The Most Powerful Prison Is Our Own Mind

16 Oct 2024 / bens game / Leave a comment

I’m sat on a warm autumn evening at the chart table of our boat. The warm glow from the red led switches providing a dim light. Listening to the cooker come on and off as I wait for dinner to heat. Tonights dinner- a beef stew Karli slow cooked today. The companion way is open and I can hear the wind howling through the shrouds of the sailboats around us. The remnant of a storm that will have kept many sailors up along the Atlantic coast the night before.

We entered this marina to escape the uncertainty of anchor. We have never had a bad experience at anchor. Karli and I have owned this boat for 4 years now. Which means for 4 years, the stresses of countless storms have kept us up at night. But we have never dragged. Yet.

When we launched our boat, it was the last job of the day. Moments later the staff in the marina finished for their Christmas holidays. We tied up the boat on the dockside and hoped we had done a good enough job. When darkness came, so did the wind. On the edge of the river Lune concealed in the safety of Glasson Dock the wind built up. It howled and screamed through the rigging of the boats still in the water. The boat heeled over the whole night, rocking aggressively with each gust. It was unsettling. The creaks of rope as they went tense. At around 3am, exhausted, I started to sleep. Then the rain came. I woke to look out of the front berth into the saloon. Water dripped down from multiple points. This was the culmination of three months of working 7am to 10pm trying to get the boat restored and ready. It was a low point. We hugged as we went to sleep.

The next morning we woke exhausted and started assessing the damage. Our beautiful butterfly hatch had delicate gutters made of glued teak. The glue had given up and offered an unhindered passage for water to the inside below. We had been told ‘All boats leak’. We set about covering the deck with a tarp over the boom so we could get it dry and fix the problem.

Every day from there had some form of lesson to learn of being a boat owner. The old paraffin stove in the corner burning all day most of the winter, keeping the saloon warm, as outside became colder. In January, the inner dock froze, creating a white ice up to the edge of the boat. This would occasionally wake us in the night, as ice tightened to the outside of the hull, and wind would rock us. The gravelly sound of ice scraping the waterline. I would get up and walk over the iced covered deck to break the sheet up with a long wooden boathook. The cold wind cutting into the waterproofs I had loosely thrown on.

The day we left Glasson Dock was a calm day at the start of May. The tidal range in the area is quite high (around 7m/23ft), and when you leave, there is no turning back. The tide sweeps you out. For our first passage, three good friends came to help and keep a watchful eye, with the promise they would only provide guidance if we did something questionable. The passage went well. But from the following morning, we were alone. We dropped our friends off on shore, and set off towards the North Channel, and Scotland. The sailing and working out tides was simple business. You look it up in a book. You read the pilot guide. You check the weather, you plan the route, and then execute.

Sleeping in a new environment however, brought stress. Each time a new sound was encountered in the night, I would get up and walk around the boat. Searching for the source, trying to glean what it meant and if something needed doing. Even tied to a swinging mooring had an initial disorientation. I would wake in the night, look out the companion way and see a different shore to when I went to sleep. Before realizing the boat had swung with the tide and all was well.

As we sailed South, every night at anchor would be beautiful, but as the wind grew stronger, the doubts would set in. Back in Glasson Dock, we prioritized buying the best anchor we possibly could, and put off fancier upgrades in place of paper charts, books and basics. We settled on a 25Kg Spade anchor.

Over the past years we have met many a boat that have dragged anchor. We have seen many drag anchor. We have had tales retold of ‘that day’. But through every storm, our anchor has held solid. We hope this trend continues, though we bet one day we will drag. Its unsettling to see stick figures running up and down the deck as a boat drifts slowly backwards, hoping to catch themselves before the boat runs aground or strikes a second or third boat. It always coincides with rain that stings the face as I take a look around.

I have also spent many nights sat in the saloon in full waterproofs waiting for the moment I dread. With an anchor alarm set, repeatedly looking at the weather models wondering when the worst will pass, or when the wind will veer giving a new chance of pain. Standing and looking out the windows, wondering which other boat is about to lose its grip.

Tonight I am sat after enjoying a home cooked meal, safely tied up in a marina, knowing I will sleep the night. It’s a relief.

