Page 7: Brush Creek

Along Brush Creek.

After heading down Brush Creek for a few miles we finally came to a section where we could access the water. We dumped our packs, pulled off our boots, and soaked our hot, tired feet. By then it was about 4 PM so we ate a late lunch, then splashed a little water on ourselves and call it a bath.

As we continue down well-named Brush Creek, Mel began discussing the unpleasantness of having to average 12-miles a day. I observed that 12-miles-a-day was less than the15-miles-a-day I had originally estimated to her when we first discussed the hike. My logic didn’t seem to make much difference to her.

To compound her foul temper, the mile markers along the trail frequently disagreed with one another. I pointed this fact out when she began complaining about me lacking a sense of distance. It did not improve her mood, nor stop the ugly sidewise glances. At this time I gritted my teeth and reminded myself that we had one more day to go.

Camp fire.

That night over a roaring campfire in camp near the Methow River, I told her that I would hike out the next day to meet our pickup party and let them know everything was ok. She could take her time and hike out at her own pace. I said I would give her the stove, the food, and she could, of course, keep the tent. Faced with this proposition, she told me her knee felt a lot better and she thought she would make it out too. She even apologized for her surly disposition!

– Continue reading.