As I leave Rainy Pass behind, the trail feels like it’s wrapping up the journey. Taking each step with my well-worn hiking boots and trusty trekking poles, I am inching closer to the end. The towering peaks that had accompanied me for miles slowly fade into the distance.
My steps quicken, brushing aside the fatigue that clings to me. An unexpected surge of excitement rises within me. I have a renewed sense of urgency to melt the remaining miles, tackling the ups and downs, but not before I quickly scramble up Tatie Peak for a complete view of the North Cascades. From here, the range stretches endlessly, jagged and wild, a final reminder of the untamed beauty I’ve walked through for the last five months.
Dropping back onto the trail, I push forward and am soon trekking along Devil’s Backbone’s east slope. The name feels fitting when I see its shape—a narrow, winding ridge with steep, near-sheer drops on either side, like the spine of some great, slumbering beast. The trail clings to its side, my boots kicking up dust as I step along the exposed path. The wind rushes up from below, whistling through the rock formations, and I can’t help feeling a little vulnerable.
As I press on, a thin veil of mist begins to descend, softening the jagged edges of the ridge. It drifts across my path in wisps, swirling around the rocks before slipping away into the depths below. Despite the shifting fog, I catch glimpses of Hopkins Lake—a near-perfect circle nestled in the basin far below, its waters impossibly still. The trail dips into a descent, winding its way toward Hopkins Pass, and with each step, the anticipation builds. Less than 6mi (10 km) later, the border comes into view.
Entering British Columbia, a wave of emotion crashes over me—relief, triumph, disbelief that the journey is truly ending. The final stretch pulls me forward, each step carrying the weight of miles behind me and the thrill of what lies ahead. Crossing the Similkameen River, I pause briefly, watching the water rush past. Then, with a final push, I arrive at the northern terminus in Manning Park. The monument stands before me, solid and unmoving, yet it feels almost surreal. I run my fingers over the pillars of weathered wood, taking in the moment. The Pacific Crest Trail is finished.
"In few regions of the world … are found such a varied
and priceless collection of the sculptured masterpieces of Nature as adorn,
strung like pearls, the mountain ranges of Washington, Oregon and California.
The Pacific Crest Trail is the cord that binds this necklace."
- Clinton C. Clarke, “Father of the PCT”, 1945
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