Let's Go Back to the Goat Rocks

After 560 miles of anticipation, the time finally came for our trail guests to join us in Oregon. I had been ecstatic ever since I found out that plans were set for Nathan's sisters, Brooke and Kristin, and Nathan's girlfriend, Rebekah, to come hike with us. It worked out perfectly, especially since Kristin actually just moved to Portland a few weeks ago. When we came off the trail at Cascade Locks, we hitched into Portland where we stayed with Kristin's interim host family, the Martins. Jeff and Liz Martin are some of the coolest people I've ever met.

Jeff, the witty, health conscious filmmaker, has a great taste in music and a straightforward genuineness that I really appreciate. Liz, the beautiful, laid back actress, had us draw stones out of a bag every morning. Random right? Well the stones, made and sold by nuns, are shaped into hearts and inscribed with words. Your word for the day is meant to inform your thoughts and actions throughout the day. Abundance. Blessing. Funny that I drew these words . . . as I look back now I realize that these words describe my time with Jeff and Liz perfectly. They blessed me abundantly.

Adam and I listening to Liz's story after we painted the windows of the house

Liz and I painting

Breakfast at the Martin's

Caught in the middle at Deschutes Brewery

Ramblin E'moore & All City Savannah

After two days hanging out in Portland, the six of us (Nate, Adam, Brooke, Rebekah, Kristin, and myself) rented an Xterra and drove three hours to White Pass, where we met the PCT trailhead and then hiked about 40 miles through the Goat Rocks Wilderness. Now this trip was super cool for a mountain of reasons. Brooke and I are good friends for a while now, Rebekah and I were already friends, having met few times since she and Nate started dating, but Kristin and I had never met. I had heard loads of stories from Nate and Brooke, so it was so good to finally get to spend time with her. As soon as I met her, she was Ate Kris.

In Tagalog, a language spoken in the Philippines where the Quinleys grew up, "ate" means "big sister". An "ate" is a caretaker, a nurturer, and a hug giver. She's on my official list of "Incredible People I'm Lucky to Know". We had a blast, the two of us. Se taught me fun Tagalog phrases and, thanks to her years in Bolivia, spoke loads of Spanish with me.

Ate Kris and I

Ate Kris

Quinley love

A Brooke Quinley greeting

An Innocent walk down the dock turns into...

A spontaneous leap into frigid Lake Chelan

The hiking part of our trip was one of campfires, Powerade snow cones, photos, snowga (my name for yoga... in the snow), and trail names. Now Rebekah already had a trail name, Penny, from her section hiking on the AT, but Brooke and Kristin got their trail names on the PCT. Brooke got the name "Little Foot" because she has...well, little feet. Kristin, anxious on the last morning in the Goat Rocks because a name had not yet befallen her, finally got one in true trail fashion -- Ate Maté. I've already explained Ate, and Maté because of the South American maté cup she carried in her pack and was constantly filling with Yerba. It's a good name, Ate Maté.

We spent most of our nights camped in the alpine meadow beneath Knifes Edge, day hiking from there, eating supper with a sunset-silhouetted Mt. Rainier, and falling asleep beneath a sky of stars and Perseid meteors. The hiking was a little more comfortable than our usual PCT thru-hiking, with lower daily mileage, chocolate chip pancakes, and hours spent sitting atop Knifes Edge visiting with fully visible Mounts Rainier, Adams, and St. Helens. It was nice to be free of the subtle, yet ever present, awareness of the need to make miles. Our last morning in the meadow we had the pleasure of having two northbounders, Tribhu and Muir Bird, in our camp for family breakfast. We got to treat them to some trail magic --chocolate chip pancakes, coffee, and the warmth of a fire, and they shared with us stories, haikus, and insight. We sat around the fire and visited from sunset until hours later, when we remembered that we had to pack up and do that whole walking thing. Beautiful souls.

Powerade snow cones

Hey, I think we should...

Risk seriously hurting ourselves...

 

For the sake of a good photo...

 

Phew...

