As the crow flies, Ross Lake Resort was only two miles away. On trail, it was a whole 9-mile jaunt around an arm of the lake and over a dam. I wasted no time getting packed up and out of my campsite. I couldn’t wait to get to Ross Lake Resort and open my two-month-old package of stale granola and trail mix,

There was a beautiful wooden bridge crossing Ruby Arm (0730P) right in front of a thundering waterfall. The water underneath was crystal-clear, and I paused to admire it.

A few miles later, I crossed Ross Lake Dam, a massive 500-foot-tall concrete dam separating Ross Lake from the Skagit River. I ran into an older couple on the dam and chatted with them for a while – They were staying at the resort and they’d been out kayaking for most of the morning.

Ross Lake Resort is a small cluster of floating wooden buildings that sits on Ross Lake, connected by platforms and boardwalks. The resort staff reluctantly allows PNT hikers to mail packages to the camp store, as the closest town is some 30 miles away on highway 20.

As I was walking toward the camp store to retrieve my package, the same couple I’d met on the dam caught up to me and offered me a fat turkey sandwich, stacked high with fresh vegetables. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I thanked them profusely and devoured it on the spot.

It became apparent pretty quickly that the resort staff did not care for hiker trash hanging around. I wasn’t about to rush myself, though – I wanted to sit around and wait for Bugs and Moose to show up. At the camp store, I nervously gave the staff member my name and asked for my package. I felt a wave of relief when I saw them return a banged-up box with my handwriting on it. I bought a Snickers bar (primarily out of hunger; secondarily as a guesture of goodwill) and set up camp at a nearby picnic table to unpack my box and repack my bag.

I had twice as much food as I needed because I’d mailed a package containing food for both me and Peter. I’d also mailed some mint tooth powder and some Arko shave soap along with the package, and in the two months since I sent it, the fresh minty smells had permeated all of my food. The trail mix tasted like mint and soap. I solved the first problem by eating an absurd amount of granola on the spot.

My past self had also sent me new waterproof paper maps for the next quarter of the trail. They were so much crisper and easier to read than the maps I’d printed in Metaline Falls, and I pored over them to start planning the next few days of the hike.

To my delight, Moose and Bugs showed up soon after. We hugged and updated each other on the four days since we’d last seen each other. Four days on the trail can feel like an eternity. I think the constant change of place stretches out the perception of time. So much happens, but also barely anything happens.

We chatted, ate, and unpacked for a few hours. I used the resort bathroom to wash and shave my face. Bugs found the resort’s WiFi password, so I checked my email and messages, which ultimately only served to make me anxious.

Toward late afternoon, we decided to head out toward the Pumpkin Mountain campsite, only about 5 miles down the trail. We packed up and started hiking through the beautiful old cedar forest. At the campsite, I found Teddy, who I’d first met after my failed bushwhack in the Kettle River range. He had met up with Lino, a friend from Seattle, to hike the last 500 miles of the trail. When I ran into them, Teddy was cooking bread on a stick from dough he’d made early that morning. He also showed me his bottle of trail-made huckleberry wine that he planned to drink at the PNT’s endpoint. I felt impressed by his creativity and ingenuity.

I camped near the mouth of Beaver Creek on the pebble beach. The creek roared all night long, dumping water from the mountain snow melt into the lake. I looked forward to gaining some elevation again.