And then, just as this journey began, so it suddenly ended. No fireworks or music awaited me at Rainy Pass, just a big forest service sign. I wanted to be alone for this last bit, so I was ahead of the others. There were no big revelations at that moment, no divine flash of insight about anything. I slung my pack off my shoulders and sat down next to the big ‘Rainy Pass’ sign. It was simply over. For a long time, I kept my gaze up towards the sky. The inner peace I felt then had nothing to do with the achievement of finishing the PCT, but more the absence of all else. Stress and worry were rare occurrence on trail and now even the impetus of ever hiking onward had fallen away, leaving nothing.
Deadlift and Pika passed by about 20 minutes after I arrived. Deadlift, in her viking like manner (or maybe that’s just me projecting onto her finnish accent), was determined to push on to Hart’s Pass, then hike parallel to the highway to Ross Lake and kayak to Canada with Flat Spot and On and Off.
The others eventually arrived. None of us really had the proper words to convey the significance of the moment. None of us really understood how we felt either, I think. More thoughts would arrive later, once there was just a little bit of distance. We spent some time taking individual and group photos at the makeshift trail terminus that someone had put up.
I caught a hitch with three women we’d camped with the night earlier who were out on a 4 day hike. They made a stop at Diablo Lake since they really wanted to show it to me. They were so nice. Then we drove all the way to Mount Vernon, from where we’d take the bus to Seattle the next day. At the local co-op I decided to get some fresh fruit while waiting for the others (who had caught a hitch in the back of a truck).
Eager to sit down on a bench and get all nostalgic, I queued up with a smoothie and raspberries. Surprisingly, my card declined. I offered to leave my groceries and run to an ATM to get some cash when someone walked up to me and offered to pay for me. I couldn’t believe it. It was one thing for this to happen on trail, where people were aware of hikers, but Mount Vernon was a couple hours driving off trail. The kindness I’ve experienced keeps humbling me.
The others arrived and I split a motel room with Lucky Charm and Half and Half. Lucky Charm for some reason sniffed my sleeping bag. The look she gave me conveyed the urgency by which it had to be washed.
Americans had been hyping up the mexican food everywhere we go, but I think it was here in Mount Vernon that I actually had my best mexican meal so far. Although hiker hunger probably played a part. In any case, it was a fitting victory meal, for people who had stuck with it through everything.