Month: May 2020
Hiking The CDT- Part 18- Cuba
I woke early in the town of Cuba, I could tell it was going to be a warm day. I packed my bag and walked out to the road, looking at the map to figure which direction the trail went. I was loaded up with water. Putting one foot in front of the other I advanced in the routine I knew so well. My stomach was cramping a little but I felt sure it would pass and turn into a brilliant day. As soon as I was off the main road I was walking in the silence that I had come to cherish. After an hour of walking the sun was getting warm and beginning to beat down. I had been wearing the same sunglasses every day for months and the scratched lenses were getting in the way of otherwise perfect views. The hiking poles I used since Helena MT were worn past the tip and made an aluminium clack each time they struck hard ground, like a steady drum beat. Everything felt so worn but settled. I was walking at a reasonable pace.
I came to the end of a mesa I had been on for a few miles and sat down. There was nothing to hear. Nobody about to tell me what to do, nowhere to be. I listened to the silence. Today was perfect.
What ever inner demons that had pushed me to go so fast for so long were gone, or maybe Giardia was just sapping it out of me. I slowly descended from the mesa on the broken trail that wound its way down through the red crumbling rock taking care not to hurt myself. My stomach was cramping but not too bad. I kept walking. I came to a dirt road and sat once more next to a trail marker. I sat for a long time. I thought to myself of how much pain I had been in with these cramps back at Leadville and how weak I felt then, what would happen if I got to the same level here. I thought about how I was so far ahead of the south bound hikers nobody would be on this trail for another few weeks and how ill advised it was for me to be going on. I thought about the thousands of pounds of debt I had waiting for me. Then I stopped thinking and just sat. I enjoyed just sitting in the dirt.
I was content.
It felt a little emotional being sat there after what seemed an eternity hiking. Hiking felt like the thing I was born to do. But after thinking some more, it made me happy. If this was the last day I were alive, it would have been perfect. I started the hike hoping beyond belief after how painful my back had been the months previous, that I would be able to make it to Yellowstone from Canada. I set a goal of 800 miles. I was prepared to finish after the first day if my back gave me trouble. But it didn’t. And I kept walking. I walked further in a day that I thought possible, on one day I hiked 44 miles. I saw Grizzly Bears, Black Bears, Moose, Elk, Big Horn Goats, a Mountain Lion. Forests, towering peaks, beautiful rivers, vast open areas. I felt cold that hurt, dehydration beyond what I thought I ever would, and lighting storms that made me wish I was anywhere but here. I experienced kindness from total strangers. I made some great friends. I learned to be alone.
This was not the story of hiking the CDT, but this was the story of my trail, and this is where the story ended.
Hiking The CDT- Part 17- Chama to Cuba N.M.
The slog on the road gave me plenty of mindless time to think. It would be an overnight trip, as my day was starting late. It’s a grind when you have only the thud of your feet for company. A car offered a ride but on telling them my plan suggested there was a national forest not much further that would make a good camp and wished me luck. After dark I arrived at the forest, walking back through thick trees to a small clearing out of sight. The night is long and full of terrors. I heard the odd vehicle on a forestry track and wondered what they could be doing at this hour, what heinous crime was afoot. On waking the next day I found the forest was full of skeletal remains of animals, not the most welcoming sight but not out of place in this forest. The evening before I noted a fuel station with a cafe, shop and bar. I figured it would be a good place for breakfast in the morning, and when woke I walked back the way for a coffee.
In a town along the way I went into a shop to buy water. On leaving a driver in a car outside offered a ride. I declined, wanting to hike as much of my route as possible and was glad I did. The driver became abusive, swearing and rhetorically asking if I was too good to get in his car, and screaming to get in the car. I noted the open bottle of what apeared to be whiskey or tequilla in the centre console. I went back in the store and hung around for a while until he’d gone. I kept an eye over my shoulder for the next miles of hiking. Even in the short time I’d been in this new state, New Mexico had a very different energy to it.
Maybe five miles before Ghost Ranch I came across red sandstone caves, a half mile or so from the roadside, it was pretty hot having been on a steady drop in elevation since Colorado. I planned on taking a break on my mini diversion to the cave, but arriving and finding no water I decided it wasn’t the place for a break. Turning back around, I decided not to sit down til I arrived at Ghost Ranch. The ranch itself was a few miles off to the side of road and added an hour to the day. I arrived at reception, booked onto the campsite and went to use the computer straight away. I was pleased to find a quick connection and high quality printouts. I printed the next few hundred miles. There wasn’t much to talk about here, few friendly campers to talk to and a quiet library. The night passed slowly and I was relieved to be on a trail and away from asphalt again the next morning.
The next section started in arid land on hot dirt roads before eventually breaking off to trail. It climbed up slowly and into forested hills. There were many snakes, I guessed mostly corn snakes or similar and didn’t think they were venomous, but didn’t want to find out. I came across a lot of elk grazing that didn’t seem to fear me too much as I passed through. Creating a hill I came across a man on a quad bike, beer in hand riding around. On the back of the quad a beer cooler, on the front a compound bow. ‘Have you seen any elk around here? He shouted over his engine. I responded ‘no’ not because I hadn’t, but, quite honestly, I mean, really…you’re going to try to hunt elk while revving around with a beer in hand. C’mon, in man vs elk, those elk are gonna win, I didn’t want to interfere in the natural pecking order. I’m sure he was having fun but he was going home hungry every time. I imagine him getting home to a wife and saying ‘Nothing today honey, there aren’t any elk on these mountains this year’.
The trail wound down to crossing over a road before climbing again. There were annotations on the maps warning of experiences of hikers all through New Mexico. At this particular point, it warned of hikers that witnessed a drug deal. Arriving at the road myself, a few Harley bikers passed giving a thumbs up as they did. I have to be honest, that gave me positive vibes but I still wasn’t sure how I felt about New Mexico.
The area I hiked into was lush and green. Enjoyable. The route was faint but easy to follow but it was obvious I was beginning to run myself down. Dropping into Cuba N.M. I booked into a little motel for $30 dollars. I checked the remaining maps. My closest CDT finish was about 300 miles away. 300 miles from the end. I checked my calander. I had been hiking for 91 days. I figured there were 9 days to make the border at 33 miles per day. This was a pace I had been doing over high mountain passes easily, and now I had smoother desert walking to finish on. I was nearly done. I checked the distance I had apparently come, knocking off the area at Yellowstone and allowing for the alternates used. I had hiked at least 2300miles. I stocked up on food for the next section and went to bed. I was drained, and the morning I woke late. I packed my bag but I was struggling to get going. I lay there and accepted I needed at least rest, and more importantly a pharmacy or doctor. I booked in one more night. The day was slow with junk on tv. I figured if I made it to a bigger town there might be a doctor that could help. I checked the balance on my credit card one more time. It was dismal. I slept as much of the day as possible readying myself for the heat and miles that were to come.
