PCT, Day 2: The Mystical Stream

Woke up in a chilly cloud at Trap Lake on Saturday morning, which meant a great day for hiking -- temperature-wise. Maneuvered the reasonably-brief set of switchbacks to the gap above the lake and off we went, passing by Surprise Lake and Glacier Lake on our way to the long, brutal slog up to Pieper Pass (elevation 6,000 feet).

Once through the pass, the weather improved, with flashes of sunlight peeking through the clouds as we made our way to Deception Lake for a lunch break by a beautiful rocky stream resplendent with yellow asters.

But, dear readers, this is not the "mystical stream" in the headline of this entry. More later. After lunch, Lupe (above) would push ahead and establish our next camp at Cathedral Pass.

I had decided that morning to hike in my camp shoes, a pair of old Sketchers. They worked well for the most part -- and though traction was lacking -- they were more comfortable than my Montrails, as my left boot (sans sole) was at least an inch shorter than my right boot.

Fortunately, the terrain accommodated my shoes, at least temporarily. As we contoured south on the ridge leading to Deception Pass, the trail was soft from the subalpine forest, and the view of Marmot Lake -- which resides in a huge mountain cirque across the wide valley -- was stunning.

However, my luck ran out at the Daniel Creek crossing: the climb to Cathedral Pass was steep and rocky. I hit the deck twice to avoid rolling an ankle. The steep climb was the final insult. Fortunately, I ran into two women hikers who assured my that my camp was established and waiting for my arrival a mere one-quarter mile away.

I picked up my feet and continued, arriving at the pass just below Cathedral Rock (bottom). The campsite was a mystical spot with numerous campsites and a sandy beach on a mellifluous creek.

Just as I arrived at our campsite, a northbound couple from Portland discussed staying in Cathedral Pass that night: they spoke of a stream that flowed vigorously in the evening, only to vanish by morning along this particular stretch of PCT.

That evening, as I drifted to sleep, I heard a number of different melodies and tunes in the sound of that creek, including classical, jazz and even a bit of Led Zeppelin. Later that night, I was awakened by silence: I could no longer hear the creek.

Puzzled but exhausted, I drifted back into a deep slumber.