Tag: backpacking

Mount PUD

July 7, 2018

Stealth camp on road to stealth camp near stream.

There is an acronym attributed to hiking the Appalachian Trail: PUD which stands for Pointless Up and Down. Obviously, backpacking through mountains includes a fair amount of going up and down, but today on the Pacific Northwest Trail it went from neccessary to PUD.

The mountain range I am in is called the the Purcells. They all max out around roughly 7,000 feet above sea level and most have rivers between them. They cover the northwestern part of Montana and the eastern part of Idaho’s panhandle. They are not as steep as the mountains between Polebridge and Eureka. This means they are slightly more amenable to forestry. Therefore, a lot of the hiking is through forest that:

  1. could be harvested,
  2. was harvested (30 years ago) or
  3. a burn area.

By far, the “could be harvested” is the most compelling to hike through. Huge trees block out almost all undergrowth with the forest floor mostly old pine needles. This duff almost feels like walking on those really thick shag carpets from 1970s (younger readers use your imagination or Google). It is eerily quiet. And big trees produce big pine cones.

The “was harvested” is okay. It feels like a working forest. While clear cutting was the old method, the newer approach is to leave a few mature trees and let nature runs its course. Impenetrable understory of alder and huckleberries and young conifers battle for space. Except for the conifers, the shrubs top out at five feet, roughly. Unless opened by a landslide or natural meadow, the general feeling is of the understory pushing in. It is very clear why there are so many animal tracks on the trails; these are the only really viable way to get around. Except for moose. There is a lot of moose scat in these woods.

The “previously burned” areas offer some harsh contrasts. Nature abhors a vacuum, so dense stands of young pine and larch grow. On rocky slopes, grasses and flowers make a land grab. The shrubs take what they can. Hiking through these forest offers more vistas, but they can feel a bit claustrophobic walking between dense walls of thousands of tall skinny 15 foot trees.

All of this is backdrop to today. I started in a harvested area. Mostly shaded, the early morning climb was perfect. Except for the mosquitoes who were fast and relentless. (I don’t use bug sprays or headnets when hiking. The chemicals are too harsh and the headnet feels like walking around in shady cheesecloth. At camp, it’s a different story.)

I got up to the first mountaintop and the next several hours were a rolling climb along a ridgeline with ok views. The “highlight” was a climb nearly to the top of Mount Henry which had a lookout tower.

From there it was a kneecap crushing descent from 7,000 to 3,500 feet over 4 miles. It was about 3:30 when I bottomed out at Fish Lakes and stocked up with water. A campsite was available, but the directory noted “rodent problems.” Regardless whether it is eating, sleeping or traveling, my hard and fast rule is to avoid anything with a rodent problem. So, I began a long steady climb up a mountain, in all a seven mile trip gaining 3,000 feet and losing (you’ll never guess… ) 3,000 feet. I was going for Mt. PUD.

About a half hour in to the switchbacks, I saw a trail sign to a forest road. The number seemed familiar. I looked at my map and that road went along the south and west side of the mountain which was where my current trail would connect. Should I stay on the official footpath or take an unknown shortcut? I chose to stay on my current route over what was to become Mount PUD.

Slowly ascending switchbacks through an area that had previously burned, I was in a walled off corridor of conifers for a long time. The trail was losing visibility when it popped out to a grassy area higher up. I got the feeling this trail had not been maintained in the last two years.

While it was nice to be able to have a view, the barely visible trail through knocked down trees suddenly changed gradient. Previously, I had to stop every five minutes from the exertion. Now, the trail designers suddenly must’ve identified a new target market. However, they chose toddlers and seniors as the target. Watching the sun creep lower while making no uphill progress was infuriating.

Eventually I was mostly above tree line. Trails are difficult to see on hard surfaces. Heavily traveled trails will have small stacks of rocks called cairns. Unfortunately, this trail was so forlorn it was hard to tell what was a cairn and what were two random rocks. I was generally able to patch together the trail and reached the zenith where I was to cut through a rock canyon and finally begin my descent.

This rock canyon was v-shaped. As such, all trees that fell on the sides rolled to the bottom. It was blowdown central. Tired, knees aching, light fading and now I have to parkour my way through this.

When I came out the other side of the canyon, my shorts had a new breathing panel where one least expects such a thing. Down to one pair of town shorts.

