Rainy Pass, Pacific Crest

As I circle Lake Valhalla, I am keenly aware of my fatigue, hovering like a constant companion. All I can think about is putting one foot in front of the other, knowing the end is just a little further. The mountains, peaks, and lakes I’ve passed start to blur together, their names slipping away as the journey continues.

As I trek over a gap, the trail begins its descent into a quiet valley, leading me to Janus Lake, nestled at the base of Jove Peak. The lake’s name comes from the two-faced Roman God, Janus, after early explorers mistakenly thought it drained west, as shown on their maps, only to later discover it drained east. The nearby peak, named for Jupiter, the Roman God of sky and thunder, looms high above. Both the lake and peak were named by Albert Hales Sylvester, who drew inspiration from nearby features like Minotaur & Theseus Lake and Labyrinth Mountain, all rooted in Roman mythology.

Albert was a fascinating figure, a true pioneer of his time. As a surveyor, explorer, and forest supervisor in the late 19th century, he named over 1,000 features across Washington state. Alongside Gifford Pinchot, he recognised the importance of naming and mapping these features to protect the forests from wildfires. This meticulous work helped firefighters quickly pinpoint fire locations. With so many landmarks still unnamed, Albert took it upon himself to explore, map, and name these natural wonders, often becoming the first to scale the peaks as part of his surveying efforts.

As I hike along the east slope of Skykomish Peak, nestled within the Henry M. Jackson Wilderness, I’m surrounded by vibrant meadows and a blanket of wildflowers. The volcanic ash from nearby Glacier Peak has transformed the slopes into a fertile paradise. Rich in mining history, this wilderness is dotted with old mining claims that whisper tales of the past. Among its 30 lakes, Blanca Lake stands out, with its striking turquoise-green waters tinted by silt-filled meltwater. Above it all, towering firs and cedars offer shelter, their canopies protecting me from the elements.

Tucked in a cirque along the PCT is Lake Sally Ann, looking mighty inviting for a dip. But I push on, drawn by the allure of Kodak Peak. Reaching it from the south, I stand atop the peak and can’t help but wonder if its name is a playful nod to the Eastman Kodak Company, renowned for its film photography, or if it’s simply a tribute to the stunning panorama that stretches out before me.

The path eventually crosses the Suiattle River, a crossing that wasn’t always so straightforward. In 2003, a powerful flood swept away the bridge, leaving hikers without a safe way to cross. For eight years, hikers had to rely on a fallen tree trunk that spanned the river, acting as a makeshift bridge. Crossing it standing up was risky, with no railings to hold onto. Most hikers chose the safer option of straddling the trunk and carefully scooching across. It wasn’t until 2011 that a new bridge was finally installed, restoring a sense of safety to the trail.

Following the river for a while, I wind through the slopes of the Plummer and Sitting Bull Mountains, feeling the landscape shift as I descend into the dramatic Agnes Gorge. The trail leads me to Bridge Creek, where I pass the serene Rainy Lake before finally reaching Rainy Pass on State Route 20.