Section 24 - White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass View Photos August 28 24 miles. The long string of warm, sunny weather came to an end this afternoon. I guess it couldn't last forever. I mean, this IS Washington. Scott drove me back to White Pass this morning after an all-too-brief respite in Packwood. It was great fun to see him, Jane, and baby Kim. We stayed at The Inn of Packwood. I'm not sure what makes it an "Inn" but perhaps the bread and jam continental breakfast signifies more than I thought. Since I have that at home, from now on my house will be called "The Inn of Shires." Breakfast was a little short on calories so I bought some fat bomb muffins at the White Pass store before starting up the trail. Scott and Jane drove by on their way home via Yakima and I was still sitting there, writing e-mails and eating my muffin. At 10:30, I finally left the pass and entered the William O. Douglass Wilderness. William O's trail is relatively flat and I made good time despite the late start and the fat bombs in my stomach. Small lakes dotted the forest and large mosquitoes dotted my forehead. A few miles up the trail I passed two hikers with pack-carrying Lamas. Now THAT'S hiking. The beasts, if they could, would beg to differ. By afternoon, blue sky turned to gray, warm breeze to cold wind. Time to dust off the fleece jacket and turn up the collar. Shrouded in clouds, Mt. Rainier did the same thing. I'm very close to "The Mountain" now. I entered the national park late this afternoon and am camped in park property tonight, by the shore of Anderson Lake in dense fog and wind. The forecast is for rain later tomorrow, continuing for several days. Ugh. Given the forecast, I've probably seen the last of Rainier. Its name means "Mother of Waters" but it's the sky who's about ready to give birth. There's patchy snow here above 5,000 feet but only a few patches on the trail. Despite the deteriorating weather, I'm feeling much better about the remaining walk to the border. It's getting increasingly difficult to focus on the daily hike. I find myself drifting to the border, trying to imagine what it will be like. I play the end over and over and wonder how I'll feel, how I'll react when I take that last step. I haven't slept well in a long time and I'll probably be running on fumes until I get there. Tomorrow I cross Chinook Pass and the ridge above Crystal Mountain Ski Area. August 29 28 miles. The weather continued to deteriorate. It was a foggy, rainy, and cold day but I'm incredibly fortunate to be warm and dry tonight in a log cabin at Camp Urich. Wow, did I score! I left camp this morning in chilling, dense fog. It was only 5 miles to Chinook Pass at Highway 410 but it took me almost 3 hours to get there. I ran into a lot of unexpected snow, lost the trail in the fog, and searched for a long time to find it again. The snow was deep and pervasive but vanished just after Chinook Pass. I climbed back to altitudes well over 6,000 feet and didn't see another snow patch the rest of the day. Weird. The Chinook Pass area must have temperature and snowfall patterns that are anomalous to the rest of the area. I left the pass and paralleled Highway 410 heading north along a beautiful green valley. The sun even came out...for 5 minutes. I passed weekend hikers and backpackers coming down from Sheep Lake--an easy 2 miles from the pass. At the lake I climbed to Sourdough Gap at 6,400 feet and left the weekenders behind. I walked the meandering high ridge for 15 miles in blowing rain and fog and didn't see anything. Not towering Mt. Rainier just a few air miles away, not Crystal Mountain Ski Area directly below me, neither Mt. Adams nor Mt. St. Helens, and none of the meadows and lakes in Norse Peak Wilderness through which I walked. What a shame. After a long descent I left Norse Peak Wilderness and came to Government Meadow, site of Camp Urich. The guide book describes it as a "rough shelter." I expected 3 walls and a leaky roof. What I found was a beautiful log cabin with windows, a locking door, a wood stove, and a sleeping loft. There's no furniture but it's warm, dry, and spotless. I have it completely to myself. The sign says it was built in memory of Mike Urich, a trail worker in the 40's and 50's, and warns that his ghost will haunt those who destroy the forest. Someone or some group has gone to a lot of effort and expense to keep it up and I'm blessed to be here. I took dinner up into the cozy loft and watched the rain beat against the window while I ate. After a long, wet day it was a gratifying experience. August 30 30 miles. On a misery scale of 10, today was a 9.7. Blowing cold rain at the lower elevations, blowing wet snow at the higher elevations--the worst weather of the trip. Now I understand why the evergreens stay green. It was a good day to roll over and go back to sleep in the dry comfort of Urich Cabin. It rained most of the night and was still foggy and rainy when I woke up. I packed up and left but, oh, how I wanted to stay. Urich's ghost must be hard at work because less than a mile from the cabin I walked through the first of many miles of clearcuts. According to the guidebook, this is some of the most extensively clearcut land in the country. It's certainly the most extensive clearcutting I've walked through. The PCT has been routed and rerouted to get through the area as easily as possible but the brush that thrives on disturbed land makes travel difficult. On waterlogged days like today it's worse. I was soaked from the waist down for much of the day and though my shorts dried out my shoes did not. After the third attempt to wring the ice water out my socks I gave up and sloshed on. This afternoon I crossed a low point in the ridge called Sheets Pass. I'm sure the name is short for "sheets of rain" because that's what was coming down when I walked through. I stopped briefly to snack--pulling my head into my poncho like a turtle into its shell--and ate cheese and peanut butter to stay warm. It was too cold to eat or do anything else. The storm abated about 5 p.m. and I shed my poncho to wind dry my clothes. My pack was dry and only the lower sleeves of my jacket were damp. The poncho did an admirable job again and I think it's the only way to travel in an all-day storm. Through breaks in the clouds I could see Interstate 90 paralleling my course in the valley below. Flowing and flickering lights indicated high speed traffic but I was too far away to hear or see any cars. I'm camped tonight about 2 miles north of Stampede Pass. There's a weather station on the pass whose data gets reported across the country. It's cold--high 30's--blustery, and showery. Snoqualmie Pass is 17 miles away and I can't wait to walk into a hot shower. August 31 17 miles. Another cold and rainy day, ameliorated by the knowledge that I'd be in a hot shower shortly after noon. Fittingly, it rained from the time I shouldered my pack to the moment I crested the ski hill at I-90/Snoqualmie Pass. I walked into town as the sun broke through the clouds and steam rose from the pavement. I woke this morning to dark, pregnant clouds. It felt like rain, smelled like rain, and then...it rained. As I hoisted my pack I could hear a train somewhere below me, moving slowly up the tracks, oblivious to the weather. More clearcuts, more head high brush. It was like taking a 15-mile shower. At mid-morning, I reached mirror lake on a day when the only reflections were exploding raindrops. Crossing a low pass I stopped to pick blueberries and huckleberries in a misty clearing. No rinsing required. I've crossed 7 interstate highways during the northward migration. This is the last one. It's interesting that this one, I-90, is just a few miles past the 90% mark on the PCT. I'm taking a day off to eat and rest. I hope my prune-like feet will be plum-like by tomorrow. 260 miles to go.