Taboose Pass Trail - Rae Lakes via Pinchot Pass

Holy guacamole, what a night! A fierce wind storm had descended upon our stupidly exposed camp in the night, and I felt like kissing every inch of my precious, battered Duplex. Great gusts had beat the tent like you would scrunch up a piece of paper, seemingly threatening to pummel us down the mountainside. Sleeping was out of the question, with loud flapping and the whole tent structure appearing near collapse at any minute. …On the bright side, any drops of condensation would have been carried to the Pacific Ocean by now.

Looking back north on the trail towards Pinchot Pass

Hiking up the sandy tracks towards Pinchot Pass amidst the green grass and tall firs, I breathed in a fuzzy warm appreciation for this hike. Every day was a photo album’s worth of astonishing sights, all our camps could feature on a postcard. Your body takes a beating, but each morning you get to wake up in a new beautiful place. And Pinchot Pass was… easy as a breeze. The highest pass yet, you’d think it would be a tough bugger. But it just wasn’t. Passes aren’t necessarily a thing to dread, you kinda deal with going up and then down – it’s not magic.

A thin film of cloud covered the sun, making this out first overcast morning. Suddenly we remembered that today was eclipse day!

The sky wasn’t grey, but rather a sickly purple green.

Some friendly ladies borrowed us their “eclipse glasses” on top of Pinchot, and through them we could see the crescent sun behind a black moon.

Down, down, down we go into familiar pine forest. Wildflowers, firs and aspens lined the hot, dusty canyon we traversed for hours. For miles and miles we strode on beneath the blazing sun, passing and being passed by other hikers.

This would be our longest day on the whole hike, at almost 27 km. We crossed the shakiest suspension bridge imaginable over Woods Creek, and I sucked out all the energy I could muster from my music.

At 16.00 my body screeched to a halt like clockwork. Why weren’t we done? It was time to be done! Where was camp, dinner? Mayday mayday, breach of schedule! *Note to self: you are never, never, desperate enough to eat salmon jerky - ever.

I shamelessly sang “Hello World” from The Saddle Club to keep up morale as we re-entered our favourite landscape in the Rae Lakes basin: lush green meadows crowned by silver peaks.

Honeymoon suite at 3230 m. Who would have thought?

At long last we made it to the lower Rae Lake, a chipmunk playground with abundant campsites. Our friendly neighbour and his son struck up an enthusiastic conversation over the guest star of tonight: The Last Pouch of Chili Mac.

I sat down on a rock as my wonder-dinner soaked (Mr neighbour rightly excused himself “I got some hot water to pour into a bag”). However, the moment I stood up I felt - and heard - the entire ass of my hiking pants rip on a sharp edge of the rock I’d sat on. After a loud “FUCK ME” and a moment to inspect the damage, I threw on some gorilla tape and gobbled down my chili mac.

Like the primal, badass, altitude-acclimatised hiker trash I’d officially become.