not being able to find them. When I asked about the other two, it seemed really surprised that I was not satisfied with the 60% reception of my hardware. He returned and found the room. I returned the next day for the fifth, although I had been there all the time.

Okay, I only have one more package to collect for the rest of the path. And I have the good authority (USPS priority monitoring) that has reached its destination.

Cabra rock rocks

While pushing further north, the slow ground but surely became more resistant and steep. Washington, apparently, is determined to fulfill its reputation. The path is more beautiful and more resistant here.

While crossing the splendid desert of goat rocks, I realized that if I In fact I pushed my rhythm, I could get to White Pass that night. There is not much there, just a glorified service station, but that meant warm foods. It was going to be a day of 35 miles for rough terrain, but I thought I could get there before it closed at 6.

All day, I knew I would be cutting it. While the rocky and snowy path slowed my rhythm, I could see that I was moving away from me. I heard people describe the feeling of being in slow motion during a car accident, capable of seeing the calamity that approaches but cannot avoid it. This felt similar. I walked as quickly as I could, but it wasn’t enough. The inevitable happened: as I walked downhill towards the pass, I could see them enclosing the door. I arrived at 6:07.

It was not the end of the world. I licked my wounds and compensated it with a colossal purchase of junk food in the morning. After a shower, replenishing and Microsoft teams call (don’t ask), I was on the road again. The following days they brought an increasingly ascending land when I approached Snoqualmie Pass. Washington even had the decency to deal with some real PNW conditions raining for a day. Now I am in the middle of the state.

According to all accounts, this last bit is the most difficult. I am a little earlier than expected, so I will slow down to give it due due to due, and to carry everything. No more days of 30 miles (or 40 or 50 years, while I am in that).

It is a strange sensation to be here in the precipice. In a sense, I am about to do. I am tired, everything hurts, and my clothes and my team are falling apart. Normal life has an attraction that has rarely. But, on the other hand, I know that at the time I finish it will be at the time I begin to lose it.

I guess it’s a dilemma for me to discover it enough.

Until next time

«Switchbackjack.»

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