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.
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 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!!!’
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.
the piece of paradise in an otherwise uninviting ski town
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.
vast expanse
the seeds on my shoe would get inside the socks and itch away
From the hundreds of sheets of paper maps I had been carrying I was down to the last pages. I had discarded the rest making my pack the lightest it had been this whole journey. This day I was late on the trail after oversleeping in a real bed, and my ride landed me short of where I finished the previous day. This took an extra hour or so before I reached the start of my actual day. I had 28 miles to cover from the trail head but it was 10am. Not my best start but doable. This finish in 28 miles was dictated by a lake, I liked finishing by lakes as they gave a good place to wash and an unlimited supply of water. I hiked around ten miles and got chatting to a nice man who wanted to record all the thru hikers on trail this year. We chatted about how it had been so far, and after round half an hour I set off down a valley. Pleasant as it was to talk, I was slightly stressed by losing so much daylight, it marred my chance of making the lake before nightfall. I realised after jogging downhill for ten minutes the trail I was on was taking me further down than the map showed, and I should have been going up. It was wrong. I hated the fact I had pretty much jogged downhill for ten minutes, and then had to walk uphill 15 minutes more. This day was getting out of hand for my target finish. After climbing back up I found my trail faintly marked and tucked against a fence I had passed 25 minutes before.
I was now on a mission and pacing at my limit, traversing up over and around the many hills as fast as I could. The trail up the final hill of the day was faint and faded away a for a good while. After walking a good distance back and forwards I picked it up a half mile higher after trudging through deep foliage. There were lots of dud trails leading off to the side here and there, with the actual trail being less tangible than the main route through. I understood why this trail was not for novices. The motto for the CDT, if there is one, is ‘Embrace the Brutality’. The heat, lack of water and poor marking certainly helped towards its reputation. Cresting the last ridge the sun dipped onto the horizon, and I watched it slowly fade. The first real rest stop of the day was to watch my light disappear. As the sun ebbed I dug into my pack for a my head torch. The head torch I chose for the trip was the Petzl E light. An emergency LED with a retractable cord to be worn on the head and weighing around an ounce. I descended off the ridge into the forest as the civil twilight dimmed and pure darkness followed. The light output of my torch was poor, illuminating a small circle in front of me. Initially the trail could be followed, but after climbing over a few downed and uprooted trees the trail was lost. I couldn’t tell where I had come from or where it was I should be. I looked at the map and decided I knew where I was though. I couldn’t be far. I took out my compass, set a bearing, and advanced.
On and on I hiked slowly in the black. After an hour or so of walking in silence, I could hear water ever so faintly off to my left. I checked the map. There was a river that would drop into the lake, that had to be my river. I was making slow but steady decisions, one step at a time. Man I was thirsty. A while longer brought me to a steepening of a descent, but also in front of me like a welcome beacon there was a clear path. I knew it had to be the trail to my lake. I arrived at 11pm. With a camp area marked on the map, I knew there would be a bear box too. A steel container to put food and smelly things in that is bear proof. I walked around the lake looking for it, stumbling and kicking my toe occasionally. I came across a couple of families out camping and still up. I could sense the alarm of the two dads as a stranger approached in the night. I called out and asked if the bear box was nearby to try and put them at ease. They came closer and after seeing me in torchlight, one asked ‘Are you a thru Hiker?’. I responded ‘I’m trying to be’. They laughed. ‘O man, we were just talking about what it must be like to thru hike a trail like this, that’s really neat.’ I talked with them for ten or so minutes covering the journey so far, but in the end had to politely say I am really tired and needed to sleep. They pointed me to the bear box and I wished them goodnight. I chucked my food into the box while eating some of the junk food I had, then roughly pitched my tent. I was so tired I pitched about 7 or 8 yards away from the box. I went into a deep sleep.
