Trail By Error In Washington: Wisdom Of Water

All or nothing. Looking back, I could’ve easily done a lazy morning in Port Angeles, gone on a day hike in Olympic, camped out at a nice site, and been perfectly happy. No. I had to go backpacking. If I couldn’t climb because of my hand and had enough sense not to try paddle camping in a rented kayak in waters I’ve never traversed before solo, I had to at the very least get another overnighter in. I don’t know why I had to, or why I had to do it four hours southeast instead of just exploring Olympic more, but it’s what my anxiety-filled paralysis by analysis had decided. I’d been cautioned to maybe take it easy, especially given how my chronic pain was catching up to me, but the head rationalized that I had to make the most of every moment. I could sleep in Richmond. 

I slingshotted towards Mount Saint Helens, planning to camp out on one of the surrounding mountains overlooking Coldwater Lake. It was a perfect overnighter hike, to be fair to my judgement, the incline was going to suck on my already-battered hips and knees, but at a certain point pain just gets redundant of itself. Stilly called me as I drove out with news that wasn’t quite to my liking, part of another story for another day. Spiking my adrenaline, the four hour drive felt like a few minutes as I went through some of the most beautiful landscapes anyone has ever been privileged to see. Walls of trees disappearing into water, the sun kissed everything it touched. Why did I rush through it? I could’ve spent an eternity in a mile, but my insatiable need to see everything, know everything, spurred me on. 

As I closed in on the last stretch of the drive, I stopped through a gas station with an adjoined drive-thru only McDonalds. The gas station felt like a portal into an uncanny valley, a simulacrum of what AI might think a gas station is. It was too white and dirty at the same time. I realized at that moment most newer gas stations are set up like a panopticon, with a circle of registers in the hearth of the floor, nowhere safe from the gaze of an underpaid clerk and CCTV. At the center of these registers lies temptation manifest – the towering tree of nicotine for those of every persuasion from vape, to zyn, to cigarettes. As tempted as I was, water and bug spray were the only things to depart with me. 

After stopping once more at the visitors center, I hit the trailhead. Wildflowers, waterfalls, and rolling expanses next to a lake, with views of high peaks all around, what wasn’t there to love? Like it was tailor-made for me. The weather hovered around a perfect 60 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, nothing in the forecast. Yet dread crept through me like assassins in the night. If there was maybe a cold breeze, a single cloud, something slightly off, I’d have been more comfortable, but this was too perfect. It was like I was being watched. 

As I hiked further in, I slowly escaped the gaze of Mt St Helens as the arduous ascent up the ridge came closer into view. Nothing I wasn’t capable of, but I felt sick to my stomach. Literally. I was half convinced I had food poisoning as a wave of nauseousness came over me. I had to stop and just stare at the water as a panic attack blew through me from the east. I was pissed. I had no reason to feel like this. I was in one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever been. I had time off to do something I enjoy, at my own pace, not having to answer to anyone. I felt paralyzed. I told myself I would keep pressing for another half hour and if I didn’t feel better, I’d turn back, and if the feeling passed, I would keep going. 

It was really a debate between two parts of myself, the head and the gut. The head rationalized that there was no reasonable cause for concern, sure I was exhausted after being nonstop for the past few weeks, but when was the next time I’d be back out there? I needed to take advantage of the time I had. The gut said I needed to slow down. I’d been going nonstop, and needed to actually allow myself time to decompress and rest. If I felt something was wrong and I needed to turn back, I should do that, especially solo. My “bravery” or “will” wasn’t in question, that time last week I was backpacking in a thunderstorm smiling and laughing my ass off. Something instinctively felt wrong, despite the facts, and I needed to listen to that. 

I reached the point of no return, decision time. If I kept going, I’d have to commit, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get back to the car with reasonable time left in the day. If I went back, if I then changed my mind I wouldn’t be able to reach the designated campsite with reasonable time left, making me ascend tricky terrain solo, in the dark. I think if I had somebody with me, I’d not question pressing on. But I was alone, dealing with variables I hadn’t before and as much as I was loath to admit it I felt… anxious. Between my fall climbing and falling in the soup rafting within the past few weeks, I’d seen the consequences of when I was too cavalier, when I pushed myself too hard. And this time, I was alone. My painkillers were wearing off on my weary, mature for their age legs, and the stomach pains hadn’t ceased. I took a step forward. And then another. 

Then I stopped.

This was stupid. I was being stupid. Nobody cares if you bail because you’re in pain and just have a gut feeling you need to turn back. How many times had I agreed to cut trips short because somebody else didn’t feel well, was tired, wasn’t doing hot mentally, etc? And I’d never given them shit any of those times. Why couldn’t I treat myself with the same grace I at least try to give others? Why not enjoy a nice meandering hike back to the car and allow myself a chance to smell the flowers and enjoy the gorgeous views and let myself rest for the night, instead of pursuing an arduous ascent to a ridgeline when I was already in pain and not feeling great because it was what I was supposed to do? It didn’t matter if logically I should be fine, I was exhausted, and so I headed back. 

I was immediately greeted by two deer and two ravens, smiling discreetly at me, like they were grateful I had made the choice I did. I took it as a sign I had done the right thing. Sitting next to a waterfall cascading into the lake below, all I could do was gaze. Water endlessly flowing. Water is steady. Water is patient. Water takes no haste towards its goals. Water simply is. Had I ever met those molecules of water before, in a different place, in a different time, in a different form? I cupped my hands and soaked my face, hoping the water would form me into something as beautiful, as wise, as long-lasting, as the rocks it passed over. 

The breakneck rhythm I’d forced myself into on the first half of the hike gave way to a melodic slow shuffle as I became less concerned with what was below me and more about what was around and above me. God, how lucky was I to be there? I came back into the orbit of Mt St Helens and a while later reached the parking lot, and felt a brief sadness that I wasn’t greeted by Baby Blue. The Altima was doing admirably, though, and I appreciated its work in Baby Blue’s stead. I headed northwards, destination unknown, all I knew was I needed a place to sleep, I wanted a smoothie, and that tomorrow would be my last full day in Washington, for now.