Hiking The CDT- Part 16- Wolf Creek To Chama
Setting off from the hunter’s camp, I told Beads I would probably see her at a lake in around 30 miles to camp at and went ahead. The trail wound around rugged peaks on a grassy plateau before dropping into a deep forested valley. The climb out the other side felt steep though in retrospect probably wasn’t too bad. My stamina was dropping daily as the half dose of antibiotics worked it’s way out of my system. I rounded over the top of the mountain and in the next valley came across a hiker. The first thing I noticed about him was what he was wearing. Full waterproofs, zipped up head to toe. It was a pretty mild day, I was in shorts and a T shirt. I thought ‘man he must be warm’. As he came closer I noticed his pack more. It was huge. You could park the titanic in the main pouch and that would just cover the tip of the iceberg of what was in that pack. Then there was the extra attire. He was sporting a bear grylls style black and orange machete, worn stylishly on the waist. ‘Hows it going?’ I asked as he sat down to pass out. ‘This is hard work’ he explained as he unzipped his waterproof to reveal the fleece below, while sweat dripped from his brow. The sales man at an outfitters had definitely seen him coming. He told me he was hiking the Colorado trail from Chama (the next town along) and I can’t remember how many days he said he had been on trail for, but I was slightly alarmed. I wondered if he knew how far he had to go. I suggested he take off the waterproofs to be a little cooler and walk with as few layers as possible. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he should probably ditch everything to increase his odds of surviving the next days…or weeks.
Arriving at a beautiful blue lake surrounded by trees on a saddle, I decided the day was still young enough and this wasn’t the place to stop. Scenic as it was I kept going. Ominous clouds built in the sky once more as I studied the map. I reached a point where to go further would keep me on high ground for the next fifteen miles at least. The thunder clouds grumbled at me as I rose up the next climb. I decided to keep going, noting a tarn I could drop to in another five or six miles if things got bad. Needless to say, they did, and I found myself sprinting off the edge of a mountain once more. With the sky darkening I dropped to Green Lake. Once again a little off route. Arriving at the lake as electric cracks shattered the sky over head, I found a sign saying ‘no camping’ at the lake. I don’t know what they would have advised a single hiker arriving alone at dusk in a lightening storm to do, but I walked a short way from it and pitched up. Within moments, heavy hailstones started and the wind picked up as the back of my tent buffeted down onto me. I will be honest and say I was not convinced the tent would hold up to much more. I held my foot against the top of the tent in an effort to stop the supporting pole from breaking. Soon it became cold even inside my sleeping bag. I began contemplating that I might have to get dressed and walk all night to avoid hypothermia if the tent broke. The lighting seemed to settle over the small valley I was in and stay there. Over this hike it seemed most the time lightning struck inside a valley, it would restrict itself solely to the valley. In retrospect, maybe I would think twice about constantly sprinting into valley’s each time a storm appeared.
This was a long night. I was tired, and a bit fed up. Ten or fifteen minutes would pass then another huge strike would light up the tent. I put in my earphones to try to block it out, but it wasn’t much of a help. I had no concept as to whether the strikes were getting closer or further away, but I remember feeling that each strike might be my last. During the day in these high areas you walk past hundreds of trees and one in every so many would be a lightning struck tree, destroyed and charred. A daily reminder that lightning can strike anywhere, and it is a frequent and dangerous event. Later I found out from some locals that during this storm a motorcyclist had gotten off his bike at the top of a nearby pass to take a photo and was struck dead.
The next morning I woke to scattered clouds and the calm sort of forest you might seek out for a day’s hike. There was a small path that had led down into the area I had camped in, but it went back the way. I hiked to the south side of the valley and scrambled my way up the large rocks on the other side. I walked out across the hill til I found the path I should be on. I knew Beads would be a long way behind, but when coming across my muddy footsteps in the trail after seeing none the past miles, would be confused where I had come from. The trail slowly wound around and down towards Cumbres Pass. A sign on the ridge warned of dangerous snow conditions here in winter times. I would bet the original north bound hikers would come to this and think twice about proceeding. Nobody wanted to post hole, and nobody wants to be buried alive in an avalanche. I arrived at the pass early morning and started walking down towards the town of Chama. There weren’t many cars passing and I figured the descent into New Mexico was a welcome one. The temperature would warm the further I went. I wouldn’t have to suffer through cold nights any more.
My walk down was long and I arrived much later in the afternoon than I had planned. I had a 50/50 mentality for the the next section and would need more maps to advance. My hike now hinged on it. I spent an hour walking around to find a computer, eventually coming to the local library and printed out my new maps. They were black and white and low quality. This posed a problem. I printed them as far as ghost ranch, the next stop, hoping the resort could help. I booked into a motel and sat on the bed trying to decipher them. Imagine all the contour lines, forests, rivers, roads and any other features on a map being grey and pixelated. I had a pen to try to highlight what should have been a red line for the trail, but couldn’t. The maps were useless. A short while later I received a text message from Beads. She was in a bar down the road and wondered if I was still in the town. I walked down to join her. She had this one last section to hike for her trail to be finished, but would be taking a few days off at Ghost ranch first with more friends and I would probably cross her walking the other way in the next days. She split the motel room with me and headed off the next day morning.
I carried on my search in the town for a better quality map, before eventually giving up. I was at a little bit of a loss. I could have asked to join Beads, but wanted my route to be a continuous southwards line. I knew that many hikers had walked the road here coming north from Ghost Ranch to avoid snow so there was a possible way south. I called the ranch and asked if they had a computer and printer I could use and they informed me they had a reasonable quality system I could use as well as cheaper camping for CDT hikers and good food. The dullest alternate on the CDT. A dry roadside for 45 miles. But it would keep me going and get me back on trail. At least on a main route I wouldn’t have the worry of running out of water.
