GR

Oroville, WA to Ross Lake, WA

Section Overview

• Miles: 156
• Days: 6
• Total Miles: 748.69
• Total Days: 34 (+ Day 35 Zero)

Day 29

Starting the Pasayten Wilderness stretch was exciting and daunting. The anticipation of the Pasayten had slowly been building since night one on the trail after talking to hiker starting the CDT who had hiked the PNT years before. He described the Pasayten as the hardest and best part of the trail. For me the end of the Pasayten also marked terrain I had been in before. But before reaching the Pasayten, I had a 25 mile road walk out of Oroville in front of me.

I started the road walk out of Oroville as early as I could muster. Balancing sleep vs the hot road was hard and in retrospect, I probably should have left an hour or two early. The roadwalk started off very pleasant, with cool temperatures following closely along the Similkameen River, which cut its way through the rolling foothills. Soon, however, as the crept its way down into the valley, the heat began to set in. While I was enjoying the beauty of the valley, spotting multiple bald eagles and ospreys, the heat was starting to take its toll.

The first guaranteed water source along the road walk was 21 miles at the south end of Palmer Lake, but as I crossed a bridge to reach the opposite side of the river and the tiny town of Nighthawk, a pickup truck pulled up next to me. The man inside knew exactly what I was doing and without even asking if I needed anything, he introduced himself as Scott and told me to go to the backdoor of his house where his wife Wendy would give me any water I needed. I readily thanked him and followed his instructions, awkwardly knocking on the door of the house he had pointed to.

Wendy answered almost immediately and brought a bunch of water bottles outside. We sat and chatted for awhile about the trail, the town of Nighthawk (I learned its currently population was 8 people), and how she and Scott ended up there. After filling up my bottles, I thanked her and set my feet back to the road towards Palmer Lake. She mentioned that Carson and Tim had passed through earlier and I was hopeful I could catch up to them to pass some of the time on the road.

Reaching the north end of Palmer Lake didn’t provide much respite from the heat. Most of the access points were private, so I was forced to set my sights on the south end where there was a recreation site with water access and some picnic tables. The road walk passed quickly, but the heat was slowly becoming nearly unbearable. I had been lucky with weather up until this point, but dealing with 100 degree temperatures on a long and exposed road walk was taking its toll on me.

When I arrived at the south end of the lake, I found Carson and Tim lounging in a measly bit of shade under the only covered picnic table. I joined them, trying to get out of the sun as much as I could. While we were there, we witnessed a very strange situation of a woman yelling up at the mountains behind us. Eventually she came over to us and asked if we knew where the mines were, explaining her husband, his friend, and dog went exploring (I would later learn from Carson and Tim that the group did eventually return, but the dog died from heat exposure in the dry terrain).

After an hour or so, I went down to the lake to filter water. Somehow it was at the top of list of filter-killing water sources I had come across, including in New Mexico on the CDT. While I was trying to pre-filter the unavoidable algae, another woman approached me and offered all of us water bottles from her cooler. She happily gave us enough to each have a liter of water.

A few miles later, back on the road, I realized that I should have filter more water in addition to what the woman had given me at the lake. I had another 4 miles of and exposed dirt road climb until my next water source and I only had 1/4 of a liter of water left. I thought about climbing down into the creek below me, but it looked mucky – used for farming and cattle – and would require climbing over a wire fence.

Just as I was about to turn off onto the dirt road, a jeep pulled up and I was met by a couple asking if I was hiking the PNT. I was blown away when I learned they not only knew what the PNT was, but they knew someone who hiked it, and they were PCT trail angels. I asked if they had any water. They have me all they had left – a liter – and I stared my climb towards the Pasayten boundary, marveling at the fact that if I had left Palmer Lake 5 minutes earlier or later, I would have missed them.

The rest of the day was hard, but passed without indecent. I eventually found water and stayed in the cool oasis, surrounded by cow poop for as long as I could. Once on the CDT heading into Grants, I had issues with the heat – hiding under a measly bush trying not to puke from the heat – and the climb out of the valley nearly had me in a similar state. Thankfully I was out of the heat of the day and I headed toward camp after drinking as much water as I could.

