Another Rescue!

The last two weeks we dodged wildfires, mice and some cold, wet weather, as we took on the many ups & downs of northern Washington's 505 miles. We've now been on the trail for 5 months & 2,050 miles.

“KarMMa, can we borrow you for a moment?”

We are sitting on the “log of shame”— where we can access Starlink internet — when our host at the swank Stehekin Valley Ranch, Mistaya, directs KarMMa to the passenger seat of a Ranger’s truck. While Kristen thought she had done something wrong, I guessed there was a medical issue and wondered how they had already discovered that KarMMa is a physician.

Surprise! The person in the truck's passenger seat is 5-Star, a member of our tramily. We had left the boat docks at Stehekin an hour earlier after the Ranger announced the PCT trail closure. 5-Star stayed behind — frustrated by the fires that stopped our progress north. That day the temperature was a scorching one hundred degrees, and 5-Star had slipped as he jumped into Lake Chelan. He broke his fall with his arm, landed funny, and dislocated his shoulder.

Writhing in pain, 5-Star asked the Ranger to take him back to the ranch. Through the pain, 5-Star told the Ranger,

“My friend, KarMMa, is a physician and has drugs.”

Stehekin is one of the most remote towns in Washington State. It has no cell service or medical clinic and requires a two-and-a-half hour-long ferry ride to Chelan to access a doctor and a few hours further by car to reach a hospital in Wenatchee. Over the last five days, we hiked 107 miles through one of the most remote sections of the PCT to get here from Steven’s Pass.

As he exited the truck, 5-Star screamed in pain. I ran to get KarMMa’s magical one-pound medical kit, pillows, sheets and a comforter, while KarMMa sat 5-Star in a chair. By the time I returned, 5-Star was surrounded by a Ranger and three EMTs— the two co-owners of the Ranch and their father are all paramedics. Their thirty-pound medical crash cart dwarfed Kristen’s tiny one-pound medical kit. KarMMa started with one, then two of her opioids, as the first pill barely touched 5-Star’s pain.

“Give me a minute,” said KarMMa as she tried to pull up a YouTube video on resetting a dislocated shoulder, but the Wifi bandwidth produced a low-quality, jerky video. She and the ranch proprietors/EMTs made a few rookie attempts to relocate the shoulder, but failed. 5-Star had a history of a prior dislocation of this same shoulder and had undergone surgery to tighten up the joint. Did this make it harder to reset his shoulder?

With 5-Star still writhing in pain, Mistaya texted their friend, a semi-retired orthopedic surgeon with a cabin in Stehekin. Dr. Dan arrived 30 minutes later and made a few unsuccessful attempts to relocate the shoulder while 5-star sat in his chair in the parking lot. Dr. Dan needed a place where 5-Star could lie down, so the team carried 5-star in his chair to a nearby picnic table.

Here’s Dr. Dan leading the charge, followed by KarMMa, Jake, and Mark:

More pain meds and anesthesia were needed to relax 5-Star’s shoulder muscles and manage his excruciating pain during the shoulder manipulations. At that point, Xian, a guest at the ranch, approached.

“I am an anesthesiologist; do you need any help?”

The team now included KarMMa (hematologist/oncologist), Dr. Dan (orthopedic surgeon), Xian (anesthesiologist), the ranch co-owners Jake and Mistaya (former EMTs), and Mistaya’s Dad, Mark (an active paramedic).

With three physicians, three EMTs/paramedics, and a 30-pound advanced life support medical kit, the picnic table resembled a MASH unit. I rigged up a tarp to provide the patient and medical team shade using the bedspread from our cabin. The temperature was still 100 degrees, so I kept everyone cool via lots of glasses of ice water.

