Two: Agnes Creek Pandemics

Since my last post, I have journeyed from home in Iowa out to the North Cascade Mountains of Washington State. This journey was not straightforward in any sense of the word, and I hope to capture the accurate level of absurdity that I experienced in the coming update :)

My retelling will come in a three-fold manner. Due to the length and amount of hilarious missteps along my journey to Holden, I have decided to share three of the top stories, for entertainment's sake. 

An Infectious Hike

My journey begins with a train, really. There are important events previous to said train, but those will be described in due time. 

My partner Justin and I had tickets for the Empire Builder train from St. Paul, MN to Wenatchee, WA for months now. After packing everything I owned into two bags and a suitcase and shopping for some last minute must-haves, we arrived at the Union Depot station in St. Paul approximately six hours before our train is set to arrive. This is standard procedure, at least for me and the train. I am an anxious traveller and the reassurance of not only being early, but being six hours early for the train is a magical feeling. Justin and I charged our phones up, tried out the asian fusion restaurant right by the Depot, and stepped in line for the train as it arrived around 11:00pm. Everything is swell in the first moments of our journey.

If you've never ridden the train, I will both encourage the experience while warning you that never once will you be comfortable. 

This should not deter you. 

To get a better sense of the sensations of a train ride, imagine you're taking a road trip for thirty-three hours (about the duration of our trip to Wenatchee). During this road trip, you have no need to watch the road or worry about a crash, because someone is taking care of these things for you. However the seats in your car of choice recline only to the point of placing all your body weight onto your lower back. 

Thus, every moment of rest is peaceful... except for those precious muscles just above your butt. 

You will also be constantly surrounded by people you do not know, who will watch you drool in your sleep as you attempt to nap during the day. This is an even more disconcerting notion during the thralls of a pandemic, especially when I reveal to you that both Justin and I did in fact have Covid. 

We acquired the infection the night before boarding the train (we think), at an event where Justin's band played and many local folks came to watch, and clap, and sing, and dance. It was a magical night, with some of the best jazz and funk music you've ever heard. Justin and I learned it was also a very contagious night, as two of our friends notified us of their positive tests after we'd already been on the train for a good twenty-four hours. If anyone from our train car happens to read this, I am terribly sorry for your inevitable positive Covid test, we did stay masked even before we knew, but at that point we were already in a place of no return.

And this is where the story really begins, the first of many maladies in the coming days. We both began to feel our scratchy throats start, and our minds began to spiral with alternate plan options, of which we realized we had very few. Our plan to arrive in Holden Village a week later after hiking in on the PCT was better than about anything else we could come up with. So despite worsening symptoms, our best bet was to continue to hike the forty-some-odd miles into the village - spending our quarantine in the most magical way possible, albeit maybe not the most safe...

After a train ride and a car ride and a boat ride and a bus ride and a short walk, Justin and I arrived at the start of our legendary hike, both morally positive, as well as Covid positive. My symptoms included a rather painful throat, body aches, and a headache sitting right behind my eyes. 

This did not slow us down. 

Crossing over High Bridge at about two-o'clock pm, Justin and I zipped through eight miles of hiking before six, stumbling to a halt at our campsite (that I hardly remember due to the headache that had quickly become a head throb). Justin, having only minor throat pain and no other symptoms, zipped about setting up our tent and washing his hiking clothes. 

I was tasked with starting our dinner of lentils.

I cried.

This was the first of many sobs to come, as well as the first time I'd ever attempted a backpacking adventure that lasted more than two days. And on this first attempt I was battling Covid. I cried and I think I was justified in doing so. 

In attempting to make the lentils, I had to have Justin come start and re-start the stove with his sparker tool, I dropped about half of the onions in the dirt, and I boiled the lentils over to a point where we had to restart the stove for a third time. I was in just the most sorry state, and our lentils reflected that. They were rather congealed, and there were unmistakable flecks of dirt in every bite, but I'll defend that first meal as a triumph, considering the circumstances. 

As we went to bed that night, I clocked my temperature in at 99.9 degrees. 

The next morning, after sleeping for twelve hours, my temperature was 101.1 degrees. 

Justin and I had resolved to take the morning slowly (mostly due to my poor showing the night before and a need to assess our medication supply). I had thought ahead and happened to bring acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and severe cold medicine. All-in-all however, Justin and I only had 14 ibuprofen, 14 acetaminophen, and even less sever cold medicine to split over the next four days before reaching Holden. 

We resolved to take only two ibuprofen per person per day, and save the acetaminophen for moments when either of our fevers ran above 100 degrees. In this spirit, we set off for our second day of hiking through the North Cascade Mountains.

As Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday came and went, Justin and I hiked our forty-four miles, along the Agnes Creek PCT section, up to Image Lake, and down to Holden Village, all while trudging along with sore throats and coughs. We never did get through our medicine; we realized that if we hiked quickly enough, we became too focused on the pain of physical exertion to be concerned with Covid symptoms.

In arriving to Holden Village, however, our Covid positive status did not warrant us a welcome arrival. Holden had just had nine cases of Covid that same morning among their staff, and six the day before, and seven the day before that. The director that came to greet us said, "we have no way to... absorb you." 

And so... we offered to go back out into the wilderness and camp! 

We had already spent five days in isolation (essentially) and what was a few more nights if it meant they wouldn't send us right back home on the boat?! The director did us one better by offering to let us stay in the yurts, about a mile outside of the village. 

