Dim Sum and Den Some!

September 4
Bridge of the Gods to Manning Park

After two beautiful days of sun in Skykomish I returned to the PCT and once again torrential rain. I made 23 miles under the protection of my poncho and camped with a couple people who had llamas.

The next day was closer to 30 miles, crossing several of the infamous northern Cascades’ creeks. I cannot recount views, as I had none. I ate Huckleberries and met one southbound hiker.

Day three was more of the same, but as the afternoon progressed, it got much more interesting.

I dried out my gear in the first sun I had seen since Skykomish when I was met by more hikers, Mapman and Robin, as well as Serpico and Chris. After drying my gear I climbed the 2000 feet with Serpico and Chris to the higher wildflower fields on the shoulders of Glacier Peak.

Coming up was the infamous seven miles stretch of 400 blowdowns, 400 trees crossing the trail. This included old growth monsters, ten feet wide. It is said to take up to seven hours to make it through.

The three of us started down toward the the equally infamous Suiattle River, more to come on that momentarily. “I thought it would be trees wrapped by vines, cris-crossed into a torturous pattern, impassable… no, not even close. It took us about two hours! I thought of it as a sort of obstacle course like the TV program Ninja Warrior! We vaulted small logs and ducked under monster dead spruce logs.” ~ San Gabriel’s journal dated August 26, 2008.

Then came the Suiattle. This is also from my journal from August 26.
“I have been warned about the treacherous and possibly fatal Suiattle River. There is a scene in Mel Brooks’ Robin Hood Men in Tights when Robin, Achoo, and Blinken must cross a river guarded by Little John. Achoo in his infinite wisdom points out “This ain’t exactly the Mississippi.” I felt a bit like Achoo upon reaching the Suiattle. Though the water was silty and swift, it was shallow and had a very stable log across it, which I walked without much of a thought to the danger gushing by below me. It wasn’t that bad.
There is something that I have learned on my voyage this year: Don’t believe what people tell you! I was told Apache Peak was dangerous, so I took the alternate. After that I vowed to look for myself. The sign at Santiam Pass was… foreboding but hilarious! The area turned out to be safe and navigable. And the Suiattle River was an easier crossing than most of the Sierra rivers and MUCH easier than the gushing torrent I faced before Steven’s Pass.”

The next morning I awoke early and made 21 quick miles to the nearest road. This happened to be the road to Stehekin, an isolated one way gravel number with access between the PCT and the hamlet on the northern end of the fjord-like Lake Chalan.

Here I found Voyageur and Forrest, who had arrived at noon, on the earlier shuttle. I crammed my tent into a nook between trees on the steep grade in the free camp ground.

“The little hamlet exists out of time on the northern shores of dramatic fjord-like Lake Chalan, a glacial fed 50 mile waterway that feeds the Columbia River. The elevation here is about 1500 feet but the mountains tower above the icy deep water, disappearing somewhere in the omnipresent clouds. In the town, a few buildings are scattered along the shore, a post office, restaurant, inn, and a considerable number of residences. There are also a fair many cars, but I have no idea where they get gas! It’s a 50 mile fairy ride to the nearest stoplight!” ~ Me, 8-27-08

“There is much hullabaloo about the Stehekin bakery. The three of us went to said bakery for breakfast, sharing rolls, scones, coffee cake… I must say I am impressed! For a small town Bakery it was very good! The scones were top notch. And the rolls were exceedingly sticky and flaky, simultaneously! I left overly full with a bag of bagels for less than $10. That is less than I would spend on a stack of pancakes and orange juice at any restaurant! I will make a similar return tomorrow before trekking out for the final 88 miles.” -~ Me again, 8-28-08

Delayed by an unfortunate backpack mixup, Forrest and I left after Voyageur on the afternoon of the 29th. It rained several times, but not for very long. We camped in a huckleberry field.

Voyageur was still ahead of us on the 31st and were given news of this several times during the day. Forrest and I awoke, south of Hearts Pass with an inch of snow on the ground. With my hands tucked into my pockets, we paced quickly along the grassy alpine hillsides. We were met by a Hiker named “Phew” So named for the sound she made. “Are you San gabriel and someone else?” She asked Forrest, who was 50 feet in front of me. “Well he is San Gabriel and *I* am someone else.” I think Forrest earned a trailname.

At about 3:00 after fairly ridiculous mileage we finally caught up with Voyageur. We had decided to finish together when we were in Stehekin. And so now we could. We camped early after descending from our last bit of trail above 7000 feet.

From Hopkins Lake, our last camp, it was a mere seven miles to the border. We all had our celebratory border food. Voyageur had prepared a no bake cheesecake which he planned on topping with Huckleberries. Forrest had some classy chocolate, and I had kippered hearing and crackers, in honor of my Norwegian heritage.

On the last switchback with views of the border swath we descended to the border monument. 2650 miles separate the two nearly identical monuments, though the one at Campo was significantly more sun-bleached.

We took an hour at the monument eating our various treats and taking photos under partly cloudy skies. I was overjoyed to be there, but several hundred miles of burned forest in California nagged at me. “gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta finish gotta...” a mantra continued in my head. But for now, I would celebrate.

We were joined presently by Mapman and Robin.

In all, seven hikers left Manning Park en route to Vancouver the next morning. The five of us, accompanied by Lumbar, with whom I had hiked in the Sierras, and Lucky, who I had met in Old Station and Cascade Locks, rode into the bustling metropolis of Vancouver in the early afternoon.

Voyageur and Forrest had made a contact in Leavenworth. That contact had a loft in Vancouver! So we base-camped out of said loft. We enjoyed Indian food our first evening. Voyageur left the next day. Now to find Park Lock.

Vancouver has one of the larger Chinatowns. In 1996 or so I had eaten the most incredible Dim Sum at a restaurant in this very town. I had an address. From the loft it was only 10 blocks to my destination. I looked across the street to the windows on the second story of a dilapidated structure. There it was. I had walked 2500 miles to dine here... Or that’s what I told myself. Racks of clothing blocked the entrance. I looked longingly into the windows for signs of life. The woman who was peddling clothing blocking the entrance shook her head apologetically at me. I circled the other block, only seeing the hours listed in Chinese. I tried again the next day.

I also visited the University, where I had once thought of attending should I pursue a doctorate. I made a pilgrimage to the Olympic village, under construction on the waterfront.

Heartbroken, I left Vancouver with the second best Dim Sum I had ever had in a cardboard box. I had eaten a dozen steamed buns, “Bao” and numerous other dumplings.

One day I will return. For now, I am satisfied and headed to Northern California after I visit family in Seattle and Salem.