PCT Miles 2350-2650

9/18 – 9/29

-> Ulrich Cabin -> Canada 🇨🇦

With fresh new motivation, Pony Boy and I set off from the Ulrich cabin and I felt my strength finally returning after being sick.

Pony Boy and I talked for hours, and it felt easy because we were content to hike together but not worried about hiking alone if we got separated.

During our long conversations, we discussed why the trail could be so fulfilling for some hikers while others experienced burnout. We came up with the theory that there are three satisfying parts to thru-hiking:

1. Physical challenge
2. Enjoying nature
3. Trail community

If you couldn’t enjoy all three, it was easy to lose interest when one did not deliver. The hikers I had seen experiencing burnout were often physically exhausted from pushing too hard, losing interest in the natural experience, or were too attached to a social group to lean into the rest of the experience.

I enjoyed all three elements throughout my time on trail. I spent memorable days with new friends in small mountain towns, relaxing days soaking in the changing ecosystems, and long days grinding out miles alone in the rain. I never thought of quitting on hard days because enduring difficult miles made good days even sweeter.

The clouds settled back in as we climbed higher into Washington’s mountains where we stopped on a foggy ridge to set up camp at 10 pm. There were a couple of other hikers already tucked away in their tents.

As I laid in bed, I could hear high-pitched elk calls echoing from the canyons below. It was becoming my favorite sound on trail.

An hour into sleeping, I was visited by a mouse that entered the hole in my mesh and made frantic laps around the inside of my tent. It was useless to patch my tent if they just chewed new holes, and the mosquitos had all died off in the cold. I had heard of plenty of hikers experiencing this in Washington, and mice were notorious for chewing through gear.

When it clambered up my tent again at 1 am, I sprayed a perimeter of pepper spray around my tent and slept soundly.

Although we had the same mileage plan and end date now, Pony Boy and I spent time alone and planned to just use the same campsites.

I set off just before Pony Boy in the morning and had 26 miles to the small mountain town in Snoqualmie Pass. I needed to make it there before the shops closed and then hike a few more miles north after resupplying.

The cold fog made for wet gear and dripping branches at night, but seeing the morning sun shining through in the mornings made it worth it.

I paused in these foggy woods and noticed an elk calling to my left and another to my right. The sound was becoming a unique part of trail in Washington and I thought this would be the perfect place to see an elk up close.

I recalled some of the things I learned from the hunter I had met just before White Pass:

• Sometimes, the elk are much closer than they sound
• You can mimic the sound of an elk raking its antlers on a tree by using a big stick. This could attract a curious or territorial bull elk.

Grabbing the biggest stick I could find, I started aggressively beating the nearest tree.

After ten minutes of tree assault and silent pauses (I was committed), the call to my right got closer. I became dead. Something shifted behind the trees as it approached.

An arm.

A human arm.

A crossbow.

That’s a hunter with an elk call, not an elk.

I quietly snuck away down the trail before he could see me and laughed at the idea of wasting each other’s time pretending to be elk.

Mushrooms continued to be a highlight on trail and I encountered a few mushroom-foraging groups in this area. I asked an old man and his son for some tips on which mushrooms to eat but I quickly forgot their suggestions since I didn’t have a stove to cook the things.

Washington was already going by quickly and I was planning to move even quicker for the second half. By now, I was just east of Seattle.

I had a comically restless lunch break that day.

First, there was a breathe-through-your-mouth rotting smell that I couldn’t outwalk, and it persisted through lunch.

Second, yellow jackets showed up and stung my foot and calf at the same time which caused me to drop my PB&J halves face down on my clothes.

All my gear was lying out to dry, so I paced back and forth while more yellow jackets pestered me.

Oh well – I’d made it over 2000 miles without a bug bite so it was about time.

I kept a strong pace and made it about 26 miles in nine hours. It was now time for my quickest resupply. Thankfully, Snoqualmie Pass had a pizza place inside of Lee’s Summit grocery store which made it a one-stop shop for getting everything I needed in town.