The next day I woke at sunrise, a little late but not terribly so. I ate a snicker bar for breakfast and hit the trail, stashing a couple of extra bars in my waist belt to eat while I hiked. I few hours later I found myself slowly catching up with another hiker. His name was Buck30. I think this name originated with the dollar and 30 cent he carried the length of a long distance trail without realising. Hikers try to ditch every ounce they can, some would even cut a toothbrush in half. So to carry a dollar and thirty cent in change, scandalous. Buck30 is an exceptionally gifted hiker who’s life was dedicated to exploration, having hiked tens of thousands of miles all over the world. (over 24,000 at the time I met him in 2015, now much more). He was on his second hike of the CDT and taking note of how it had changed in ten years since he last did it. I hiked with him for a day or so, becoming alarmed after seeing him drink from a spring with a dead bird in it and found out he never filtered the water he drank. This was something I was seeing increasingly more. Carrot, Spark and Trackmeet never filtered water either. I can only imagine Buck30 must have an insanely strong immune system that can kill anything that walks. Ask most hikers about Giardia, and they will have a tale to tell. I would find later on this trail my stomach is not as capable in fighting off parasites. The hiking in this area was beautiful, following the divide ridge for the main part. Eventually we would branch off and head towards Macs Inn, a cut-off popular on the divide. It doesn’t save a great deal of distance, but it’s a great bit of cross country with river crossings, meadows, and overgrown willow groves higher than me; so thick I had to force my way through blind. This route also takes you over a main road right outside a Subway. I’m sure you can understand the temptation. You’re walking hundreds of miles, one route will keep you scenic while the other has fast food, western toilets and a small shop to buy more food from. I left Buck30 one evening high on the mountain and said I was going to carry on down a way before camping. This was the straw that broke the camels back. I joined onto a forestry track and hiked down thinking I could have a subway for breakfast. It was about 10 miles and I didn’t fancy the distance in the morning. But as I hiked, a small niggle started in my shin. I kept going only because there wasn’t a flat enough place to pitch my tent. Down and down I went, and the pain went up and up. By the time I was a couple of miles from the main road it was excruciating pain. I was kicking myself, instead of camping high with a view I pitched on a sloped bit of ground. I figured it would be better by morning.
The next day I woke with a painful leg. I hobbled the last couple of miles to the main road. The junction was crowded with kids and families on ATVs’. I don’t mind them, but after nearly 1000 miles of tranquillity, coming to this two-stroke infused air was a shock. With the abrasive sound of revving engines and constant pipping horns, I couldn’t feel further from the wilderness. I grabbed a coffee in the shop, ate a couple of doughnuts and sighed. Not knowing a lot about these types of injuries, I tried binding it up to restrict the movement and thus be able to hobble. The hike I had originally planned finished a few miles away. What I though would take most the summer was over in a month. My last sheet of paper was out. The last miles. Buck30 joined me a hour later and we sat drinking coffee. He planned on hanging around most the day here, but I wanted to get on the way knowing it would be slow. I told him I would probably see him towards the evening and I hobbled off down the road. I walked out the town and took my next turn, after walking down it a few miles I was in agony. What a stupid thing to have done. I turned back and headed for a campsite I passed back at the junction. I pitched up and knew my next day or so would be here while I figure out what to do next. I made a point of downloading some more music as my current selection was slim. I also downloaded a few audio books knowing they would help pass miles. I then start on my next problem. Maps. I was out of them and there was nowhere to print more. Once in the boundary of Yellowstone I would have no means of navigation. This was an issue and one I didn’t know how to solve. The next day I forced myself to relax and picked up a book from the campsite reception to read. It was dreary and dull. I hate murder mystery, but it seemed the best of the bunch to choose from. The day was agonisingly slow, the wrong kind of quiet. I wanted to be hiking but knew I had to be patient.