Hiking The CDT- Part 15- Monarch Pass to Wolf Creek Pass
I had an extra night off on the BML campsite just outside of Salida before hitching to the pass the next day and continuing my hike. The sky was misty as I walked high and alone on an alpine ridgeline. There was the odd low grumble from deep in the mist but the kind that didn’t feel threatening. It was nice having complete silence. I arrived at a small shelter to eat my next bag of ranch dressed salad, a favourite for a first day on trail, and was joined by a few more hikers. After lunch with them I headed off and laid down a few miles. I camped the night on a perfect meadow with views all around listening to the sound of Johnny Cash playing from my phone. The next day I crossed a second road and met a couple hiking the Colorado trail aiming at sixteen miles per day. It was an effort for them and It seemed like they were having a fun time trying. I knew by the time they had covered the next seven miles I would be over the horizon. The rest of the day I didn’t pass anybody else. I don’t think much of a map would be needed through this area as the whole route was well marked with both CDT and Colorado Trail markers. I originally was going to take the Creede cutoff, a shortcut used by a lot of hikers which veers straight down a valley to avoid some of the mountains, but on reaching another hiker who seemed a little unsure of how much further to hike, opted to carry on with him for a bit and take in some more of the San Juans. I still had a bag full of food and decided it was worth the extra effort here. The scenery each day improved and just became better and better. The air crisper and the mountains more defined. I had checked my account balance before leaving Salida and was aware the costs had been stacking up. I was well into debt at this point but felt so free I could barely care about it at the time. I figured I would be working the second I arrived home. Coming out of this area before the end of this section was a hill called Snow Mesa, a large flat plateau. It wasn’t living up to it’s name in the summer months I was there, but I would love to come back and see it in the winter.
I hitched down into Lake City, which to my surprise was not a city but a small town with not much more than a grocery store and hostel. The hostel owner was an Irish man who had started the CDT and like many before him in many other places along the way, just never left a town he arrived at. He charged full price to those on the Colorado trail but gave a discount to those hiking the CDT. I was appreciative of that. The next day me and the other hiker I had met took the free ride the town offered back up the pass, a shared service by the locals who had realized the income attached to thru hikers. I wasn’t feeling great again. The energy that had come back a week before was now gone. The half course of a prescription had not been enough, I was certain now that was my problem. I decided on the Creede cut off and headed down the road. I would be lucky to finish this hike but knew I could. In fact, there was a chance I could make the Mexican border in under 100days from my start date. A solid achievement.
Welcome to the long slow demise of the Benjamin. I hiked down from the town and followed the Rio Grande for a short while before crossing at a bridge to follow a gravel road back up the other side. It annoyed me I had to walk a big loop to get to a point I had been relatively close to initially, but I didn’t fancy a swim. This was an alternate quite a few hikers would use to ensure completing the trail both at the start and end of the season, and I know Tribhu and Beads had probably gone this way. I was glad I had hiked at least a small part of the San Juan Peaks. I felt beat but kept hiking. I can’t for the life of me remember why, but as the road turned to trail, I stopped. The trail was a gentle rise up through forest, nothing noteworthy jumping off the map. I turned back, and decided to have a side track. On the way down from Creede I could see a large gorge. It looked fantastic compared to the forest trail in front of me. I didn’t know exactly where it went, as my map stopped right on the edge of it I decided to have my own alternate. I rejoined the main road, slightly annoyed I had just wasted several miles walking up and started my new adventure. The Wagonwheel gap/canyon was a beautiful tall sandstone canyon, far different from the surrounding mountains. It took a little road walking before I came across a usable trail in the canyon and I resented the striking of my feet on the hard surface to get there. I recognised a name on the sign as being a town to the side of Wolf Creek Pass, (a short way further on) and decided it would be my own version of the trail before I rejoined the official route. It felt exhilarating for the first time in months to not be following an exact line down hundreds of sheets of map. To go where the map could not take me. I found out this is where the closing scenes to ‘The Lone Ranger’ was filmed a few years ago. It was a fantastic canyon and I wondered how many spaghetti westerns had been shot here, and indeed if any outlaws had been brought to an end here in real life. I became despondent further down when I found what I believed would be a BLM forestry style area to camp was actually a small housing development now. To add to it there was an official camp area but it was too pricey for me. Miles and miles on, it started raining lightly and was getting dark. Maybe my alternate had not been such a good idea. I knew there had to be some form of hiker friendly accommodation in this town, but had no idea where it would be.
A car drove over and window wound down. ‘I saw you hiking all the way back up in Creede, you’ve been covering some distance. Do you know where to stay?’ She said. ‘Not yet, I’m working on it’. I responded. ‘Hop in before you get soaked’ the old lady shouted. ‘I can drop you at the motel, or you can stay at my house, there is a guest bedroom. I guess your one of those long distance hikers, you were really shifting’. I thanked her for the invitation. Every time I received help on this trail it was a real morale boost. This time even more so. It wouldn’t have taken long to find the accommodation, but I was glad of the offer of a free night that wasn’t on a fourty year old mattress in a run down motel. On route to the house a short way away all I could think was you shouldn’t be doing this little old lady, the world is a dangerous place. Over dinner I told her of the journey so far and early morning thanked her for the hospitality. It seemed to make her month hearing of a bold adventure. I picked up a donut from the store then hiked on for several hours turning down rides, until eventually accepting a ride to the top of the pass from a car. I arrived at Wolf Creek Pass around lunch. I knew at this point ethically I had just cut a few miles of trail, but, the temptation be being on trail with daylight left was great. I stood for a short while talking to a motorcyclist and touring cyclist. The leathered up biker was telling us of the 5 day long distance ride he was doing and how hard it was on the body, a real feat of endurance. I appreciated it was probably hard, but honestly, I don’t think he had any idea of how hard it was for the cyclist to self propel over the same distance, or for a hiker to walk it. The cyclist and I kept quiet.
I hiked into the area and followed an impressive ridge that circled the ski resort. I was feeling reasonable and content to hike. If you ever get a chance, the Southern San Juans are beautiful peaks. Towards the evening nearing a forestry road pass, I came across Beads sat on the trail drinking a beer. She said Tribhu left the cans to the side of the trail and a note saying ‘well done’. He had shot off ahead a day or two before to finish his hike at this point, where he left the trail due to snow earlier in the year. Beads still had a few miles of her hike left but would be finished soon enough. Just down from us was a small hunting camp. It was a group of dads that every year would come out on an elk hunting trip with the tent, quad bikes and for a few days forget their responsibilities. We camped with them for the night. As well as eating some brilliant chilli con carne combined with fun camp banter into the late night, they gave us some jerky style elk sticks to carry on with. Not coming across many hunting camps in the UK (we tend to lack anything other than rabbits and sheep) was a new experience and I figured just about as American as it can get. They had a large military tent, a propane heater to warm it and tables and chairs set up. They all slept in hard sided vehicles and shuddered at the thought of spending a night inside a piece of nylon fabric, separating them from the bears.