 

Ate Maté and the Goat Rocks 

Nobody would play in the snow with me

Wildflower photo shoot

 

Uncle Dorfus (Nate)

 

Penny and Ate Maté

Uncle Dorfus and I hanging our camp flag

 

Little Foot in the meadow

 

A PCT sunrise

 

The mist-filled valley at sunrise

 

Breakfast at camp

 

Little Foot on Knifes Edge

 

Penny by the fire

 

Our camp in the meadow

 

 

Family breakfast, SnowGypsy signing Tribhu's pack

 

The dynamic, Quinley duo - Uncle Dorfus and Little Foot

 

Family breakfast with Tribhu and Muir Bird

 

Tribhu and Muir Bird

 

Tribhu tells a story

 

Tribhu and Little Foot's little foot

 

We were out in the Goat Rocks until Wednesday, when we decided to hike out and drive 4 hours north to Chelan where we would take the ferry up Lake Chelan to the idyllic village of Stehekin, whose self proclaimed slogan is: Stehekin is what America used to be. It was so late driving to Chelan that we stopped in East Wenatchee to stay with good ole Uncle Clyde. I'm so thankful that it was on the way and that we got to see him again, along with Log, Christa, and baby Auria. (Is that how you spell her name, Log?) Anyway, the next morning we caught the 8:30am Lady of the Lake which carried us about 45 miles up Lake Chelan to Stehekin. Some may remember that Stehekin is where we took a zero day for my birthday about 100 miles into our hike, over a month ago. The town is super cool. No cell service, no wifi, super friendly people, and a bakery that is out of this world. Apple Sour Cream Pie . . . yeah. 

Uncle Dorfus and Penny by Lake Chelan

 

About to jump in

 

The siblings . . . and a traffic cone

 

Leap into Lake Chelan from Zach Warmup Mile Greene on Vimeo.

 

Penny's already awesome picture gets photo-bombed by a bumblebee

 

Filling up for the six hour drive back to Portland

 

Our drive back to Portland was a long one and about 3.5 hours in I was starting to drift, so Nate took over and got us the rest of the way home -- to the Martin's. We got there around 3:00am, and we had to leave at 4:15 in order to get Little Foot to the airport in time for her flight back to Tennessee. After dropping her off, and saying a sad goodbye, I had to get to the Greyhound station for my bus to Coos Bay, where I would stay with my Aunt Kelly and cousin Ty. The Quinley Takeover is one of my fondest memories and adventures, not just on the PCT but in life completely. I feel so blessed to have shared that time with them, and I can't wait to see them again. The Tribe expands.

I will leave you with the same poem and haiku that Muir Bird left us with after our family breakfast beneath Knifes Edge. Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.

i thank You God for most this amazing

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any–lifted from the no

of all nothing–human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

 

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

-e.e. cummings

 

Don’t worry, spiders,

I keep house

casually.

- Kobayashi Issa

 

Bobby Lockhart, an Inspiration in Ascent

You know those moments in life when a memory floods back into your stream of consciousness with no warning or expectation? Those memories that come back and bridge your past experience with your current activity in a way that lets you appreciate the beginnings. I had one of these several days ago, about good ole Bobby Lockhart -- Mr. Lockhart to me back then.

Mr. Lockhart was the athletic director, English teacher, and economics teacher at my high school, the J. Frank White Academy, and he also coached tennis and basketball. In my mind, Mr. Lockhart was a man of knowledge, insight, and experience, and he was always accessible, relatable, and friendly. I follow his Facebook updates, and I'm just as likely to see some commentary on Kentucky basketball, or a recent race he'd run, as I am to read an insightful musing on moral substance or social issues. Beyond being an administrator in my school and a coach for my teams, Mr. Lockhart is a runner, a member of the Hilltoppers, a running group named after his alma mater. The summer I turned fifteen, 2006, He invited me to come on their annual road trip out west to hike, run, and camp.

Now, I was raised by all women and didn't have very much consistent social interaction with grown men at this point in my life. Beyond that, I was grossly overweight, out of shape, and inexperienced in the ways of the wild. But, the sense of adventure tugged, and, with the blessing and funding of my family, I joined this group of men on a journey west of the Mississippi. Johnny, Jake, Joe (one of the most memorable men I've ever met), Dave, Mr. Lockhart, his son Christian, a few others, and myself all piled into two Astro vans and laid tracks across the US, making stops to hike, camp, and run (they ran, I toured coffee shops) in South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and New México. I had an external frame Kelty pack, an Esbit stove that I didn't know how to use, and a new pair of boots. And, once again, it becomes important later to remember that I was seriousy out of shape.

