Category: Uncategorized

July 19th 

Crossed the 45th parallel.  Half way to the equator.  Actually,  Baker Park where I did some of my training for this hike is on the 45 th parallel. 

There were some horific climbs in the morning after Lemhi Pass. By the way, this Pass has historic significance for the Lewis and Clark voyage. Sacajawea led the party to a spring here as well as the passage over the Continental Divide.  I filled up on the same delicious spring water that quenched the thirst of the legendary explorers. Then, I washed my socks in the stream. 

Today I pushed to get close to my next town: Leadore (pronounced “led or”). I like this pattern  of getting into town for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then breakfast again the next day on my way out of town. 
After the initial morning climbs, the trail spent a considerable amount of time on treeless ridges affording amazing views.   Although it started to get hot, the breeze picked up as an off set. At one exposed steep climb in the late afternoon,  the wind had to be near 30 miles an hour and it felt like it helped push me up the hill.

After crossing Grizzly Hill, I had about 2 hours more daylight.  The terrain went to a hodgepodge of forest and open sagebrush meadows. I tried calling the local motel to confirm a 9 am pickup, but no cell service.  

With about 45 minutes of light left, I  looked for a place to camp. I had 2 liters of water, so all I needed was level ground.  After a few places that had problems, I found a decent spot. There was a slight 20 foot hill to the west. To the east, after 25 feet of some young and old trees, there was a sagebrush meadow. About 30 feet to the south was the trail and more woods.  Finally, to the north, was one large old pine and a few smaller trees.  Since I was on the Montana / Idaho border, there was a fence running along the edge in a northeastern direction. At its northwest end, the fence was about 40 feet away; about 60 feet away in th northeast.

I pitched my tent in the center with a flat area and a southeast view to catch a little early sun.  The alarm on my watch needs a little boost most mornings.  I boiled water for my dinner, ate, and got ready for bed.

My ritual is to brush teeth and then get in the tent.  I bring my phone, camera, headlamp and satellite device.  In addition I bring maps, a liter of water, my bear spray, my medical kit (for wounds, pain relief), and stuff sack of clothes for a pillow.  I take off my shoes, socks, and gaiters and leave them outside the tent.  Then,  I get into my sleeping bag.  I check my route for tomorrow, write down today’s achievements,  and send satellite text to Helen.

There were about 10 minutes of post-sunset light left and a slight breeze from the west.  It would be dark for about 2 hours before the full moon rose.  I was putting away my maps, pleased with a short three miles tomorrow before a ride in to town.

Outside, by the large pine to the north, there was an animal moving. Wild and domestic animals always make trails along fences.  I figured it was a deer so I banged on the side of my tent to startle the critter away.  The tent fabric is cuben fiber. It sounds a little bit like wrapping paper.  Usually a quick whack creates enough noise to spook anything.

This time was different. After 10 seconds, the branch crunching resumed. And it sounded like it was coming towards me.  I was able to peek through the ventilation screen that runs around the edge of my tent.  It was a cinnamon colored bear looking at the tent from about 25 feet away. Crap.

I grabbed my bear spray, slipped on my shoes and stood up.  I immediately yelled “Go bear!” I figured the presence of a human in a bear hunting area shouting loudly should send it scampering.  I was wrong. What it did was send the second cub scurrying up the large pine to the north. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it scamper up about 30 feet, outlined against the fading light. I saw the first one outlined a little lower.

Oh shit.  The mother bear was unimpressed.  She stood her ground. My quick read was:

•  large, cinnamon-fur colored barrel with arms, legs, head, and teeth
• 250 pounds.
• Not a grizzly
• Sow with cubs 

She scooted backwards a few feet.  I yelled again. She made a sound that resembled a muffled “woof” and then charged me. I instinctively yelled “no” (please note my voice did not crack) and let out a shot of bear spray.  

As fate would have it, this was a “bluff” charge to see if I would run.  She pulled up at about 20 feet away. The spray only went about 15 feet, dispersed on the slight breeze from the west, so she didn’t get a taste.

Round one was a draw.  She backed up slightly,  making muttering sounds. She walked by the tree where her cubs perched silently. I did not look at them, keeping my eyes locked on the sow.  I didn’t care what any stupid video said, I was maintaining eye contact.

She circled around to the east. I had to kneel to keep sight of her through the trees.  I hoped she would see the large open meadow and call her cubs and scamper to bear freedom.

