Dotti fell. She was two steps from having her spiked shoes on solid ground and the ice broke out from under her. She lost control of her ice axe and tumbled down the steep drop-off. She was helpless to stop and I was helpless to save her.
By the grace of God, she grabbed onto a tiny pine tree that scraped the hell out of her arm and stopped her from busting her head on the boulders and trees at the bottom of the slope.
The rest of our crossing of the Olympics was guided by that incident. It shook her up and I felt a cutting responsibility for putting us in that situation. Her, without the experience to use the safety equipment and me, pushing her a little too hard to make miles.
We climbed the pass at the end of that day and continued out of the valley by glissading on our butts to the river and following the trail to the warmer surrounds of lower elevation. Rather than get neck-deep in another crisis, we strayed from the short route over the pass and selected a lower elevation alternative that exposed us to less opportunities to unintentionally kill ourselves.
Yes, it added miles to the trek. We got separated one night when I followed a game trail instead of crossing the river on the (not-so-obvious) log that was the official trail. We had an emotional reunion in the dark after a few hours of searching for each other, but other than that, the Olympic Peninsula passed without incident.
If you’re new to Stoic Nomadic, I am on a journey walking, canoeing, and bicycling from Cape Alava, Washington to Key West, Florida. Check out this post where I lay out a brief overview of my journey.
From the Cape to here
We walked the wild and scenic shores of the Pacific starting at the westernmost point of the contiguous United States, Cape Alava. I learned about the dangers of headlands at high tide and pleasures of firm sand and a salty wind carrying the calling birds above my path.
All along that portion of the hike, the coast was rock stacks and boulders breaking the waves coming in from the ocean. I didn’t swim it. The Pacific seemed so charged and terrible as it smashed the shore and disappeared the mighty rivers that poured into it. It reminded me of all the stories I’ve read about the sea and I felt like I was at the scene of the crime, staring at the indifferent ocean that took so many sailors to its dark bottoms.
I was more than content to hop over tide pools and crane my neck back to admire the giants the rainforest calls trees. The deer still had their antler velvet, the flowers were in full bloom, and we had sunny days.
The rainforest fell away in the higher climbs of alpine meadows where the snow leaked into frigid lakes, the stars were a little brighter, and my breath came out in steam.
I was astonished by the vistas up in the Olympic Mountains and wondered why, even in the snow-free areas of the park, there were barely any visitors to come out and lay eyes on it for themselves.
Getting out of the mountains was a break from snow danger and day-long climbs, and a return to the mild walking of the shore with eagles above and sea otters below.
The ground is ripe for farming and livestock in the plains beside the sea are cut into neat green squares with cattle, potatoes, corn, and farmers who enjoy the peace and quiet.
Farms grew into logging country as I walked into the foothills of the coastal ranges east of Interstate 5 above the Skagit River Valley and down into the towns of Lyman and Concrete (where I am currently a guest in the library typing this update). Dotti and I did a little skipping ahead to get a few extra miles before she left, covering the trail in the snowy and stunning Mount Baker Wilderness.
With those miles complete, I have a 59-mile road-walk ahead of me. I’d like to do the trail miles up in the Cascade Mountains, but Swift Creek is still raging with snow melt and if I get in to ford it now, I run a high risk of not reaching the other side. Also, the trail going over the divide is closed due to mudslides, and trails beyond that remain the target of a search to find fugitive murder suspect Travis Decker.1
With those three elements to consider, I’ll be on highways, streets, and railroad tracks the next few days to get to Ross Lake where I will rejoin the trail. Although it would be tempting to take a ride from a passerby, I’m committed to completing every mile (that I possibly can) of this trip by manpower.
The only forward progress I’ve made under engine power was a ride over the unbridged Quillayute River at La Push, and a ferry over Puget Sound. The rest of the 400+ miles were on my own feet and a 17-mile bike ride into Port Townsend.
Gear
I used my previous kit for almost two nonstop years through mountains, jungles, coastlines, rivers, and deserts that wore it out pretty ragged. Initially, when I bought that stuff, I was focused on picking it up for bargain prices. Quality and lifespan were second and third-tier considerations.
Not anymore. I adopted a new philosophy as I selected the gear for this journey.
The cheapest gear is the stuff I won’t ever have to replace.
Some of the stuff won’t stand for several thousand miles. I know that. I’ve already had to repair the tent and Dotti’s pack. I’ve also replaced my sunglasses, bear cord, and water bladder. But my philosophy remains intact.