My camp for the night was a small hunting cabin about 9 miles east of the Pasayten boundary. I was happy to have a nice shelter after a long and hot day and set up on one of the cots until I discovered a massive mouse nest in the stove someone had brought up. I ended up eating in the cabin and spending the night out in the tall grass nearby.

Day 30

I woke up excited to start the day. I hadn’t been mentally prepared for the day before and the approach to the Pasayten, but knowing that most of my day would be spent away from roads, people, and cattle got me out of bed quickly. Before I reached the Pasayten I had to follow a brief gravel road – spotting a black bear ahead of me lumbering into the woods, a confusing stretch of trail that took me to a water tank and resulted in me wandering through a cow pasture back to the trail, a beautiful and short trail that quickly petered out into a swamp I had to pick my way through, and eventually the steep climb that quickly reached the boundary.

On the opposite side of the Pasayten boundary I was met almost immediately by sweeping views of the mountains. I took a quick break to soak in the feeling of being back in the mountains and not soon after I heard some voices on the unfrequented trail behind me. Carson and Tim had hitch hiked up to a campground a bit closer to the boundary than where I had stayed and had caught up to me. We happily joined forces and kept moving deeper into the mountains, reveling in the dramatic change from the Okanogan Highlands.

We spent the day hiking together along the Boundary Trail, skirting near the Canadian border. The trail was incredibly well maintained and we even passed a trail crew doing some work. We had independently decided to head to the Tungsten Mine – an old mine camp with some buildings left behind open to explore and stay in.

The Boundary continued to be incredible to walk along and aside from one stretch with brutal black flies that swarmed our legs preventing us from stopping, it was one of the best days on the trail so far. Eventually, the old mine buildings came into view. We stopped to explore the abandoned buildings, hoping to spend the night in the shelters – even if they appeared a bit run down. The old camp had two buildings, one bunk house, which looked in good shape from the outside, and a mess hall building of some sort that seemed to be sinking and splitting apart.

Apparently the mine was discovered in 1898 and used until 1950. After that, based on the names of boy scout troops and other visitors, the old buildings seemed like they became a popular destination. Since then, the buildings had slowly started falling apart. Some of the rooms were in good shape, while others looked like they were in the first stages of being consumed by the ground beneath. The bunk house looked promising from the outside, but once inside, the obvious scraping noises of mice in the ceiling sent us back outside to look for camp.

Since it was still fairly early and the bugs were worse than what I wanted to deal with, I decided to continue another couple miles to the pass just beyond the mine. I said goodbye to Carson and Tim, hoping that our paths would cross again as they had been doing since east of Republic, and headed up towards my hopeful camp. The slight breeze and flat ground I found at the pass when I arrived confirmed I had made a good decision and I set up my sleeping pad and quilt for the night, enjoying the warm air and solitude in a place that felt truly wild.

Day 31

I woke up just before the sunrise and got packed packed in the quiet of the morning. I left my small patch of dirt and rejoined the Boundary Trail headed west. I was quickly met with the iconic Remmel Mountain aglow from the early morning sun. I felt like I stopped every few feet to take photos of the glowing peak. A few seconds after leaving the Remmel Mountain views I was met with the stunning south and east faces of Cathedral Peak. The pyramid mountain was hard to look away from. The sheer southern wall rose nearly straight up over 1,000 feet from the pass I would soon be at. I took my time walking around the bowl towards the pass taking in the views and enjoying the silent, cool, and calm morning.

Reaching Cathedral Pass granted me a massive view to the west. I stayed there for a few minutes taking in the last of the early morning light looking out over the terrain I was about to head into. Eventually I moved on, dropping to Cathedral Lake campground. There were a number of groups – presumably out to climb Cathedral Peak – just stirring in the quiet morning. I passed through quickly to not disturb anyone and continued on my way.

Not long after passing through the camp, I came up over a rise and was met with an expansive view of Remmel Mountain framed in a small tarn. I immediately recognized it as the cover photo of Chris Townsend’s book Grizzly Bears and Razor Clams, a book about his time on the PNT. I once again slowed to a halt, admiring the view in front of me. Remmel is truly a majestic mountain from any angle and may warrant a return trip to summit it.