Hiking The CDT- Part 17- Chama to Cuba N.M.

12 May 202013 May 2020 / bens game / Leave a comment

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 15- Monarch Pass to Wolf Creek Pass

8 May 202010 May 2020 / bens game / Leave a comment

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

Hiking The CDT- Part 11- The Great Divide Basin

3 May 2020 / bens game / Leave a comment

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 trail uses both gravel road and single track across the basin.*

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.

Hiking The CDT- part 10- The Wind River Range

2 May 2020 / bens game / Leave a comment

The Wind River Range is one of the most Spectacular Places On Earth. The mountains seem endless, the views breathtaking, the wolves wild, the lakes blue /green and the hiking some of the best I would encounter. So good that when I had the chance, I came back a second time.

I hitched to the pass with a local guide who had just finished on Garnett Peak, the highest mountain in Wyoming. I was feeling reasonable strong but still my shin pained a little. Taking care on descents I would manage to keep the pain to a minimum and slowly recovered as I crossed this section. I think it is around 180 miles. Arriving at the Pass I walked several miles down forestry lanes meeting the occasional thru hiker coming North, the first one I met was nervous about grizzly bears. I gave him my can of bear spray and told him of my encounter with a Grizzly Bear, it had been good and I felt lucky to have had it. Grizzly bears don’t get much further south than the Wind River range, and I figured I would rather not have the weight of a can. Since I started this trip it had swung from my chest strap on a piece of cord . Thru hikers rules, every ounce that can be ditched should be ditched. I hiked a good way as light rain splattered down keeping me soaked and cold. I eyed up a cross country route marked on the map that would save on a lot of distance, but was over high open ground. Lightning started cracking overhead, splitting the sky into fragments. A second later thunder would boom and the ground would tremble. I opted for a walk the long way through the forest, feeling secure with dense forest towering all around. I had good music and passed the afternoon comfortably.

Hiking has a lot of slow lessons. It teaches you any wrong decision is yours alone, any frustration is yours alone, and if you’re angry you have no one to blame for being where you are but you. If you’re scared, you have to learn to deal with it alone. I think a lot of people never become comfortable with spending time with themselves but the lesson of solitude and experiencing all emotions while being alone is powerful. There is nothing more therapeutic than being isolated in the wilderness. In cities people always have the stimulus of the others around them, and seek reassurance or spread blame for things not going right. But in always having people around, you never learn self reliance and patience. I think this trail teaches a lot about both.

I camped the night in a small cluster of trees at the top of a pass. The night was brutally cold, freezing over everything including my tent and shoes. It was a slow wake up and I felt almost hungover with dehydration. I had a slow coffee then dropped the tent to shake off the frost, and packed to move. I could hear wolves howling nearby. I hadn’t considered wolves being out here and on hearing them the process went through my mind- they are pack animals and I probably look like an injured animal to eat? But surely they are scared of people, there must be hunters? But this close to a National Park would anybody ever be here to fire a gun and scare them? I would never have an answer and my only option was to proceed as I was. I shivered as I started walking, finding it difficult to get warm blood flowing. It’s difficult to be happy until you feel warm in such a place. But as the sun rises and scatters across the hillside, the feeling of being home comes back. I listened to a few audio books while hiking here.

On this second day towards the end, I bumped into another hiker called Race. I would hike the evening and camp at the top of the pass with him. Having another hiker helped slow the pace and it was great having the evening meal with someone else. It blew my mind when hiking how in a morning I would look across the horizon thinking it was a long way, and by the afternoon I would be over it and onto a new horizon. Each day this would happen, it kept going, and going, and going. There was seemingly no end. It was perfection. I was in an endless cycle of hiking with endless views. Race was meeting a friend at a campground, but I carried on alone and began climbing up into the real mountains.