I had phenomenal pizza and ate a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream while I recharged all of my devices and resupplied in the grocery store. I only needed enough food to make it about 70 miles up the trail to my 2nd to last town stop, Stevens Pass.

While there, I met some energetic new hikers and a local who told us where all the other locals go for karaoke. This would have been a no-brainer side quest earlier on trail, but I was fixed on finishing before October so I put the idea out of my mind.

Pony Boy caught up to me but still had to do some town chores so we agreed to camp four miles out. After meeting the restaurant owner’s dogs and having a sweet conversation with the grocery store owner, I put on my headlamp and walked back to trail.

A handful of night miles later, I crawled into bed and listened to more elk calls in the dark. I had hiked 29.8 miles that day and it felt good to keep up with my mile goal on a “town day.” I never heard Pony Boy arriving so I assumed he was somewhere nearby and would catch me the following day.

It was drizzling as I packed up in the morning. If I had learned anything in Washington, it was that I was likely to get wet every day, regardless of the forecast.

The trail was rocky and cold clouds were sweeping over the ridge. I tried not to fixate on how much the rock fields were slowing me down, but I was already multiple miles behind my daily average before lunch.

As the trail looped and wound around the mountain ridges, I repeatedly walked up into the freezing clouds and down again into the sweet relief of clear air.

All at once, I turned a corner looking north and left the clouds behind. The second half of the day rewarded me with blue skies and warm sun.

I took nice, long lunch breaks even when I felt behind schedule. Even on 30 mile days, time was made to sit by a beautiful lake whenever it came my way.

It had been 12 days since I went swimming and longer since a proper shower. I didn’t like having greasy hair so I used dirt as dry shampoo. It worked surprisingly well. Dirt = clean.

The shallow lake had plush grass beds along the perimeter next to perfectly ripened huckleberries. It wasn’t warm enough to go swimming so a head dunk would suffice.

I had gotten used to living like nobody was nearby, but the Alpine Lakes wilderness was full of backpacking groups. One guy walked up on me lying with my head in the lake and said he didn’t want to interrupt my spa day, and I’m pretty sure that the group of cute girls I passed watched me rub dirt in my hair while I trotted down some switchbacks.

A couple of different weekenders also warned me about rain.

“You got a tent? You’ll need one in about ten days”

“I have a tent but I’m planning to be in Canada in nine days”

“How many miles is that?”

“250 more to go if I don’t have to skip the next fire closure!”

I didn’t bother telling them that I had been through rain, hail, and snow multiple times or that my coldest and wettest experiences had been 5 months ago in southern California.

I had my fill of storms and was hustling to avoid any more of them.

I was so happy to wake up to the sun on my tent on the 21st.

The next two days before getting to Stevens Pass were beautiful and uncomplicated.

I listened to podcasts and audiobooks and strolled along. Pony Boy had fallen slightly behind so we communicated with rare spots of cell service and were both on track to finish on the 29th. That meant I only had one full week of hiking ahead of me.

Any time I felt especially tired, it was easy to continue knowing that the entire experience was coming to a close.

After walking the wrong way in the dark and finding myself at the shore of Surprise Lake (an unwelcome surprise), I took a steep side trail up to the PCT and slept at the top of Trap Pass. The moon was bright through a clear sky. While setting up my tent, I talked with a couple that was in their tent behind the trees. I never saw their faces since I had to get up before them but we had some nice conversations.

The northern Cascades were proving to be rocky with plenty of Pikas. They were often screaming and collecting plants and pretending to be busy. One of them walked down the rocks towards me so it could bite my shoelaces.

Just miles before I made it to Steven Pass, I got amazing news from some volunteers who were clearing brush from the trail: the 100-mile fire closure ahead had just opened up.

This was the last closed section between me and the border and one that I had learned about over a month before. The two large fire closures in Washington had pushed a lot of my trail friends to finish weeks before they had planned.