I left Remmel behind and continued towards a major trail junction. There I ran into a number of groups out for trips ranging from a couple days to a couple weeks. The one that stood out, however, was two friends, one of whom had a gun strapped to his chest. It had been awhile since I was asked if I carried a gun while hiking or told I should be. While his gun, and my lack there of, was never brought up in conversation, I marveled at how just the presence of the firearm put me in a state of unease – far more so than the wild animals I had encountered.

The trail continued up into high meadows with intermittent patches of trees and alpine flowers. I enjoyed the sweeping views, trying not to fall down as I looked back toward Cathedral Pass, which now appeared to stand as a gateway to the eastern portion of the trail. It wasn’t lost on me that I was already halfway through the trail. After a few moments of reflection on the terrain I had covered I came to the realization that I had officially hit a month on the PNT. It was a pleasant feeling realizing I had mostly lost track of time while on trail – my focus was on day to day decisions and thoughts of the future never extended beyond the next town I was going to reach.

I left my moment of reflection and started the descent into the Ashnola River Valley. Along the way I past by a PNTA trail crew tirelessly working on maintaining the route I was following. I briefly said hello and thanked them for their work before continuing the long descent to the river. Sheep Mountain, which I had seen earlier and now lay right across the valley, grew larger and larger as I descended. Dark clouds began forming behind its broad summit – a warning sign that my time of dodging storms had come to an end.

As I descended into the valley, light drops began falling on me and I begrudgingly put my raincoat on. When I reached the river it was clear there was no shelter and whatever structure had been there in the past was long gone. I waded through the icy water to the far side and settled down for a short break under a dead tree whose empty branches was doing little to negate the water dropping from above. I waited for a bit until I felt like the rain was beginning to fade and started the climb back up out of the valley.

I soon emerged out of treeline and was met with more stunning views – the Pasayten was treating me well and getting a bit wet was a small price to pay for having the area all to myself.

My pace slowed more and more as I continued towards Bunker Hill – my destination for the night. The views kept growing as I came around bends in the trail. The trail skirted along the side of Quartz Mountain and I couldn’t resist the urge to jump off trail to climb up to the summit. I spent far longer than I should taking in the moody and epic mountains to the west and south and behind me all the way to Cathedral Pass. The mountains were showing off with clouds dark clouds hovering just above their peaks.

Eventually I left Quartz Mountain to finish my day out. Climbing up to Bunker Hill turned out to be much hard than I expected. The Boundary Trail, which had been spectacularly maintained up this point started to fade away and the climb opted to just go straight up the flank of the “hill.” In retrospect I also suspect nearing heat exhaustion on the road leaving Oroville was playing a part in how difficult the climb was.

Once I reached the top I once again took in the stunning views. I was planning on staying at the top, but after looking around at the sandy summit, I dropped off the top to a small patch of trees that would offer a bit more cover for the night. It turned out to be a smart decision because as I was falling asleep the threatening clouds finally released the rain they were holding. I fell asleep to the intermittent rain squalls thinking about hitting the PCT tomorrow and the supposedly rough terrain I would have to cross before I reached it. Little did I know, the next would be without a doubt the hardest stretch of hiking I would encounter on the entire trail.

Day 32 – “Blowdown Day”

I woke up to a cool and damp morning on Bunker Hill with plans for a big day. I was hoping to reach Woody Pass on the PCT, which lay 30 miles away. I figured it would be a long day, but it would set me up to potentially take a detour south to Crater Mountain, which I had attempted to summit the previous October.

I started the descent off Bunker Hill, nearly missing my first turn of the day. I was treated to a calm sunrise and got a nice view of a trail crew’s camp from up above. A couple of them were tending to their horses in what looked like a very wet camp. Soon after passing by their campground, the Boundary Trail nearly completely disappeared. Small alpine trees started covering the nearly non-existent trail, presumably burned by a fire many years ago. I had hoped that the blowdowns wouldn’t start quite so early in my day, but the route down to the Pasayten River turned out to be far more mentally and physically challenging than I was anticipating. With all the burned trees, I was treated to views of the snaking Pasayten River, but I could also see the west side and the hundreds of blowdowns that lay in front of me.