As I started to climb, the slightly high sides on the trainers dug into my ankle on both sides. It didn’t take long to abrase to the point my ankle was rubbed raw, and reddened with pinpricks of blood. I tried to persist but the pain was high. I sat down. I didn’t fancy trying another four or five days of this. I opened the top of my pack and took out a pair of small scissors to start cutting away at the trainers to lower the sides. I slapped some microscope tape over my skin where it was worn for a little more protection from brushing against trousers and plants etc. I then proceeded to hike. It was such a relief. I climbed up through the forest and broke out into a steep boulder strewn valley. Barron and grey granite that was cold in heart and touch. The first route for me would be Knapsack Col. It’s an alternate to the main route (I think?) but fantastic high alpine environment with a beautiful tarn. There is no real trail but the route is over boulders following obvious directions from one valley to the next. Over the next day the views of granite would be broken up with valleys full of hundreds of small pools and lakes.

A small gap breaks up the mountains between the North and South on the CDT route across meadows with lakes. Here I ran into many Northbound hikers. Probably the mass of them. I didn’t talk too much. Thru Hikers in opposite directions understand the difference it makes getting extra minutes of daylight. I camped before the second section of mountain. Here there was a highly recommended alternate better than Knapsac col, but I didn’t want to break myself again. I was pushing still over 30 miles per day. I knew this route would give more interesting climbs but the official route that wound around the peak would do for now, it still had plenty to climb and scenery.

Near reaching my final pass I was close to running on fumes, and my food was nearly depleted. I had taken other hikers advice back in town and carried less food than usual, and here it kicked me, it wasn’t my style. I was fortunate to come across other hikers that were on a weekend break. When they asked what kind of food I bring on a hike like this, I laughed and shower them a near empty bag saying I guess I was subsiding on cosmic rays and and positive attitude. The said they were hiking out but still had loads of food and showered me in great snacks. It provided thousands of extra calories in much more entertaining food than I would normally carry including some home made beef jerky and energy shot style sweets. This was epic. As I dropped down the other side of the pass the path was steep shingle, not much fun, but I knew this would be my last big descent of the area. As I moved I was now being powered by a sudden high calorie diet. I was a day and a half from being out of a long section and ready for a day off trail. I arrived in the evening to a national forest campground. Pitching up on the gravel after dark I was happy there was less than half a day to the next pass.

In the morning I hiked on, with the trail eventually joining some gravel road then breaking across country one last time to the roadside. The roadside was a small layby on a brow with poor view in either direction. A hard place to hitch from. When a vehicle can see you at good distance, the driver has a chance to weigh things up. When they see you in passing, the chance of a ride is almost always gone. Two northbound hikers were on the other side of the road and had been there an hour. I joined them for a while trying to hitch before I decided three was too much of a crowd and I would try to find a better layby further down. Moments after walking away a car passed me and started beeping the horn frantically. It was Tribhu and Kirsten. I chucked my hat into the air to celebrate and ran over. They were dropping a couple of other hikers off at the pass and now giving us a lift back down.

Hiking The CDT – Part 1 – Glacier Park

24 Apr 202029 Apr 2020 / bens game / Leave a comment

I was looking for something to do once upon a time and pulled out a book called the ‘Worlds Greatest Adventure Treks’. In it a large series of treks around the world for those who’s minds would wander. I learned within a hour or so of reading that hiking has a season in most places, dictated by cold, heat and rain. In the time slot coming up for me was the CDT, most hikers were already on trail walking North from the Mexican border, but the book hinted that at the start of June, one or two battle hardened warriors with nothing to live for have the gall to hike South. I could be that guy!

For those unaware, the Continental Divide Trail is a trail that runs from the Mexican Border approximately 3000 miles to Canada, following the water divide of the Rockies. In many places, one side of the path drains to the Pacific, the other side to the Atlantic. It is recommended for hardened vets of the hiking world. I remember being told a comparison to the other USA long trails while on it. The Appalachian trail is like a kitten, gentle, places you can order fast food to the trail and a good many people to hike with. The Pacific Crest trail like a grown cat, fun to pet but can bite and scratch once in a while. But ‘the Divide’, it’s a raging mountain lion you’re holding by the ears’. I do wonder how hard it really is in comparison to the others, having no time on them. But my experience was the best of my life

It started a month or so before, reading up on this trail, there were things called resupply packages people would prepare months in advance, I didn’t have time to sort these. My food preparations were made in Seattle to cover me for the first 4 days mainly consisting of powdered potato and M&Ms. The maps, I was too late to order good ones. I printed off 800 miles of trail on my computer on letter sized paper that seemed to make the bulk of my hiking pack. The low print quality wasn’t great, but I knew there had to be real maps out around the national parks so I wasn’t too concerned.

