The PNT brought a stiletto knife to a fist fight

And then he punched me in the face. The Pacific Northwest Trail fights dirty, is what I’m saying. However, I am willing to forgive and forget for one simple reason: you need to view the PNT. Not just in the sense of “OMG, he’s amazing,” but also because I’m worried about his future.

My first two National Scenic Trails (NST) left me with incredibly high expectations. The PCT and AZT are well maintained and set the standard for my subsequent hikes. I now realize that these NSTs are probably the exception and not the rule. The CDT is sturdier and less traveled, no doubt, but as one of the big three, it has already reached critical mass. Their popularity, funding, and maintenance create a positive feedback loop that virtually guarantees their survival. I’m less sure about the PNT. While the other trails need some TLC in places, the PNT needs a lot of TLC ASAP. It is one of the newer NSTs and, unlike the CDT, there is no “PNT Completion Law.”

Having read most of the PNT AssociationOn the website before I started my hike, I was expecting a bare knuckle fight from start to finish. While I wasn’t entirely wrong, several shots left me scraped, battered, and bruised. Some hikers I spoke to during my prologue in Glacier National Park were aware of the existence of the PNT, and worryingly, they all said the same thing. «It’s chaos, right?»

I only met one eastbound and two westbound hikers (WEBO). Our paths crossed once and never again. I have some suggestions to improve the reputation of the PNT and increase its popularity.

Don’t worry about the weather

The Pacific Northwest climate is humid, to say the least, but the rains I experienced were generally short-lived and I usually had plenty of time to dry off. There was only one day that I would describe as super soggy.

As I walked west, things got better. For the first half of the trail, there was a 33% chance of rain on any given day. For the second half of the tour, that probability was 6%.

Finally, here’s an added advantage of WEBOs: storms coming in from the Pacific move east, so you’ll spend less time under the weather than EABOs.

Let’s hit some bush!

As a WEBO, I had to wait 245 miles for an attack. I had already encountered many overgrown trails and abandoned dirt roads, but this was going to be my first official hike. It was actually pretty straightforward: half a mile without a trail, through ancient forest that was dark enough to prevent dense undergrowth from thriving. I simply followed my shadow, climbing fallen, sometimes rotten trees, and trampling enough thimble bushes to leave me with a guilty conscience. So many crushed berries. So much of his blood on my hands. And arms and legs.

What I didn’t know at the time was that this introduction to the rampage was a ruse. The PNT barely let its guard down to approach me. He waited patiently a little longer before attempting to deliver a killing blow.

Two days later I arrived at Ball Lakes and it was the start of a much longer gap in the PNT. For the next six miles, the FarOut red line gets a little confusing and the commentary gets a little pointed. It’s polarizing crazy, but here’s a summary of the opposing positions.

«It’s bad.»

«No, it’s not.»

I agree with the first group, but I also have the numbers to show that they are the majority. Mount Lion Creek is 6.6 miles long and I averaged 1 mile per hour. Some of the commenters gave me enough information to calculate their speed: 0.5, 0.6, 0.7, 0.8, 0.9, 0.9, 0.9, 1.1, 1.2, 1.2, 1.3, 1.3 mph. Average: 0.95 mph.

Conclusion: Most hikers will describe this place as bad.

Rope to drug

It is true that there is an alternative: Lions Head Ridge. But it’s longer than the Lion Creek route, and judging by FarOut’s comments, it’s even worse. One of the two WEBOs I spoke to (Heebiejeebie, great trail name by the way) expressed concern about the impending Lion Creek shitshow. I was only vaguely aware of it then, because I hadn’t read FarOut’s comments much.

No man should know too much about his own destiny.

Emmett L. «Doc» Brown

After some research, I decided that Lion Creek was the lesser of two evils, so that was the route I went down. Here is my summary of the attack.

1. Climb: easy.
2. Crossing: simple.
3. Ridgeline: a piece of cake.
4. Descent, part A: overgrown but easy.
5. Descent, Part B: The most frustrating hike I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.

The source of my frustration was failure, plain and simple. He would be following a faint game trail, find a fallen tree, and the trail would disappear. Recovering any semblance of a path was time-consuming and, before long, painful. The undergrowth was dense; mostly willow bushes ranging from waist height to shoulder height. They seemed determined to trip me up and succeeded several times. Even when they failed, they scraped my arms and legs, causing a small amount of additional, persistent swelling. As each scratch became imperceptibly more painful, it took me an hour or two to realize that this was «death by a thousand cuts.»