The memory that struck me a few days ago occurred during an ascent of several thousand feet. Halfway up, I all of a sudden realized that I had been ascending for quite some time but hadn't had to stop yet for a rest. It was as if walking uphill with my heavy pack was a completely normal thing to do now, rather than the dreaded part of my hiking experience that it used to be. This jerked me back the the memory of our overnight hike in Yellowstone back when I was 15. The hike from the trailhead to the campsite was pretty tame -- mostly downhill and enjoyable. This of course means that our return was mostly uphill and, for me, some kind of sick hell. I remember that I was only able to walk about 30-90 seconds before having to stop and catch my breath. I would repeat this process over and over again, desperately trying to catch up to Joe, who I think was in his 50s, as he disappeared up-trail. Mr. Lockhart stuck behind with me, stopping every time I did, and encouraged me that as long as I kept moving after catching my breath, I was still moving forward - and that that's what mattered. He would set his watch for 90 seconds, and we would walk until it beeped. Then we timed a 30 second rest, after which we started the cycle over. 120 seconds at a time, we made it up the hills and descended to the vans.

Mr. Lockhart could have left me behind, thinking what most folks might have thought: "He'll catch up eventually," or, "What the hell was I thinking inviting this kid along?" But, instead, he set his stopwatch, gave me crystal light to make my over-iodined water more drinkable, and walked with me all the way up. An inspiration in ascent. That experience could have been discouraging, but thanks to Bobby it was empowering...for me anyway. I don't have to stop every thirty seconds when I ascend anymore, maybe now every 30 minutes just to take a drink of water, regain my breath, and carry on. But, whether its every thirty seconds or thirty minutes, as long as we keep pushing to the top, that's what matters. A few feet at a time.

Thanks Bobby. Had you not walked with me and empowered me in that moment, I might have written off hiking as something I just wasn't cut out for.

Happy Trails, Warmup Mile

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Trail Update! Photos!

I've been away from the blog for a while now, unfortunately, although I have been able to keep Facebook relatively updated with photos and locations. I hope that I haven't gone so long without posting that people have given up on it. Maybe we can bring it back to life here.

So, we're only four days from the Oregon border and I'm getting super excited for the weeks to come. When we get to Cascade Locks, the last point of Washington, I'll be getting a package and letters from a dear friend, enjoying a farewell-Washington beer at the Cascade Locks Hiker Pub, then heading to Portland where Nathan and I will be picking up Brooke Q., Rebekah and Kristen Q. After a few days in Portland, we will be taking them back up to rehike the section of the Goat Rocks that we just came through. It's one of the most majestic parts of the trip so far, so they're definitely going to enjoy it. After our fun hike, I'll be heading down to Coos Bay, OR to visit my Aunt Kelly for a few days while Nate spends a few days with Rebekah around Portland. I haven't seen my Aunt Kelly or cousin Ty in many years, and I'm super excited to reconnect with them and make some memories. So stoked!

My time on the trail has been pretty great. I've met such incredible people, and fallen asleep under such beautiful stars...I've never felt like I was going to bed anywhere but home. One thing that hugely contributes to the fact that the trail truly feels like my home is the fact that I fall asleep within 20 feet of my trail family - the tribe, as we call it. The time will come in Portland when we split paths for a little while, to be separated by plans and demands of life, until we can reconnect further down the trail. I would imagine that when we do reconnect, which my spirit knows will happen, that first night back around the fire will feel just as the last one did - comfortable - home. I love my tribe. Fuzzy, SnowGypsy, Reach, Meander, Puppeteer, Pop-Tart, Mark, and Rusty. This community is incredible...it's what makes the trail so good.

