Day 4 : Bridge Creek Campground

Start – Bridge Creek Campground
Finish – Stehekin
Daily Distance – 8 km
Ascent – 250 m
Descent – 400 m

Having gone to sleep half-expecting to be awoken by heavy, somewhat, bearish footsteps, full awareness commenced instead courtesy of shock by toad. Quite what it was doing nestled just outside of my tent mesh I really can’t say. Perhaps given the amount of overnight sweating it mistook my tent for a small pool and me for an unusually bulbous lilly pad. While evenings bring some respite from the sun, temperatures are still enough to leave one drenched in sweat after the smallest exertion. I think tonight I will have my sleeping bag as an option in case required, but will otherwise try to sleep uncovered. Anyway, after some indignant flapping of tent mesh my toady visitor reluctantly hopped away.

The acquatic alarm clock at least resolved today’s main question; to catch the 09:00 or 12:30 bus from the trail to Stehekin. Steheken is the first town of the trail when walking southbound, although in truth, calling it a town may be a stretch. Perhaps a one horse town, but some way short of further equine multiples. It is, however, home to a famously good bakery, a post office to send food supplies to, and a beautiful lake for swimming. Situated some 350m above sea lavel, the lake is almost painfully cold despite the sun, but washing away the trail dust and sweat was immensely satisfying nonetheless (merely brief).

The bus from the trailhead to the town was longer, but more entertaining than expected. The distance is only 11 miles, but down a gravel road and featuring stops at the bakery, a botanic garden and the local ranch. Most unexpected was the retiree bus driver giving an audio tour throughout the journey and pointing out such things as the primary school (students 10, teachers 1), waterfalls and charting the changing fortunes of various enterprises of the area. I don’t recall exactly, but the year round population of the town is something close to 70, with it almost doubling with seasonal summer workers.

Anyway, the rest of the day was taken over by swimming (before beating a hasty retreat), savouring the experience of eating fresh food again, drinking beer on the decking and chatting to an ever widening circle of hikers who were drawn by our great company (and occupancy of a rare spot in the shade). I don’t recall every name, but the group at various points included: Bad Sherpa, Slapshot (Tony), Steady, Last NOBO, Neopolitan and Brainstorm. I haven’t quite acclimatised to the American tradition lf bestowing “trail names” yet, but I do have to concede, they are easier to remember. Also, people randomly pulling up chairs to an established group and being immediately welcomed is an adjustment from everyday life. Although, perhaps in repudiation of our normal lives, an adjustment that people seem almost craving to make.