Done did it!!

Looking south toward Granite Pass in the N. Cascades.
Just days later is was covered in feet of snow.

  It was sweltering hot, about 200 miles from the Canadian border, and I was cresting a very small climb. Actually, a very insignificant climb in the scope of Washington climbs. It was a gorgeous section of trail just south of Stevens Pass and I was saturated with sweat.  Somewhere around mid-morning I had started dragging my feet and all of the sudden it all hit me at once:  the miles, the heat, the months of walking, the sheer exhaustion.  I sat down alongside the trail with my pack still on and put my head in my hands.  Siesta, my hiking partner, came up behind me with a questioning look on her face.  We'd just taken a break and had scoped a lunch spot about 2 miles further up the trail.  I looked at her as my face crumpled with tears in my eyes and I said, "I'll be right behind you. I just need a minute." She carried on and I put my head in my hands and briefly cried.  I was so tired. Not "I Had A Long Day At Work" tired, but tired to the very core of my essence, weary bone marrow tired.  Somehow letting go of some stoicism and shedding some tears seemed like the only thing that I could do.  Putting one foot in front of the other seemed insurmountable. My tears only lasted for a few minutes and I closed my eyes, collected my breath, and got right in my head.  I had no option but to walk. At that point in the hike, on that specific day, just standing up, gathering the gumption to move, was my biggest challenge.  I put music in my ear and put one foot in front of the other.
  That was hands down my most difficult day on the Pacific Crest Trail this year, mentally or physically.  I arrived at the lunch spot and laid down and was completely uncertain how I would muster the energy to eat food much less get up and start hiking again.  But I did.  Actually, I had two big ascents and one big descent to do before my day was over and I just let my brain turn off as much as possible and put my body on automatic pilot.  I resigned myself to being exhausted and that I wouldn't truly be able to absorb the beauty around me. It was a tough but necessary.
  The last 500 miles of the Pacific Trail were, for me, a concentration in being in the now. I knew very well at the time that I was living the moments and the lifestyle that my nostalgia would be made of, but I still had to muster the energy to actually finish the trek. It's a tricky balance.  I arrived in Stevens Pass the day after the exhaustion and re-evaluated my attitude.  I had a talk with myself (while laying horizontal on the bed) and made a conscious decision to not be too tired to enjoy the rest of the hike. Despite the fact that my brain was bursting and overloaded with images of beautiful mountains and valleys, abundant blueberries, and quiet lakes, I would continue to stop and look around, taking in even more of nature's own bad self.  There is an argument for mind over matter and the proof that it is possible lies in my trail experience in the last 10 days of my PCT hike:  I felt energized, excited, and present.  Standing up from breaks was no longer monumental.  I no longer questioned how I could possibly finish my walk to Canada because I was so motivated to finish and enjoy the show.  I blazed up 3000 foot climbs knowing that my body is a machine, made for walking;  that in few days I'd have more than enough time to rest and recoup and relax; that in a mere few days I'd long for the quiet solitude and routine of the trail.  The wilderness of the Northern Cascades did not disappoint and I was able to respond in kind with appropriate praise, awe, and adoration.  Generally I dragged my jaw along the trail behind me.  It was awkward.  I feel very satisfied in the way my trip ended.  High spirits, a big sense of accomplishment, and a healthy body make for a happy WeeBee.  The last morning of the entire trip I was camped at 4800' about 3 miles from the US/Canadian border and awoke to falling snow.  The small group that had assembled there packed up as swiftly as possible and set out to walk the final three miles of our epic journey.  Siesta, Caveman, and I walked in a tight unit and spoke of excitement, future, favorite trail days, desert memories, and the unreal fact that today was the day we were actually walking to Canada.  After all the miles and smiles, September 27 turned out to be our day to reach Monument 78, a place I'd hardly let myself envision for most of the trip for fear of unforeseen circumstances taking me off the trail yet again.  The giddiness was palatable. When we reached a set of descending switchbacks we knew we were nearly there and we let out a set of shrieks, whoops, and cheers and we careened forward.  Then, suddenly it seemed, there was the open space containing the monument itself and not a wall, but an infinite and ridiculous-looking clear cut denoting the border.  My already huge smile got even bigger and I found myself laughing and crying and hugging bearded men in shared admiration and mirth.  I set my pack down and we all continued to hug, shout, and glow.  Siesta and I had each carried a bottle of champagne 80 miles from Stehekin and a cork was popped and we toasted our success.  A million photos were taken and I ignored the cold as I stripped naked and had a picture taken next to the monument.  How many times is a girl going to finish the Pacific Crest Trail for the first time? It was a joyous event and properly celebrated.  There was one last climb in the post-PCT, 8-mile, Canadian portion of the trail and the three of us powered up in and then walked three abreast on a long decline down an old forest road.  We were already reminiscing about the experience.  I think I will be reminiscing about this experience for quite a while.
  As it turns out, September 27th may have been the last best day to finish the Pacific Crest Trail for 2013.  The light snow that was falling on me at 4800' was just the beginning of a series of big storms dumping snow on the North Cascades at elevations above that.  Many many hikers have had to turn around and take refuge in small towns near the trail to wait out the weather.  Mountain passes that were bare or with only an inch or two of snow on them when I crossed now have 2, 3, or more feet of snow on them and are nearly impassable.  People are renting snowshoes, bulking up on winter gear and attempting tiring, harrowing efforts of breaking trail to get through.  People have called it quits for the year.  The government closing has thwarted efforts of lower alternate routes.  Already tired bodies and minds are now frayed and exhausted with exploring alternative, decision making, and frustration.  I really feel for all my PCT brothers and sisters who walked so far only to be denied the border experience only 50 miles (or less) from the goal.  And I feel so fucking lucky. And grateful.  And blessed.  It would be impossible for me, even with my gift for gab, to try to verbalize what finishing this quest means to me.  Not just finishing what I set out to do, but the journey of the whole experience.  I don't think I'll even know how the trail has effected me until some time has passed.  I do know that it will always be special to me and I will always share a unique bond with the friends I've met along the way.
 And thus closes the Pacific Crest Trail adventure of 2013.  Victory is mine!

We are the champions, my friend!