Beyond the community, of course, the trail itself is essentially spectacular. The views to which we've been lifted by steep, snowy ascents have been worth climbing to see more than once. The flowers that blanket the ridges of the Goat Rocks are colorful, bold displays of nature that overwhelm the nose as well as the eyes. I actually resorted to rubbing the purple ones all over my arms one day trying to carry the smell off with me. It didn't work quite as planned. The feeling of a breeze coming through a pass is a beautiful, cooling gift after a steep, hot ascent. The alarm goes off in the morning, and there's no longer any thought besides the order of things: pack up, build fire, drink coffee, eat oatmeal, poop in the woods, start walking... The walking ends and then: set up tent, blow up mattress (I hate this), fetch water, boil water, make coffee, cook supper, eat, wash pot, eat lots of chocolate, talk with my tribe, retire to tent, write a letter, happily drift to sleep. The simplicity of the existence is beautiful.

While I'm loving my new, ever-changing home, I do miss my home in southeast Tennessee. I miss my mama, my beautiful sister...my family. I miss my little cousins Jameson, Scotty, Price, and Zoey. I miss my front porch at Spring Street and the friends that were ever gathered there around food and fellowship. I miss singing with John Moore, back porch talks with Micah, and mutually optimistic illusions of grandeur shared with McClain alongside finely crafted beer. I miss those conversations with Ben that always gave insight and perspective. I miss the river, and the trout I have caught there. The mountains, the familiar back roads, the accent, the music. We've just finished our first month out here, and the faraway reality is that we're out here for three more. Wow. I can't imagine all the things that the next three moths are going to bring. Hopefully a longer beard, stronger legs, and a tuned-up spirit. I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be out here, and I'm so thankful for everyone who has helped make it possible. I love you all.

Well it's time to pack up my stuff and return to the trail. I've enjoyed writing this post, and I hope that I'll return to it much more often. In the meantime, I hope your heart is full and your feet are moving.

Happy Trails

 

 

 

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Fort William and Ben Nevis, Looking Back

Well I haven't posted since Inverness, and its pretty regrettable. Looking back I'm trying to figure out how to wrap up everything that has happened in the last 9 days. Lets give it a shot.

I left Inverness on a Sunday and, after a very easy hitch to Fort William, found myself at the Grog and Gruel Pub on the High Street. I knew that my next move was going to be climbing Ben Nevis, but I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do for accommodation for the two nights I was in Fort William. After I posted the last blog post, which I was writing there at the pub, I walked up to the bar to pay for my drink. As I stood there, waiting for the lad behind the bar to get a free second, I looked over to my left. There sat Rob, pictured below, the Irish manager of the Backpackers Hostel in Fort William that I had stayed at at the beginning of my trip.

Keishal, Tom, Me, and Rob in Fort William right before my departure on the West Highland Way

When I saw him, I did a bit of a double take. He recognized me, impressive given that he sees at least 30 new guests each day, and offered to buy me a pint. We took our ales to my booth where I told him all about my misadventures on the Cape Wrath Trail. He asked my plans now, and I told him I would climb Ben Nevis on Monday and begin the West Highland Way on Tuesday. He asked where I was staying, and when I told him I was going to camp, trying to save money, he offered me two nights of accommodation in exchange for two hours work each day. Sounded great to me! The hostel there in Fort William is fantastic, by far my favorite, and I was glad to get to be around some great people before my next hike.

Sunday night found me reunited with a few folks from my last visit and in the company of many new ones. Martin, a philosopher from Brazil, Juan, a medical diver from Colombia, and Tom, an upcoming uni student from Germany, were a few with whom I spent really good time. We played the guitar, drank Strongbow cider, and sang around the fire into the wee hours of morning before I decided to head to bed. I was climbing Ben Nevis the next day, after all.

Before my two-hour shift on Monday, I ran to Morrison's for groceries and food for my hike. The shift was fun. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to clean anyway, so I put on the Avett Brothers and left that baño cleaner than ever. After a quick lunch and a trip to the store for waterproof socks, I was about to walk out of the hostel towards Ben Nevis when I bumped into Tom. I asked if he wanted to climb the mountain with me, and after assuring him that I would love the company, he joined the adventure to the highest peak in Britain.

