The trail continued through Methow Meadow and the adjoining forested valley before my last major climb of the trip. I had a 2800 foot climb up to Glacier Pass, which is a saddle between my valley and the next, then up the mountain to the East of the pass. Before I could get there I stumbled across a female bear and her cub. I was hiking fast and came around a corner to find myself face to face with the bears. The cub bolted uphill and away from the trail, which was fortunate for me because that put momma bear between me and her baby. She stood her ground, about 20 yards to my left, and stared at me. Her posture was not threatening, but it was clear she was ready to rumble if I came any closer. After a minute of this she must have decided that the baby had a good enough head start, because she began slowly to lumber off in the same direction.
After Glacier Pass the trail undulated along ridges, with no more than 200 feet of elevation change in either direction. Before long it descended to Harts Pass, which has the last road access of the trail. Despite being a minor road, there were plenty of dayhikers out, and I chatted a few of them up. I got a lot of early congratulations on finishing the trail from these folks, which made me think of how supportive the people I met trailside have been throughout my journey. You would think this is a trip all about wilderness and introspection, but in fact there is so much more than that. It is also an opportunity to view humanity and civilization in a different and more appreciative light. As I've said before, I was getting pretty jaded about people when I worked in insurance. Out here I see a lot of good, which is refreshing beyong belief. I also come to appreciate the great works of man in addition to the raw beauty of nature. Imagine being in the woods for days/weeks and then coming across something as seemingly simple as an expansive concrete freeway. We take them for granted in our day to day life, but imagine the knowledge and engineering that went into such a massive project. Think of the history, dating back to the first Roman road and before, that would one day lead to what you are seeing now. More importantly, think about how these ribbons of concrete and asphalt are the veins and cappilaries through which the lifeblood of commerce flows. Each car is more than a flash in the sun and the gutteral cough of a combustion engine. It is the physical manifestation of the human need for direction, adventure, interconnectedness, and to see what lies over the horizon.
At Harts Pass I saw a sign indicating that I was 35 miles from the Canadian border (pictured). Once more I was reminded of how far I had come. Still, 35 miles is a full day of hiking in itself, so I refused to allow myself to get excited just yet. I continued on, topping a couple more minor climbs, 600 feet for one and 1400 feet for the climb to Woody Pass. After the latter, the trail took a gradual climb up to a cirque where I watched the fading light play over Hopkins Lake. I still had 12 miles to the border, but this was my last sunset of the trip, so I paused long enough to enjoy it. As it turned out, it was also one of the most spectacular sunsets (pictured). Ridge after ridge marched away to the West, each one fading a bit into the haze of forest fires. The mountains were painted a faded purple, while above the sun performed a light show across thin wisps of cloud. The sky turned from yellow to pink, and it was a bit sad to think my journey was also in its final transition to the peaceful slumber of night.
I made a couple more miles before it became too dark to see. I stopped for my last supper on the trail. I watched as the stars blinked into place to witness my last push to Canada. With a sigh I packed up and turned on my headlamp. From here it was a long gradual downhill to the border, and I was content to hike it in the dark. The rhythm of my footfalls and the pattern of my breathing lulled me into a comfortable frame of mind, in which I could pass mile after mile with ease. I soon found myself switchbacking down toward Castle Creek and, just as I realized where I was, the journey was over. Materializing out of the darkness was the set of wooden posts marking the end of the trail (pictured), along with monument 78, which marks the Canadian border. I had hiked 16 hours straight, and made 51 miles today to get here.
I set up my tent slowly on the only flat spot available, which happened to straddle the border. By coincidence I lay down, my head in the US and my feet in Canada, as if the trail somehow knew my feet were taking me North but my thoughts were already home with friends and family. I lay for a while looking at the stars, not really thinking much at all. I had made it, and that was enough for now. Later I would allow myself all the time in the world for reflection and nostalgia. For now, I let the full weight of exhaustion, held at bay for so long through momentum and will power, to finally take me completely. I slept deeply and peacefully.
