‘The beginning and the end are one and the same. Yes, all is right with the world.’ – Neon Genesis Evangelion
We left our tents and only packed the bare essentials into the kayaks. Today we had to be light and fast. We were going to Canada. To have the border so close within reach was the most normal thing in the world until I consciously thought about it. After thousands of kilometers of hiking, through desert, mountains and endless forests, I was finally almost there. Not even the wildfires could stop us now! IPA and I took our places and pushed the boat off with our paddles, the rising sun appearing on the shoreside mountains.
A couple hours later, the end of Ross Lake appeared, signifying the end of the journey more than the northern terminus ever could. Canada geese squawked near the docks and in the distance we could see mountains in a different country.
After docking, we took a trail up the side of the lake leading to an obelisk demarcating the border, dragging our paddles with us (the photos at the obelisk wouldn’t be complete without them). The trail was unremarkable, were it not that there was a surprising amount of camping infrastructure, such as pit toilets, picnic tables and fire rings and that it had all clearly been abandoned for multiple years. We saw no one on the way.
A gray obelisk jutted from the hillside. On opposite sides, it read ‘UNITED STATES’ and ‘CANADA’. I had done it. Rainy Pass might have been the end of the hiking portion, I felt no less accomplished having kayaked here instead of hiked for that last part. I had given it my all and completed the PCT. Even now, lying in my tent, I can’t describe the feelings or the thoughts that went through my head at having finished. Maybe the closest would be the sense that this was just one ending, many of which I had already experienced on trail. There would be more trails, plenty more adventures, of that I had no doubt. The PCT might be over, but considering the hunger it had awakened in me, thru-hiking was most definitely not.
A long photo session later, we headed down quickly (the forest next to the lake was buzzing with hostile mosquitoes, who did not care how much we drenched ourselves in bug spray) to the docks on the Canadian side of the lake. A serene view of the end of the lake, the forest behind and the mountains in the back revealed itself. Canada geese flew by periodically. We sat down on the boat ramp leading down. I wouldn’t have wanted to finish in any other place. We laid down and let it sink in. Here, in the quiet, at what seemed the edge of the world, I was at peace.
Back at our kayaks, Ishay and Captain Jack had arrived. Ishay, the scoundrel, had managed to fall out of his kayak by standing up in it in the middle of the lake. Now he was drying his clothes on a picnic table. It was unlikely I would see him again, so we hugged goodbye. He was a great companion all these months, popping up everywhere ever since Agua Dulce in the desert.
Our way back was aided by a northern wind that blew us back to Cat Island, where our pitched tents awaited. What a way to end. I had my last meal on trail with everyone (a double ramen of course) and went to bed, muscles sore, but satisfied.