The descent to the river slowed more and more as the blowdowns increased covering the already tough to follow trail. Eventually the trail flattened and I pushed through some final brush to reach the east bank of the Pasayten River. There was clearly no easy way across the river and no clear trail on the opposite side, so I stepped into the icy river and waded across to the opposite bank. I was able to track down the trail after I got out of the water, but the blowdowns I had seen from above instantly started as soon as I left the river. The hike down from Bunker Hill proved to just be a warm up for the blowdowns on the west bank of the Pasayten. My pace dramatically slowed as I was forced to clamber over multiple downed trees at a time, sometimes suspended a few feet in the air.

My next milestone was an old airstrip nestled deep in the backcountry that lay six miles from the Pasayten River crossing. After four miles of hopping trees and warding off the occasional mosquito, I heard some voices ahead of me. I came around a turn and ran right into another PNTA trail crew. I spoke with them for a bit, learning that they had cleared two and 1/2 miles of blowdowns from the airstrip over the past couple weeks and a Forest Service crew was doing work on the trail that led west to the PCT. After thanking them profusely – maybe a bit too enthusiastically – I hiked on, the first time in a few hours my feet had uninterrupted trail.

The ascent from the airstrip to the PCT began smoothly, but didn’t last long. I was headed into the heart of the fire that had closed the PCT terminus the year before and it quickly became apparent how devastating the blaze was. Freshly charred trees littered the ground around the trail and soon consumed the narrow path in its entirety. At some point in I ran into a Forest Service crew who were hiking in from over Frosty Pass – my backup goal for camping that night. They warned me that some of the stretches ahead were quite rough, but the warning wasn’t entirely necessary. One look at their soot covered arms, legs, and faces and it was clear that the west bank of the Pasayten paled in comparison to what I was headed towards.

The next seven miles proved to be the hardest stretch of the entire trail. The trail spent more time hidden under destroyed trees than visible to me, forcing me to check my maps every ten minutes or so to ensure I was still on track. The blackened trees shed their soot easily and soon I was covered and looked like the FS crew I had left. Multiple times I completely lost the trail and at one point I turned my camera around and took a single photo of myself. In the moment it felt random to take, but it is one of the photos I look back on the most and it helped me learn I had been wiping soot all over my face.

The rest of the day continued to prove mentally and physically taxing. I came across a small creek and was given a brief break from dealing with the downed trees while I waded through the icy water. As I slowly climbed higher from the creek, the downed trees began thinning slightly, which helped moderately with my moral. Soon after leaving the creek, I ran into a few PCT hikers – the first of many – who had just completed their 2022 hike and instead of backtracking from the terminus had opted to make a loop using the PNT to get to the airstrip and then head south to Hart’s Pass.

We spent a few minutes chatting about the trails, laughing at how different they were – both in how many people were hiking and expectations on trail conditions. I gave them the info I could on what was ahead of them and they did the same for me, detailing what to expect reaching Frosty Pass. We parted ways and I continued upwards knowing I hadn’t reached the end of the blowdowns. In hindsight, I may have undersold what they were heading into by a similar margin as they had oversold what lay ahead of me.

As Frosty Pass grew closer, the blowdowns eased almost completely, but rain started to fall from the clouds that had slowly been moving in. I enjoyed fields of flowers and morel mushrooms coming up out of the desolate dirt. I even came across a tiny snake curled up next to a rock.

Eventually exhaustion completely took over as I trudged up the switchbacks to the pass. The moody clouds provided interesting views as I reached my destination for the night. My plan to continue farther down the PCT had gone out the window a long time ago and I set up my shelter and enjoyed the stunning views and flowing clouds as the sun slowly set.

Unfortunately for me as the sky grew darker and I settled down for the night, my hand slipped suddenly as I fiddled with my quilt’s pad attachment system. The small piece of plastic I had spent every night clipping and un-clipping sliced right through my sleeping pad, leaving an inch long gash that all of the air rushed out of. Frustrated with myself for making a silly mistake, I dug into my pack and pulled out all of the Tenacious Tape and Duct Tape I had, did my best to patch the hole, and settled in, expecting a rough night at 6500 feet as my pad leaked the air I was desperately trying to fill it with, slowly sinking to the ground.

Day 33

I woke up as the sun began touching the horizon. I had slept shockingly well, even on my completely deflated pad. Thankfully the night hadn’t been too chilly and the soft ground underneath me didn’t have me spending the night tossing and turning – an affirmation that I don’t sleep particularly well on inflatable mattresses.