I was so happy that I didn’t have to decide between skipping, a crummy alternate trail, or breaking the rules and hiking through the closure.

I spent a while at Stevens Pass enjoying some huckleberry ice cream and expensive ski lift food. I also picked up the package of food that Michele (from Chester) had sent to me! Had she not arranged this for me, I would have had to resupply on overpriced string cheese and Snickers bars.

Pony Boy arrived a couple of hours later and we reconvened after a few days apart.

We felt so close to the end because we only had one resupply left after Stevens Pass. In reality, we still had 40% of Washington to hike in just 6.5 days.

We decided to sync up our hiking after Stevens Pass so we could motivate each other to do 30 miles each day.

After camping together, Pony Boy and I took on another drizzly Washington morning on the 23rd.

When the view was clear, the northern Cascades were quite stunning. The mountains had patches of colors from dark evergreen trees, late-season wildflowers, and red huckleberry bushes.

Since Pony Boy and I were hiking step in step, we developed a routine teetering between hours of talking and hours of alone time.

We talked in detail about how we heard about the PCT and what we anticipated before hiking it. We debriefed countless hikers we knew and compared where our social bubbles had overlapped or separated since both starting in March.

That day might have been the most consistently beautiful day on the whole trail.

After passing mile 2500, we had dinner with a beautiful sunset and prepared for some night hiking. Neither of us liked getting up before the sun when everything was damp and unwelcoming, but we needed to fit 30 miles into each day. Night hiking every night until the border was the only option, and one that I had learned to like a lot. I loved watching the day close out completely and walking in the peace of the night.

We finished 31.2 miles while crossing rocky streams and hiked beneath the stars. Only five full days to go.

The next morning was surprisingly clear and warm, and it wasn’t going to hold for long.

We were entering the land of blowdowns and bushwhacking which would only worsen over the next couple of days.

As we ascended out of the valley, we could see Glacier Peak filling the horizon.

We had lunch with a massive view overlooking the wilderness and could see the PCT zigzagging up in tight switchbacks to the north.

The fire closure had been lifted, but we could see smoke in the direction we were headed to the north.

Mica lake was beautiful and clear. If we weren’t hiking such long days, I would have stayed here for an hour or two.

During a long descent, Pony Boy and I experienced aggravating bushwhacking through the newly opened trail.

The switchbacks down the canyon were wet, slippery, and slanted with ankle rolling rocks that were obscured by overgrowth. The barbed vines grabbed at my skin and clothes while painting me wet.

When the raggedy trail spit us out at the bottom of the canyon, we looked up at the switchbacks ahead and Ponyboy said “now that I’m filled with rage, I can do this uphill.”

We saw other hikers as the sun was setting and we commiserated with them after the overgrowth. We had hardly seen any PCT hikers in days.

We feasted on my Trader Joe’s snacks and then eased into our night hiking rhythm.

2010’s throwback pop.

Quick steps.

Filtering water in the dark.

Blowdowns. Over. Under.

We called it quits with 26.4 miles done.

My feet and knees droned with soreness but I was happy and content to be in bed as early as 11 pm. We pulled a weather report on our Garmins and saw rain forecasted for the next two days. Sure, why not – it was the last week and I would make it to the terminus even if I was tattered, wet, and cold.

We didn’t cover our allotted 30 miles so we would pay our mile debts (and then some) the next day.

After over 2500 miles, convenience and protein content mattered more than flavor. Most mornings started with scoops of protein powder directly in my mouth or some drinkable concoction.

We were trying to make it to Stehekin by night because we had reserved a shuttle ride into town the next morning.

After some morning rain, we bundled up our wet gear and hiked around, over, and under massive blowdowns. It was hard to be bothered by the fallen trees when they were so impressive. Even their excavated roots loomed high above me.

We were especially stoked this morning because we had planned to take an alternate trail that would follow the original PCT route and shave 5 miles off our long day. Without that shortcut, we were looking at a 37-mile day.