That evening Carrot, Spark and Trackmeet rolled into town. I invited them to camp on my pitch and mentioned my map problem. ‘We’re hitching into West Yellowstone tomorrow, come with us. There will definitely be a place to print maps there, it’s a big town!’. Since I wasn’t hiking far and needed a little more time off it seemed a brilliant idea. The next day after joining them I did find a print shop that gave me for the first time legible maps I could read details on. Up to now the low print quality of my home printer had been a pain. I opted to get them printed to get me through to Grand Lake, Colorado. I was aiming a long way South now and if my shin healed (injury noted), at the pace I was going I could hike at least a thousand miles more before the end of the season. I knew I’d gone too fast, but if I struck a balance and had longer slower days I could still do it. The three suggested hitching into Old Faithful to rejoin the trail as hitching back around to complete the last few miles would take longer and be less pretty. I didn’t know a lot about thru hiking etiquette at the time so it didn’t concern me to miss these miles. I stocked up on a little more food and said I would see them out there as I would be moving slow. I camped the night in a National Park site after hitching in with a Dutch family, and the next morning received a ride in a convertible mustang to Old Faithful. I left my hat in the back of the car by mistake. Walking into the national park gift shop I was left with two choices. A cap that said I ❤ Yellowstone, or a Stetson Crushable. I think every kid at some point wants to be a cowboy, and this is probably the closest I would get. I also despise any hat that says ‘I ❤’. I chose the Stetson. I walked over to the permit office and asked which campsites were available over the coming days. They really try to limit the miles you can hike in a day for safety. But when a dirty scrawny hiker comes in fresh from a thousand miles, they are willing to give a bit more. It was around 10am and with me starting the trail moments later I opted for 18 miles the first day. I bumped up the miles for the second. The ranger told me they cut a little slack to CDT hikers in the South of the park, and if I chose to go beyond my allocated camp it would be fine as long as I camped inside an official camp area. I walked out and towards the trailhead. I was excited about the next section. I was about to see Yellowstone.
I arrived back at the pass, finished my beer and said goodbye to my ride. I walked a few miles up the trail til it petered out into unblemished forest. I pitched my tent in the light and ate my salad with ranch dressing. This was a peaceful evening and I was glad to have it. One thing I have barely mentioned to you so far this trip is my camping pad, which is the lightest inflatable camping pad in the world. It inflates with one breathe of air and rolls up smaller than a can of cola. It has a point of support for my head, my shoulders and my backside where it abruptly ends. Supporting only half my torso, my legs lie on top of my rucksack for warmth. There is little padding to it and it’s not great for a side sleeper, front sleeper or back sleeper. It’s more a token gesture to comfort. The pad features cut out patches marketed as ‘lofting areas’ for ones sleeping bag and comes in outdoor orange, the coolest of colours designed to attract those with a wallet and no common sense. In the first few days on trail my sleep is poor, and improves only a little after some warmer temps were encountered. When sleep is mildly hypothermic it is only mildly adequate, but the pursuit of warmth is main reason I could wake so early every morning without any complaints and start walking. The starting walking was also a painful experience though, with a little Plantar Fasciitus. My explosion to high mileage would begin to plague me more and more over the coming weeks. Too much too soon, but then again, I did, so it was not.
I hiked half of my first day in this section with a ridiculous dragon back ridge line rising and dropping hundreds of feet every half mile. It was a leg burner that forced me to stop at each high point, something I had not had to do on this hike til now. Reaching a small pass, lightening struck and thunder followed putting me off hiking over some high ground ahead. I pitched my tent to wait it out through a splatter of rain. Half an hour later I hear a ‘Hello’. Outside were three more hikers. Carrot, Spark and Trackmeet. I should also explain most hikers have trail names, nicknames if you will. The rule is you can’t pick your own. It has to be picked for you, and you have to accept it, it can’t be forced on you. The hikers I had met all tried numerous times to name me, but to their dismay I kept to Ben. The new hikers were also flip-floppers who had already hiked New Mexico, and invited me to join them. And so I did. The pace was faster and for the next few days I would hike with them most the time. Carrot was a famed writer and well known on the trail, but since I hadn’t heard the term thru-hike til a month prior I was non the wiser. They hiked in a very fluid and smooth manner. And when switchbacks became ridiculous and overlong, would walk straight down the hillside. It was like free-ride skiers. They navigated using a mobile app and when the trail meandered they would go straight. Sometimes this would work well, on others, the reason the path meandered became more obvious. It was a fun approach.
