A high ceiling which periodically misted or spat rain but largely just maintained a damp environment. The trees, lichens, and mosses reflected this nature. Fallen trees in varying states of decay, being reclaimed by the forest floor; coated with a frosting of thick, green moss. Fall colors appeared on the trees around me. Hues of red and orange carpeted the foliage around my feet and along the trail. By the second day the clouds had dropped and I moved through a fog. I can say that I know a very narrow swath of southern Washington. Due to private land issues the trail made its way up and then promptly back down mountain sides.I was pushing miles to try to meet Andy up in Packwood and so, as the ground was taking longer to cover, I found myself walking late into the evenings. Where I used to be able to walk without a headlamp until about 9 pm, the shorter days made themselves felt. By 8:30 I was in total darkness. While I had always enjoyed night-hiking with my trail family, it was a very different thing when hiking alone. In particular, one night I was pushing to the top of a mountain and came across a sign labeling the area into which I was head an 'Experimental Forest', the 'Cougar Creek Branch'. Certainly an innocuous enough sign but under cover of night my mind wandered to the island of Dr. Moreau. Suddenly I couldn't move fast enough and setting up my tent was a race against fantastical creatures. The next day I came across a couple of trail angels who did trail work in the area and we were able to laugh about it.
Having been out here this long I am coming to know my own physical and mental limitations. Somewhere in southern Oregon, my will was tested to its limit. About 5 miles out of Ashland I sat down on the trail side and began to cry; nothing specifically was getting to me, it was just everything. Rif-Raf sat with me and explained that this was a challenge which we all faced at that phase in the trail. Somehow, knowing that this was not something particular to me made it more manageable. Over the next couple weeks I spoke freely of the difficulties I was dealing with and began to cast them in a light of humor. Almost every member of my trail neighborhood were in the same boat. Knowing this was something we were all facing gave me strength.
By Washington, it was my resolve being tested. After a week of moving through constant fog; having circled Mt. Adams without a single view, I began to wonder why I was doing this.
Why push on through all of the wet and cold and heavy. Why, why, why. I came up with a variety of reasons and responses but the mantra which it came down to was, "because it matters to me." Because I now know this is something I can do; it is just a matter of proving it to myself.At one point I was headed through the Goat Lakes Wilderness, a reputedly gorgeous area (of which I had seen nothing). I had been pushing long miles for a week without my trail family around and it was beginning to wear on me.
I began on an extended uphill late one afternoon and felt the full weight of it. Days of pushing through brush which had soaked all my clothes and were scratching and grabbing at my legs. Bleak weather and physical, emotional, and mental wear. I needed to know someone Up There was on my team. I called out and asked for some sign of support. Anything. I trudged on for a mile; disillusioned and alone. The second mile I was choking back tears. At the end of the third mile I came up into a pass at about 7000 feet. There, an entire herd of mountain goats waited for me. The kids cavorted, young bucks wrestled, mothers protected, and then there was Billy. He lay atop a high rock and watched the herd; eyeing me. For just a moment the clouds broke and the colors of sunset reached across the valley below me. I felt refreshed. I felt strong. I knew my way was blessed.
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