June 27, 2017
White Fork to Unnamed Stream just past Pinchot Pass, mile 810
Pacific Crest Trail Thru-Hike: Day 53

Started the day off by peeking at White Fork to see if the water level went down. I could hear, per the roaring from inside the tent, that it was unlikely. And it hadn’t gone down. in fact, if anything the water had risen.

We then spent two hours walking upstream without our packs (basically straight up the mountain) looking for a better place to cross. At the saddle, there was a giant snowbridge, and that was the top of the mountain. Nowhere further upstream to go. The rest of White Fork was essentially a waterfall.

We went back to the tent to get our packs, planning to head up the mountain and cross the snowbridge. While packing up, I started having second thoughts about the snowbridge. if I won’t cross a log over a torrent of water, why would I cross a melting snowbridge?

We decided to cross at the crossing. I got 3/4 of the way across the stream, lost my balance, and fell. Alex says I twisted around when I fell, falling backwards towards the middle of the creek instead of towards the opposite bank. I pinned myself against a rock, and managed to stand up in the freezing water, my entire body going numb and my muscles shaking from the cold. I fell again, this time even closer to the initial crossing side, and that’s when Alex said I gave him a look he’d never seen before.

A look that said I couldn’t do this alone. That if he didn’t pull me out, this was it. I couldn’t hold on any longer. Help.

He stepped out into the river, grabbed me and dragged me back to the crossing side, where he pulled me out of the water. He asked if I was okay. I told him my phone was wet. He took it out of my fanny pack (my hands were completely numb) and dried it off. Immediately after asking if I was okay, he asked me a second question.

Can you cross again?

I knew I could at least make it as far as I had before, but likely not any further. I knew we had to cross right now, or fear would sink in and we would turn back.

Alex crossed first, no problem. I went second, and things started falling apart at the same spot. Where the current got real deep real fast. Where there was no debris or rock to grab onto to keep me from being swept into the bigger, meaner, louder Woods Creek just 30 feet downstream.

I stuck out my pole, he reeled me in, grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

I spent the next 3 hours drying everything off, wondering why the fuck I was putting myself through this. Imagining how many more streams like this lay ahead. Thundering through every valley.

As we were finishing packing up to continue forward towards Pinchot Pass, I watched six people walk up to White Fork, survey the situation, and cross with no problem and no hesitation. It was equal parts nervewracking and frustrating.

We took the rest of the day extremely slow, crossing Pinchot Pass and an enormous snow field, then a stream at the very end of the day. Luckily, the flow wasn’t like White Fork, but I’ve been told we have many more like White Fork to expect coming up.

We have no choice but to go for it.