7.0 miles, 700' gain, 2300' descent

My camera broke, so this last day will have to be described using words in place of pictures. I guess a bit of Banshee must have got into the mechanism because the focus motor doesn't anymore.

We're up and away early, down the trail, first switchbacks, then across Fryingpan Creek to a gradual wide path that takes us ever lower through a broad and open forest of big trees with minimal undergrowth. It's like a giant cathedral of light and green glowing. We're moving fast, with the bit between our teeth as the end of the trip is so close now. This hike has been fantastic but we are ready to be done and get home and see loved ones again.

Past the Fryingpan Creek trailhead, things level out for the last couple of miles, and our conversation gets silly. Frank decides that if he meets a bear he would try to brush its teeth. We agree that I should be riding a mountain goat, holding both my trekking poles in one hand while yodeling, which both of us consider obviously the best way to communicate with a goat. We debate whether difficult river crossings could be better managed by having trained bears stand at either side ready to toss passing hikers across.

All of a sudden, we're at White River. One last log bridge over a glacial torrent, one last view of the mountain, a change of clothes, a quick hug, into our vehicles (comfy seats, what madness is this?) and we're going our separate ways. Frank turns right, facing an 8 hour drive home, while I turn left just 2 hours from Seattle.

We did it.