Taking the Time to Pick Huckleberries

With a limited window of opportunity to make it to the Canadian border before the snow falls in Washington, I’ve been on a rigid itinerary ever since I left Campo, California on May 14. 

I’ve had to spend less time in town and make other sacrifices along the way to save time, but I learned that sometimes, I have to stop and enjoy the moment and stop worrying about itineraries. 

Leaving Snoqualmie Pass after an entire day spent with family helped my morale beyond belief. I had spent nearly a month on a smoke filled trail before I flip-flopped from Ashland, Oregon to Stevens Pass, Washington. I’m now hiking south back to Ashland before I take another 12 hour Greyhound up to Stevens where I will hike 188 miles to the Canadian border. 

The flip allowed me just three full days before the smoke made its way into Washington. I beat myself up over the decision having left my friends behind in Ashland just to hike in smoke by myself. The only thing worse than hiking in smoke is doing it alone. The smoke was even too dense to see Mount Rainier from the top of Crystal Mountain and Chinook Pass. 

Four days after leaving Snoqualmie Pass, I arrived at the Cracker Barrel at the summit of White Pass where my dad met me with a cooler full of trail magic including beer, soda and fruit that we dispersed to all of the hikers in the area. After spending a couple of hours delivering trail magic, we drove down to Packwood to meet with a ski buddy of mine to grab beers at the Blue Spruce and a pizza at Cruisers before heading back to his house where I was able to clean up and rest before the push to Trout Lake. 

Due to the Miriam fire, we were forced to take an alternate route to get back to the Pacific Crest Trail which ended up being the most physically challenging 16 or so miles of the entire trail. The trail was well marked and in a beautiful area but unmaintained, about a foot wide in sections and steep. The trail map was not loaded in my phone and there was not a published water report and the exact mileage was unknown at that point — I was hiking blind, but I was just happy the smoke temporarily subsided. 

After a grueling reroute, I finally made it to Goat Rocks Wilderness which is simply amazing. There are no other words to describe it. The trail brought me through areas that felt like the Lord of the Rings and others felt more like the Sound of Music. I managed my way up the famous stretch known as the Knives Edge where the peak of Old Snowy stands just a short climb away. It was late in the evening and I still had at least five more miles to the nearest campsite, but I couldn’t say no to bagging the peak of Old Snowy. I ditched my pack and scrambled up to the summit  where I witnessed the smoke beginning to roll back in but it was clear enough to see Mount Rainier, Mount Adams and Mount Saint Helens. I arrived at my camp just before dark but I felt accomplished to have made it back to the PCT and happy I took the time to summit Old Snowy. 

I left the Goat Rocks the next morning with Mount Adams in my sights. The mountain became larger with every step that I took and it seemed the huckleberries did too. I caught myself picking berries for 10 minutes at a time and getting further and further behind on the day but the sweet burst of flavor in every berry made it impossible to pass them by and eventually I pulled out my plastic jar and began to fill it to the brim before leaving. Just like the night before, I ended up walking into camp just before dark because I chose to take a little extra time to pick berries. I decided the day I stop picking berries is the day that I am only focused on the itinerary and am no longer having fun. 

I arrived to the little town of Trout Lake the following day — my last resupply before I walked across the Bridge of the Gods and into Oregon. I was eager to get back to Oregon so I planned to resupply and get out of town but then decided to treat myself and I split a hotel room with another hiker at the Trout Lake Valley Inn. As disgusted as I am to say it, this would be my last shower and the last time I did laundry for nine days and nearly 250 miles. 

I was only three days away from Oregon and in a hurry to get to Cascade Locks. As I trekked further south, I anticipated seeing a few more northbound hikers than the days previous but I did not expect to be swimming upstream through the herd of hundreds of hikers leaving Cascade Locks after PCT Days, an annual festival geared toward thru hiking.

The herd continually passed and I began to stop asking how people were doing and tried to push on without making small talk with anyone that passed by until I saw Rabbit, who I’d started the trail with. It was the first of many great reunions, I began to see more and more people that I started this great journey with and many hugs and stories were shared. Again I found myself running behind schedule but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to chat with old friends. 

Just 12 days after I left Stevens Pass, I found myself walking across the Bridge of the Gods and into Oregon. When I left Campo, I dreamed of the moment that I’d be walking across that bridge — I thought this moment would be filled with a sensation of walking home but things don’t always work out as planned. Where is home anyway? For me, it’s usually 25-30 miles from where I was at yesterday. 

Cascade Locks was a quick stop in and out as I was trying to meet Paradise who I’d hiked nearly the entire desert and Sierra sections with at Timberline Lodge at the base of Mount Hood for the famous breakfast buffet in two days. 

The second day out of the Locks was filled with cold temperatures and rain. All of us hikers have said we don’t mind the rain as long as it helps with the wildfire situation until we actually have to hike in it. I found hiking in the rain to be miserable, my hands were numb, feet soaked and my tent was waterlogged but I was only 24 hours away from a hot breakfast with an old friend so I pushed on. I pushed on for the last six miles the following morning and was welcomed to the table by Paradise and Gray who I’d last seen in Kennedy Meadows more than two months ago. 

We ate and ate until our stomachs couldn’t consume any more before we sat in the cozy lodge and compared stories of the previous two months. We all planned to leave by 1 p.m. but by that time we were already back in the restaurant to get our fill of pizza before returning to the common area where we sat for another few minutes before grabbing one last drink at the bar. It was now 2:30 p.m. but we were all having a such a great time catching up that none of us wanted to leave. Paradise and I ordered hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps while Gray ordered bourbon on the rocks. It felt great to have a warm drink after spending a day getting soaked by the rain. I reminded myself that sometimes you just have to stop and pick the huckleberries and this is one of those times.  

After our drinks we all finally decided that we needed to get back on the trail. We walked up to the junction, said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. It’s always tough to say goodbye to your friends on trail, you never know if or when you will see them again but I will always remember the time we spent carrying 12 pounds of water to survive through the 30 mile dry stretches in the Mojave Desert and the people that got me through it. 

The following days out of Timberline would be some of the toughest. It wasn’t challenging terrain, actually it was relatively flat but the rain was relentless. Every night around 7 p.m. or so the wind would pick up and it would pour down rain until about 10 a.m., making it tough to leave the comfort of my tent. Every morning I would put on my wet socks and shoes and hike another 25-30 miles with a goal to make it to Santiam Pass on my birthday where I would meet family who live near Bend, Oregon and were generous enough to house and take care of me for the following few days while I rested and resupplied. 

I have about 280 miles left in Oregon and plan to be back in Ashland by Sept. 7 before returning to Stevens Pass and making my attempt to the border. This adventure is far from over but the end is slowly coming into sight. As I enter the last couple of weeks, I am excited to reach the border and achieve what I set out to do . At the same time I am reminded to stop and pick the huckleberries.