(wow) Words Of Wonders Level 2638 Answers – Randy Godfrey of Bellingham, Washington, shares this story from 1978 of hiking a section of the PCT in the Washington Cascades. Randy has been climbing since the age of 14. He is a former employee, surveyor and architect for the US Forest Service and also worked for 2 years as a climber for the Forest Service, Mount Baker Ranger District. He recently retired after 20 years as the Cultivator for Western Washington University in Bellingham. Randy is celebrating his retirement by hiking the PCT this year.
Kathy Bastow, who shared top billing in the story with Randy, still lives in Bellingham. Randy said he “didn’t look the same. It’s not fair!” They are still good friends.
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Although it often seems impossible to lose someone on the line, it happens surprisingly often. Pacific Crest Trailside Reader: California has many similar stories with worse outcomes.
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On a sunny August morning in 1978, Kathy (Kick-in-the-Pants) Bastow and I started A two-week hike on the Pacific Crest Trail from the North Cascades Highway south to Stevens Pass.
Walking 20 miles a day in 1978 was unheard of, at least to us. We have enough challenges for our typical 8-10 mile day. We have to consider the heavy packing that we brought in those days. How can we do that?
I start this story at 7 days in our walk which includes a forced side trip to Image Lake, while we ran out of food and were ready for the prospect of getting it again from our friends in the Suiattle river.
Poor menu planning has taken its toll. Kathy and I finished most of our meals the day before and now we have brown rice. Rice. Rice for lunch. Rice for breakfast. Rice for lunch. At least we have rice.
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Our friends Neil and Dale met us at Lyman Camp on the Seattle River that night, taking our gear. We go back another 12 kilometers up the Suiattle River route. Hunger is the driving force! Kathy and I descended the PCT through Miners Creek Valley that day, dreaming of something other than rice.
Arriving in the early afternoon at the empty Lyman Camp on the banks of the fast-flowing Suiattle River was breathtaking. Where are our friends … and is there food?
The weather in our area has deteriorated from rain to a combination of rain and famine. However, being locked in a tent and sleeping during the day is not a bad thing. In the late afternoon we smiled as the sun spilled into the shade of the forest, the light on our tent. We stepped out of our wet baskets into the glittering jewels that had fallen from above. tree.
My best friends Dale and Neil went above and beyond their call of duty, remember That it’s my birthday and bring a gift! We sat by the fire that night in the cloudy moonlight and ate fresh vegetables, watermelon, eggs. Boil, brandy, coffee and other offerings. At one point Neil mysteriously disappeared and the next from a Seattle beach with a bottle of champagne for my 24th birthday. Kathy and I were grinning from ear to ear, instantly oblivious to the fog and rain. The trees fell in the cold night, but we laughed happily in the warmth of the fire with good friends, surrounded by a country of big trees, wild rivers and high mountains. There is nothing more to be desired.
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A small group of us, hung out a bit, left the next morning to go on a meat tour, our friends headed back to the Seattle River with Katie and I moving south again on the PCT.
We felt strong and agile as we climbed dozens of turns with Vista. Ridge and then to our campsite in Dolly Creek Valley. It rained in buckets but we were glad to put in 12 miles a day from Seattle.
By then, our sleeping bags were on the ground and all the clothes we had were soaked. Our padded jackets were mostly useless but the British cotton and Peter Storm oiled jackets at least made us feel like we were keeping body heat, even though they absorbed liters of water.
We shivered all night, wearing wet woolen clothes in wet bags. I’m sure we smell better than wet sheep.
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The next morning found us descending an endless trail to Milk Creek. Roaring white water and appetite greeted us at the creek. Milk Creek Bridge was a good spot for a second lunch but Kathy soon got cold so she decided to continue on to Mica Lake, our camping goal for the night. A bit of sun tempts me to wait a few more minutes before meeting Katie, 3km down the lake road. What does it say about “the best laid plans”?
3 kilometers of switchbacks brought me to the misty valley of the lake. Mica. I was surprised to see that the lake was still frozen at the end of August.
Kathy was nowhere to be seen. I looked at all the campsites near the lake channel and then headed somewhere. Very remote on the way to Fire Creek Pass. Wouldn’t he stop somewhere near the lake? Did he miss it? The thought seemed impossible but I didn’t give up on it and started walking towards Fire Creek Pass.
Of course, Kathy did not pass. I went back down, I went back to Mica Lake. Now that I was in a state of shock, my thoughts raced as I saw Kathy falling to her death on the terrifying cliff I had passed. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I didn’t bother to remove my heavy frame pack as I headed back to Milk Creek. A mile later and a few minutes from the Milk Creek Bridge, where I last saw Kathy, I passed a family camped on the side of the road. They saw people walking across the other side to the bridge, but no one else. That explanation didn’t mean anything to me, because I didn’t pass anyone else, but it should have happened while I was looking for Kathy at the lake.
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Stopping at each side of the cliff as I made my way back to Mica Lake, I called Kathy’s name, looked over the edge and hoped she wouldn’t fall off one.
I try to get the best view I can from Under the rocks while the light began to fade.
When I reached the lake, I was very disappointed, I was very tired. Calm and cool rain returned in the evening. I quickly found a rocky area near Lake Mica, trying to calm my fears. You calmed down as Kathy came in, her bag weighing her down like an anchor. I looked in amazement at the huge slab of ice, madly bent and half sunk in the The water is bright green.
My thoughts are not about me. Reason being unsuccessful, I headed back to Fire Creek Pass for another look. Again, no luck.
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With tears in my eyes and sure that I had lost my friend, I walked back to the lake in a sad, dazed state. Around the end of the switch back, I saw a view down to a small meadow area below the lake road. There, barely visible, was a solitary figure with a backpack traveling along the road. Katie!
I call his name through rain and shine, close, calm and happy, down the way Hugging him, I saw his confused eyes mixed with exhaustion, surprise and embarrassment. Returning to the lake once more, this time the two of us, we put together a wonderful puzzle that was the story of our afternoon.
After driving me down to the Milk Creek Bridge, Kathy was at the end of the road. The road has been relocated to avoid dangerous slopes. He did not notice the new changes behind him or the collection of small stones and sticks that the surveyors had placed to show that this old place was closed. After Kathy talked about the scary part of the old road, she decided to hang up. There for me.
He waited for a long time, when I passed him, no one in sight, on the newly relocated road on my way to the lake. Finally impatient, Kathy turned back to the Milk Creek Bridge to see what had happened to me. you When I reached the bridge, I was behind him heading in the same direction. Of course I went back to his place, completely gone. The second Kathy went to the part of the closed road, she saw the closure, knew what happened and