I bought a two season sleeping bag with the thought I can wear extra clothes if I am cold. A pair of Merrell Moab Ventilator shoes, reputedly great for hiking but the bane of my life most the time I wore them, a titanium cup and spirit stove for cooking, and a new waterproof top. The pack all in weighed non too much. I had a spare pair of socks, a warm top, and lots of micropore tape to fix myself. I also had an adventure time hat that looked befitting for any budding angler.

I arrived in Glacier Park Ready but feeling kind of stupid. I booked into a hostel for a few days to get used to the area and get my bearings. I didn’t want to push to hard in these first days, a few months before I had a herniated disc in my back so painful I couldn’t take one step forwards without pain shooting through my butt and down my leg. I accepted coming out here was a risk and if on day one I had to abandon the trip, at least it would have been a scenic break. I met a guy called Axle, who had just ran a half marathon nearby and we decided to do a few hikes together. It was nice and chilled hiking in the overpowering pine forests. It felt high on the resin smell. After a few days I decided it was time to start. I picked up a permit and stuck my thumb out at the roadside to hitch to the trailhead. Committed, hiked in.

The first day was 20miles. Not a big target, but a good first day. I passed most of it clapping my hands and shouting ‘Hey Bear’ to ward away fear until the sun began to set. Climbing over a pass as the sun began to set I raced down thinking of making camp before nightfall. Then, it happened… what my parents told me would be the death of me weeks before, the fear I said would not happen. In a clearing, on the middle of the trail Beelzebub incarnate, a monstrous Grizzly Bear. I felt feeble and small. The canister of bear spray i bought in the town seemed pointless. I wondered how quickly it would charge through the red mist. How quickly it would tear though my skin to the bone and chuck me about. How my family would read the headline the next day, that was it over. Gone.

The bear did not charge, but after a few seconds or minutes, he turned and walked off into the forest and quiet filled the air. Just like that, most the fear I had felt vanished. I was buzzing. A grizzly bear! I jogged along silent but ecstatic. The last mile to camp passed fast, arriving at the camp there were others. I told them of the Grizzly bear encounter. ‘Your first one hey?’ came the response.

I woke the next morning in the dark, made a coffee then rushed to catch up with a hiker called Oldschool. A precise man with a love of the outdoors. He was also hiking the Divide and we agreed to hike together the next days, I was feeling relieved to have someone to hike with while in grizzly country. We hiked into St Marys and grabbed a hot drink from the hotel before heading out into the rain and thunder. Call it reckless, most hikers will stay indoors for lighting, but to hike thousands of miles in the same season, the safety margin is cut. We gained elevation, up into a whiteout into the freezing cold, and away from comfort. Early in the season snow still covers the trails and as we came up through the alpine flowers it soon became hard to navigate. On a steep hillside, the path disappeared into white hardened snow. A quick check of our general direction on the map, We put on crampons, brought out the ice axes and started across. It felt like hours and thunder rumbled overhead. I remembered reading once upon a time snow is a poor conductor of lighting and I kept telling myself this. We climbed quickly to the top of the pass and descended just as quick away from the rumbling monsters. The walk down was long but at the end of this day camp would be welcome and the sooner the better. We arrived at camp in the dark. Pitched up on Oldschools pitch (I was ahead of my permit) and slept. We agreed it would be good to have another early start. Each days rations I packed into individual ziplock bags, trying to vary the chocolate, potato and what ever treats I had for the day to keep it exciting. I liked this system of organisation. the food lived in a dry sack i would hang up the trees at night.