It’s worked out so far. I love my new tent, backpack, trekking poles. They are lighter, a better fit, and sturdier. All the snow gear was top-tier. No way I was going to save a buck on the stuff keeping me out of a rescue helicopter, so I didn’t pinch the budget on my spikes, ice axe, snow baskets, and cold weather layers.
Of course, we learned all that stuff doesn’t do us any good when you don’t use it correctly. After Dotti fell, we got to a safer area and practiced falling over and over again to fully get the hang of self arresting.
I know we should have done it sooner! I know that. After I saw her rolling down the hill though, headed for rocks and trees at the bottom, I knew I never wanted to watch her go so helplessly into danger again.
We practiced and took our cautious time on the sketchy stuff. I led on the steepest of it, kicking steps into the snowpack for her to follow.
We’ve been taking precautions with bears too. I have a can of bear spray in a holster on my shoulder strap where it will stay until I’m out of bear country. I also carried out a hard-sided bear cannister when it was required by park rules or tossed a cord over a high branch to hang the food out of bears’ reach even when it wasn’t a requirement. The extra chore every night saves us from rodents as well as bears.
Trail Angels
The best part of any journey is the people. Yesterday was my first full day without Dotti. I felt the difference. Motivation and morale sunk as I walked logging roads through northern Washington alone. She caught her flight out to Australia on June 25th and I am walking the trail alone from here on out. My mom is coming out to hike a few days in Glacier National Park when I turn south on the Continental Divide Trail but for the rest of this trail, I’m on my own.
While she was out here, we were frequently invited to stay in people’s homes and use their facilities to recharge and wash up between dusty days on the trail. Those who open their homes to hikers frequently call themselves Trail Angels and there are more of them on this trail than any of the others I have hiked.
The trail was a beautiful single track on public land with abundant camping in the Olympic National Park and Forest. Out of that area and along the shore though, we found ourselves in the farms and town centers of Puget Sound. Here, the Trail Angels really made our journey feel like walking from one friend’s house to another’s.
Accepting showers, warm meals, and housing on nights along the shore was both relaxing and humbling. The usual social contract is to hear an offer, politely refuse, hear a counter and then humbly bargain lower, or say something weak like, would that be okay? Are you sure? before accepting.
I’ve trimmed out all the middle steps. If people offer to help me, I know better than to think I can do all of this on my own. I am grateful to accept.
I’m still humbled at how people welcome me into their homes after just meeting me, over a message online, or even a brief phone call.
Folks in Washington have been hospitable. Even in hitchhiking we were quick to get a ride. Although now Dotti’s gone with her Aussie accent, cute blonde braid and smile to charm strangers, so we’ll see if people stop for me now that I’m solo.
Trembling for the miles ahead
Honesty time. I don’t walk with a halo of certainty around me. I experience stress when I consider the journey to come.
I am grateful for every day that the hand of God keeps away the pestilence of the night.2 But I know there is more suffering ahead than behind. Yesterday is easy because it’s over, and tomorrow is going to hurt in new ways.
Suffering is the beginning of meaning and it’s about to get real meaningful up in these mountains.
My weapon is gratitude. If I can think about anything long enough, turn it around in my head, I can find the angle from which it is a blessing. Gaslighting yourself, Dotti calls it. “My legs are sore, but I’m grateful that I can feel them, and demand so much of them. Therefore, I’m grateful my legs feel stiffer than vertical plywood.” It’s a personal brand of gratitude Dotti, not gaslighting.
I have to push to make up for the miles that I didn’t do while enjoying my brief three weeks with a hiking companion. (My daily average is currently at 15.31 miles per day).
The thing that startles me the most is how much motivation I’ve lost without Dotti here. The conditions are the same, a little more rain but pretty much the same. Yet, doing it alone requires me to draw on discipline and consistency instead of flashes of motivation. I find myself staring at the blue roof of my tent and wishing it was still dark outside so I don’t have to get up.
I’ve got my work cut out for me.
You!
I want to close this update with a hand over my heart in gratitude for the eighteen of my readers that have reaffirmed the value of my work by upgrading to a paid subscription and exploring the videos, articles, and audio content behind the paywall.
I have the best readership. Thank you! I appreciate your support.
Even if you are not a paid subscriber, thank you for following my journey. Writing for you is my unique pleasure and I appreciate that you, (yes you) read to the very end.
https://mynorthwest.com/crime_blotter/travis-decker-search/4103926
Psalm 91 - seriously go read it, it gives me goosebumps
Thank the Lord that you are both safe. Can only imagine the horror of Dotti falling and you watching helplessly. God bless you both x