the first day walking high in the clouds 
the canyon that caught my eye 
Hiking The CDT- Part 14- Copper Mountain To Monarch Pass
Waking in the morning we waited around for Tribhu for a while before deciding to do a slow walk up our next pass. We passed a gent on his way down and he asked ‘Hey, are you Beads and Ben? Your friend is racing ahead looking for you!’. I told Beads I would head off and try to catch up. Hiking off ahead and gaining the top of the mountain, I could see Tribhu all the way down in the next valley. I jogged the next few miles and caught up. We ambled along to the next pass then hitched into Leadville. This town is at around 11,500 feet and the air up here feels clean and dry. We book into the hostel for the night and went for a grocery shop, buying a few beers and heading back to drink them. There is an ultra race going on and the hostel seems to be the epicenter of the it, with competitors from around the world staying. I had admiration for all those people heading off to run 50 to 100 miles in one push. They seemed equally shocked though at the thought of doing over 30 miles a day, day in and day out for months. Beads arrived a couple of hours later, and we chat away the evening with other adventurers before getting a ride back to the trailhead the next morning.
This day becomes my worst on trail. We ate breakfast a short way out and came across a cooler box with iced drinks for hikers on the trail. Its pretty cool to come across unexpected cold drinks when the water you have to drink is always hot and unpleasant. We had planned to climb Massive Peak on the way past as an extra bit of excitement in the day. I was going slow, so told Tribhu I would catch up with him at a junction for the summit trail a short while ahead. I hiked, I sat, I tried to eat but couldn’t. My stomach hurt. I hiked a short distance more. I sat down. I hadn’t felt so drained in a long time. What should have taken forty minutes took a couple of hours. I felt like I was going to pass out on a gentle incline and knew this wasn’t right. When I eventually arrived at the junction, Tribhu was concerned. We opted not to hike much further that day and for my second time over the last thousands of miles, we had a camp fire. Eventually Beads caught up and joined us. I couldn’t stomach dinner and went to lie down. I felt like I had been booted in the stomach. A couple more hikers from the Colorado trail joined our camp and after a while I got back up feeling a little refreshed. This had happened for a few afternoons previous and I put it down to a small stomach bug.
The next morning I felt fine, so me and Tribhu set off ahead of Beads to climb Mt Elbert, she would keep to the trail and see us later. We started up the trail and an overpowering smell of laundry detergent lingered in the air. It was confusing to say the least. What was this chemical smell doing up the mountain? It became stronger as we climbed. It was a busy Saturday with low lightening possibility and within minutes we started running into people. We pretty much ran past the crowds on the way up and it was so bizarre, all of the individuals had this smell. It could have been that each member of this particular crowd was just overzealous with the detergent the night before. But I like to think I had adjusted to being in nature more, and using less detergent, was ultimately starting to notice the unnatural things more than ever. It’s no wonder bears and elk run as soon as they are near people. Reaching the top and running the final ridge to the summit we snacked then started our descent to Twin Lakes, dropping the 5000 feet we viewed as a pleasant side track.
Once at the general store in town we found Beads sat outside with a few more hikers drinking a beer. We found out Mumford and Sons were playing a big gig in the town of Salida that evening. Not wanting to miss it, we hitched off trail for some festivities. After talking with Bead and Tribhu in the town we decided I likely had Giardia. The symptoms I had had over the last days fit in with the parasite. One of Bead’s friends who had come to see her, happened to have half a course of Metronidazole sat in the glove box of his car. It had been there for a few years, but not wanting to waste a trip to an expensive hospital, I opted to take what was on offer and at least see if it fixed the problem. If it seemed to, I could go get more. I forgot to mention earlier in this blog, somewhere around Yellowstone, my water filter had began to block up and became a hindrance. I stopped using it and decided to be like the other hikers not filtering. It felt pretty cool just drinking directly from streams. Beads was another hiker that didn’t filter water. I guess when you try to be like the cool kids, you get caught out. I have wondered how many of the hikers that don’t filter water carry the parasite without any symptoms? How many are able to kick it themselves? I guess all I know is my body isn’t that good.
The gig was good fun and the next day we headed back to trail. I said I was going to hang around for a day in Twin Lakes and didn’t want to push while being on antibiotics. But after the others left and I had finished breakfast and sat for a couple of hours I felt a renewed energy. I picked up my pack, and headed out once more. I didn’t walk this day fast. I intentionally mozied along, listening to music and enjoying the sights, while packing in a couple of mountain passes before nightfall. The Collegiate peaks are beautiful, grey mountains skirted with deep greens and browns with trails running close to their summits. It had a very different feel to the peaks further north on the divide. Its funny through here, I was trying to take is slow but still found myself covering a lot of ground. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so energised and awake, it was like being back at the start of the trail again. I figured that coming up higher into Colorado, it had been altitude making it harder. But now began to suspect it had been Giardia. I felt like I could have ran a marathon with my pack on, such was the return of the energy. I didn’t think I would see Beads and Tribhu again, but guess with the extra spring in my step, soon caught them up. Later in the day I found them at a lake, beneath Tincup Pass sat in the shade. I joined them and hiked on. We camped by a second lake and enjoyed hot chocolate after a ramen dinner supplemented with cashew nuts. This was becoming an enjoyable way to pad out the same mush, giving extra crunch. By this point I really felt I needed to hike at my pace. Neither faster or slower than the others, but to listen to my body and have a little trail to myself again. I hiked out at Monarch Pass with them but opted to give myself an extra evening off in Salida and a little more space on the trail.
Leadville Hostel 
Mt Elbert Summit 
hitching to Salida with Tribhu and Beads 
Twin Lakes 
Collegiates 
Grey peaks, Green valleys 
epic Colorado Trail 
Sun setting on final night before Monarch Pass
Hiking The CDT- Part 13- Grand Lake To Silverthorne
In the hostel in Grand Lake, I found myself upstairs digging through the hiker box. A hiker box is a box of random things along main trails. Hikers ditch items into them after realising they don’t need them, or ending their trip. They can be a real treasure trove or just a pile of worthelss junk. Hats, packs of ramen noodles, torches, maps. All kinds. This particular one was useful for me, as I was once again out of maps. I opened it to find the Northbound CDT hikers ditched maps, which now became useful southbound. Win. I also found a selection of cereal bars and snacks to add to my stock. Not long later another hiker checked in. Her trail name was Beads. I had met her earlier back before Anaconda. She had been hiking with the bubble, but had already hiked sections in between at an earlier date, so had skipped ahead and here I found her. I said I was going to take a look around the town but we could grab food later. Down in the reception a note had been left for me. Tribhu and Kirsten had stopped by moments before, dropping of a nice shiny new sleeping bag. After finding out I wasn’t a couple of days behind as they had thought I was, wrote down where they were staying and a mobile number. I gave them a ring and later on the four of us, plus another hiker, turned up into town and went for dinner. The all-american restaurant that we stopped in had a floor layered with peanut shells left by the previous diners.