I was wrong.  She circled until she was due east and had a clear line of sight to me.  I had kept up a steady barrage of “No!” and “Go bear!” all the way.  I had also grabbed my headlamp as I was just about out of light.

Her muttering turned to the muffled woof and she charged me again. I again yelled and sprayed. Like last time, she pulled up and the spray didn’t quite reach her.  I  hoped what was left of the western breeze may have carried some to her, but she seemed unfazed. 

I was wondering how this was going to end.  She circled back with her strange,  quiet murmuring.  I  thought about leaving, but I thought she would destroy all my stuff and I had several troubling questions: where exactly would I go? when would I return? if her bluff charges are to create a flee reaction, won’t she charge me with relish as I retreat?

I decided to stay.  She returned to her original position about 30 feet away, slightly uphill towards the northwest.  I flipped on my headlamp.  I decided to throw stones.  Between clutching the bear spray and being under stress, most 3rd grade  girls throw better than I did at that moment. 

I was very unclear how this stand off was going to end.  She was not interested in the wide open east.  She sensed I was neither going to flee nor attack.  After yelling loudly for 15 minutes, nobody was around to come help. Also, the fence was much more of an obstacle to her than I would’ve thought. 

Just as I was pondering this, she went over to the old pine, made some strange vocalizations, scratched the tree, and her cubs came down.  In the dark, I heard the first come down quietly and the second one not so quietly.  Suddenly they were crunching up the short hill along the fence.

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief,  they unexpectedly decided to walk south across the top of the hill. This made me nervous because her cubs were now more vulnerable, she could charge straight downhill, and it was dark. 

As if on cue, one of the cubs climbed a tree.  The mother was talking,  but the voice was different.  After a few tense minutes in which I could not tell what was happening, I heard the treed cub start talking.  Neither had made a sound when first treed.  My guess was one cub had overreacted, climbed a tree, and the mother was making tracks away when the treed cub cried out “wait up.”  Quickly, there was some quieter crunching from the tree and then silence.

At that point, I found myself shaking.  For one hour, I sat under a pine tree wrapped in my sleeping bag armed with bear spray and being hypersensitive to any and all sounds.  Later, after the full moon came out, I tried to sleep in the tent  (with my shoes on), but had limited success. 

Never was a sunrise greeted with such relief.

July 18th

I had two high passes today, one major ascent, and otherwise mostly waterless walking atop the Continental Divide. It was tough, glorious and just what I had hoped for from the CDT. 

Today I thought about how Amercan place names came about.  Early on, it seems like people in New England looked backwards. They named towns after the land they left: New York, New Hampshire, Georgetown.  

By the time Americans reached the midwest, they used more aspirational or idyllic names: Hope, Oak Park, Eden Prairie. 

However, when it came to the “real west” it seems people got very literal.  Silver City, South Pass, Boulder.

I kinda like the western way. For example, Anaconda was originally going to be named Copperopolis, reflecting it’s mineral heritage (until they learned another town had used the name).

Places are more vivid when they are called Cowbone Lake, Dead Horse Lake or Deadman’s Pass.

Sorry for the strange tangent, but it would not leave my mind today after I looked down the headwaters of Bloody Dick Creek. 

July 17th 

I did sleep pretty well.  I knew I had some high passes to clear, but fotunately they occurred mostly in the morning. 

I startled a small elk herd early on. They went crashing down a steep slope.  I always marvel at their agility.

The footprints of the faster hikers were helpful. Above treeline the trail is sometimes difficult as there is little soil on which a tread can develop. Near the top of the tallest pass,  there was some remaining snow to navigate  (in my case, navigate means avoid).

The reward for the effort was some stunning views.  Not just mountains but beautiful lakes, too.  Looked like good fishing.

Later, I  did, in fact, pass by some day hikers heading up to fish the alpine lakes.  I like to see normal folks using trails for enjoyment. 

I was doing pretty well on time. That is, until I came to a 1,000 climb.  On both map sets, the trail up from Miner Creek was a set of tight squiggles indicating short,steep switchbacks. Probably a half mile in length.  As a backpacker you look at a map like that and think: it will be a struggle, but over quickly. 

The trail turned out to have long, sweeping switchbacks. It was as if Cecil B. Demille had been commissioned to design languid, epic switchbacks for a movie set.  In short, there must’ve been a mile and half of never-ending-trail to get to the top.