We took the side route at Upper Suiattle Trail and talked confidently about how nothing could prevent us from crossing that river.

We had crossed plenty of rivers in the Sierra during the snowmelt!

After a few miles, we found the riverbank and walked downriver looking for a good place to cross. The morning rain was unkind to us and the water was rushing more than I expected. My confidence dropped immediately.

We tried stepping out into the river at multiple points but I felt immediately unstable. The water was swift, sandy, and too murky to plan a single step.

When I stepped in, my feet sank into the sand or the sand got swept away underneath them. It was shifty and sinking.

After a full hour of pacing the river bank and stress-eating all of my Skittles, we turned back.

We were bummed but also grateful that the choice to turn back was unanimous. I don’t think there was any way I could have crossed that river without being swept over its rocks.

Not only did we miss out on the shortcut, but we had to hike it both ways and STILL hike the long way to cross the bridge.

With miles to make up from the day before, we were still 34.4 miles away from our planned campsite for the night.

Neither of us wanted to push back our end date so we accepted our fate and kept going. It was our last week and we were in pursuit of a little misery to make the end more gratifying.

34.4 miles after 1 pm? Why not. There was no use calculating how late into the night we would be hiking so we put in our headphones and started the march. We wouldn’t sit down for the next six hours.

I was happy to leave the Suiattle river behind as we finally crossed the bridge. We barely spoke while chipping away at the bulk of miles between us and Stehekin.

After 11 miles of unbroken uphill, we had dinner.

It was drizzly and getting cold so we shared Pony Boy’s peach cobbler before the daylight gave out. My hands were impaired from the cold, but PB gave me the pack of hot cobbler to hold.

By dinner, we were over the hump but there were still 20 miles between us and Stehekin. 20 miles was my longest day during my first week on trail and I now had to do it after dinner in the rain.

The next 9 hours were certainly memorable.

The dark set in with fresh wind that swept the rain sideways against our faces. It rained for the next four hours. We got wet and uncomfortably cold and checked in on each other regularly. One of us always had the confidence to continue when the other didn’t.

I was half a day away from a real meal and dry clothes, which was all it took to stay motivated.

The cold, rainy miles were only broken by the comic relief of a strange gray blob of a creature that scurried across the trail in front of us. I laughed at its featureless and helpless state of being. It turned out to be a mountain beaver.

We had to keep moving to stay warm. My hands were white and my pinkies were too cold to pull in.

At 10 pm, my phone detected water in its port, making my headphones useless and the screen stopped responding to my soaked hands. Talking made me feel more exhausted, so I accepted my fate of hiking in silence.

I drudged through the next six hours in the darkwhile fixating on Pony Boy’s steps in front of me.

Strangely, those early morning hours were the most pleasant the entire day. The rain relented and I slipped into a timeless zoned-out state of mind where anything I chose to ponder became deeply entertaining to me. I imagined working a shift at my first job or revisiting specific and inconsequential memories of people I knew. I was nearly daydreaming and placing myself into random scenarios that pushed away how uncomfortable I was.

We arrived at High Bridge Historical Cabin & Camp just past 4 am with my wet feet pulsing from overuse.

We were proud to have stuck with our goal and in a little disbelief that we had just walked 42 miles with bouts of cold rain.

The shuttle was coming at 9 am so we quickly set up camp and savored 4 hours of deep sleep.

The bright blue bus was a reassuring sight that promised comfort. It was even more exciting when I saw Tangerine, Ranger, and Big Cat.

We only had a few minutes to catch up since they were coming back to trail and we were going to town, but it had been so long since I had seen PCTers from California. Since picking up the pace in Washington, everybody I met had been new except for Pony Boy.

Seeing friends from central California helped connect the entire experience and it was sweet sharing in the excitement of the final week. I later saw Paw Patrol and Sling Shady and had to assume it was the last time I would ever see all of those people.

The bus driver was friendly and the seats and heater felt like luxury after the preceding 24 hours of wet. We made a highly anticipated stop at the bakery before going into Stehekin where I bought a haul of baked goods.