On one such point the trail came to be on one side of a crescent shaped valley, and we all could see where the path would end up on the other side. It seemed blindingly simple. If we descended a couple of hundred feet, walked across the valley floor and up the other side it would save a lot of time. Launching down we found the valley was full of old mining works and cabins long abandoned. On reaching the forest the line of sight was gone and it became mildly disorienting to walk on blind. The bushwack climbed steeply, then dropped on the other side of a rise to reveal a very steep shingle and dirt hillside. We had to climb this to rejoin our trail. Trainers could not kick into the hardened dirt of the hillside, and small stones would tumble down with each step. Falling onto hands repeatedly then moving like a lobster slowly up to slide a little more down. I used the spikes on my hiking poles, stabbing aggressively for the slightest grip. We traversed to the side and over steeper ground where a slip would have a sand paper rash at best, and cataclysmic at worst. Reaching larger still loose stones, we delicately clambered up the remaining hundreds of feet to the top. On the other side of the valley we stood side by side. Except for Carrot. She was no where to be seen. We started shouting for her. It was an anxious moment. Had she been behind us? Did she get lost in the forest? Several hundred yards further along comes a faint response. On a seemingly near vertical part of the cliff, Carrot was half way up looking like she was free solo climbing. ‘Do you see which way would be best for me?’ she yelled. It was like waiting for teeth to be pulled, such was the tension. A fall out here wasn’t an option. Finding a small eroded gully she clambered up. At this point we had covered 30 miles in the day. The trail became relatively easy. We all felt good but hungry so went another five or so miles before sitting for supper and laughing at Carrot’s climbing epic.
The kind of views through a lot of this area
The final day after a lunch of ramen noodles with the guys, I was out ahead a little way on my own. I had some cross country (without trail) walking on a compass bearing, the finish to the pass had the option of a forest walk or a sagebrush wack. I fancied the bush wack and soon found a glorious rash all over my legs which would result in puss-filled blisters later. It was a sore and unwelcome end to this section. I was also aware as I walked that this was probably a good place to come across rattlesnakes, and was hyper aware of each step. As I approached the pass I realised it could be a hard hitch into Leadore, Idaho. The pass was a dirt road and I had yet to see any cars during my few miles approach. Ten minutes later Trackmeet came out and joined me. There was no sign of Spark or Carrot but a pickup was rolling by and offered a ride and we didn’t want to miss it. In we hopped and rolled down to the town.
Leadore , ID
The skies out here are always really cool, with regular storms rolling over.
The town was small and mainly deserted, but with friendly locals and a welcoming gas station shop. A local farmer found what I was doing pretty cool and bought me a burger and fries to enjoy. After chowing down, Spark and Carrot arrived. The three said they were going into Missoula for a day off trail and invited me to join them. With the pain I had under foot a day off could be a welcome recovery. Within seconds of sticking thumbs out, a car filling with gas offered a ride. We could see the husband and wife have a conversation, then walk over and ask if we wanted a ride. Along with his wife and two kids he now had four hikers and their packs. With every inch of the vehicle occupied we set off . On route they pulled over for a quick spot of fishing he promised his kids he would do, and afterwards they even dropped us off at the house we were staying at. One thing the trail taught me was the kindness of people who knew what they offered couldn’t be repaid but still wanted to help. Back home in the UK I would often give hitchhikers a ride in and out of my local Lake District and never really questioned it. But to be on the receiving end of so much kindness so often is pretty incredible at restoring faith in humanity.
In town Carrot had a trip to the hospital and then we all went out for a binge on mexican food, ice cream, and a great BBQ place on the evening. Pictured here is me eating a family ice cream tub to myself, it said ‘great for sharing’ but I went all in and finished it off, I was already burning away my body at an incredible rate.
