June 23, 2025

Campsite below Cutthroat Pass at NOBO mile 2599.5 to Glacier Pass

15.8 miles 

It gets light early, just before 5, and I’m awake again. It usually takes me a while to get used to sleeping in my tent and on a sleeping pad again, so I’m not surprised that I was awake most of the night, but also, it was absolutely freezing. I ended up using my tyvek as an extra cover and I wore every single layer I had. Why, Washington? Why so cold in June? I’m not used to being at elevation again, I guess.

I get up to pee and the world is quiet. No more wind, clouds peeled back. It’s going to be a beautiful day. I write for a while and then fall back to sleep, properly, as the sun begins to warm my tent. Sweet sweet orb of light. I wake again and there’s no movement from Andy so I heat water for coffee and have an absolutely glorious slow tent breakfast. This is what free will is for. Tent breakfast in the mountains. 

Eventually Andy wakes up and comes over to say good morning. He says he slept terribly too. It’s going to be a slow day for both of us. 

Packed up, teeth brushed, stretched, I haul my comically heavy pack on. “Oh god,”I groan. “I need to eat a ton of this food today.”

We make our way up the path we somehow missed last night and back onto the PCT proper, crossing immediately over Cutthroat Pass, which blesses us with 360-degree views of the snowy mountains around us. Oh, North Cascades. Oh, pine trees. Oh, Talenti jar of cold coffee I’m carrying in one hand. Sometimes it is a joy to be a little human on this big planet. 

The trail follows a rocky, exposed ridge in the sunlight for the first bit of the day. It’s classic PCT. “This is so PCT,” I say. “A ridge with views for days. Mountains all around.”

“I was just thinking that,” Andy says. 

After a little while we start hitting patches of snow. They’re not too bad at first, but then there’s a gnarly one. Steep, with a long slide down if you were to misplace a step. There’s a set of footprints cut into the slope, but they’re high up and sketchy looking. Down lower there’s a rock cutting through a shorter stretch of snow that looks more appealing. 

Andy goes first, maneuvering over the rocks and scree to get to the first bit of snow. He digs his heel in and steps, then lands on the rock island in the middle of the patch. Three more steps in the snow, then he’s on the scree again. I follow, awkwardly clambering down the rocks, across the snow, and to the other side. Loose rock rains as I step up and back onto the PCT.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Andy fist bumps me. “Well, that was spicy,” I say. 

We’re okay for a while as the trail rounds a corner and enters some trees again. Then there’s another snow patch that requires going vertically over some more rocks, and another that is long like a slide. We downclimb over some loose rock and then just send it straight across the snow slide. It’s pretty soft and easy to cut footholds in it, so it’s not too bad. It’s only looking back  as Andy’s coming down that I realize how steep it is.

Then we’re back in the trees for real and switchbacking down. The snow has mostly abated and we’re already keen for a break. Andy spies a nice rock in the sun and it’s a relief to put my monster pack down.

“We’ve gone like, two miles,” Andy says, laughing. “And it’s 11:30.”

“It’s fine!”

You don’t realize how tiring it is to deal with snow travel until you take a break. It requires all sorts of little muscles that you don’t notice, and holding a stance for a long time. It doesn’t help that we’re carrying heavy packs, not rested, and out of shape. But it’s ok. We have heaps of daylight.

It’s more ridge walking after this, and with the exception of a sketchy washed out bit of trail, it’s lovely. More classic PCT ridges in the sunlight.

There’s a beautiful campsite and a meadow that we stop to admire, thinking how nice it would be to camp there, but alas, we have miles to go before we sleep. There’s an uphill and I’m feeling sluggish so I tell Andy to go ahead. I’m trying to use my phone sparingly because my battery is getting worse these days and I’ve had to bring two power banks just to make sure I don’t run out, but I am weak and need audio content for hills with this monster of a pack on my back, so I put on music. 

It’s not a long hill, though, and I enjoy the views as I make my way up, meeting Andy at the top of Methow Pass. It would be a good lunch spot, with its clear meadow and tentsites, but we want to get some more miles in and aren’t really hungry, so we decide to keep going.

