Mile 2397.7 – 2425.3.

The mountains rose like specters in the smoke. Gnarled heads turned toward the sky as their bodies sunk into the sea of smoke. We left camp and waded through the smoke arms stretched out to keep our balance as we navigated through rough terrain.

We crossed an elephant graveyard of scree and talus that crunched under our feet like fragments of bone. It was eerily silent and a lone bird black against the gray smoke soared high overhead.
The mountains rose to greet us one by one standing tall and baring their chests as if bragging about the scars of switchbacks etched into their rocky flesh. Gone are the flatlands of Oregon. Here are the proud mountains of Washington.

Below our steady tread, they fell one by one at the cost of sweat and labored breath. One was always ready, however, to take the place of its fallen comrade. Some were crowned with glaciers. While others had waterfalls that flowed from their tops to their bottoms and others hid lakes between their ridges.

As we moved through the ladscape, our lips burned and eyes stung from the ash that fell. What didn’t land on us peppered the plants long the trail.
As we descended to a river that was lined with so much green that it seemed out of place, the wind picked up and the trees swayed beneath its force.

We thought, “perhaps tomorrow will bring a reprieve from the smoke,” as we struggled to setup our tents.