I want to highlight that while the writing is skinny in a lot of detail, the real detail comes later as I go more and more into my element. Each section of this hike is 100-180miles roughly from one pass to another. Each day my aim becomes to hike around 35 miles, I believe on many of these days I managed a little more. I aimed to carry around 4500kcals each day, but this isn’t enough for 12 hours of fast hiking with a pack. I lose weight with each day hiked, which then aids hiking even faster. In a month or so when I eventually weigh myself I get quite a shock.
I felt energised as I charged up the trail and over my first small pass of the day. Like a tuned machine with one purpose. I was given a set of hiking poles in Helena and it was like being given an extra set of legs. The speed I could climb at was phenomenal. If Glacier or the Bob was the starter, I was coming into the main course. The next days were hypnotic, crunching 10 miles before breakfast, a cup of tea, quick study of the map lining it up to the peaks around me then blasting away again. By lunch 20 or more miles down, by 4pm, 30 or more. I felt unstoppable. I had my limited music collection of around 15 songs on my mobile on repeat and how I came to know every word. I passed one other hiker doing a section hike over 120 miles.
The trail would wind up and down from one pass to the next, I was climbing thousands and thousands of feet every day. I loved it. One thing I should note is, the miles I was hiking were in fact higher than the miles I thought I was doing. The annotations on the maps included rough distances, but the author acknowledges they often are shy of the actual mileage by 10-15 percent. To my knowledge my days would have 34miles or so. In reality I believe I did more.
I felt until a few years ago I wasn’t particularly skilled at much in life until this scrappy bunch of maps landed in my hand while hiking in poorly marked out terrain and I was let loose. I felt more at home than I ever had before, like this was what my body was meant to do. Below me was Surprise View Lake and it was breathtaking. I figured I would have lunch here but the mosquitoes were intolerable. I hiked on, miles and miles on before I finally sat down for lunch that day. The evening also didn’t disappoint giving another fantastic lake to eat an evening meal by. I can’t remember all of the camps I did through here. It was sensory overload.
The second to last day I climbed into a burned out area after a lake and hiked my shoes off, the sun seemed to move incredibly slowly, and the trees had an eerie feeling. After hiking on my own for several days this beautiful area felt like something out of the Blair Witch. Was I hiking in circles? As the sun set shadows would dance, and I found myself hiking faster hoping to camp in a clearing. In the bottom of a valley ahead I saw my clearing. I always love coming across large meadows and while they aren’t the perfect place to pitch a tent, they are spacious and free. Being the first days camped completely alone, I still feared anything possibly resembling the sound a a grizzly in the night.
The final morning out I had a choice of the official route, or a more cross country route. The cross country route was more appealing as it featured a river and that meant I wouldn’t be thirsty. I came by a log cabin. I wasn’t aware of the date but it was around July 4. There was an old man with many dog residing there, I shouted from a long distance so as not to startle him and sat for a little while talking. He told me he served in Vietnam and fireworks bring back a lot of bad memories to him, so he prefers to be away from them around independence day. As such, he also takes his neighbours dogs as well every year and has a couple of days to himself out here in the quiet. He also told me about the history of the area, the Nez Pierce Tribe, Chief Joseph, and the removal of tribe from land and subsequent 1170 mile chase by the US military before finally surrendering to terms that were never met. I felt happy to have sat and chat for a half hour or so and learn about the area. It is shocking this was in 1877. Almost the modern world. It was refreshing to talk to someone not in a hurry. He offered an orange but I turned it down. A second offer ensued, if he sees me at the pass, he would offer again. I hiked on until I joined a well trodden trail, Then, picked up the pace again. A while later I came out at Chief Joseph Pass, moments later a pickup pulled over and the drive passed me an orange. I was glad he did. He informed me of the towns in different directions and offered a ride to the town of Salomon, but I already intended on the town of Darby and had a subsequent long wait. This was the Montana/Idaho borderline, and Idaho was not very receptive to outsiders, especially hikers that have no car. Most my day was waiting for a ride to and from the town, with many cars passing. It was probably the worst hitching place on the whole divide. I guess some of that is the luck of the draw. On the way back from Darby, a pickup gave me a lift and a couple of beers to drink on route. Combined with the salad I packed it made for a nice evening back near the trail.