Also, my OpenTopoMap didn’t show the stream, so I missed several crossings and had to backtrack or improvise.

decisive argument

Then an opportunity presented itself and I couldn’t resist. I found a shortcut; a cheat code; a last resort. A huge tree had fallen, leaving a section of bare, branchless trunk nearly 100 feet long and 30 inches in diameter. Pointing roughly in the direction I needed to go, it was an elevated highway that ran through a difficult part of the city. I climbed into it and enjoyed a brief respite.

This short stretch of road even had an exit ramp. When I reached the top of the tree and its branches prevented further progress, I saw my exit. Just a few inches from the trunk of my tree was the exposed root ball of a small, uprooted tree. It was at the perfect height to use as a step to ground level, so I took a step. He might as well have taken a step into the air. Although the root ball looked solid, it had the structural integrity of a wet cardboard box. It was covered in pine needles, maybe that’s why I miscalculated. In any case, my right foot met no resistance and I immediately lost my balance. I crouched heavily on my left heel and, for an instant, stood frozen in time and space. Then, very slowly, I began to fall backwards.

Generally speaking, if you ever experience bullet time, something has gone wrong. When my backpack hit the tree trunk and I began to roll to my right, my mind was already racing. As heaven and earth traded places, I raised my right hand in front of my face, palm facing outward and knuckles just an inch from my nose. One last thought.

«You’ll break your fingers. You’ll need your fingers.»

I closed my right hand into a fist.

lights off

I’m pretty sure the chirping birds were real. I’m pretty sure a referee’s distant voice was imaginary.

“Seven… Eight… Nine…”

I stood there for a moment, waiting to see which parts of me hurt enough to be cause for concern.

My nose. I pressed the bridge of my nose with my fingertips, but it didn’t seem to be broken. A cut at the base of my right thumb was bleeding, but not deeply. I carefully pulled myself out of the pile of brush and branches and then slowly stood up. My ribs were tender in two places, lower left and upper right, but other than that, there were no injuries. If there had been witnesses, I would have been embarrassed. Fortunately, I was the only person for miles around, so no one will ever know what happened that afternoon.

Rehabilitation, part one

The surgeon touched, pushed and abused my left knee. It had been about ten days since he had had his ACL replaced and the rehabilitation process was just beginning. The only signs of the surgery were a shaved patch of skin and four small scars. When he finished his exam, he seemed satisfied with the results.

«Minimal swelling, minimal scarring. Very good.»

His comment reminded me of an old joke, and for a split second I considered trying it.

«But I thought orthopedic surgeons dig scars.»

“No, those are girls. chicks your scars.”

«Ah. I stand corrected.»

I decided not to risk it. Instead, I simply smiled, thanked him, and limped out of his office.

If that surgeon saw my legs today, he would be disappointed because I haven’t taken better care of his work. 13 years have passed and those four scars are now hidden among the many left by several thousand kilometers of walking.

I can only tie one of the scars to a specific time and place: in the summer of 2021, the K section of the PCT in Washington was quite neglected. My left kneecap collided with a granite outcropping in a bush, causing a two-inch-long gash.

Almost all of the other scars were caused by a random encounter with a tree that had fallen across the road. Where there once were branches, I found a series of daggers, several inches long, waiting to impale the unsuspecting or uncoordinated hiker. I avoided most of the wooden weaponry, but in the end it’s a numbers game. Sooner or later, another stiletto would inevitably leave its mark.

Rehabilitation, part two

So here are, finally, my suggestions to get the PNT rehabilitation process going.

1. Narrow the definition of “bushwhack” to include only conditions like Lion Creek. Out-of-service roads and overgrown trails do not automatically qualify. Neither do walks on the beach. Update FarOut routes and waypoints using this new definition to set hiker expectations appropriately.
2. There are no riots on the red line. Some hikers, perhaps blindly or zealously, always follow the FarOut red line. It shouldn’t necessarily be the line of least resistance, but it should be the line of least consequence. Confining attacks to substitutes will result in fewer injuries.
3. When it comes to maintenance, prioritize purging. I only encountered two sections of bad PNT, each a couple of miles long, but I completely avoided the approach to Frosty Pass. A fire in 2022 devastated that stretch of trail.
4. Out-of-service roads also need maintenance. In the years since they were abandoned, nature has done a good job of bringing them back. Young trees that can currently be removed with pruners will soon need a saw.

My first road out of service on the PNT, west of Polebridge, Montana.

Afterthoughts

In closing, here are some totally real and definitely not made-up opinions about the PNT from some of the locals I found.

The purge That’s what bothers me.

Billy Bighorn, Polebridge, MT.

Abandoned roads may be slow, but shoulders and ditches make them a real waste of time. It probably added 10 minutes to my commute.

Joan Doe, Bonners Ferry, ID.

The PNT? I’m new in town, but I’m sure I’ve heard of it. It’s crazy, right?

Gary “MunchaBunch” Grizz, Pasayten, WA.