From the hostel, we had about 30 minutes of walking through Glen Nevis before we reached the trailhead up the mountain. The path we took is 10 miles, five-up five-down, and typically takes around 6.5 hours to finish. Because we both had cleaning shifts until 12:30 and then ate lunch, we actually didn't get started until 3:00 - kinda late. The thing about the mountain, as with the rest of the wild in Scotland, is the fact that the weather can change without warning. If you're up at the top when it shifts for the worse, it can be bad. So, given our late start, and the fact that everyone seemed to be already coming down, we were hustling up the steep, uneven, jagged ascent.

After about 75 minutes of ascent, we reached the loch, and from there the "peak" seemed to be right before us. I though we had made great time! I even took a video, in it saying we were just 30 minutes from the top. What I didn't know was that, when we reached that "peak", we would suddenly see that the real summit was far out of our soles' reach, as it cleaved the clouds and continued to heights unknown to us at that time - there were nearly 2 more hours of ascent remaining.

I was game for it. I had been walking since I got here with my heavy rucksack on my back, but that day I had a little day-pouch with a bottle of water in it. It was as if I had lost all that weight again, but this time all at once, and I felt like I could fly. As I climbed quickly, I had to pay very close attention to where my feet landed, as the path is often uneven, jagged rock that seems ever eager to snare of sprain an ankle. It amazed me how quickly the processes happened. My eyes saw the best place for each step to land, and it sent that information to my brain which processed it in terms of distance, likelihood of stability, risk, and effort. Then, my brain must have told which muscles to contract, which to relax, and within milliseconds my foot landed in the very same spot I perceived as safest, merely with peripheral vision. My feet lifted just enough to clear each snagging rock, but not too high so as to miss the mark. Truly, truly, I am amazed at the complexity and harmony of the human body.

Ascending Ben Nevis

Glen Nevis, Ascending Ben Nevis

Tom, Ascending Ben Nevis

Clouds Breaking, Near the Summit

Glen Nevis, Near the Summit

Tom and I both began to slow as we got closer and closer to the top. Before we knew it, the rocky paths had turned to foot-deep snow and the air had lost its status of balmy breeze, changing out for bitter wind. It was amazing to begin the climb sweating at sea level and end freezing at 1340m. As we got into the snow, we also got into the clouds, and the only way to really tell where the "path" went was by following footprints and chasing the outlines of huge stone mounds, set up as markers. About 20 minutes after taking the first step into the snow, we made it to the emergency shelter on top and the stone that seems to mark the finish. We stopped there, sat down, ate our packed snacks, and wished we had a view. The clouds were too dense to see the magnificent view that a clear day allows.

In the clouds and snow, at the summit of Ben Nevis

Breaking clouds, descending Ben Nevis

Panorama from ascent

Getting really cold after a while, we began our descent. It took us right at 3 hours to get up to the top, and about 2.5 to get back to the bottom. While it was quicker walking, we had to be careful that we didn't move too quickly, lest the loos scree and gravel cause is to take a nasty fall. I was becoming ever more thankful for the waterproof sock investment. My Salomons are largely mess, which makes them quick to dry but also quick to get wet socks. The socks "worked a treat", as Ian would say.

At the bottom, we stopped at the pub in Glen Nevis and had a beer outside, proud of our accomplishment and mutually glad for the day's conversation. Returning to the hostel, I had a very welcomed shower and cooked a big plate of pasta. It was bonfire and chatting after that before I went to bed thinking about my trail the next day - The West Highland Way.

 

 

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Inverness: The End of the Great Glen Way

Well Thursday afternoon I finished the Great Glen Way at the hill-top castle of Inverness. The day was short, and after getting my photo with Flora Macdonald's monument I found a phone booth and called up Ian and Anne. I had met them several days before when I was camping along Loch Lochy. They were out enjoying the weather, fishing, and tolerating the American that had unknowingly pitched his tent in the secluded spot that prompted them to stop in the first place. They were very nice, and after several hours of conversation they told me to look them up if I was ever in Inverness. Well, that's just what I did.

