The Great Prophet, BS Billy

August 24 2008
Bridge of the Gods to Skykomish


The warm mostly sunny weather from Oregon changed dramatically on the northern half of the Bridge of the Gods. The minute I stepped into Washington, it started gently sprinkling. Aside from three beautiful days between the Goat Rocks and south of Snoqualmie Pass, it rained on me every day. Prompting the pun, albeit slightly lame pun, “Washaton” and “Washing tons of hikers since 1972!” And likely long before that.

Days tend to blend together when you can’t see anything. I split up the long stretch from Cascade Locks to White Pass with a stop in Trout Lake.

Out my thumb went on the road on a remarkably sunny afternoon after heavy morning rains. Three cars later I was in a car. I didn’t have much of an idea where I would stay, knowing there was a hostel above the outfitter. But my ride, interested in what I was doing offered his unused spare room. I surprised my self by accepting the offer. Not only did I get a room, but I was fed. He just happened to have a few giant free range fully organic steaks in the fridge. AND! I was given a job offer after my host learned of my music education. As the job started on August 23rd and I was set on finishing the PCT and NOT moving from California yet, I politely declined.

The next day I was dropped off in town where I dropped by a local eatery looking for the ubiquitous huckleberry shake. Huckleberries are everywhere up there. After finishing I went to the rest room for a moment, leaving my pack at the table. Upon returning, two people sat in my place. Two... familiar people. “What are you doing here?” I asked to Tarzan and Zelda. They had skipped a little bit and happened to staying in a local hotel.

They introduced me to a couple who were climbing Mt. Adams. That couple dropped me off at the trailhead before going on their way.

I had also seen Voyageur earlier, who I had not seen since northern California.

Trout Lake was a great stop, and while I don’t think the exact lucky circumstances could be repeated, I recommend the town. It is cozy and friendly with everything a hiker needs.

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With fair weather, I slept with my tent set up, but with the flaps open. Sometime around 2:00 am I awoke to thunder. I looked outside and saw clear skies and stars. The thunder persisted as I slowly regained consciousness. Then it dawned on me that a herd of elk had just passed. The next morning that theory was confirmed as I walked in the hoof prints of a large herd, just 20 feet from my tent.

I was moving early and quickly, not determined to get anywhere in particular, but my short rest in Trout Lake rejuvenated me and the fair weather inspired me. I passed three heavyweight hikers at a jog, climbing a gentle slope toward Sheep Lake. By 3:00 I was having a second lunch, just Over a pass, in a grassy bowl with a view of Mount Saint Helens. I had made 28 miles. I continued in the clear afternoon. Near Packwood Glacier in the Goat Rocks, I spotted a tiny spec on the snow field ahead of me. As I got closer, and closer still, I realized t was yet another familiar hiker, Sheik Olivier. We continued together, with outrageous views of Mount Adams, Saint Helens, and Rainier. We made our way along the precipitous knife edge. As we walked into the shadow of the ridge the temperature dropped dramatically. It dropped from the 70 degrees plus of the afternoon to near freezing in the arctic grassy tundra, north of the Knife Edge.

At White Pass the next day, Olivier and I again parted as he was taking a couple weeks off to see his girlfriend, who was flying to Seattle from France.

Other Hikers I saw at White Pass included Voyageur again, and Lei Low. As I had not seen Lei Low for a while, we hiked out in the evening. We camped two nights together before I decided to undertake a goal I had, to hike 50 miles in a single day.

From Sourdough Gap, it was just under 70 miles to Snoqualmie Pass. I awoke before dawn and packed up quickly. By 11:00 I had 22 miles under my belt, but it was getting downright hot. After Passing Voyageur, I slowed. He caught up with me on a roller coaster of rolling hills near sizable clear cuts. I slowed further and we hiked together, seeing the well known perennial PCT hiker, Billy Goat. Voyageur set up camp on a flat spot with views south. Unsure whether I had even reached 40 miles, I continued on into the evening, camping on a old road, just over 43 miles from my starting point.

After reflection and analysis, I know my faults on my 50 mile attempt. I didn’t eat enough. I would need more snacks for another attempt. I didn’t drink enough water. I should have drank all I could find. After I camped, I downed a good two liters without trying. On a hot day like the day in question, and without any previous hiking day exceeding 40 miles, I thought a couple short breaks may have helped. With better conditioning and a lighter pack, a fifty mile day is well within reach. I could have hiked another two and a half hours, but I wanted to make a daylight attempt.

The next day it began raining and I arrived at Snoqualmie Lodge, soaked through, seeing Forrest, Disco, and P.O.D. Later in the day Voyageur arrived. As thunder shook the building, I was happy to be spread out in a hotel room, three hikers’ gear hanging on every available hanger and door.