I sat among kind tourists with my iced coffee, rolls, bagels, a hot sandwich, a quiche, a dessert bar, and a cinnamon roll and I thought about how cold and exhausted I had been just 6 hours before.

Stehekin didn’t have great grocery options so I scraped together my last resupply with food from a hiker box, bakery goods, and a few things from the convenience store. It was satisfying to have the last needed items to carry me to the Canadian border.

I also picked up my passport that Dad shipped up to Stehekin. I wasn’t originally planning to hike into Canada but I changed my plans so I could stay with friends in Vancouver.

After doing my laundry, I bought two Rainier beers for Pony Boy and me to drink at the border and then we took the blue bus back to the trail. At our second bakery stop, I ate some spring rolls and packed out some pizza, a lime bar, and a cheesecake bar.

It was bittersweet making my last PCT town stop but I was grateful to turn one last dot on the map into a lasting memory.

As usual, town was a huge morale boost and a mental reset. It had felt like we were the last hikers in Washington until we got to Stehekin. Many hikers skipped the previous 100 miles because they had already arranged their end of trail plans before it reopened. That meant we all converged in Stehekin and I saw familiar hikers getting off the ferry, including Flora!

Riding the bus up the mountain with a group of excited hikers felt like being a kid on the way to camp. We were living an experience that only we understood in full and making memories that we’d cherish forever.

Not long after hitting the trail with our fresh dry clothes, it rained again. The forecast would be clear in the morning, so we put up with one last evening of rain.

That night, we camped in a clearing with around 10 other hikers who were all hunkered down in the rain. It was unusual for me to camp near anybody at all, let alone a huge group.

I slept for 10 hours and we packed up by 7 am on the 27th. We were facing a 66-mile stretch over the next two days.

We crossed Highway 20 and took a break at Rainy Pass before hiking to Cutthroat Pass. Happy Feet got dropped off while we were there! I had met her at the hostel way back in Lake Tahoe.

The way up to Cutthroat Pass was beautiful with the best weather we had in a while. The huckleberry bushes were a deep red and some of the larches were starting to turn yellow. Larches are conifers but they’re deciduous instead of evergreens. They blend in with the pines from afar and then turn yellow and drop their needles in the winter.

The view from trail was panoramic for most of the day after Cutthroat Pass. When Washington wasn’t rainy, it lived up to every beautiful picture I had seen over the years.

I had lots of pondering time while listening to music and soaking in the clear cool weather.

We night hiked again and I wrote “easiest 32 miles ever” in my notes. After the infamous 4 am hike, going until 11 or midnight didn’t seem so bad anymore.

We started to smell smoke in the dark and I imagined yet another fire to avoid on trail. I was later relieved to see a campfire surrounded by Bloodsport, Big Cat, and Free Bird #2. Yet again, I was stumbling on hikers I hadn’t seen since central California. It was starting to feel like a Survivor finale where they recalled every contestant from the season.

The rain had stopped but it was getting uncomfortably cold at night. I had to drive my stakes through a layer of frozen mud and my rain-soaked tent froze immediately as I set it up.

I hadn’t had a night that cold since my first month on trail which reminded me of how long I had been on the PCT. Since stepping foot in Campo, I had experienced the entirety of spring and summer and was now multiple weeks into fall.

September 28th, 2024.

It was finally my last full day of hiking on the PCT. If all went well, we would camp just 4 miles from the northern terminus and be there first thing in the morning.

The last day was full of welcomed weather and high spirits. We were on track. Pony Boy was starting to experience ankle and knee pain that slowed us down but he took some pain meds, taped things up, and pushed through the discomfort.

I could see far enough in the clear weather to know for certain that I was looking at Canada.

Hart’s Pass was the last time the trail would intersect a road before the northern terminus. Even more hikers were skipping ahead there and I reconnected with Mosey, Savory, and Grizzly Adams.