The next day was wet. The paths overgrown, fresh green vegetation soaking me, like walking through a river of ice. It was painful, but liberating to be out. The miles ground by with the underside of my feet aching. Each stop I would take off the shoes and socks and let them breathe. Full well knowing the depression of putting back on wet sock in ten minutes would be miserable. For lunch the small stove would come out and into the cup would go powdered potato and a few sprinkles of bacon bits for flavour. Another pass to climb, followed by a long descent, a short break then another climb, almost hypnotic, all thoughts leave and I keep walking. Towards the evening we come across a Moose, I had never really considered what to do if there was a Moose, so I stood bemused. Like most wildlife, it weighed me and Oldschool up, paused, and walked away. It seemed to move the whole forest around it as it forced with ease through the trees. We reached camp, pitched up and went to sleep.

I woke in the night to the sound of crushing and thumping, what could be making this sound? The nylon skin keeping me from the outside felt thin. I slept uneasy. I asked Oldschool in the morning if he heard it. To which he replied it is probably a bear, they sound like a drunk man stumbling about when they forage. We packed up our small camp and carried on upwards. Today there would be two passes. Walking over compacted snow we gained height in a large bowl aiming for where we knew our pass was. I was loving the alpine trees and spaces. I raced ahead and waited at the top of the pass for my friend to catch up. We knew in the next valley was a small store next to Two Medicine lake. A few hours hiking brought us to a welcoming owner who was in awe of what we were attempting, we received free breakfast wraps, as many as we could eat, and free coffee. I wasn’t expecting this but was told it’s know as trail magic. People who see what you’re attempting and want to help. We set off replenished with a final short pass to climb and from the top could almost see the hostel a few miles off. This was the end of the first leg. Glacier complete. It felt easy. Three days and the first hundred miles in. I was sore but happy, my back was holding up and I would have a beer to celebrate at the hostel. I booked in, did my laundry the next day and studied the next section of hiking so I knew how much food to buy from the small store in town.

Ramblings Of Nervous Energy

23 Apr 2020 / bens game / 3 Comments

I have been sat the past five weeks locked down in Spain unable to leave the house. I’m not unhappy about this, the opposite is true, I’m quite fortunate in fact. Things have been sedate but peaceful. The weather one expects when in Spain has been absent and instead I have had been subject to days of mist and downpour which has given me time to collect my thoughts. What thoughts you ask? Well, sit down with a cup of tea like the good chap or Lassie I know you will be and let me dispense these thoughts.

Part uno. Most people I know of are growing up and taking steady jobs, along with a mortgage and paying attention to what will happen in 40 years when they retire. This old cockle of life has told them that this is indeed the plateau life comes to. The main and only hinging of their life to which all energies should be focused. Sensible, inevitable and pointless to refute.

Part Dos. A good many of the Stars, idols or what ever we like to call them in life, or specifically with reference to my life and interests, have gone. The life span of mountaineers and adventurers is often snuffed out too soon, the people in their prime leading the way. It raises the ethics of what is this pursuit worth when balanced against life. I know when I tell people what I like to spend my time doing they don’t see a rational man in front of them but an idiot, who hasn’t weighed up their future final years or immediate years that could be. A great folly.

I was reading a conclusion to an interesting study today. One by the American Cancer Society. 127,000 Healthy people (no underlying conditions at the time of signing up) were questioned for the study over a course of over 21 years. After 48,784 of them had passed away, a connection was made between sitting average of six or more hours per day and a 19 percent increased risk of dying from any of the mentioned -cancer, coronary heart disease, stroke, diabetes, liver disease, peptic ulcer, digestive diseases, parkinsons, alzheimers,nervous disorder and musculoskeletal disorder. While the study notes this is not the cause of death, and it is wide open to interpretation, I think it does show whether you believe in god or evolution, our bodies are not designed or evolved to be desk jockeys. We are not meant for a corporate machine sitting still like a good boy monotonously processing data only stopping to eat or sleep. The risk to life increases with the hours sat. Sat at a desk hoping for a pain free retirement but failing to reach it, thus never really living their life.

