PCT Day 136- Sometimes it Doesn’t Feel Like It’s Getting Any Easier

I’ll be at Trail Days in Cascade Locks from August 17th to 19th, if you’re in the area and would like to come say hi message me on Instagram @kaymkieffer so we can meet up!

Timberline Lodge (mile 2097) to Ramona Falls (2107)

I wake in a hostle in the small town of Rhododendron, Oregon, the cool light of morning drifts in on a breeze, bringing with it the light scent of fire smoke. I wonder absently which fire we’re smelling now. Which fire has blown in on the wind to smudge the horizon with it’s muting grey haze, which bit of land has gathered enough tinder to burst into an unmanageable flame after years of aggressive fire suppression and the hubristic human belief that we are in control of this land and that fires are uniformly bad. Between California, Oregon, and Washington there are hundreds of thousands of acres burning, it seems like we hear about a new one every few days. If last year on the PCT was dubbed the year of fire and ice, then this year the ice has given up the go and it’s exclusively the year of fire. It leaves a lingering sense of impotence rattling around my chest.

We are slow to rise and rouse ourselves and there is little urgency. Despite the plan to hike 25 miles, we have the luxury of a mellow morning as we wait for the bus to start running and the Timberline Lodge buffet to open. Oh yes, that fateful day has come at last and we are to be delivered to the promise land of breakfast. Waffles, whipped cream and fruit, pastries, eggs, oatmeal, sausage, ham, coffee, smoothies—it’s all ours for the taking. And take we do, sitting with Carmen San Diego, Wren, and Freeze, whiling away the hours until the buffet is closed and we really need to start hiking. It’s almost noon.

Today we’ll make our way around the base of Mt Hood, or at least we would if we didn’t have to pull off the trail every other minute in order to let pass a constant stream of uphill hikers. Toddling families and Timberline Trail hikers with their too big bags smile as they stream by, so close to being back to the trailhead where impending tantrums of young children can be stymied and weeks long trips will come to an end around beers at the bar. Trail runners skip past with barely an acknowledgement, their sleek bodies shinny with sweat and entitlement, keen eyes darting to their Garmins in annoyance any time they are forced to slow or stop to accommodate others on the busy trail. In and out of cool, dark forests we play hide and seek with Hood, the sporadic wind blows smoke in and out, making each sighting of the slumbering giant a little different. At once she is shrouded in grey, then minutes later she is shining down on us in all her unconcealed splendor, brown rivulets of water streaming down her face, merging into rushing creeks where they meet us.

By 4pm we’ve gone ten miles and are plopped in front of Ramona Falls talking to SoBo hiker Flow. She is trying to convince us that the afternoon of hard climbing we have ahead of us will in fact be easy. However, I am disinclined to fully trust someone who walked down all of the thousands of feet that we will have to climb up. Hiking feels catatonic today, stopping early feels like resignation, I know that every option ahead of us will suck. I’m so tired, I don’t want to go on, nor do I want to throw in that proverbial towel so early in the day, so far short of where we planned to be. Or. Or we could just let it all go and camp here tonight. More truthfully, I can choose to let it go, as Starman is down for whatever I decide. It’s cool by the falls, misting water dragging the heat from the air, day hikers smelling like oatmeal cookies take selfies as I watch and think. There are dogs running in and out of the water and the shade is deep and unending as thoughts tumble around my head.

Progress is not linear. There are days when I feel invincibility strong and others in which I feel that I can barely do this, that I can’t do this to the level of perfection I’ve somehow found myself expecting. That this simple, stupid task of walking all these miles will make and unmake you. Will leave you wondering what kind of person you are when things get hard. It’s between grit and grace, commitment and compassion. It never gets easier. It never does. No matter how much I want it to, no matter how repeatedly I try and convince myself that everyone is having an easier time than I am. It never gets easier, not for anybody.

Here’s a nice picture I took of a stranger’s dog.