Jake put in an IV line, and Xian administered next-level drugs— Fentanyl (a potent narcotic), Versed (a potent anxiolytic), and finally, Ketamine (a powerful anesthetic). Dr. Dan waited for the drugs to kick in, and all of the doctors were surprised that 5-Star was still alert, coherent, and talking in full sentences. I could tell the team was concerned by the full cocktail of pain meds as one of the EMTs said,

“It’s ok, we have Narcan.”

I have watched enough TV medical dramas to know that’s what you give patients who overdose. Narcan was a scary failsafe.

Dr. Dan had brought a twenty-pound dumbbell which he intended to have 5-Star hold to help set his shoulder. But with Dr. Dan pulling 5-Star’s arm from one side and EMT Mistaya providing counterforce via a folded sheet wrapped around his chest, it was obvious they were applying substantially more than twenty pounds of pressure. Meanwhile, KarMMa was massaging 5-star’s scalp and encouraging him to practice box breathing (“inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold…”) to counter his hyperventilation and tingling fingers.

After hiking with 5-Star for three weeks, I have heard him tell stories in his native Texas tongue, so I’ll borrow his language to describe what happened each time Dan and Mistaya pulled against each other. In 5-Star’s words,

“I screamed like a little bitch.”

The meds were barely touching the pain. Dan needed 5-Star to relax, but his shoulder muscles were involuntarily clamping down, so it was impossible to relocate his shoulder. 5-Star is an IronMan triathlete, so Dr. Dan speculated that his well-developed shoulder muscles were impeding progress.

Between the painful attempts to reset his shoulder, 5-Star was his gregarious self. Multiple times, he remarked on Dr. Dan’s physique. Dr. Dan looked like a ripped 50-year-old who spent lots of time in the gym. The reality: Dr. Dan was a seventy-one year-old fellow Texan, sporting a USAF medical core t-shirt.

“Sign me up for whatever Devil’s nectar you’re drinking, Doc,” said 5-Star, during the few peaceful moments Dr. Dan wasn’t pulling on his arm and manipulating his shoulder.

Dr. Dan and Mistaya pulled against each other and tried all the different shoulder relocation maneuvers. But with increasingly loud screaming from 5-star, Dr. Dan wavered,

“I have successfully reset over 2,000 shoulders and this one isn’t popping back in. He clearly doesn’t respond to the pain meds as anticipated, and I’m afraid there may be something impeding successful relocation. I don’t want to do any further damage. He’ll need an MRI and X-ray to assess the damage and more anesthesia to get this back in the socket. It’s time to get him to a hospital.”

Mistaya contacted Lifeflight via Starlink to call in a helicopter.

“Nooooooo!” 5-Star screamed (like a little bitch), “I don’t want a helicopter.”

After two weeks of hiking with 5-Star, I knew what he was thinking:

• He desperately wanted to finish the PCT. Last year he got within two hundred miles of the northern terminus— at near-record pace—and was stopped by fires. Taking a helicopter likely meant another thwarted attempt.

• He didn’t want to be “that guy”— the guy who needed a rescue helicopter, a badge of shame for PCT thru-hikers.

Dr. Dan insisted he had tried everything and that it was important to reset the shoulder quickly. KarMMa gently relayed to 5-Star that the decision was out of his hands.

So thirty minutes later, a LifeFlight helicopter landed in the front meadow of the ranch. For the second time in three weeks, I haphazardly packed up a fellow hiker’s gear, tossed it into the helicopter, and 5-Star was whisked away to the emergency room at a hospital in Wenatchee, eighty miles south. He was there in thirty minutes.

5-Star started texting late that evening. The ER had done an X-ray and saw no obstructions, so they knocked him completely out using propofol (Michael Jackson’s drug of choice). 5-Star recalls a dozen folks in the small E.R. room. The last words he remembers before he drifted off were:

“We’re going to need some muscle in here.”

When he awoke, his shoulder was back in place.

