The Day We Met
Some journeys begin only after we turn around.
I was almost halfway to the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) when I suddenly realized I’d forgotten my hiking boots. Breakfast, water, protein bars, trekking poles… I’d packed everything except the one thing a hike actually required.
There will always be many reasons to turn back. We just have to find one reason to keep going…
—
I did turn around, grabbed my boots, and headed back. The PCT was reason enough to start again.
An hour later than planned, I pulled into a gravel lot off Exit 52 on I-90. Or at least I hoped it was the right lot. The directions had sounded straightforward: find the PCT sign. Instead, there were just a few cars and a lot of open space. Then I noticed a man with a big backpack, drinking something as he headed down the path. That seemed promising.
I grabbed my daypack and trekking poles and started walking toward the trail. Just to be sure, I asked a man in a pickup truck, “Is this the way to the PCT?” He looked puzzled. “I don’t know what that is, but there’s a trail up there.” Good enough…
The obligatory trailhead photo. The day we met…
(Photo by Author)
I found the familiar PCT sign. As I was taking the photo, the backpacker I had noticed earlier walked over. “I’ve got an unusual request.”
He held out an empty bottle of green tea. “Would you mind tossing this when you head back?” Compared to his pack, my daypack felt almost silly. But he sure knew I was a day hiker based on my load.
“Sure, of course.”
I tucked it into my bag. I wished him well on the hike and started walking. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me and stepped aside. “You seem to be moving much faster than me. Why don’t you go ahead,” I said.
Not long after, I caught up to him. He was chatting with three women about Lodge Lake and the beautiful day. Not wanting to interrupt, I slipped past silently.
A little later, I was off to the side of the trail taking some photos when he caught up again. The trail seemed determined to keep introducing us. I made a lighthearted joke: “I guess we keep following each other.” He chuckled and commented on my backpack...
Every trail begins in uncertainty.
(Photo by Author)
That’s how the conversation began...
He told me he’d grown up on the East Coast. His father had hiked long stretches of the Appalachian Trail, relying on nothing but the fish that he caught for his food.
I told him I’d just finished Wild and had A Walk in the Woods next on my list.
Somewhere in the conversation, he mentioned that he had actually started the hike the day before. Then he realized he’d forgotten all his cooking utensils. He turned back, regrouped, and began again that morning. I told him about my own false start with the boots. We both laughed. Two people who began their journeys by turning back.
Then I asked what had inspired this long hike. He had mentioned earlier, when he handed over the green tea bottle, that he was planning to be on the hike for weeks and was hoping to make it all the way to Mt. Rainier.
He told me his doctor couldn’t give him a number. The doctor had told him to do whatever he wanted before...
I had only known him for a little over 15 minutes, and I knew so little about his life. For a moment, I wanted to reach over and offer him a hug. He told me he really wanted to finish this. It had been a dream of his.
Some views make you stop. Some conversations do the same.
(Photo by Author)
We kept walking for another hour or so. He told me about his love of planes and how much he loved flying them. We talked about hiking, books, travel, and all the little things that somehow feel much bigger when you’re walking through the mountains.
We reached the spur where I had to take the trail to the lake, and he had to continue straight. I asked if he wanted to join me to see the lake.
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he smiled.
We both laughed and made our way to the lake.
Beaver Lake, quiet enough to hear yourself think.
(Photo by Author)
When we reached Lodge Lake, we met a hiker packing up her campsite. She asked if we were hiking together.
“Actually, we just met today,” he said.
“I’m just out for a day hike,” I added.
He pointed down the trail and said he was hoping to make it past Rainier.
“And you?” I asked her.
“Started from the Mexico border,” she said. Five months on the trail.
I tried to take that in. Time measured not in calendar pages, but in footsteps.
There were more day hikers by the lake. We exchanged pleasantries. After taking in the beautiful lake, he mentioned that he should get going. He was planning to hike a little farther before camping for the day. We wished each other well.
And we went our separate ways.
Silence…
(Photo by Author)
I was walking back in silence. At least in body.
My mind kept circling back. His doctor couldn’t give him a number. None of us has a number, really. Most of us just live with the illusion that we do. Maybe that’s a gift. Or maybe it’s just something we forget to remember.
I went out looking for silence. I thought silence was the absence of words.
Silence can be the space between good conversations, between footsteps, between one turning back and beginning again…
What a lovely coincidence that you both turned back.
Beautiful, gives me hope to find a place to think before a doctor gives me a number or does not. Peace has a price.