Many hikers chose not to enter Canada and they had to hike 30 miles back to Hart’s Pass after finishing.

We passed some of these southbounders on their victory lap back to Hart’s Pass and celebrated with cheers and fist bumps. One of them gave us some hiker meals since he didn’t need them anymore! We were set to feast on our last night.

It was the day of many lasts.

Last time slipping on my damp trail runners. Last time filtering water. Last uphill stretch. Last time setting up my tent. Last time sending a satellite check-in message to my mom while sitting on my inflatable pad. Last time inflating that pad. Last time eating on the ground with strangers from any given state or country.

I knew I would be nostalgic in the future, but I was excited to finish.

We ate dinner with a big group of hikers and I appreciated seeing more people over the last few days. It was tempting to stay with them and to soak up the community but we were committed to our original deadline.

The cold was setting in so we layered up, put on our headlamps, and set back out on the trail.

We had been asked multiple times if we were the guys hiking at night. It was time to solidify that reputation.

Pony Boy and I celebrated making it up our last hill on the entire trail at 10 pm and then got to our campground at midnight.

The night was clear and freezing. We both slept in my tent with the comfort of knowing we were only four miles from the end. Our legs and minds were tired, but we did it. We felt like we had pushed our bodies as much as we could without going over the edge.

September 29th, 2024

Do you want to go to Canada?

At 8 am, I packed up my well-loved tent and sleep system knowing I wouldn’t have to look at either again until I pulled them out in a hotel in Canada.

The end of the PCT was around the corner, but it didn’t feel like the end of a six-month journey. It felt like I was finishing a difficult couple of weeks in Washington.

The last few weeks had been a challenge of my own making. Washington was steeper, longer, and rainier than Oregon, and I gave myself less time to finish it. I didn’t take any zero days, I got sick in the middle, and I hiked longer days.

Since I had been immersed in hiking through Washington, I had to remind myself that I was at the end of what began thousands of miles away in the middle of March.

Pony Boy suggested talking through our experiences from the beginning to recall what we could. We walked our last four miles energetically narrating everything we could remember. We talked in such detail that we just got to discussing northern California after an hour and a half.

We talked about the storms in the first month, the first people we met, the social dynamics of early trail families, oddball fear-mongering trail angels, and the excitement of trail life in each of its phases. We could still name the random mile numbers, landmarks, or towns where we met every hiker who would later become a friend.

Talking through each minuscule memory out loud put the entire experience into perspective.

With high anticipation, we passed mile 1 from the terminus and I looked for the Canadian border ahead. Instead of any marked wall or signage, the border is defined by a line of removed forest that bisects the mountains.

Seeing the cutout of the border materialize to my left was surreal.

In the last hours, I felt the habits of trail falling away. It felt like quitting a job and offloading every learned system from my mind.

There was no more thinking about how much water I had or how much I’d need when I crossed the next stream.

No more mental inventory loops to ration each bite of food.

No more arranging each piece of clothing in my pack based on the weather.

No more navigating every step.

At last, I watched my path intersect the Canadian border and justify over six years of my dreaming, researching, planning, and learning.

Pony Boy and I walked up to the northern terminus, dropped our packs next to some eager chipmunks, and appreciated the monument.

We took pictures for Flash Flood, Walmart, Upchuck, and Pen Bear. Two of them were new and the other two I met in Sierra City. My last time hearing trail names and thinking nothing of their oddness.

I should have packed out a more celebratory meal but I had cold-soaked ramen for breakfast. It was delicious and the beef jerky bits were an extra little treat for walking over 2650 miles.

We lingered for a while and signed the trail log. My hands were too cold to write anything more than my trail name. It would have to do.

The end of it all.

I wasn’t sad to see the PCT end. It meant so much to me before I filled it with my memories, and it still means a lot to me now.

All I felt at the end was gratitude and relief that I was able to hike the whole trail.