A few hours later 5-Star sat on a bench outside the hospital. He was grateful for the large medical teams in Stehekin and Wenatchee that worked to put him back together. His shoulder was sore, but usable. As he called an Uber, he thought that maybe, just maybe, this year’s PCT journey wasn’t over— the trail from Harts Pass near Mazama (just one town north of Stehekin) to the border wasn’t closed— yet.

In the Uber, 5-Star briefly relayed his medical drama to his driver and admitted to hiker hunger despite ongoing nausea from the pharmacopeia of drugs he had received over the previous four hours.

“Ah, Sweetie,” the driver said, “We can take care of that.”

She detoured and drove him through a McDonald’s drive-through where he got a Coke, Filet-O-Fish, and fries.

At the end of the evening, sitting in his two-star hotel, craving a martini and steak, 5-Star threw up for the last time that evening. Given all the drugs he ingested that day, it was no surprise.

What’s next for 5-Star? KarMMa and I went to bed that evening at the Stehekin Valley Ranch, thinking we weren’t going any further north, given the only way to leave town was a two-and-a-half-hour ferry ride south to Chelan. Also, reaching the northern terminus would be anti-climactic as we weren’t truly finishing the PCT— we had skipped many miles in California due to deep snow.

But Trail Angel “Lion” from Mazama reached out to us, let us know she would be in Chelan the next day, and was happy to take the three of us north to Mazama, where we could rejoin the PCT at Harts Pass the following day. We texted 5-Star at five a.m. the next morning, and within two minutes, we got a

“HELL YES!”

His enthusiasm pushed us northward again.

KarMMa and I took the ferry south to Chelan and landed just as 5-Star’s bus arrived at the ferry terminal. Lion picked us up, drove us to Mazama, then set us up in her “Lion’s Den” hiker camp (complete with rock painting, “PCT Class of 2023” mural sign, and twinkle lights in the trees over the makeshift campground). The next day, she drove us to Harts Pass as part of her third 2-hour round-trip shuttle.

We were thirty PCT miles from the northern terminus, with another eight miles to Manning Park, the PCT trailhead exit in Canada. While we wanted to relish the last thirty-eight miles, it felt like a race against time, with new fires sporting mushroom clouds popping up to the east and west and gloomy orange and grey skies filled with ash hanging over us. The apocalypse was near.

We all imagined a Canadian Mountie at the border closing the trail, forcing us to backtrack thirty miles to Mazama. So we tagged the northern terminus on the second day, blew past the “Welcome to Canada” sign, and set up camp for one last night north of the border — eight miles from our pickup in Manning Park.

The last few miles of the trail were full of fist bumps with fellow hikers— most had done lots of flips and skips like us, and it was exciting to help 5-Star cross the finish line. On our last night in camp, there were hearty “Congratulations!” all around. We celebrated with a quadruple serving of chocolate and pistachio pudding with toasted coconut, almond toppings, and artisanal chocolate sprinkled with Texas pralines. With smiles and gratitude, we shared the bounty to great acclaim with our fellow hikers.

Here’s our PCT Terminus shot:

The next morning, Trail Angel Mark Sherman picked up the three of us at the Manning Park Resort, where we feasted on a breakfast of smoked salmon eggs Benedict, and local craft beer. Mark drove us across the border, where we gleefully shared our Canada Wilderness Entry Permits with the border patrol, and then we drove further south to his home in Seattle. He and his wife Jenny hosted the steak and martini dinner that 5-Star craved there.

Mission accomplished!

Reflections on our Washington State journey

Except for the thirty-mile fire closure, Washington is the first state we traversed with continuous, connected steps. We covered 505 miles, bringing our total mileage to 2,050 (including 412 miles from the Oregon Coast Trail and 100 miles from our out and back on the Rogue River Trail).

Here’s the PCT map of Washington State:

Washington State highlights

We lightly shadowed the “Baby” trail family, a pack of 14 twenty-something hikers. They found a naked doll on the trail, and for a thousand miles, the creepy, beat-up doll was tossed from one tramily member to another. If you woke up in the morning and the doll was in your tent, you must carry it that day. The team started a fun Instagram page called @BabyHikesThePCT, chronicling baby’s many adventures on the trail — check it out.