The next day Tribhu and I headed off towards the Devils Thumb, a prominent rock pillar back up on The Divide. The map had noted a serious blowdown had happened the previous winter and it was true. A good few hours were spent hopping and crawling over a completely downed forest beside Lake Grandby. Afterwards the trail dropped momentarily towards a campground where we stopped for a beer. One thing the Colorado section of trail is great for is there is always beer nearby. We hiked on past Monarch Lake and up towards the divide. Camping in a meadow just before.
In the morning the climb was tedious. It was sweaty from the word go and I had an awful time, but cresting onto the ridge line, the views high up became phenomenal walking between 10,500 and 13,500 feet for the next few days. I know I said in the last blog I would be far more careful about thunderstorms, but what can you do. The first thunderstorm of the section was on James’ Peak. We opted to take an over mountain route with some scrambling instead the official hike to the valley. A giant cloud rolled over right as we crested the summit, and we descended in a rush to a ridge that would take us onto Mt. Bancroft. We sheltered in a small pocket on the ridge between two large blades of rock. We listened to the lightening crack around us, but felt reasonably secure in our small haven. An hour or so passed before we moved off again as the clouds appeared to be dissipating. It was well into the evening by now and we arrived at what seemed to be an old weather station high on the mountain. A couple of collapsed weather vanes and radio towers scattered the area, and a large deserted aluminium box stood tall. With another large cloud approaching fast, we decided to stop the night in the old metal box. Inside, the old wooden floor had collapsed but we sorted a few boards into sleep-able decks and rolled out our sleeping bags. That night I was hassled by a persistent mouse determined to get my food. I lost a lot of sleep chasing it away, and kept re-awakening to the sound of its teeth against the fabric of my drybag. In the morning I woke to discover it had pooped in my shoe as vengeance for denying it the goods.
The next day we woke with little water (we had been up on this ridge most the previous day) but had a long gentle ridge that would descend and bring us to Berthoud Pass. The pass was slightly infuriating. We were out of water but could hear we were only a few feet from it. The stream here had been capped off with a large steel grid that was padlocked down. After a while we accepted we wouldn’t be able to get any water and moved on, climbing back up the ridge on the other side. In another few miles there would be a stream. A few hours later we arrived at Jones Pass, joining a forestry road. This was just in time for the next lighting storm. There was no possible fight so we chose flight, sprinting down the road to seek what we perceived to be the increased safety of the trees lower down. The bright flashes struck all over, keeping our motivation to move high. At the bottom we took a long lunch as the storm continued to rumble, filling our tired bodies with-you’ll never guess it-more ramen. We could see lighting strike higher up where the trail would carry on and overcome the mountainside, and there was no hurry to be there. We watched a movie on my phone and eventually decided the rumbles had quieted enough for us to carry on. On nearly gaining the ridge, the rumbles started again, thankfully not breaking into flashes. On top we were treated to a sight of hundreds of Elk littering the mountain, watching them scatter as they spotted us. We were quite a few hours behind schedule due to the lightning storms, and Kirsten was going to be waiting at the other end of the trail for us for quite a while. As the sky faded from blue to yellow to grey, we dropped into one last valley before crossing a river and slowly making our way up the hillside towards Ptarmigan Peak. Enshrouded in the inky black, Tribhu led the way, and I kept looking over my shoulder expecting a wildcat to launch from the dark and take me out. I really wished I was hiking in front. Tribhu had a small LED lantern fixed onto his waistbelt for lighting. When turned around from a distance, out of the dark, he resembled something I can only describe as Legolas with glowing crown jewels. We couldn’t find the trail but slowly meandered up the hillside, stumbling and getting stabbed by invisible branches as we made minimal progress. Our batteries started to fade but in torchlight ahead we spotted a small white shining bead fixed to a tree. From this bead we see the next and realise we have found the trail, like little stars of hope in the dark forest. Getting late and feeling tired we accept we won’t be flying over the hillside and not really knowing how much of the climb is left we pitch up on some poor grass for the night. The clouds were in thick and everything seemed damp.
In the morning we woke to find we had a stones throw of a hike to the top. On top, Tribhu managed to message Kirsten and tell her we were OK. She hadn’t panicked and presumed we were just a little delayed. The sun shone gloriously on this grass covered peak, giving a great view down into Silverthorne. I remember this descent felt long. Really long as it would slowly wind down the mountain towards the finish. The smell of pine once again permeated the air, awakening the senses. Reaching the end of the trail Kirsten was waiting with iced coffee for us both. After a much needed coffee and thoughtful deliberation, Tribhu and I decided to hike the last few miles into town. Although the ride would have been nice, Tribhu wanted to ensure that his footsteps connected completely from one end of the country to the other.
In town, we found a fitness center with pay-for showers and my first scale since I’d left England. I’d lost 30 pounds in the last two months, which came as a surprise seeing as I had stuffed my face at every opportunity. Tribhu would spend the day in town with Kirsten, and I spent the day shopping for a new pair of shoes before I met Beads at a brewery in Dillon. The bartender serving us gave us our beers for free, thinking a thru hike sounded pretty cool. Trail magic strikes again. After dark, Beads and I slowly hiked up the valley towards Copper Mountain to pitch our tents. We were treated to a firework display down in the town as we ate more ramen and waited for Tribhu to catch up.
nearing the top of James Peak, with large clouds rolling in 
walking the top instead of taking the lower paths 
sunset 
base for the night, morning view 
sunset on the last evening before descending into the valley 
reservoir between Silverthorne and Dillon 
a free firework display to eat dinner to at Copper Mountain
Hiking The CDT- Part 12- Steamboat to Grand Lake
The old forestry road faded away as I climbed upwards and away from the roadside. I was warned by my ride that there would be many signs saying ‘private property’ and ‘trespassers would be prosecuted’, but it was a right of way. The person who bought land on both sides of the road a little way in didn’t want anybody coming down this public access road and did their best to make it seem private. When I came to the property I understood exactly what he meant. I was told you can be on the road but don’t camp around here, don’t sit at the roadside for lunch, don’t even stand still. The property only lasted a couple of hundred yards and was back to regular forest with forestry carparks and trailheads afterwards. I’m glad I didn’t meet the property owner. All I could think was ‘who buys a couple of acres of land on either side of a road and tries to close the road that runs behind their property for the next 20 miles’? I soon forgot about it as the road climbed up. I would hike until dark and pitch tent on a small patch of flat ground between trees.
