Three Sisters Backpacking, Part 2

By morning, the rain had stopped. My soggy hiking pants had dried overnight and my shoes were remarkably similar. As Matt and I ate our oatmeal breakfast beneath the commanding stature of the North Sister, our resolve to continue on was renewed.

Our original plan was to hike the eight miles to our next camp, just north of the Obsidian area on the Pacific Crest Trail. Since the twelve hours of rest had seemingly erased the previous day's fifteen miles, a wild idea began to marinate in our minds.  Maybe it would work, but we'd have to match that fifteen mile day two more times over before we would know for sure. Since it hadn't even been a week since the marathon, I expected that fatigue to slow me down, but it hadn't so far. I had high hopes. You did too. Right, legs?

Day two on the trail began with several more miles of burn area, only today it wasn't shrouded in fog, clouds, and that pesky horizontal rain. Ghost trees void of branches and needles gave way to modest views of both Bend and mountains to the north. A couple hours later, we were atop Scott Pass, taking in the miles of Cascade Mountain wilderness around us. The mountainside, lush and choked with wildflowers beckoned visions of the Sound of Music in my mind's eye.

When we finally joined the PCT, that's when all the spectacular views the Three Sisters Wilderness is known for began to appear, a stark contrast to the very green north side of the pass. Immediately below the crest, we made a long descent into and through miles of pumice lava flows.

As we picked our way through pumice boulders and scaled walls of volcano craters, I felt my legs adjust. My legs always feel uncomfortable hiking. Every movement feels forced and unnatural. Compared to running, which now feels fluid and automatic, it is an uncomfortable shuffle. But somewhere in those boulder fields, movement became less forced. My legs powered on happily as I took in the sunshine and bald mountain summits.

Paintbrush

With creek crossings every few miles came unexpected grassy meadows. We stopped for lunch in a sheltered spot beneath the Middle Sister. Since the Middle Sister spent most of the day under her grumpy cloud hat, I focused my efforts on enjoying the wildflowers.

We climbed another series of ridges to a view of the still cloudy Middle Sister and her permanent snow field (maybe a glacier?).  Stopping to take in the view and rest a little, we took advantage of a lower snow patch. Labor Day snowman, anyone?

 A prolonged rest to refill our water containers and rest proved to be the recharge my feet were craving. Eau de source. Can't get much closer to the source than this:

We visited briefly with a group of older men with whom we'd been trading the lead the entire day. We'd encounter them several times more the next two days as well.

Even though the entire day was spectacular, Matt and I were most intrigued by the Obsidian Area. Traveling through the sharp, black volcanic glass was beautiful. Hillsides sparkled as the sun reflected off their shiny surfaces.

Judging by the amount of hikers and the limited-access permit area, it appeared we weren't the only ones that thoroughly enjoyed this area. It provided quite the contrast from our morning's scenery.

Just outside the Obsidian Area, we began to hunt for campsites. Even though it was just five o'clock, I was looking forward to a relaxing evening outside of the tent. After carefully removing my socks and shoes, we prepared dinner. I scrubbed dirt from my feet with a nearby pumice stone. He followed suit soon after, rubbing his foot against a boulder. Mani-pedi night, PCT style.

Much to my horror, I've developed a taste for freeze dried macaroni and cheese.

After dinner, we decided to take a quick hike up a nearby boulder ridge. Compared to the scree slopes we were used to, the pumice scree didn't slide out beneath our feet. Each small rock clung to its neighbor and the sole of my shoe. It was like hiking uphill on sandpaper, no slipping at all. A+ volcano mountainside. Then she appeared: The South Sister, in all her glory, bathed in a soft evening light.

That's one sexy mountain.

As daylight began to fade away, a rainbow of yellows, oranges, and reds painted the hillside. It was incredible. Living next to the ocean, the sunsets are more like extinguishing a match. Poof, and it's gone. So watching the full spectrum of changes as day turned to night was a great treat.

Goodnight!

Our bodies began to adjust to hiker time and we fell asleep soon after.