At Cathedral Pass the PCT splits into two potential routes. The first heads southeast and down to Hyas Lakes. This is a stock route and an alternate for hikers because the second route faces a dangerous stream ford. I took the second route and, before reaching the stream, met two through hikers (well, sort of through hikers, they skipped parts of Oregon due to snow and mosquitoes). Their names were Coop and Alex, and they had just started hiking back to the split to take the alternate route. Alex had attempted the ford and, as she said, "I was afraid I was going to die." So she turned around.
Now through hikers are not wusses. Well, except maybe "Big Wuss." Furthermore, hikers who have made it this far are pretty tough cookies. So I trusted Coop and Alex. Still, everyone has a different take on the trail, so I had to see the stream for myself. They wished me luck and I pressed on.
I could hear the stream long before I saw it. It sounded like a massive waterfall to be honest. I rounded a bend and saw the beast and my first thought was "what!? No way." When I saw the trail on the other side and realized "yuh-huh, so-oo way," my next reaction was to silently mouth the words "holy shit." I have a picture of the stream, which was really a cascading torrent of liquid death, but the picture doesn't do it justice. Look at the picture and, for perspective, the narrow space at the bottom is about 6 feet wide. Now imagine the water rushing so hard and fast that great plumes of spray are being tossed off it up to 3 feet high. Also, 20 yards downstream is a 10 foot waterfall onto rocks. Oh yeah, and I'm pretty sure there were alligators, piranhas, and Rosie O'Donnell swimming around in there.
I'm not suicidal, but I do a lot of needlessly stupid and dangerous stuff. Just ask my dad about the bridge I jumped off in Italy (better yet, google "cinque terre bridge jump and you'll see some You Tube videos of other idiots doing the same"). His favorite hobby is talking about the life threatening things I do. So people who know me will realize how gnarly this stream crossing was when I say I was unwilling to try it. It wasn't a ford, it was assisted suicide. There was nothing to do but hike 2 miles back to the split and add 3 miles of detour... Or was there?
I saw a downed tree on the trail back, small but sturdy. With my weakened upper body it was all I could do to lift it and haul it to the stream. Carefully I lodged one end in the rocks on the other side (well really in the center of the stream, but the other side was shallower and less dangerous). I then braced the near end with rocks (big ass rocks) and stepped back to survey my handiwork. I still gave chances of survival a 50/50. I looked upstream and down. The stream cut into the bank so deeply that to go downstream would mean bouldering on slippery rocks taller than I was. Upstream the opposite side was sheer vertical cliff. It was cross here or nowhere.
The log was too narrow to safely walk, and the stream was narrow but too deep to wade while holding the log for support. Besides, the current was way too strong; get enough of your body in that water and it wouldn't matter what you had to hold onto, you'd be gone in a flash. So I did a little of both. I slid my lower legs into the stream while holding the tree under my arms. My legs flew out behind me with surprising force. I then got into pushup position and, with the waist belt on my pack unbuckled in case I slipped, I pushed myself up. With arms extended I could walk my hands about six inches along the log. Then down into a rest position before doing another pushup. In this way I inched my way along the log to safety. Phew!
After the crossing I was treated to an amazing sunset on a sheet of clouds to the south. It looked like an aerial view of some sunburned desert, or a surface shot of Mars turned on its side. I marvelled at the view, glad to have survived 28 years doing stupid shit like this stream ford, and moved on. 700 feet of climbing brought me to Deception Pass, across the 30 mile mark, and to the end of my day.