In the morning, within a few minutes, I would come across a black bear in the middle of the trail. I fumbled around in my pack for my phone to take a picture and tried running after it but the bear had disappeared. It’s not recommended to run after a bear, but after seeing four or five bears in total in the past months, I really wanted to get a photo of one. A few hours later I would spot a second black bear ten miles further down trail. The scenery here was good and trail relatively straight forward, apart from where it suddenly branched from the main route without there being any trail or marker. I spotted the mistake quickly and lost only a second. Again painting a mental picture of my route, and keeping check on my rough compass direction would save a lot of incorrect miles. It takes focus.
Time for a rant. While re-checking parts of this route before writing today to jog my memory, I came across a blog written by a hiker. They stated the whole CDT is straightforward for navigation, she didn’t need to use a compass once and didn’t think it was necessary. Only the guthook mobile app was needed to navigate (a mobile app popular with hiking the route). The app is undeniably brilliant, giving both your location and the exact location of the footpath within 6ft the whole 3000 miles. It is quite honestly impossible to get lost if you have this on all day. You keep yourself on the blue line and follow it to the next pass. But that doesn’t mean phone batteries don’t die, it doesn’t mean electrical means of navigation won’t get drowned in rivers or in wet pockets on rainy days. I usually find when someone navigates solely with a mobile app, their ability to use a map and compass lacks quite severely. And they spend most of the day with a nose glued to the screen, keeping their dot on the thin blue line of the trail. As well as the hikers I have mentioned in my blogs who I respect, I have met quite a few I didn’t mention because of this kind of thing.
There was one time to me when the route was obvious. I would look up at the features around me and go in the right direction, and a hiker I was with at the time was solely using the App. He traipsed back and forwards getting himself on and off the blue line on his screen, but the trail wasn’t there. I think the people who hiked this trail through the 70s and 80s had a real adventure and had to learn how to navigate. It’s too easy now to turn on a phone and think navigation is easy. Think about it like sat nav in a car, with modern mobiles you sit the phone on the dash and it tells you where to go, when to turn and you are never lost. But, go back to when there were only paper maps and either only yourself or a friend riding shotgun to navigate. Then take away the odometer so you don’t know how far you have come. Gets a little harder doesn’t it. For the trail now, factor in there are between 300 and 700 miles of trail that just don’t exist (it gets less each year as more trail is complete and re-signed). Combine that with a path occasionally splitting 4 ways but the map shows only one. Or maybe your trail branches off but there is no trail where it should be. Then consider there are no roads signs over the mountains and through dense forest. Add in low visibility some days, add in miles of downed trees through sections. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think her skills lacked. To not understand why a compass needs to be carried and to say navigation is easy on a trail reputed for hard navigation, shows a misunderstanding of what navigation is. I have ten times the respect for people who bothered to learn how to handle a map and compass. When I came back and hiked sections of the CDT in 2017, I used a navigation app. I didn’t need to navigate, I just had to follow a line on a screen. I’m not against them. But when using an app, you aren’t navigating.
Back on trail, I would hike the day mainly on ridge lines where the tree line faded out and windswept gravel and patchy grass was my only companion. The mountains were getting higher and cooler and less water was needed compared to the heat back at the start. Towards the end of this second day I was racing another lighting storm to a peak. It is a daily occurrence. There was a shelter on top of this peak and if I made it I could spend the night there safely. The sky grumbled around me, a warning from the ancient gods to descend. I really didn’t want to be delayed by this storm, but some days you lose. Lightening started striking higher than me on the mountain forcing me to turn tail. I half ran, half skipped straight down from the ridge towards the trees below. I hid in the forest and pitched my tent on rather slanted ground. I know they say to stay away from trees in lightening storms, but my odds felt better when tucked away from the brunt of a bolt. It crossed my mind if I did get hurt here, it would be unlikely anybody would ever find me. I was off trail, and in an area without trail. Nobody would have reason to clamber down a hillside to nothing. I hoped the storm would subside but eventually gave up hope and went to sleep. There was a possibility of descending down to an old forestry trail that would wind around the mountain, but I felt a compulsion to make the top of this peak.
The next morning I climbed back up to the ridge and carried onto the summit at around 13,300ft. It was a beautiful day with nice cirrus clouds scattered in the sky. I descended feeling good. As the day went on I would listen to music, enjoy the odd coffee break and a walk into further storm.
a cloud inversion on the second day 
classic CDT 
clambering over logs becomes tiring after a while 
the ridge I retreated from in the evening before reclimbingthe next day 
views the next day
I had intended on a slight deviation keeping higher than the official route went in search of better views, but a very large cumulonimbus cloud put and end to the idea. Keeping to the official route I found myself running as lightening flashed all over the hillside. Rain started but hail followed, so thick and heavy I couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of me. I ran down a trail that soon turned into a river. I considered running straight down the hillside but lighting struck lower down on the hill. Sack that! I followed the path with an inch or two of water streaming down and turning it into a river, some hail would stay on the surface to be swept away giving an awesome spectacle. Bright white light would flash blindingly and honestly it was hard to tell if the strikes were in front of me or behind me, but I knew they were very close. The deafening crack was on top of me. I tried to keep out of this stream of a trail, thinking to myself how stupid it might be to be ankle deep in a perfect long energy conductor. Trying to keep off the trail was muddy and caused me to slip. What a mess this was. To add, this icy torrent started chilling me. I couldn’t feel my hands, my feet, my legs. I was struggling to keep my body warm. It was getting a touch hardcore, but the only option was to keep moving. I kept up a jog down into the valley forcing my cold and rigid muscles to do work. There aren’t too many times in my life I have felt threatened, but this time made the list. With the low visibility I couldn’t tell if I was on a small ridge or near the valley base, but there is no good place to be in a lighting storm. I kept running down. After twenty minutes the strikes were not as close. I dropped to a flatt-ish clearing. This would do. I struggled to pitch the tent and did a poor job, but it was enough to be watertight (ish). I climbed in and pulled off the wet layers, shivering. I inflated the camping pad and sat on it to keep me insulated from the ground. When I felt dry enough after a few minutes I climbed into my sleeping bag. I would wait til the rain stopped then eat some food and carry on.
fun ridge line walking 
a building storm 
grand lake the next day
I woke after dark, hungry and tired. It was silent. I had been out like a lamp for a few good hours. I was disappointed in myself for not hiking on, as Grand Lake was only a few miles further down. This was the Never Summer Wilderness area, even its name beat me down. I cooked some Ramen, ate some chocolate and went back to sleep. In the morning I woke to cold wet clothes in a pile outside the tent. It was a touch miserable, On a scale of one to ten lets give it a solid 5. I say five because at least they weren’t frozen, that would have elevated the situation to completely miserable. I was soaking, and felt like everything I owned was wet and smelly. I could feel mosquito bites from previous days itching. I held onto the knowledge that in a few hours I could be in the Grand Lake Hostel having a warm shower. Nothing sounded better than that. After an hour of walking I broke out of forest into a meadow, I was in the Rocky Mountain National Park and the sun was shining. It was still a couple of hours walking at least, almost teeth grinding agonisingly tedious. But fresh air picked me up and by the time the sun hit, I was feeling fine. I didn’t want to repeat my experience in a lighting storm like that and from here on decided I would play things safer. If such a thing exists on the divide.