I have spent a good while not working and travelling or just doing the things I enjoy. When I do work, I work hard, or as hard as I can. I don’t hold much in the way of possessions, I never have a fancy car, usually an old banger of a van, but I have experiences I wouldn’t change for the world. After the 2008 financial crisis and carpentry dried up, I spent a long while on a road bicycle cycling, it brought me joy the whole summer, I wore out bearings and components, replaced them, and wore them out again. I worked at an outdoor centre part time for a while and spent every spare minute I had hiking, running, climbing or kayaking, then after a while working again I went to Australia and spent a good deal of time on beaches and going around national parks. After a year when it was over and I came home, I had a good part of the following summer off work going to festivals and camping and just being me. The following year I tried the Royal Marines for a few weeks, and after leaving, decided a few months later to hike a trail I read about as a kid in a book called ‘The worlds greatest adventure treks’. I hiked 2400 miles of the CDT at a blistering pace and had never been more content in life. It wasn’t the aim, but it is what I did. A couple of years later a cycled roughly along the same route but climbing peaks I could only dream about as a child. I then met Karli and kept going. We drove down through Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, onto Colombia. We hung around there a while having a blast with friends before shipping the car back to the states, Spending spring and summer in Colorado then heading off again to Colombia to cycle tour North to South. The plans have rarely gone perfect, but the freedom of adventure has not stopped. We jumped across the pond and have skipped back and forth between Britain and Europe climbing and hiking at every opportunity. This has taken ten years to cram in this fun, and only skims the surface. The point is my life hasn’t fit into a regular life standard for most people, but when my joints are worn out in another 40 years. When arthritis has set in and the cartilage has gone. When I am forced to retire like the rest and I am down to a state pension alone, I can finally sit down. I can sit and write a book about the life of retirement from age 18. I can write about 60 years of adventures if I am so lucky to get so many. I can write of the hardships, I can write of the lows, the Highs not experienced in the ‘common hours’. I can write of the beautiful people I met along the way.

I don’t want to live normally, I don’t want to be enslaved to a car payment, I don’t want your insanity, I don’t want your two weeks out of each year to make it worth it. I don’t want the lie that is sold every day. Have you ever read the book and been inspired by the man who took a steady job in an office, saved for retirement, then retired? That will not be my book when it comes to the curtain call.

Naranjo De Bulnes, such a cool peak

waking to coffee

tea on the Cornwall Coast

where on earth looks like this, taken in Colombia south of Bogota

My feet after 900miles on the CDT

in the heat of the climb

karli and henning chillin out at an anchor

Part B on the Way

The Eternal Slog Of the Pointless Kind

24 Oct 2018 / bens game / 2 Comments

After leaving Suesca we have started making terribly awful but fun decisions. The first was taking a tiny mountain road the locals said might not be advisable. We were warned as we camped at a horse ranch where we ate dinner the evening before, that even though the FARC situation was over, the road our satnav chose was an un-policed road and until a year or two ago was risky. But, was probably OK now. The owner of the ranch also admitted it would avoid all traffic and we would probably see no cars.

The road started with a climb to 9000 feet then plummeted down. Our presumption was we would be at 1200 feet before lunch with little to no pedaling. The dense cloud forest at the top was, I will be honest, scary. It was unpaved road with concrete at the steepest points on hairpin corners and some very large drops to the side. I quickly found going down such a steep road on a bike with a 50kg trailer is a terrifying ordeal where either my brakes were fully applied but the bike would accelerate into the whiteout with no idea if it was a cliff edge or road ahead, or my back wheel would lock up and trailer try to jack knife me. It had me ready to jump off the bike if needs be in a few places. The hideous squeal of straining brakes and fast repeating sound of spokes creaking and twinging under strain. I even put on my helmet in fear of a wipeout. After descending a few miles and settling into the descent as much as one could, there was a smell permeating its way through the air to us. It was not just a passing smell, it was strong and went on for miles. The forest stank of Cannabis. We didn’t see any people, but we couldn’t see much of anything. I remembered watching documentaries a few years ago about the remote mountain areas in Colombia and imagined just what was hidden up the hundreds of small mountain valleys departing the road side. The owner of the ranch may have been right about the road. But we descended down unhindered.

the picture doesn’t ever do justice .