Despite the rain, We set out the next day, each at different times. I met up with Forrest later that day and we camped together. The next day, we found Voyageur and the three of us camped together near some horse campers. Late in the evening under one of the heaviest torrents I have ever seen in my life, I heard Forrest, a ways away talking to another hiker. The hiker had forgotten a pole for his tent resulting in being absolutely soaked. The hiker left early in the morning, leaving a mountainous pile of granola bars at Forrest’s door.

If we were on a short trip, we might have enough spare gear to help the hiker, but thru hikers carry very little. We rarely have room in our tiny shelters for more, very few spare clothes. Barely anyone even carries one of those reflective blankets. We only have enough gear for ourselves. The best option when in danger, is to backtrack, or go to the nearest road. We hoped that this wet hiker could find his way to a road the next day and NOT have to endure another rainy night.

So powered by free granola bars, and carrying out the trash we left. (please pack out your own stuff, don’t dump it on others. Or at least ask first, I would probably take it to help someone in need)

In the late morning we approached a creek, but upon getting closer, it sounded more like a dramatic waterfall. Water cascaded down the barren rocks from thousands of feet above toward the valley below. The sodden figure of the hiker we had met at 1:00 am stood, recovering in thoroughly sodden Frogg Toggs on the other side. So there was a way across.

Voyageur, Forrest and I made our way down the steep slope to a slightly less fatal looking ford. The water was slower, after descending hundreds of feet to a relatively flat stretch. Voyageur was first. Without poles, (he doesn’t hike with them” he balanced precariously as water rushed past his ankles, then knees, then thighs. Facing downhill with his hands on a wedged log he side stepped carefully through the deepest and fast part of the current, and let out a resounding “Woohoo!” which echoed across the valley.

I was next, and trudged, painfully slowly to the log, wedged between a few rocks. As I slid my leg into the current, I could feel it wanting to descend the rest of the way down the mountain. I fought fiercely, mule-kicking backward into the current, struggling for footing on the slippery river bed. With one foot up hill and my hands on the slick log, I side-stepped slowly as water rushed past me at hip level.

Once on the other side, we were joined by Forrest, who took a break on the near side, thigh deep, looking as if the swift current had no effect.

Video evidence exists! Check out Voyageur’s video on YouTube

Through continuing rain we made our way to Mig Lake, seven miles short of the road, and a hitch to warm dry lodging.

At the road, our soaked party parted, Voayageur and Forrest heading east to Leavenworth and me, west to Skykomish. Within minutes of sticking out my thumb, a Prius loaded with obvious hikers pulled up, rescuing me from the relentless moisture. The three hikers got out, obviously frightened by my severe wet dog smell. Rabbit and Tumbleweed, two southbounders who had borrowed the vehicle drove back to the Dinsmore’s A trail Angel couple residing in Skykomish.

I was surprised to see a dry version of the hiker who, just the previous day had went swimming in his own tent during the night’s torrent. Apparently he had hiked out an alternate trail to a road, and escape. I was happy to see him warm and dry. Along with Rabbit and Tumbleweed at Dinsmores’ there was a fifth hiker. A clean shaven, short haired guy, a rarity in the hiker community. I recognized him as the same guy who had jogged past me near Big Bear, Eric D. He had already tagged the border and was heading south.

I stayed a second zero day in Skykomish as the Dinsmores needed help with the annual car show that they hosted in the tiny town of Skykomish. So Eric D, Captain Bivy, and I donned orange and acted as parking attendants, guiding cherry Cheveys, Fords, Studabakers, and even a Dalorian, with a personalized license plate “BK2D80S”

As we ate around a bonfire at Dinsmores’ that evening BS Billy struck up a conversation with me. I had not said a word to him until this moment. He bragged about being “good at reading people” So he asked me what my favorite cars was. “Wait don’t tell me...” He said, tapping his chin, squinting. “That Studabaker with the...” He said, “Or the Dalorian.” My two favorites out of the 110 parked in the fairgrounds. He even picked out a future career, not knowing anything about my interests. “You are tough to read... I could see you in a house up in the mountains.” Ok that is vague. But he continued “Making fine instruments out of wood.” I had not told him I was a musician. I had not told him that I wanted to build instruments. I was speechless and sat back, feasting on roasted animal carcass shaking my head.

Now I am typically skeptical of this kinda hocus pocus. And I credit BS Billy’s years as a car salesman for giving him a skill which rivals many psychologists with doctoral degrees. Though the Great Prophet BS Billy’s... prophecy has not yet come true, it was already on my bucket list. “Live in the mountains and make Renaissance musical instruments” It will come to pass!

If you end up in Skykomish, have BS Billy give you a reading.