In the hostel a couple of people were behind the reception desk. They asked where I had hiked from.
‘Oh man, did you see that lighting storm up there last night, that was insane! You were up there in it? No Way!!!’
Hiking The CDT- Part 12- Rawlins To SteamBoat, CO.
Tribhu and I hiked out of Rawlins in the afternoon early August. Hot, dry and ready for miles. The initial route we followed was a roadwalk up and out of the town. The road went from smooth asphalt to rough gravel. We hiked until dark and pitched up a short walk from a reservoir. We had enough water til morning and this was supplemented by a small amount of rain during a thunderstorm. I held my cup to the bottom side of my tent flysheet while in bed and waited for it to slowly fill. It must look a little odd to drivers on this road (albeit a gravel road) seeing tents at the side, but we were not bothered by anyone and not many cars passed. The map had noted the area didn’t have much water and this would be the start of a long and unexpected day.
In the morning we walked over to the reservoir and Tribhu walked in away from the aquatic vegetation to get a little water. We soon discovered it was unpleasantly salty but after checking the map noted a place named ‘Deadman springs’ was a few miles further. You might in similar circumstances walking to find water, question why somebody would name a spring ‘Deadmans’. The answer became apparent on arriving. We found no water was here, but rather a dried out river bed. Dehydrated once again we walked on a short way to see a section of road tunnel off to the side with water in the bottom of the corrugated steel tube. Not being too picky about where water would come from at this point, we scraped it up with Tribhu’s water bag, filtered and drank. There wasn’t a lot of water to be had, and initially disturbing it kicked up a lot of dirt until the clean looking puddle turned mud bath. There was no point in clogging the filter so on we hiked. We came across a stream of clean flowing water at the roadside and loaded up. Five miles down the road we discovered our last batch of water was also incredibly saline. It made for a disappointing first swig and I poured mine back out on the floor. We kept hiking.
awesome skies 
another storm 
fresh drinking water
The sun rose high and we headed towards a sure water source on the map we knew should be good. I could almost have ran to the small narrow pool of water in relief. After filling up we eyed a road workers skip on a large gravel car park that would make good shade. We sat down around lunch with our backs to it, drank plenty and ate. A car pulled in belonging to a road worker and stopped for his lunch. But upon seeing us, seemed disturbed and moved off with haste. Quite honestly so would I. We were covered in dust, dirty, scraggly shirts, holes in shoes, presumed homeless or similar. We had a good laugh from it before moving off. Never do so many people look so homeless, but spend so much money to achieve something like a thru hike.
The next day after camping in pleasant forest we had a 16 mile descent to the next pass. This would be a quick town stop getting the basics. It did give time for a burger and beer, but for no more than an hour. Kirsten was there to pick us up and drop us off. She put in a lot of hard work over these months to Tribhu and every hiker she helped. Arriving back at the pass we moved up into the forest heading for Steamboat, Colorado. This was exciting. Rumour had it as soon as you pass into Colorado the trail system becomes immaculate. Perfect switchbacks, wide trail, great views. The reality was not quite this. It looked the same. It felt the same. But there was a cool Colorado vehicle registration plate at the state line. The trail here linked some forestry roads with single track. On our penultimate night we camped high in a small cluster of trees. We watched a thunderstorm cross the sky that came to settle over us. We questioned our precarious position on the mountain. Our dainty cluster of trees didn’t seem much protection. A larger cluster back down the way seemed better, but with rain beginning we decided to stay put. The lightening here was terrifying. The strikes weren’t frequent, but maybe every twenty minutes there would be a supersonic boom that would shake through my core. The silence that followed broken by only by the fresh rain as it splattered on the tent. You could feel the deadly energy building. In a house or car you feel secure, and in a normal person’s day you could just avoid going out into an electric storm. But here, it was not enjoyed but rather endured. It seemed to strike both above and below us, down at the cluster of trees we had considered the safer option. The next morning we climbed the last hundred or so meters to the summit to find another couple of hikers had camped on the summit in a much bolder position between small outcrops. ‘It wasn’t a great night really’ they informed us . Later that day we saw what we believed was a wildcat, shooting from a meadow to trees and vanishing. Arriving at the pass we waited for Kirsten. We actually overshot the pass and ended further down the road but hey, that’s life.
Late afternoon in the town we put an add on the thru hikers Facebook page asking if anybody knew of cheap accommodation in town, and it was responded to moments later from a house tucked up in the trees. Thru hikers had been stopping here all summer, they had plenty of spare bedrooms and a family feel to the place. It was a fun lodge and I loved the layout. If I ever build a house, it shall be to this kind of style. Tribhu and Kirsten had friends to meet in boulder the coming weekend and would set off in the morning to hike the next section. After discussions each day while hiking he also offered to get me a new sleeping bag. He was shocked and appalled by the fantastically cold one he resented I used. I gave him a couple hundred dollars and said I would be stopping at the hostel one night in Grand Lake when I go through. I had opted to stay at the cabin an extra day instead of hike. We guessed that by the end of his quick overnight to Boulder, he could drop it off there for me before he carries on. I thanked him and accepted in my mind I would be alone the rest of the hike. I was a long way ahead of any other hikers now. I don’t know if it was the warm sound of vinyl records, the comfortable seats or the large dinner table all the strangers would sit around together. But it felt good here. I wanted to repay the people who had opened their home to us, I felt a lot of thru hikers had stopped here over the summer and some probably had taken advantage of a free house. I descended into the town, filled several bags with food in the supermarket and came back up to cook them a meal. They insisted I didn’t cook alone. That evening we and a few of the neighbours had a true feast. They made me the offer of staying longer if I wanted, but I that had been the end of many a poor hiker’s trail, right here. One of the occupants had turned up earlier in the year after starting his hike, and also found it too enticing. Several months later he was busking in the town each day and smoking weed here every night.