With Flora Macdonald's Monument at the GGW terminus

Ian and Anne welcomed my unexpected call and picked me up from the city center. Back at their house, they told me I could use the camper to sleep in and keep my stuff, have a bath, and just hang out. It was a hot, sunny day and we sat on the back patio, surrounded by Anne's gorgeous flowers and Ian's ingenuitive inventions. After a bath, I spotted a guitar in the corner of the living room and asked if incould strum a bit. This quickly turned into a little fiesta as Ian pulled out a few bottles of his homemade wine and song after song was sung. It was a late night and I think we all slept in a bit the next morning. The next day, Ian told me that I could stay again if I wanted to, and that if I did we would drive over to the Black Isle to see the bottlenose dolphins off the shore.

Trying to convince Khan to play

Khan, the Japanese Akita

The bit of attention from Khan

The Moray Firth Dolphins

After seeing the dolphins on a dreary, Scottish day, we drove over to have coffee with Val and Kenny, Ian's sister and brother-in-law. They have a house out in the middle of farmland in the Black Isle where Kenny's family always raised quality bulls. We had coffee and they joked about the how the "yank" had pretty much moved in. They were great folks and I hoped that I would get to see them again before I left. That night found Ian and I drinking more homemade wine and watching The Magnificent Seven until 2am.

On Saturday the weather had imoroved. We went into town to the outdoor goods store, "Go", where I bought an ultralight foam pad to protect the bottom of my thin tent floor and we gawked over nifty gear and other gadgets. Motivated, Ian and I went into the garage when we got back home and went to work improving my simple tuna-can cook stove. We ended up coming up with a new design, a spin-off of typical soda can Penny Stoves. After some struggle and doubt, we found that a priming base was all that was needed to heat the stove enough to pressurize the methylated spirits inside the stove and send them up in nice, uniform jets. It works brilliantly, is incredibly light, and with a few ounces of fuel burned for nearly twenty minutes.

Ian sets the kettle on the new stove

That afternoon, Val called and asked of we wanted to come over for a bit of "balls". "Balls", or carpet bowling, is different than 10 pen bowling by a long shot, but its quite popular here. We left the house at 5:30pm and got to Val's at 6:00 with several bottles of homemade wine (any surprise by this point?), some appetizers, and the guitar. We found the huge barn to be emptied of the tractor and bailing equipment. In their place was a huge green carpet, 8 large weighted bowlers, and one small red "jack". It turned into quite the party: Val, Kenny, Ian, Anne, Kelly, Kim, Neil, little Sophie and Amy, and myself. It was a family affair, and they tought me all about the game.

Kenny shows off a lifetime of practice

Ian and Kenny, a deadly team

The barn made ready

Val

Anne

Sophie and Amy

The whole bowling gang

Kenny supervising

Kim, Kelly, and Ian

The night went on until nearly morning. The guitar came out and we sang while the Sophie and Amy turned the green carpet into a dance floor. Neil, Kim's husband and the lassies' dad, sang the Eagles with me and had some impressive vocal moves. It was one of the most fun nights I've ever spent, with one of the best group of people I know. They welcomed me in, fed me and gave me good wine and scotch, and beat me mercilessly in bowling. I'm just waiting for them to come to Tennessee so I can return the favor and whoop them in ten-pin.

Anne drove us back home, mercilessly cutting off anyone in her way without losing her regal, happy demeanor, and Ian and I sang some improvised traffic blues as we drove through roadwork on the bridge to Inverness.

This morning, Sunday morning, the weather was great but it didn't quite alleviate the bit of sadness that I felt leaving these two incredible people, and Khan of course. We met by chance, some might say, but I'm so glad that we got the opportunity to reunite in Inverness. They treated me with an extraordinary amount of kindness and love. Ian and Anne dropped my off on the main road so that I could hitch back to Fort William to begin the West Highland Way. I found a ride with a guy named Stephen, and now I'm sitting in the Grog and Gruel pub in Fort William. I'm happy for the next leg of my adventure, but a part of me wishes that my glass was full of homemade wine instead of Scottish Red Ale. Thanks for the great time, Ian, Anne, Val, Kenny, Kim, Neil, Kelly, Sophie, and Amy. It will forever be fondly remembered. Keep Tennessee on the map.

 

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