The climb was relentless and I seemed to lose ground with every step as my feet slipped in the scree. I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow and admire the snowy ridge above me. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was hot. However, I embraced the conditions as the clear sky promised epic views. The ridge above me is called the Knife Edge and is considered by many to be one of the crown jewels on the PCT. Weather permitting you are treated to views of Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, and Mount Adams from this narrow rocky traverse. Excited for what lay ahead, I climbed upward.
I powered through the remaining switchbacks and soon stood gazing at a near birds-eye view of Mount Rainier. I sprawled out in the gravel and ate an early lunch while savoring the scenery before me. Then I hiked on with one eye on the views and one on my precarious footing. This place was aptly named. The trail clung to a rocky spine that was merely four feet wide in places. A precipice of dizzying height bordered each side of the path and I was keenly aware that a misstep could prove fatal. Mount St. Helens soon came into view. I slowly turned in a circle admiring St. Helens, Rainier, and the rocky spine I had just traversed. The last obstacle in this stretch was a snow field that had turned slushy and slick in the afternoon sun. I proceeded carefully and as I reached the trail on the other side I looked up to see Mount Adams looming on the horizon. Once again, it seemed I had walked into a postcard photograph and I had to remind myself I wasn’t dreaming.
The trail was unusually quiet. PCT Days seemed to have drawn most of my fellow hikers off the trail and I pressed on alone for the rest of the week. However, the weather was beautiful, the scenery was spectacular, and I really enjoyed my solitude here.
With each step Mount Adams loomed ever larger in the sky above me. One afternoon, I enjoyed lunch with a NOBO hiker. We lounged in a meadow below the massive peak. Our conversation ebbed and flowed. The space between our words was filled with the soft trickle of the nearby stream and the distant rumbles from the glacier above us. We watched transfixed as clouds danced around the icy summit. As we packed up from lunch my friend warned me about a treacherous glacial stream crossing to come. Indeed my map of the area featured the same warning and I pressed south with anticipation.
The noise was ominous. I hiked through the trees toward an unseen but ever growing roar of rushing water. When I stood on the bank I truly understood my lunch companion’s fearful warning. The silty brown torrent careened down the mountain with incredible violence. I was told that two tree branches would provide passage over the most dangerous of the two channels. However, it was late afternoon and the stream had swollen consuming the makeshift bridge. I walked the bank several hundred yards in either direction searching for safer passage but found no salvation. Alas, I stepped out onto the branches. They sagged under my weight and the water gushed over my feet as I fought for balance. I attempted to stab my trekking pole into the stream bed for additional support but the water was so deep and swift it nearly ripped the pole from my grasp. I took a calming breath and shimmied across unsupported. Lost in concentration, I hadn’t noticed the two hikers watching wide-eyed from the opposite bank. When I reached them, they shouted over the deafening roar, “Is this the best crossing?!” After a brief discussion they carefully made their way across and we waved goodbye from opposite banks.
Tonight was my last night before reaching the tiny town of Trout Lake. I had savored every bit of this incredible section but tomorrow I needed to hustle to catch the shuttle into town. Morning came early and I walked through the predawn hours. I ate breakfast and drank coffee as I hiked by headlamp. Sunrise brought one last spectacular view of Mount Rainier. I forgot about my schedule for a moment and shot photos of the peak while it glowed in the morning light. After my break, I booked it through a rain storm toward the trail head. I had to jog the last stretch but I made it just in time. I piled into the bed of a pickup truck with half a dozen other hikers and we rocketed down the road. I had been moving at 3mph for over a month and this sudden sensation of speed felt exhilarating. I settled in for the long ride to town and gazed transfixed by the roadside trees that merged into a dancing green blur as we hurtled past.