I moved on in the morning. I discovered the worst place to hitch in the world is probably Steamboat, Colorado. Hikers have a saying: ‘shiny people in shiny cars’. Steamboat is quite a wealthy skiers town, and it’s usually (but not always) older cars that give rides to strangers. I feel too many people have watched too many scary movies to understand why someone is at the roadside. Eventually, maybe two hours later, a new car did stop, possibly one of the only cars that would. A fellow that would be working for the Continental Divide Trail Coalition. The group that promotes the trail, works to secure access where the trail didn’t officially exist and generally is a positive force for the wilderness. He gave me a lift to the pass and I was off. I had spent a lot of money and before leaving the town checked my balance found my credit card was at least £1000 down. I accepted I might not have the funds to make the end of the trail but wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t. I wouldn’t bust myself through this next section but I would enjoy each day to the full.
Hiking The CDT- Part 11- The Great Divide Basin
Heading down into the town with Tribhu and Kirsten was a surprise. I had planned on having a day off here with rumours of a lush green village square to camp on, but Tribhu had other ideas. ‘Dude, I will buy you beers tonight in the bar, if you hike over the divide with me tomorrow?’ This was a split decision for me initially, as I was still slightly hesitant from my injury I’d had since Mac’s Inn. I shall also point out the Divide Basin is a roughly 122 mile stretch of desert like scrub land, scorching hot, with little water and no shade. I said I would come out for a beer at least before deciding. In the town I discovered I could stop at a Noels outdoor education center with a hot shower and cheap laundry services, so booked in there instead of camping. A while later I walked down to the bar after a refreshing shower and joined them. No sooner was the first pitcher was on the table and refreshing bubbly beer hitting my mouth, than I decided I should cross the divide with Tribhu. We drank a fair few beers but called it a night before too long, on account of wanting an early start. I said I would meet them at the supermarket as I still needed to resupply. I also received a message from Kathleen, she was camped at South Pass City, and asking how things were going. She had skipped ahead and had this one last section before heading to a wedding and having a couple weeks off. South Pass city is a historic town few miles into the basin, but could be cut off with some cross country. Cross country here is just walking across a flat. I said Tribhu and I would be hiking across, and there was a small chance we would catch up.
The next morning I grabbed standard food: ramen noodles, snicker bars, the kind of junk diet that would make you cringe in normal life, but it was now, well, standard. I grabbed a coffee and 4 new water bottles and started drinking the coffee. Tribhu sorted food for himself then we set off to the pass. I had a headache and was heading for a desert pan, but other than that life was good. Somewhere between mid and late morning we set off. We put on some tunes and relaxed into in. When I say relaxed, I mean we paced across, aiming for a small spring marked on the map approximately 17 miles in. The spring was a tiny patch of ground barely noticeable from the trail, but after scraping slime of the surface it provided good drinking water. We relaxed here for an hour or so and ate lunch in the shade of my tent flysheet, propped like a sail over the connected poles. After checking our average speed we found we were going over 4mph. This was a great boost knowing our pace would get us there in decent time. As the sun eased we set off again and found our next spring well maintained. For this desert area, a safe practice is to presume the next spring will have no water, and the one after might. So carrying water in excess is a reasonable thing to do. It gave a strange feeling walking away from a mountain range, and after a while no matter how far I walked, the mountains seemed neither closer nor further away. Like being trapped on a huge non moving scrub land.
The next day we dropped to a good spring before heading out over a flat. Lighting was breaking crazily all over, and as the main storm passed we sheltered in a shallow ditch crouching. With icey rain coming down it wasn’t long before we were losing feeling in our limbs and decided to move regardless. Due to the rain, mud caked to the bottom of my shoes weighing them down. I resented this half inch layer of mud that would peel off the dry dirt below step after step. On and on we walked. The sky lightened bringing us back to heat and dry ground, some of it feeling quite sandbox like. I would eye up ground to the side of me trying to decide if it looked more solid. Soft ground proves strenuous work and trying to avoid it became a challenge. We were walking towards a patch of sky in the distance that was black. Dense black and the ground beneath it black. It was bizarre to see such darkness in the daytime. Lightning was striking one place in the middle of it. A large strike, then silence, then five minutes later again hitting the same point. Miles passed and as we came up a rise the trail slowly turned us towards this point. A cattle grid with raised sides at the highest point on the hill. We advanced with more caution. Since there were large gaps between the strikes we decided to wait til after a strike, then sprint for our lives over it. We waited, then with a thunderous crack we were off. Once at the brow of the hill we just kept running down the other side, knowing in all likelihood there would be another strike there any moment. Sure enough there was. We kept moving. There were horses in the basin, and on an adjacent rise a short distance away lightning struck and sent them bolting across the hillside. It was well into the day at this point and on finding a seemingly safe place to pitch our tents, we stopped. Not knowing if there would be any more decent shelter out here and the ground ahead flattening, it seemed wise to have an early night. I had downloaded movies to my phone and put on an old black and white to pass time. This storm while large, continuous and potentially deadly, was far cooler than the expected weather we anticipated.
The next morning we rose, with 40 miles left. Around 20 miles in scrubland and 20 more on the road. We passed our last spring, drank plenty of water, and decided lunch would be at the roadside. The heat today was stifling. The kind of heat that makes your head feel like its ready to pop. We missed a turn and ended up walking a few extra miles here much to my dismay. I knew this would add an hour to our already long day. At the roadside we ate the last of our food and psyched up for walking on a hard paved surface. Walking on a hard surface compared to trail is agony. The soft trail gives, and absorbs. But asphalt is solid and unkind to joints, at least when pacing anyways. Around ten miles along, we sat in a drainage ditch for a ten minute breather, there was no shade from the sun. It would be a long slow descent down to the town of Rawlins. A car spotted us and pulled over asking if we wanted a ride and we thanked the driver, but insisted the walk was necessary. It was a grind, and even though we were still hiking fast. It was brutal.
Arriving in at about 4pm we walked into the center of Rawlins and met Kirsten who had a beer waiting for us. We drank a beer each and went over to the campsite. Pitching up on the soft grass I lay back and looked up at the sky, the grass was so nice compared to the basin. Adding up the hours we walked each day, we managed to average over 4mph the whole way. This crossing seemed the epitome of embracing the brutality. Who knew suffering was so much fun.
vast expanse 
the seeds on my shoe would get inside the socks and itch away 
more vast expanse 
BENS GAME 