Chuckie, trail name Funnybone, on reaching the final milepost on the Pacific Crest Trial:

I wound my way down the last set of switchbacks when I came to a clearing. There it stood, Monument 78, a miniature Washington Monument looking pillar, signifying the Canadian border and the end of the line. (Monument 78 also signifies that this spot is 78 miles inland from where the two countries meet water.) The terminus is also marked by five emblazoned 12″x12″s, just as it had been on the PCT’s southern end. The engraving was filled in with snow but I dusted it off: NORTHERN TERMINUS OF THE PACIFIC CREST NATIONAL SCENIC TRAIL. I had done it. A deep sense of pride overcame me.

For a minute or two I stared back down the trail, all the way to the Mexican border. Despite bad visibility due to the current conditions, I saw a skinny guy working his way through desert extremes, under an unblinking sun. I watched as he struggled through blizzard conditions in the San Jacintos, then over towering mountains and past precipitous ledges. I watched as he road-walked where there was no trail. I questioned his sanity as he forded waist-deep torrents and then clambered over and under downed tree after downed tree. I watched as he skirted forest fires and trespassed into them a few times. I saw him passing the finest scenery Mother Nature has to offer. I witnessed his breaking point and I witnessed him breaking through it. Beyond it all he went. It gave me the chills.

Actually, it was the weather that gave me the chills so I cut short the reminiscing; there would be time enough for that later on. Mitten-less, I removed the monument’s pointy top and dug out the register, an old tattered notepad complete with all the names of those who stood at this most nondescript spot in the woods before me. I began to flip through the notepad, perusing through the names. There was a long list of them, some I knew, many I did not. The weather wasn’t exactly conducive to loitering but I wanted to enjoy this moment; that meant hanging out for a few minutes and walking down the memory lane. Most recently, Whiptail and Stomp scribbled their final thoughts. Despite Whiptail’s wording being deeply inspiring I still couldn’t think of anything (or anyone for that matter) to put down. Finally, after my hands had begun to freeze my brain began to warm up. I started jotting my thoughts:

“11-02-06: I brought my own pen all the way from the Mexican Border,” I wrote. “It still works though the person in charge can barely operate it. It’s snowing and hovering around ten degrees Fahrenheit. This is my second long walk on the PCT and I would imagine there will be others. It just goes to show…you never really leave the trail, and it never really leaves you…”

Whiptail, incidentally, is the guy who was planning on taking a mobile recording studio with him from Mexico to Canada. He stopped updating his Trail Journal in June but it has a bunch of interesting, well-written entries up to that point.