I hiked 15 miles to the Canadian border. 8 more into Manning Park. And with that I don’t have to–nor do I get to–walk any more of this trail.
Moments like this are supposed to be grand and writing about them is supposed to be both specific and universal, but I don’t have the energy to do that just yet. I am so, so damn tired.
I met four other hikers at the border: Sue and Ruben, a South Korean couple; and Starfish and Juben (yes), friends who met along the way. Earlier in the day I met two guys in their 50s, Bender and Red Baron, who were about to finish hiking all of Washington on the PCT; they would later buy me a few beers in the lodge at Manning Park.
I was something like terrified when I got to the park. I didn’t quite know how anything worked, how much anything cost…I was so overwhelmed. It felt like there should’ve been a welcoming committee there to walk me through everything, but no such like. Just a dozen or so other hikers in their own subdued celebrations, looking as filthy and tired as I felt.
It’s over. Tomorrow I go home. And then, I think, I’m going to sleep for the next 15 years or so.
Some pictures from my final day:
(Yes, those are the clouds, hanging in a perfectly straight ceiling.)
(The pen at the the terminus logbook sucked. Quote is from Primo Levi’s “Bear Meat.”)