At about 5000 feet and with great relief we were spat out onto a paved road above a town, and quickly joined a main road we could have taken around the mountains. We followed the road and expected to have brunch at around 3500 feet. Unknown to us, at some point on this road, for this day, the traffic was changed from two-way to one way. It was bizarre, one second we had cars going our way, we rounded a corner, patched a tube on our trailer and suddenly to our confusion the traffic was flying uphill in both lanes. We couldn’t work it out, all the signs were in our direction and we were told at the next town down the traffic would be normal again, but there was no other way to the valley bottom. It started raining heavily. We decided we were in as much danger trying to cycle up in the rain as cycle down so carried on down the narrow shoulder. The shoulder soon gave way to road works and excavations, a crazy barrier hopping operation ensued. We were sprinting from one gap to the next between zooming cars. The next town was less than a mile but in heavy traffic it took hours. On reaching the town it was chaos with officers trying to direct the overwhelming number of cars. We found out this redirection would last until 7pm. Deciding it was enough danger for the day we booked a hotel and rested. The next day was easy and far less scary.

A couple of easy days riding and 150miles brought us to the edge of the Tatacoa Desert. Ahhh, deserts, the hot dry places that support a disproportionate amount of flies and cause untold amounts of saddle sores. Fortunately this one is small, more a dry valley bottom, but at 32c (90f+) and Cacti about, I guess it qualifies as Colombia’s second. We had the option of a beautiful straight paved highway or a dirt road off to the side. Being bad at decision making we took the desert road. What could have been an easy mornings ride to town turned into a hilly sandy gravel slog. I am thankful this desert was not as big as Colombias’ Northern desert and would be over quick. A lot of the road was covered in small river stones on hard base, which cause a lot of wheel spin problems cycling uphill. Imagine a hill of marbles and a trailer trying to pull you backwards. This results in frustration and after grinding to a halt then attemping to push the pile of steel and climbing gear up hills, with feet then in turn slipping back down. There were some cool tunnels near the start of the road in which light did not shine and I presume gave the overhead bats a nice home. Towards evening we reached the touristy part of the desert (there is a paved road in from the south) and decided to reside the night at a mud bath and spring. This was a nice break but in the morning while we packed, I was eaten alive by tiny flies. My legs speckled all over like some form of chicken pox that went into over kill.

25,000ft and Rising

29 Sep 201829 Sep 2018 / bens game / 2 Comments

We have crossed the first thousand mile mark and with 25,000 vertical feet of cycling uphill, and have arrived in Villa De Leyva (7000ft). I’m sat here drinking wine out of a box contemplating the next 25,000. There was a rather large pass from sea level to 8600ft that added a fair chunk to the climb, this followed a rolling ridge line with great views. So the total climb was around 11,000 feet of gain, followed by another drop to 5000ft then three thousand feet of climbing which landed us here at a nice cool 7k. Confusing but imagine two steps up, one down for every foot of elevation gain. It is the start of the Andes I guess and only gets bigger from here. We are a day or so cycle from Suesca, a nice little climbing village we visited a year ago and decided to come back by. The scenery up here is like the Lake District, my home mountains, but with slightly bigger hills.

Arriving in the town was a little of a downer, both in elevation and morale. Getting in late and tired a pack of dogs managed to rip a pannier off Karli’s bike as she was riding, it now has teeth holes pierced in the sides. The dogs aren’t all bad. Yesterday we adopted a stray dog that wanted petting and it followed us around the streets and shops as we became regular tourists for a few hours. Its quite shocking that between the two of us we can survive on about 30,000pesos a day (10dollar, or 7GBP) in most places in Colombia but soon as we join the regular tourist trail, that will buy breakfast at best. Maybe we have become complacent but it was quite funny watching ‘Gringos’ walking around with backpacks on their fronts wearing Panama hats and travel trousers. Backpacks are worn on the front to prevent pick pocketing/pack slashing in risky places. Its a wonder its done here where the locals are friendly and whole town warm and inviting, compared to back home in big cities that I would be worried about. We did find a local that wanted to show us around so dropped the panniers and trailer for the day, drank a beer then went for a ride to some small lagunas for sunset, followed by beer in the square til we were tired. (P.S we rode back in the dark with Karli at the front with one bike light, the local in the middle, no lights; and me at the back with a reversed headlight on red.)