Back at the pass after a successful pit stop in Helena, Kathleen and I hiked on, starting early afternoon. At this point my feet were toughening up and developing thick callus. I ditched my uncomfortable hiking shoes and picked up a set of cheap trainers. With a new level of comfort we advanced. Most of this day was spent walking through thick forest, breaking into meadows, some old forestry trail long since disused and overgrown. Reclaimed by nature, the trail either wasn’t well marked or we just weren’t on it. At one point a tree on the other side of the valley fell and we were there to see and hear it. In the hundreds of years it had stood tall and grown, surviving storms, droughts, fires and weathering. In this blink of an eye it was gone., the last day of its long life. I would be on this earth for half its own life span if I am so lucky, of the thousands of trees over the thousands of years, that moment was its last and life goes on, just like mine one day will. I hope it left a good dent.
We were cutting across country on a rough bearing according to where we thought we should be on the map. It was a little cooler today and we went at a steady pace. We knew ahead of us somewhere was a hiker bubble. The ‘bubble’ is a main group of hikers much like a peloton in a cycle tour. One fact I hadn’t mentioned so far is all the hikers that started on the Mexican border and hike up to the San Juans in Southern Colorado had been stopped by high snowfall, but this stoppage coincided with the trail opening up enough at the Canadian Border, so many of the hikers did what is know as a flip-flop. A jump to another part of the trail, to start hiking South. We knew from the last trail log (a small ledger kept at trailheads, signed by everyone who passes) that the bubble was on this trail earlier in the morning. And we were likely to see them the next day. Kathleen hoped her two friends would be near by. We were taking a break at the side of a gravel forestry road close to sunset, and, while deciding which route to take, heard a shout from the brush beside the road. Another hiker was at down relaxing waiting for the bubble to catch up. Some how we had trimmed time by cutting across country and managed to get ahead of them. A few minutes later they arrived. We all pitched up inside the brush and sat chatting till dark. Waking the next day the whole group set off in a broken manner. After hiking til around mid day with some of the group, we came across Kathleen’s friends having lunch by the river. The next day was spent ambling along and chatting. I was running on solar power and my phone spent most the time dead so I didn’t get many photos of this section. I won’t start on the hassle with the roll up solar panel I thought was the solution to all my life’s problems, but in the next town would replace it with more suitable means. The penultimate day of this section, was known as the Anaconda Cutoff .
The Anaconda Cutoff, as in title, cuts off a large loop from the official trail, 90 miles to be exact off the 3100mile hike, and most CDT hikers opt for it. By opting for it you pass through the town of Anaconda. Which is a cracking small town with shops, motels and even a small bowling alley. Logistically easier but with the downside- a very long boring roadwalk for 15 or so miles into the town.
The walk was long and passes both a juvenile Penitentiary and a state prison, with signs warning not to pick up hitch hikers from the roadside. I imagine the look of a bunch of scraggly people hiking outside them causes nervousness among the locals. We approached the road section on the evening and a local informed us the campsite we were aiming for on the edge had closed down, and invited us to camp on his front lawn instead. The so called trail magic had struck again. I was quite surprised a stranger would show this kindness to a group of 8 hikers. I had more expected a pointed shotgun and ‘Get away from my property!’. The next morning we completed the trudge along the road and into town. First port of call- Mcdonalds. Everybody likes a good burger and a group of lean calorie consuming hikers are no exception. The bubble of hikers intended on spending the night in town but I knew a town stay would kill the bank and I was hungry for more miles. I did a shop for food and while I was on the pavement outside the store a police man came over and asked what I was doing. I looked near homeless, with a dirty shirt and mud-up shoes. I told him what I was attempting. “Wait here” he exclaimed before driving off. Ten minutes passed and he pulled back in. In a bag were maybe 10-15 dehydrated hikers meals, the kind that weren’t in my budget but sold at any good outdoor store for $5-10 dollars a piece. Having the option of scrambled eggs for breakfast, chilli con carne for lunch and a curry for supper was a real treat. He also gave me a fabric police badge from his precinct as a memento and a story behind the numbers on it with a reference to lawless times. Being something you cant just buy easily, its a favourite memento. I still have it.