Another section of maps also understated miles.  So, by the time I  was ready to camp, I was about two miles short of my goal. Such is life.  I ended up stealth camping off trail and was able to see an almost-full moon move across the sky.

July 16th 

How do you get to 9,000 feet from 7,500 feet? This is a trick question because it involves backpacking. The correct answer, as demonstrated in today’s section, is to immediately go down 1,500 feet and then spend the rest of the day climbing 3,000 feet.

There were some interesting ruins near the beginning of the day alongside a creek. From the remains it looked as if pressure hoses had been used to mine for gold. There were odd gravel  channels and rusted eqipment I couldn’t recognize. 

I was passed by three strong young hikers.  Two women and one man.  He had graduated from high school in Minnesota. I visited with them briefly, but they left me in their dust. They were shooting for 26 mile days. Previously,  in Sula, I had met some very fast hikers (i.e. 30 miles per day).

Don’t think there isn’t still enough alpha male left in me to keep up with them.  But I just cannot take hills the way they can. And it’s not just uphill, either.  Plus, I do like to look around, take pictures, and enjoy myself.   I am working on an operating theory that younger hikers focus on quantity whereas older hikers emphasize quality.   When you are young you want to rush through and get things done in the fastest manner.

 But when you are older you want savor the journey a bit more.

I ended up at a Lena Lake. As it was the only good level ground at hand.  It was a 23 mile day.  I was beat and couldn’t wait to get to bed.  My only chores were to eat and feed the mosquitos.

July 14th

It is difficult to realize how exciting a town day can be. Food cooked by someone  else, a shower, electricity. Plus, I would get my resupply package for the next segment. 

I got up, brushed my teeth, and washed my hair.  There was no point hitching too early. Still I was pretty excited (and hungry), so I just flew down the hill to the highway. 

I stuck my thumb out for the passing cars. Nothing. I made sure my bacpack was visible, no hat, no sunglasses. I smiled some times, others I was serious.  There was a vehicle every 5 minutes. No luck.

After an hour, Curtis, Christiana,  and their dog Sable showed up.  Within 5 minutes we had a ride.

Sula Country Store and Resort was a perfect resupply spot.  They serve breakfast and lunch. You can buy a tent site, shower, and laundry.  Or you can get a cabin.  The store had a decent selection of foods.

I immediately ordered an omelet with  bacon.  After I retrieved my resupply package, I then went to my cabin, showered, and did laundry. When I was finished, it was lunchtime. Nancy, the chef, made sure I got a double chesee burger plus a turkey sandwich.  I bought some milk and junk food and set about cleaning my gear.  Later, I took a two hour nap.  The evening was spent charging my electronics and catching up on my blog. 

I got all packed up so I could get breakfast at 7:00 and hitch to the trail. 

July 13th

I was the only one ready to go at 6:30,  so I just started walking. I was running out of food and wanted to get as close to town as possible today.  Then, the next morning I would  hitch to town.

The hiking was great. Lots of water, views, and variety.  Eventually, I came to an area where an old road roughly paralleled the trail. Due to so many downed trees, it just made sense to road walk.  I left notes for my partners. 

When the road ended,  I got back on the trail and resigned myself to a slow day of climbing over, sliding under, and going around fallen trees.   However, after an hour I came across a group of mountain bikers who had chainsaws and were clearing the trail.  Even though it was to help themselves,  I profusely thanked them for their good deed. I even offered to help clear the trail for awhile.

Despite waiting a few times, I never saw my hiking partners. I did, however, run into two young guys who were northbound.  They started at the Mexican border in March and were poised to complete their journey.  They were generous and enthusiastic. 

I ended up camping on a hill just above where I would hitchhike hike from in the morning.  It was called Lost Pass.

July 12th.

I woke up a bit later than normal. All my stuff was still damp.  I had camped near a lake. Humans love to be near water.  However, moist air is drawn to low places at night.(I think the term is katabatic wind.) I had hoped a dry wind might develop, but no such luck. 

At least the weather was nice.  I started the day with a climb through an old spruce forest. Then I descended in a newer forest.  

I came across a hiker in distress.  She was the one who had hunkered down during the storm. Today she had taken an incorrect trail for miles and, to top it all off, she had an unpleasant personal situation that had unfolded recently. She didn’t want to hike alone so we started walking together. 

About an hour later I was pleasantly surprised to see Curtis, Christiana, and their dog Sable. I thought I would never see them again as they were fast hikers.