My amazement at how well I slept faded instantly as I opened my shelter to the morning sun. The dew covered heather on the small patch of land I called home for the night was glowing as the sun rose behind a thin cloud, illuminating everything in a brilliant yellow glow. My morning routine slowed to a crawl as I watch the sun come up and knowing I had some easy miles in front of me on the PCT. It was nice taking my time and enjoying the sun slowly warming up the landscape – typically I was up and out as quickly as I could pack my camp.

I slowly packed up my lonely camp and headed down to Castle Pass, where I connected with the Pacific Crest Trail. Dropping west off of Frosty Pass granted me instant views of the eastern most mountains of the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. I reached Castle Pass and turned south on the PCT. The trail under my feet immediately widened, overgrowth disappeared, and the views became near-constant.

It was still relatively early and I didn’t run into anyone on the PCT for an hour or so. But soon, the trail became nearly crowded – at least compared to the past month I had been on the PNT. I enjoyed saying hi to the groups and individuals I was passing. Many of them had hiked the PCT the year prior, but had to get off due to the fire that shut down the terminus. More than a few looked a bit concerned at my torn clothing covered in soot and asked if I had reached the terminus. I assured them they would not have deal with what I had been through before parting ways.

After about 13 miles my time on the PCT came to and end as I turned west once again. Mere feet off the PCT, I was back to over grown trail with blowdowns blocking my path. I laughed to myself as I crawled over the trees, happy to be back to the PNT standard and started climbing up towards Sky Pilot Pass.

Leaving the PCT not only meant encountering the occasional blowdown, but a return to the solitude I had become so used to. It was immediately clear how much less traffic the trail I was on sees compared to the PCT highway. I passed over Sky Pilot Pass and quickly reached Devils Pass. I had originally hoped to leave the PNT and head south to Crater Mountain – a peak my friends and I had attempted to cowboy camp on the year before – but only reaching Frosty Pass the day before meant I still would have 20 miles and nearly 7k feet of vertical gain to reach the summit. Without the desire to extend my day, I continued west toward Devils Dome, enjoying the massive views and listening to the water pour off of the cliffs from the glaciers clinging to the north face of Jack Mountain.

I left Devils Dome in search of a place to camp. One of the very, very few moments I regret from my PNT hike was not returning to the summit of Devils Dome after getting water down the trail. Instead I pushed forward for a bit over a mile before my desire to sleep and eat dinner consumed me. I found a cozy spot off the trail near an old shelter and watched a magical sunset through the trees.

Day 34

I woke up early to try and get in the 23+ miles in front of me to the Ross Lake Dam Trailhead. The descent down Devils Dome turned out to be slower than I expected, but I enjoyed taking in the views before dropping into the tree line. As I left the alpine behind and the trees started to grow larger, I was met with the Pasayten Wilderness sign, which marked the end of the epic stretch of trail. Fittingly, the sign was not attached high up on a tree as they normally are, but instead was on the ground, trapped underneath a fallen tree.

Soon I was on a wide and soft trail down on the east bank of Ross Lake. I only saw a couple groups long the trail – a sign of how unfrequented the NCNP and Ross Lake National Recreation Area is. The East Bank Trail passed mostly uneventfully, with the exception of a running into a doe and her fawn, who had managed to get a bit separated. I was taking a break on the side of the trail and the fawn wandered up to me – nearly close enough to touch – before it noticed me and took off to reunite with it’s mother.

Eventually I reached the end of the East Bank Trail and followed the Happy Panther Trail to where I would be leaving the PNT. In a normal year, I would be able to continue over the Ross Dam to the Ross Lake Resort to pick up a resupply package. Unfortunately for me, the Brush Creek Fire had destroyed about 4 miles of trail and with no other trail through the park north of Route 20, about 50 miles of the PNT was essentially inaccessible.

I turned off the PNT and made my way up to the Ross Dam parking lot, where I eventually got a hitch the 70 miles down to Burlington. From there I made my way up to Bellingham, where I spent the rest of the day showering, eating food, and resting from the long section I had just completed.

Day 35 (Zero Day)

I decided to take a much needed day off in Bellingham. The combination of heat exhaustion I experienced coming out of Oroville and the long stretch of trail food and rough terrain had taken its toll. My body was wiped out and needed a bit of time to recover before heading up to Mount Baker to continue the trail.