Day 57 – Knife Edge

I awaken at 4 am and my quilt is wet. Not soaked, but there are sections by my feet and shoulders that are cold and saturated with moisture. It’s from condensation. The outside of my quilt is thick with it. I shake the quilt, hoping the Dee will fly off. No luck. Just gonna have to ride this out for another hour. During the day, maybe at lunch, I can dry the quilt in the sun. I fall back to sleep.

I break camp at 6:25 – a slacker two days in a row! Because of the Goat Rocks, I am only hiking 17 miles. Piece of cake, I think. But this day would be no cake walk.

Anticipation

The trail starts to resemble The Siskiyou mountain trail – dry and rocky with an abundance of flowers. The trees beside the trail open up to rocks above and meadows below. I see a crag-like peak. Is that a goat rock?

New wildflowers appear. I try to ignore them. I am going to see the Goat Rocks little ones. I don’t have time for you today. Their petals droop. I reach for my camera. OK, maybe just one.

The odometer rolls.

The trees become even more scarce, exposing the naked trail. I have a catalog of trail images in my mind. Each new image connects me to the others. It is like walking into every apartment in an apartment complex. The layout of each place is the same, but the furnishings are different. This photo is from the apartment complex called “The Naked Trail Ascending Left Apartments”. I took one similar to this a few days ago with Stan on it. This is how the trail becomes familiar. Patterns. Genres. Since, as they say, “familiarity breeds contempt”, I am guarding against the tendency to ignore what I think I know. Let the trail speak for itself.

I am not really sure where the Goat Rocks start. Does a goat rock require a goat? Or does a goat rock simply look goatish? The one in front of me looks goatish. It looks like it could be goat heaven.

OK, this looks different

The trail turns to the right in front of goat heaven, displaying a beautiful valley. The trail clings to the western rim of the valley and heads toward another saddle.

On the way it passes under a very unusual rock formation. In California there is a similar formation called the Devil’s Post Pile. The rocks there are shaped like six-sided pillars fitting together on their side like a honeycomb. The formation above me is just like that although perhaps not quite as geometrically symmetrical. You may have to zoom on the original-size photo to see the rock geometry.

Magic valley

Over the saddle is a purely magical valley. Green on all sides with snow-melt tributaries tumbling down from above. Dozens of people are scattered at campsites all over the valley. Surely this must be the Goat Rocks!

But where are the goats? And where is the Knife Edge I have seen in dozens of photos? Could there be more to this wonderland? I take a break on a rock balcony to ponder these questions.

The trail takes me higher. To the south, Mount Adams sits stoically, shouldering it’s glacial burden.

I follow the trail to another saddle. Could the Goat Rocks be through here?

Goat Rocks!

Yes, finally. The Goat Rocks. I don’t even care that there are no goats. There should be. Maybe Wednesday is their day off. Anyway, Rainier is there presiding over everything.

And there are snow fields! I walk across them like I know what I am doing, because I was born in Michigan and I know all about snow, right? I slide around like a Sweet Tart on a Snow Cone. (My mind is never too far from sweets, these days.)

The trail eventually splits. The lower (flatter) path is for horses. The steeper upper path is for fools. I take the upper path, of course. I learn quickly that, although I love the mountains, I prefer to look at them from the valley or on TV. Rock climbing is hard, and I am unsure of every foot placement. Rocks don’t sit still when you step on them. They roll or tilt. I don’t like this.

I clamber up the mountain like an upside down windmill. Rocks clattering away from me, hands and trekking poles flailing wildly. In this manner, I make it to the top, and search for goats.

I see none. Darn! Where are they? Well might as well go down and try my luck ahead.

Knife Edge

I descend to the unfoolish section of trail to try my luck at the next part – the Knife Edge. How bad can it be? I imagine it as a kind of runway through the clouds. The way down is no better than the way up. Let me say here that this kind of trail seems to be no problem for most people. But since I still don’t know how to hike on rock, I complain a lot. Ignore this if you can. Here is what the path down to the Knife Edge looks like.

Here in the north side of the ridge are a lot of snow fields. They drain into pools and creeks. The azure lake below looks artificial, like a hotel swimming pool, buy it is not. I stare at it in wonder.

And then, life appears, in the most desolate conditions.

Below me is the Knife Edge. It is a ridge walk in the extremest sense. To my dismay, the trail is not smooth. “We thought we were going to have to catch you,” says Chai, a thru hiker walking the trail below me when I reach them. (I had a pretty big stumble above them and barely caught myself with my poles.) I manage a weak smile.

Here is what Knife Edge looks like as you walk on it.

Getting Chai’s attention turned out for the best. She shows me a herd of over 30 mountain goats. To save you the eye strain, here is a magnified view of what they look like from the trail.

See the white jaggedy things on the slope? From far away goats look like mountain dandruff. Not that impressive, but so very cool. With the naked eye you can see them run, kneel, roll and stand.

The trail turns hot as the clouds disappear and the sun bakes us. The tread gets even worse, and I imagine that is due to neglect, so I get kind of pissy. My toes also start to burn from being jammed into the front of my shoes as I descend.

As I leave the goat rocks behind, I find a place to eat lunch and air out my damp quilt. Thankfully, a snow-melt stream runs close by and I take off my shoes and soak my burning feet. It feels wonderful.

As I descend, the highland meadows become highland forests and soon the green tunnel surrounds me. The Goat Rocks amazed me, but I was not up to their challenge. This lowlander retreats to the comfort of the forest again. The bugs return with the forest, but I did not curse them as before. There is no perfect place. There are only the places we prefer. And why we prefer one over the other is a mystery as deep as personality.

I choose a mosquito-infested spring for my camp. The arrival of Papa and John whom I met in Cascade Locks cheers me. We are all in bed by 8 pm. There is limited cell service, so I try to make reservations at an inn in Packwood, tomorrow’s destination. I talk to Patti briefly, but then cell service goes away and I am left to ponder the events of the day.

The Goat Rocks were extraordinary, but I could not match their intensity with the same energy. Maybe this is what it means to grow old, or maybe I was just tired from the exertion of the previous day. In any event, I recommend the Goat Rocks to anyone. A 3-day, 2-night trip is best.

Tomorrow is 8 miles to White Pass. From their I will hitch hike into the town of Packwood to rest my legs for as day and gain a pound or two. I will resupply at the grocery store there for my next stop – Snoqualmie. Washington has its own vibe. It feels like a Northern state – winter is part of its DNA. Even in the dead of summer, Northerners carry the winter in their hearts. The trail does, too. I must not tarry too long.

• July 28
• Starting mile: 2270
• Ending mile: 2287
• Daily PCT miles: 17
• Total PCT miles: 915
• Animals: Mountain goats!