the other hikers
the weapon of choice for a thruhike, a Big Agnes tent, weighing a couple of pounds
I love hiking through miles of open scenery
I said goodbye to the bunch and hiked off down the road to the start of the next range I would hike. This had a great feel, my legs sped along. It was another ten or so miles of road walking, which was interrupted by a local running out her house to give me an ice cream. I could get used to these surprises. I found the forestry trail that would lead onto my next footpath. The target I picked for the night was a lake. I was glad not to be stopping in a town for a day off. Here is a rough equation, if I pay $70 for a motel room the night I get into town, $20 on breakfast, $20 on lunch, $35 on dinner, $70 more for the final night’s sleep then I’ve spent $215 for the 24 hour town stop as a minimum. A stop like that every 150miles on a trail like the CDT would be around an extra $4000. To hike a bit further and have a better chance of finishing my hike, more like it. I carried on climbing the 4×4 track until I passed a sign banning bikes and cars, from here it deteriorated significantly until I was smashing through brush knowing I must have taken a wrong branch earlier. But in words echoed eternally through the minds of many a hiker ‘Always push forwards’, and so I did.
Eventually I pushed far forwards enough to break through to the trail I was supposed to be on. As the sun began to dip I pitched my tent beside a lake, ate one of my new tasty meals, and zipped into my tent to sleep. I felt a little lonely that night knowing everybody else would be back in the town bowling and drinking the night away. It was also a strangely spooky place, I had bad vibes from it and didn’t sleep easy. It looked so idyllic when I had arrived, but as I lay I imagined this grassy constriction being visited by larger creatures in the night. But enough, tomorrow, I would start hiking big miles in a way I didn’t know was possible. It was time to let loose.
On a Sunday morning we rose up and went to the roadside to hitch back up to the pass. It was quiet, with the odd car heading to church I guessed. Not many rides going for three people. It took an hour before a van pulled over and a gent told us to hop in. Dropping us at the pass we climbed straight up, thousands of feet til the vistas opened up. A beautiful day. Today each of us went at our own pace, with me out ahead. I sat on a rock for a while. Now, you might guess I’m about to paint a perfect picture, taking in scenery before me. But it is on this rock I left my first pair of sunglasses. A pair I bought from the gas station for $19.99, and honestly, I liked them. But didn’t like them enough to hike back 5 miles. Sod it, I would hike without. And how painful it proved on the eyes. I learned from this to make it so I couldn’t possibly lose another pair again, by using a bit of cord around the neck. I would have mocked it as a child but my how I now understood why people with glasses do it.
On we walked until the next pass over the road. Early in the day I sat and read the map waiting for the others. The maps- Now, over the years of people attempting to hike this trail a man called Jonathan Ley decided to make a downloadable version of them designed for A4 letterhead paper which we all have a printer for. On these map are annotated details, thinks like ‘spring located here’ which, when mainly following a ridgeline, is mighty handy to know and helps plan where your next water source is. Or contact details for local Motel owners willing to give a ride to the pass and back. At this particular point on the map where I sat the annotation said ‘this is the only water source for the next 18 miles’. I’ll be honest – I cant remember if that’s exactly what it said, but know it well, I filled up to capacity my 4 litres of water and let the others know.
As we walked I also told Oldschool and Kathleen that after the next town I planned on picking up the pace and trying for some bigger days. As my aspiration was growing but bank account was not. We finished the day camped at the roadside below the next climb. The next day would be one to remember.
