JOSHUA M. POWELL

I climbed to a ridgeline and walked along, mesmerized by the expansive views in almost every direction. Before me a massive, pyramid-shaped butte rose up from a valley like the back of some prehistoric creature emerging from the primordial forests below. I then dropped for what seemed like an eternity down to the Suiattle River and entered a magical section of old-growth forest. As John Vaillant writes in his book The Golden Spruce, "the atmosphere in an old-growth coastal ra

"The driver was only too glad to give the traveler a lift, and with a 'Git up thar mules, dag gum yore hides,' we were on our way to greener woods and higher mountains." Ed Ricketts, Vagabonding Through Dixie "I find out of long experience that I admire all nations and hate all governments ... government can make you feel so small and mean that it takes some doing to build back a sense of self-importance." Steinbeck, Travels With Charley I woke early, eager to hitch out and g

As I finished the last bit of a long climb a group of three men came into view. "Don't make it look so easy!" one of them called out. "I've had four months of practice!" I shouted back. He then commented awkwardly to Laura, "You look like you've lost some weight." "What the hell is this guy talking about?" I thought to myself. Laura looked understandably perplexed. The man explained, "Most male thru-hikers shed pounds, but female thru-hikers all seem to stay roughly at the sa

I woke to the shuffling of a mouse crawling across the netting of my tent. We packed up as a light rain fell through the trees and hiked to the Wind River Highway, where we turned right and began to walk towards the small town of Trout Lake. Mt. Adams loomed ever closer just to the north. Washpot called the hiker-friendly Trout Lake General Store and asked if we might get a ride. The woman on the other end called out to whomever was in earshot, "Hey! Anybody want to go get so

Crossing over a forest service road I met an Indian man and his daughter out picking berries. "Are you finding any medicinal plants?" he asked me. "You doing any plant identification?" "Well, all I'm really paying attention to right now are the berries!" I answered. He seemed to know almost nothing about the PCT. "Why are you out here doing this?" he asked me. I paused before answering and then gave my facetious response. "I like the pain and suffering." "No, that's not pain

"[At the Cascade Locks library] you can catch up on all the gruesome news you've been missing while out on the trail." The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 2: Oregon & Washington, Wilderness Press, 1979 edition Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, "whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches," by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, "Saints and angels and martyrs and holy men," and he would have meant the same thing. Stei

After turning a switchback, I glanced down at my watch to check the temperature. The thermometer read 66.6 degrees. Only a few seconds later I pulled out my map and studied the route. I smiled at the uncanny coincidence of having just passed by a rock formation known as Devil's Pulpit. As it turns out, toponyms named after the devil are not so uncommon in our nation's backcountry. Devil's Backbone. Devil's Punchbowl. Devil's Gulch. I can count nearly twenty of them along the

"In Santa Barbara he had soup, lettuce and string bean salad, pot roast and mashed potatoes, pineapple pie and blue cheese and coffee ... ... he had fried chicken, julienne potatoes, hot biscuits and honey, and a piece of pineapple pie and blue cheese. And here he filled his thermos with hot coffee, had them make up six ham sandwiches and bought two quarts of beer for breakfast." Steinbeck, Cannery Row With the arrival of August and being so close to Washington, I began to no