July 9, 2018. Midge Creek 20 miles to a crappy spot on a hill.

It sprinkled during the night. The weather has been strange that way; sprinkling just enough to remind me I am sleeping in a tent, but not enough to dampen the ground. The critters had left my stuff alone.

I started up the trail and there was a nice big set of bear tracks. Grizzly, based on the pads and claws. Great. Another climb spent huffing out “Hey Bear.” The good news was this bear was quite lazy. It was clear a trail crew had been on the trail(fresh sawdust), but quit after awhile (blow-downs and few footprints). Well, this bear didn’t like blow-downs and the prints disappeared.

The morning was glorious and I enjoyed reaching my first vista up high. I was following the trail, but was bothered that it stayed higher, longer than my phone based app suggested. I pulled out the phone and sure enough it said I was almost a quarter mile off. I put down my pack and walked back slowly, looking for the junction I must’ve missed. I couldn’t find it so I walked back, put on my pack, and sure enough the trail took a sharp turn in the direction the app suggested. Annoyed at the delay, I was nonetheless happy to get rolling again.

After modest ups and downs through sparse forest with rich green grass, the trail cut across the face of a steep mountain face. Unlike Mount PUD, this time the trail went across a mountain instead of over it. It was sketchy at times, but it was a welcome change to be hiking in the open with views above and below.

Around 11, the traverse stopped and a short climb was in order to get to the pass below Rock Candy Mountain. I thought I heard voices, but then I thought I was hearing things. At the pass, I was able to get a few bars on my phone. I was hiking faster than I had expected and was toying with pushing real hard today and tomorrow and getting to my next town (Bonners Ferry) a day early. This required coordinating a ride and a motel. I started exploring this while sitting in the middle of the trail.

Lo and behold, I had heard voices. Three hikers approached, also doing the PNT. They were youngish and all from London. We exchanged some trail chat, they went to the top of the mountain for lunch and I packed up to continue.

The trail was mostly gentle ups and downs for a few miles. I was in a kind of zone until I was forced to climb up Canuck Peak. Atop there was an abandoned, dilapidated cabin.

With the few faint bars I could get, I checked in on my early arrival and it was not going to happen. That was OK. I was feeling sluggish and by this point I did not think I could make two 25 mile days in a row.

I was almost out of water, on another knee crunching descent, and my feet were protesting. Then, another pointless climb, but at least this time it led to water.

I was so thirsty and I tanked up as best I could. I even added some sport drink stuff to one of the half-liter bottles I drank. Plus, I started hydrating my dinner since it was 4:00. I spilled about one-third of it. I tried to clean up my spill, but left some hoping that a creature might enjoy some couscous with spinach spices.

Trudging on, I was set to walk along what looked like beautiful trail according to the map. It was called the Ruby Ridge trail. It was mostly beautiful. Often clear vistas, the trail was mostly level, contouring along around 5500 feet.

I did have one scare. I heard some distinct groaning or grunting ahead. I yelled “Hey Bear” loudly a few times and listened. Again I heard the low growl. I moved to the right where there was a clearing. Looking for a bear, I was surprised to see only a grouse. It was a male grouse and he was definitely strutting his stuff. It may not show in the video, but he did make the low sound.

Not sure why I was so sluggish, I started to gradually go down hill. I had entered a portion of the trail where motorcycles could use the trail. This made it wider and less steep. By 8:00, I realized I would not be able to reach the valley floor where there was a suggested campsite.

I came to my last water source, stocked up, and then began a search for a campsite. My challenges were two-fold. First, the terrain was very steep with virtually no flat spots. Second, the understory was shrubs and any flat space would be covered with huckleberry shrubs, wild roses, and other plants.

Plodding downhill, I finally spied a slight rise among all the downhill slopes. I got on top and figured my tent would just fit. So, I set about pushing away sticks, stones, and pine cones. I had to pull up some shrubs and break branches on others, so I was not the most environmentally sensitive camper. I pitched my tent and found out why this aberrant rise was there: it was a large boulder. In one place long enough, it eventually accumulated enough dirt and then plants grew. My tent stakes, however, would not go in to the boulder no matter how hard I tried (or how hard I cussed). Settling for tents stakes wimpily pushed into the thin topsoil, I had pitched the most ugly tent in American backpacking history. A small rain or a slight wind would surely cause collapse. Heaven forbid I should sneeze.

I crawled in my tent, laid down, and felt every sharp shrub I was not able to uproot. I thought my sleeping pad would pop. Squirming around for 15 minutes, I finally found a position where there were no sticks or stones and neither my face or feet were jammed in to the tent. Given the day and my mood, this was good enough and I conked out.