At a time of year when one expects cool temperatures, Helena Montana was experiencing a heatwave. Up the mountain it was no different. It was scalding heat. Missing sunglasses was tolerable, but this heat was not. Combined with the heat was a 24 mile dirt roller coaster with no source of water, which doesn’t sound bad but it was. Lots of up and down, for mile after mile. With little in the way of respite. The issue with the continental divide is it tries to follow a dividing ridgeline. My dehydration was so bad my tongue would stick to which ever part of my mouth it touched, and pull off painfully when I tried to move it. Salt was crystallising all over my body and face. Down at Helena it was 38c (100f) and while it was a little cooler a couple of thousand feet up, it was no joke. We were aiming at a dot on the map marked as a spring. The hours ground by painfully. This was probably the worst dehydration I had ever experienced. Dust kicked off the path with every step. I was a long way past sweating, there was no water left to sweat out. When the spring came in to site it was joyous. I was ahead of the others and walked towards it confident in my saviour of a small puddle of water. Fenced off to prevent cattle contaminating it I climbed over and approached the boxed off cool water, cool fresh clean water, an ice cold beverage of mountain spring water which was… full of dead rodents. My heart sank. The lid to the spring was ajar, and inside many dead rodent, possibly squirrel like, but in their state, hard to make out. It was torture, the choice between this contaminated water, or dehydration. The others arrive. I showed both of them. Even with a filter it wasn’t a prospect I would look forwards to.
The next spring on the map was 5 mile further. After for how far we had walked, that isn’t far. But after a day of being dried out slowly by the burning sun. It was. Sometimes luck in life is low, but for us it changed so quickly. A couple on a quad bike in the distance were passing, we waved at them and they came over. Explaining our situation we asked if they had any water. They said no. But, the husband reaches over to the cooler box on the back of the quad bike. He pulls out an ice covered bottle of Cocacola. ‘We do have these though, and some fresh fruit on the ice’. If ever there has been a commercial worthy moment on the face of this planet, this was the moment. The planets had aligned. I took the bottle….. Slowly unscrewed the cap. Paused, the condensation ran down the side onto my leathered hand. I held it up into the light to experience the translucent syrup in all its glory… turned sideways… and poured. At that moment, no one had ever experienced a more perfect silhouette of a man drinking ice cold heaven. Sounds good huh? In reality flies were buzzing around driving me insane and the Cola almost felt like a burning cold, I gasped for breathe and drank again. Man it was good. The couple gave us a mobile number and an invitation to their house when we made it to the pass for showers, food and laundry. What a day.
Feeling like a million dollars we hiked on into the evening. It started raining. Then came the lighting. I watched from the edge of the tree line, seeing it cracking across the sky and striking the field before me. The flat land between me and the next car ride. That was enough for the day. We went back into the trees a little way and pitched up for the night. Flashes bringing full illumination to the inside of my tent before reverting to blackness. I sipped a small amount of Black Velvet Whisky I had in my pack and went to sleep. This was a pass day, Oldschool was up in the dark and ready to go. These are the days you want to get into town early, enjoy civilisation to the max then get out by evening. We hiked on through down beautiful lanes the last 10 miles. Arriving at the pass we stuck thumbs out and moments later were on the way down again. This time riding in a pickup with a man shocked about the news of Caitlyn Jenner. Its funny five how years on I still remember that detail. Down in the town Oldschool told us he was taking some time off the trail, it had been a rough few days. The trail was living up to reputation. I don’t think it’s the trail itself that is hard, but the massive variation of extremes over such a long distance as a body is pushed hard. In the town, Kathleen rang the number we had and the wife came down with ice cold spring water from their home for us. Man, the simple things in life. We went to our new friends house, showered, had our clothes washed then headed back to the supermarket to resupply and go on. By this time over 400 miles into the hike and half of my intended hike I thought was possible. On the way over to the main road we passed a bunch of kids selling fresh lemonade, which in the heat couldn’t be more welcome.
Maybe this whole hike is just about making cold drinks taste better than ever.
BENS GAME 