This next part is decidedly my favorite part of the day. The forest gets thicker and more fragrant. The trees are huge, and between them, there are views of those steep snowy mountains all around us. Birds are twittering quietly in the trees. The path is soft and perfect. Man, there are a lot of nice trails in the world, but none of them that I’ve seen hold a candle to the PCT.

I vibe like this until I see a cute stream, a nice mountain behind it, and take a photo. Then I notice Andy waving to me through the trees. Lunchtime! My favorite time! I bust out a sweet and spicy tuna wrap with chip drink and sriracha. I’m pretty pro at the dirtbag lunch by now, I’ve gotta say. Apart from nearly sliding down the steepish slope on my tyvek a few times, it’s a great little break.

We decide to aim for Glacier Pass for tonight. It’s about 9 miles from here, but mostly downhill and flat. Seems doable. I pack up my still stupidly heavy pack and we get going. 

Oh no. I’m immediately hit with the post lunch slump. My pain is more painful. My brain is in a haze. My body remembers this part of thru hiking at least! I walk and talk with Andy for a few miles, struggling, and then I need to relapse into my audio world. I’m listening to a silly little romance book called The Honeymoon Crashers. It’s predictable but fun. The next book I have downloads is Dune. Big pivot there, but I have such deeply fond memories of listening to it in Washington on the PCT in 2022 so I couldn’t resist queuing it up just in case.

I’m not in a Dune mood today though. I’ll save that for later. Now it’s evening and there are so many trees down and so much overgrown vegetation. More scrambling and scurrying over logs and enormous trees. Andy likes to anthropomorphize blowdowns as trees that just gave up. If that’s true then same, tree, same.

I catch up to Andy and we traverse a couple gnarly ones together. There’s a particularly mean looking one that makes me nervous. “Oh no, a pointy boi.” I just know this brat of a dead tree is going to scratch me. I swing one leg over without incident, and I think I’ve cleared the other, but then a branch swipes across just above my knee and a deep gash forms, bleeding. “Aw, shit. It got me.”

I put off dealing with the wound until we arrive at a creek a little while later. I wash it out and wipe it with an alcohol wipe. I only have one bandaid big enough to over it, so hopefully that’s enough to start it healing up. I should have remembered those trees in Washington from 2022. Death by pointy bois. 

In a few miles we cross a bigger creek and see some of the only other folks we’ve seen out here so far. They look to be SOBOs and they ask about the path ahead but beyond that we don’t exchange much. I think we’re both zapped. After chatting for a minute and filling up water, we start the last climb of the day. 

“This is going to take me a while,” I tell Andy. “I’ll see you at camp.”

“Sounds good. See you there!”

It is very slow going. The base of the climb is extremely overgrown and is lowkey reminding me of the SHT, minus the mud and swarming mosquitoes. That part doesn’t last for long, though, and the trail gets more classically PCT beautiful: forest, views out across the valley and to the line of mountains beyond, quiet evening light and birdsong. I’m trudging, stopping at the elbow of every switchback, in pain from the waist down, but still somehow enjoying myself. I finish my book. The end was very predictable, but it was a cute story. Maybe Dune tomorrow. I switch over to music. Babe Rainbow for tonight. It’s upbeat but sort of quiet, peaceful, perfect for tonight. 

Eventually I arrive at the top of the tree-covered pass, and Andy is waiting at the campsite. “We made it!” he says. “You can pick your campsite.” I choose one just past a half-down tree. It’s the absolute perfect campsite, pine needles on dirt, surrounded by trees. It’s not windy or cold like last night. I think I’m going to sleep much better tonight.

I stretch, get set up, and before I get comfortable go off to dig a somewhat giddy cathole. I missed shitting in a hole in the woods! It’s a very good cathole for someone so out of practice. Afterwards I finish my camp tasks and then finally get to have dinner with Andy by the fire ring. My choice this evening is pine nut couscous with all sorts of goodies in it: tuna, chip drink, sriracha peas, hummus, olive oil, and actual sriracha. It’s warm and filling, and I’m already half asleep by the time I finish. 

I burrow down in my cozy cocoon and am considerably warmer than I was last night. This is going to be a good sleep. Everything in my body is screaming but that won’t matter when I’m unconscious! Ooh, good day. Cozy night in the woods. It was slow and hard but we made it here and that’s what matters.