All four of us hiked together for a while, but eventually Curtis and team sped ahead, agreeing to camp at Surprise Lake.

My new hiking partner had lots of things to talk about as we made our way back to the Divide.  There was a strong, short rainstorm that dropped the temperature at least ten degrees.

After a 20 mile day, we all set our tents around the small, beautiful lake and agreed to start hiking at 6:30.  

We did get a little surprise when a rainstormen blew through in the middle of the night. 

July 11th

When I first woke up at 1:00, it seemed like my tent was collapsing. I pushed and realized the tent was covered with snow.  I banged from the inside, and it all slid off.

At 3:00, I did the same thing, but got out to investigate. There was about 5 inches on the ground. 

At 4:00, I again banged from the inside,  but this time I got an indoor shower.  The snow was high enough that it blocked the ventilation paths.  As a result, all my respiration in the cold humid air was collecting on the inside. Both the head and feet  of my sleeping bag were wet from the damp walls pushing in under the weight of snow.

By 5:30, I had to make a decision: hunker down and hope the snow stops and melts or push through.  I decided to push on.  I put on my wet shoes over damp socks, folded my icy, wet tent and headed out.  There was about eight inches of snow on the ground with more coming down.

Cutaway Pass was above 9,000 feet.  I was camped at 7,800 feet.  It was about 3 miles away.  My biggest fears were getting lost and frostbite on my feet.  Fortunately, the outline of the trail was discernible, especially towards the top. Oddly, a moose used a good section of the trail and his stride matched mine making the effort easier for a while.

I think because I kept moving, wriggled my toes, and the temperature never dropped much below freezing kept me safe. 

By the time I reached the summit, I was winded.  I was so happy that I had made it.  I was pretty confident as I descended the other side that the snow would lessen the lower the elevation. 

I spent the rest of the day breaking trail. In fact the snow did eventually turn to slush at the lowest elevation.  I avoided slush puddles with intensity.  

Towards the end of the day I had one more high pass to navigate.   I was  excited to finally see a pair of footprints!  They must’ve hunkered down at the base of the pass.  I sped along as best I could hoping to catch up.  

Just before I reached my final spot for the day (Johnson Lake). I managed another clever wipe out.  I was going down a steep slope. The trail was a mix of mud, snow, rocks, and puddles. To avoid a muddy slush puddle, I stepped on a rock at the very edge. Whoosh. Left leg goes screaming down hill, but my right leg stayed on trail in what used to be known as the hurdler’s stretch. Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever could do the hurdler’s stretch. But here I was in a wilderness area at 54 in form so perfect my high school track coach would be proud.  Well, nothing major snapped or popped or stopped wotking, so, astonished, I carried on.

I set up my wet tent and put in my damp sleeping bag. Exhausted, I headed off to a miserable night’s sleep.

July 10th

Although it did not snow, there was a light drizzle. Oddly, I actually sleep pretty good with a little rain on the tent.

I reached the trailhead.  The most amazing thing was a fantastic new, clean pit toilet. Previously, I had no need, but I was drawn to this beauty.  Inside, spotless.  

I trudged through the Anaconda Pintler Wilderness  (APW) in the rain.  I attached my umbrella to my backpack and kept my upper body dry as my feet got soaked.

The big highlight was ascending from a lake  up a steep series of switchbacks.   It was scary but beautiful. The further up I went, the closer I hugged the wall and the clouds were momentarily disintegrating.  It was beautiful when I finally reached an area known as Goat Flats. Although flat, it is slanted down.  I saw no goats.

The short cut through Anaconda rejoins the real trail here.  I was walking across the high alpine grass when a dark cloud rolled in, dropping visibility to ten feet.  It was both cool and eerie. 

I managed to wind my way down.  First through a Larch forest, then a sketchy, muddy decline.  The trail went along through mostly old forest.  I witnessed a freak event.  At Flower Lake, an old dead tree suddenly collapsed, partially into the lake.  The was no strong wind.  It just chose that moment to topple. It was weird.  Hard to put that thought out of your head as you walk through the forest. 

I was going to push for miles and clear Cutaway Pass before camp, but increasing rain with the introduction of lightening persuaded me to set up camp a few miles short.

It was a wet, cold camp after 19 hard miles.  As I got into my sleeping bag I was depressed by how soaked my feet, socks, and shoes were. My other pair had no chance to dry today. Maybe tomorrow would be better.