That is something I can not take full credit for. I planned meticulously before starting but many unpredictable factors can cut a thru-hike short. There were fire closures that closed behind me or opened in front of me by a day or even a few hours. I relied on advice from other hikers for precarious sections and received help from trail angels when I most needed it. I was lucky that I didn’t have to skip ahead and that I didn’t get any injuries.

I had only backpacked a few nights by myself before the PCT and had my fingers crossed that I would enjoy doing it for almost half a year. That day at the terminus, I was so grateful that the once crazy idea of walking from Mexico to Canada became a reality that I truly enjoyed.

Although we had finished the PCT, we were still 8 miles from Manning Park in Canada so we waved goodbye to the monument and kept walking.

Snowflakes started to fall in those 8 miles and we celebrated making it to Canada before winter closed out the season. There was snow on the forecast on October 1st which was my made-up deadline to finish. All of the long mile days had helped me finish in time.

An hour up the trail, I saw hikers coming southbound and was surprised to recognize them. It was Magic Mike and Rockyn Robyn. After meeting them on day two, I put their photo in my “PCT people” list and had seen it hundreds of times whenever I made a new addition. I had no idea if they had continued since seeing them last in Idyllwild at mile 179.

Strangely, I was more excited about seeing Magic Mike and Robyn than I was about finishing the trail.

The idea of walking to Canada wasn’t tangible. There were too many memories between Mexico and Canada for it to feel like a singular accomplishment. What was more tangible to me was the hundreds of hikers that characterized each section of the trail, including those I never met. The trail was brought to life by the recurring faces at water sources, strangers setting up tents in the woods, familiar packs moving on a distant ridge, and the easy-to-spot hikers in every town.

It felt like the end when I realized I wouldn’t be stumbling on any of those strangers, familiar faces, or close friends anymore.

In Manning Park, I collapsed my trekking poles for the last time and put my fanny pack away. I took out a heart-shaped rock that I had carried since northern California and tossed it in a river by the road. It was made by a trail angel’s son, Dakota, who carved rocks while hikers enjoyed a trail magic buffet. I promised I would take it to Canada and found the Quincy trail angels on Facebook to let Dakota know I had completed the mission.

After a big meal in Manning Park, Pony Boy and I looked for a way to travel two hours to Vancouver. We had finished the trail on time but still needed to find a way to meet up with our friends that night.

Right as we walked out to try hitchhiking, we ran into two sisters named Bam and McQueen. One of them had hiked the PCT in a previous year and the other had just hiked most of it and recognized Pony Boy from northern California.

They were about to drive back home to Vancouver after a day hike so we tagged along with them.

I spent that night and the majority of the next day in Vancouver with Pony Boy, One Shot, Sickness, Chip, and Bin Chicken.

It felt incredible cleaning up for good and washing my dirty clothes. I didn’t shower in Washington, so I scrubbed myself clean for the first time in three weeks.

We stayed up late at the hotel, discussing the minutiae of trail life while we still had the company of other thru-hikers. We all met in Southern California and encountered the same hikers, weather patterns, and wildfires. It felt right finishing the trail with friends who could relate to the smaller details of my experience.

After a few days in Washington with family and friends, I flew south to Oceanside and watched my northbound progress be undone in a matter of hours. The Cascades shifted into the Sierra Nevada which gave way to the familiar brown mountains of California in fall. Mountains that aren’t lush but full of wildlife if you look for it. The mountains where I fell in love with hiking.

A couple of weeks after finishing the PCT, I was finally homeward bound on the 5 freeway with my green Gregory backpack and the same Smart Water bottles from day 1. I had seen so much since March 18th when my dad drove me in the opposite direction to drop me off in Campo.

I remembered the excitement of finally seeing the concrete PCT monument next to the towering rusty slats of the border wall. I remembered the anticlimactic feeling that followed when there were no other hikers at the terminus and it started to rain.

I hugged my dad goodbye and he told me, “if you change your mind, just call me and I’ll come pick you up wherever you are.”

I knew I wouldn’t change my mind.