Normally bike packing I would have a tarp sheet to sleep under, a pad to sleep on and a two season sleeping bag weighing in at 600g. Combine it with a titanium cup, a spork, a spirit-stove, a synthetic insulated jacket and spare pair of thick socks my gear would tip the scale at around 3-4kg (8lbs), plus a backpack and food. I hauled this nice light weight the length of the rockies climbing along the way and it was a blast, nice and light. This trip is a little different. The potential extremes alone covering temperatures from over 38c down to -30c (100f- -20f) requiring heavier duty sleeping bags. High winds requiring a stronger heavier tent. Cold weather mountaineering clothing combined with technical, double boots for extended duration in cold. Hauling a mix of Sport climbing and mountaineering equipment. This trip is going to push the limit of our gear. Its going to push the bikes, instead of aluminium or carbon, strong but malleable steel that can take the punishment of the extra weight. This all adds up to a spectacularly hideous weight I will not say. But anybody out there with climbing experience can guess what the weight is like. Right now this is a cold weather, high altitude expedition in a warm place. But the mountains grow around us like a waiting menace, the cold is coming. We opted for a two wheel trailer to take the brunt, it removes a lot of the strain of balancing a loaded bicycle. I suspect It will suffer a slow agonizing death over this trip, gravel road after pothole after speed bump (really popular in this part of the world). I don’t suspect much we have will survive the whole thing. So far its doing well for how roughly we have treated it.

I think the worst thing for wear will be us. Every day on the bikes our bodies get stronger, fat burns, the heart rate lowers, the reach becomes greater. But each time I look in the mirror I see an aging man staring back. Unrecognizable. Sunburned, weathered, beaten and wrinkled. I feel bad for a second, but then I look at my girlfriend and think, at least I’m not looking as bad as her. Life goes on.

Valle De Los Halcones

6 Dec 201728 Jan 2018 / bens game / Leave a comment

Once upon a time when I started this trip I was like a lone wolf, bounding across the meadows and mountains.. Then I met Karli, and we were two misfit wolves driving across the desert and mountains. Then Chris and Nicole came along, and we were a pack of wolves looking for bad ass climbs….

Knowing the Suesca main crag would be busy We decided to concentrate a weekend on the Valle De Los Halcones. According to the guidebook the land was private and all the bolts on the area had been cut off by the land owner due to climbers making a mess. Fortunately for us an American and another English lad, Jason and Sam, were living in Suesca and said we could park at their house right on the edge of the valley and they knew the land owners. They invited us to talk to them and after a brief few minutes of talking Chris had made it clear we would be careful and take everything out we brought in. The owner permitted us to enter the valley for 2000COP each (about 60cent each or 40p).

We grabbed our packs and headed over the rise into the valley. It felt nice to have a short walk in again. Despite going running most mornings including this one the small rise had me breathing hard. It could have been the pack of climbing gear and a 6 litre bottle of water and the 9000ft elevation, but hard work felt hard.

Entering the valley was like entering a lost world. Crazy knowing a mile away were hundreds of people climbing on top of each other. We walked around a while and found a big slab worthy of a play. All the bolts had been cut or removed so we ran a rope to a boulder further back and set up a top rope for the morning.

The start of the problem was hard. Real hard. First I tried, then Chris, then Karli, we all failed. The crimps were too small and shoes just weren’t holding. Nicole came next and some kind of witchcraft happened, she just cruised to a higher point. But was again stumped. The line was hard. Not being dismayed we all took a turn overcoming the hard part with some aid and climbed higher. The top 2/3rds of the boulder were awesome. Small crimps combined with good footholds and a couple of flake holds leaving a dyno to the top for a rounded edge.

We took it in turns going for the top. I took the chance while not on the rope to run around to the top and lean over to get these shots.

sequence of climbing to falling. quite cool I think

After a while and getting the whole sequence linked we moved further down the valley to relax while climbing up and down some vertical/slightly overhanging but easy crag. At the end of the day we were all pretty beat and cold and headed back to town for 60cent beers and soup.

With thanks to Das_Karlo, Burritocharmer and Olas_y_montanas.

BENS GAME

hiking, biking, climbing, Sailing, Overland, living free

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