Baby had a yummy gourmet lunch complete with German seeded rye bread, goat cheese, fig jam, black truffle salami, apples, and salt and vinegar chips with us one day:

And here’s a favorite photo of me and Stonehenge, a 6’ 7” member of the Baby tramily:

When KarMMa saw the above photo, she wanted me to share HER favorite photo with “Luscious” below:

Luscious’ real trail name is Dry Oats, but one night, a woman came into camp and explained,

“If you see a hiker with luscious hair, could you please point him to the edge of the lake where I am camped?”

When Dry Oats appeared, we knew it was him, especially when he gave us a Fabio-like twirl of his hair. Ever since, we’ve worked hard to perpetuate his new trail name, “Luscious.” (He’s been a good sport.)

Our last night before Stehekin, we had dinner with Lily and Charlie at our campsite. They are the young, newly engaged couple from the UK that hiked through the snow from Kennedy Meadows South to Lone Pine as part of a “Party of 16.” This tramily found strength in numbers to weather one mile an hour hiking on snow, eighty-pound backpacks, and two a.m. wake-up calls so they could hike on the frozen crust (v. post-holing into deep snow).

When we met Lily and Charlie in Crater Lake two months ago, Charlie had recovered from strep throat, but Lily needed Ghiardia treatment, which KarMMa provided. A norovirus outbreak followed, crushing them both and requiring a 2-hour hitch to Medford to be colocated with a toilet in a hotel room for two days. To recuperate, they spent two days in our Bend house in mid-July, where they were hosted on a river float by our “Chief of Staff,” Duncan. (That’s his preferred title, not ours ;)

On our last night before Stehekin, we did a food giveaway to Lily, Charlie, and another pal, Mad Hatter (on the left in the photo below). Mad Hatter had run out of food, so we gave him our spare gourmet freeze-dried Mac & Cheese dinner.

“That is the best meal I have had on the entire PCT”, Mad Hatter exclaimed with awe and gratitude.

It is amazing how little it takes to bestow trail magic and make someone’s day on the PCT.

You’ll get a sense of the weight loss many hikers experience if you look closely at Mad Hatter’s clothes. As he explained,

“I had to get a new belt. I went from a man’s belt, to a boy’s belt, and my pants? They’re teenage girl pants from REI!”

Also note Charlie’s yellow Croc shoes. He has hiked most of the PCT wearing them though he did wear boots and crampons while crossing the High Sierras.

There’s too much to report this week, so I’ll spend a little time in the future writing about our ongoing battle with MICE (hateful vermin), the four days of cold and wet we suffered on Washington’s high mountain ridges, our rookie hitch-hiking tactics, and our delightful experiences in the trail towns of Leavenworth and Mazama.

What’s next?

We’re in Bend at the moment. On Thursday evening, KarMMa and I will head down to the Bay Area and restart the PCT from Echo Lake (near South Lake Tahoe), accompanied by Pam Munster. We’ll be in North Lake Tahoe with friends and our daughter, Brit, for Labor Day and should get close to Shasta before we return to Bend in late September. We’ll keep chipping away at the PCT this fall and hope to complete the PCT this year, except for 500 miles of the High Sierra, which we’ll do next summer with our French Canadian pals, Luc and Lucy. No matter the outcome, we’ll log six months and 2,650 miles this year.

Here’s a visual of our progress, with some scribbles for the extra 512 miles we did on the Oregon Coast and Rogue River trails:

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Happy Trails,

Pudding and KarMMa

(Gib and Kristen)

PS. For more photos, you can follow us here:

• Gib on Instagram

• Kristen on Instagram

PPS. If you want a best guess of where we will be when or to see the crazy spreadsheet that powers our PCT resupplies, click here.