Before leaving our soon-to-be home once again to live in the wilderness (although this time with cots), the staffing coordinator came to find and inform us that our luggage that we had sent up ahead of us had never arrived. 

This luggage contained every item of clothing I owned that I wasn't already wearing, both Justin and my's computers, Justin's passport, and all of the rest of my belongings that I had meticulously packed the week before.

To say the least, Justin and I were a bit stressed out. 

This story does end well however! In staying in the yurts, Justin and I were visited (safely) by friends who would bring us food and stories from the village, our luggage was eventually located down-lake and sent up to us, and we were released after only two nights in the yurts, where we had gone only slightly mad from the isolation! All-in-all, I do believe our Covid experience together on the hiking trail is one not so easily beat. 

I wouldn't want to spend my isolation any other way with any other person :)

The Claw Machine

A funny little happening along the trail came about as Justin and I reached Image Lake, about halfway through our hike. 

After setting up our campsite and going for a little stroll up a seven hundred foot ridge, Justin and I relaxed for a bit. In these moments of relaxation, I identified that I had to relieve myself. I took the toilet paper roll that Justin had so wittily remembered to bring with us, and headed off to the lovely wooden composting toilets that resided in many of the campsites along these trails. 

In arriving, I noticed a multitude of big-butted, orb-looking spiders hanging out on the toilet. Now, anyone who knows me is aware that I am incredibly brave, but not when it comes to spiders. I have (what I believe to be) a reasonable philosophy with spiders, being that if I am in their home (outside, in basements, wherever I decide is a reasonable place for a spider to exist) then I can respect their presence and will not disturb them. If the spider has dared to enter my rightful space, however (my room, the indoors, a toilet seat), then I have every right to defend said space that has been invaded. 

This is where I was at when I started to thwap at the spiders with the ziplock bag containing the toilet paper. As I went in for the individuals on the toilet seat, I failed to notice the orientation of the ziplock bag, and how the zipper was facing directly into the open seat of the toilet. With my last fateful thwap of the final spider, the ziplock burst open, expelling the precious toilet paper roll into the depths of the composting toilet.

...

I cannot describe in words either the shock, nor the despair I felt as the toilet paper bounced its way to the bottom of the foul-smelling abyss. I think I probably stood at the seat of the crime, in horrible, silent agony, thinking only to myself "oh, he is going to kill me." And then I wasn't only thinking it, I began muttering the phrase over and over... as I flung an arm, and about my entire upper body into the open toilet seat to see if I could retrieve the roll from it's composting fate. 

I could not.

Not alone, anyways. After failing (and maybe gagging a little), I searched around for some help. I found, not too far away (and ever so slightly conspicuously placed), two sticks about the length of my arm. It seemed maybe I was not the first to have made this mistake. 

I once again sacrificed my upper body, now laden with two sticks, into the mouth of the toilet. With the maneuvering, as well as the number of failed rescue attempts with the two sticks, I felt much like the claw machines that are rigged to never pick up a prize. My prize continuously slipped from between the stick's ends, rolling back down into the muck, getting wetter and grosser by the minute. 

Finally, after so many distressing failures, I stabbed the roll through with a singular stick, and hauled the paper out of the mouth of the beast, triumphantly bestowing it upon the dirt at my feet (because I was not about the touch that thing).

After some doctoring of the roll (involving much disposed, soiled paper and some cutting of the ends of the roll), we were back in business with about half as much toilet paper as I had left the campsite with. In returning to tell my tale, Justin did forgive me, but not before taking a picture of me and my mutilated toilet paper roll to solidify my silliness into photo history.

An Unexpectedly Red Affair

There is a strange phenomenon that occurs concerning the regularity at which I take my iron and vitamin C pills. If I happen to forget to take them, even for one day, my period comes about two days later. 

In the rush and bumble of the beginnings of this journey, I had of course been forgetting to take my iron and vitamin C. And thus, as expected (if I had been paying attention), my red little friend came to visit me, just as my Covid symptoms had finally let up.

This would usually be completely unnoteworthy, as I am almost always completely prepared for such occasions with the proper equipment. This time around however, in the struggle and stress to get on the trail, I had completely forgotten to pack in some things to make my little red friend's stay a little more comfortable...

In the realization of this, I wasn't too worried, I thought to myself "at some point in the 70's people were advocating for free-bleeding anyways, I'm sure it's incredibly natural and I may not even notice it's going on."

This was a completely ludicrous thought. 

Being on your period with no *materials* to help keep the flow at bay just feels like you are continuously peeing your pants. 

This became painfully obvious as Justin and I hiked along on Thursday, and after about an eighth of a mile, I began to cry... again. Justin, in his lovely gallantry, offered me one of his handkerchiefs, which was a completely different color by the end of the day. Another handkerchief and, sadly, a sock later, we had reached Holden Village, only to be notified that our luggage... was missing... 

Would you like to take a guess at what was packed away in said missing luggage? 

That's correct, every ounce of supply I had to manage times such as that which I was in.

With much help from the Holden Village staff, both in supplying me for a few days and locating my luggage, I was able to entertain and then bid adieu to my red friend, but all of this is simply to say, sometimes the most important gear is something so simple, that you forget about it until the most dire moment of need. 

*pictures to come later :)