I surprised many grouse today. Some have no chicks, some have hatched chicks, and some have flying hatched chicks. If you aren’t familiar with grouse, they are primarily land based birds, taking flight just to avoid danger. Agrouse chick flying is the cutest thing in the world, reminiscent of a piglet flying.

The sun was just sliding behind the western mountains. As I was starting to feel some relief, the trail now headed east. Crabby, I cussed the trail designer who created a route to the Pacific Ocean that goes east.

At least it was through ancient forests. It took some stress off these old legs bounding down on a blanket of needles, many years old and many inches thick. The canopy blocked a big chunk of the fading light. I had to get down to a creek at the bottom. Not only for water, but also a flat place to camp.

Around 9:00 I found a relatively open space and cleared a spot. I did not feel hungry, but forced myself to eat. Right after brushing my teeth, I went straight to my tent. Once inside and away from the mosquitoes, I thought I would just drop to sleep. Instead, I listened. There was nothing. The soft ground absorbed any sounds that made it through the silent canopy above. Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping when it is so quiet because even the littlest sound from far away is magnified. Fortunately, a bird somewhere started its evening song and that’s all I needed to fall deeply asleep, ending my adventure on Mount PUD.

Everything Changes

July 4, 2018. Bluebird Lake to Eureka, MT.

I was stuffed up in the morning. I feared a cold. I have not been sick in years, so this was a little concerning. But today was a special day in two ways: it was the Fourth of July and it was a town day!

I knew that I only had one major climb early on and the rest was literally downhill. Although overcast, the air did not feel like rain. I’m not going to lie; putting on sodden socks, wet shoes, and yesterday’s dank hiking clothes was miserable.

About 100 yards from camp, the trail had been cleared of blowdowns. The unmistakable sight and smell of sawdust told the story. Even better, the early climb did produce body heat that dried out my shirt and hoody.

When I reached the apex, I looked east and was delighted to see Glacier’s peaks, even though the tops were cloud covered. Better yet, looking west to my destination I could see clearing skies.

Snow along the ridgeline almost points directly to Glacier’s peaks in the distance.

The trail clearing magic ended the minute I turned at the next junction. Blowdowns, slippery rocks, and copious amounts of stored rain marked the descent. It was an old mining area and there was abandoned, rusted equipment as well as sealed-off shafts.

At the bottom of the hill, the trail merged on to an old mining road. This generally trended down over the next eight miles. It was transformational. First, the skies began to clear. Then, the blowdowns and trail obstacles stopped. Finally, the forest opened up with a high canopy and just grass on the ground, affording glimpses to the valley and reservoir below. Towards the bottom I stopped by a brook to change into my cleanest clothes (a very low bar) and wash up. I was startled by a couple out for a walk. Perhaps they were startled by the odd looking man cleaning himself up in the woods.

If you look closely, you can see a line reflecting the US / Canadian border where the next peace wall will be built, paid for by the Mexican government.

There was a long road walk at the bottom. First among smallish 10 or 20 acre homesteads, later large ranch and haying operations. I scared up a couple bull elk, their antlers just forming, covered in a brown fuzz. Also, a few deer ran away on the open grassland.

This hayfield was so beautiful, climbing up to the forest edge.
I couldn’t zoom in on this deer at the very top of the hill watching me.

My feet had been hurting from constant downhill walking. Now, walking on pavement was making things worse. I reached the highway for the last three miles into town and my motel. At first, there was no shoulder meaning I had to step down and away as cars approached on the two lane highway. Trucks made a special sound as they barreled by.

I walked past a golf course. There were a few stray balls en route and I grabbed a newish one. My back and hip have been sore, so the thought of rolling a golf ball into tight muscles and tendons brought a smile to my face.

At last, I reached my motel in the northern part of Eureka. It was a small town version of a conglomerate: an Exxon station with a Subway restaurant with a motel with a real estate agent. So, while I was paying for my motel room, a chunky tourist was waiting to pay for his pork rinds and 20 gallons of unleaded while in the other line somebody was buying a meatball sub or closing in an escrow. I didn’t care. I walked into my room and turned on the shower. While taking off my shoes, I noticed the left one had a nasty stain. I couldn’t remember what I stepped in. When I took my sock off, I discovered I had bled quite a bit from a cut.

That shower felt so good. I felt like I washed away the cold, the rain, the ash from the burned forest, and the sweat. A burger, some minor medical procedures and this dude was, ironically, a happy camper.

Not the Finest Day

July 2, 2018. Blue Sky Creek junction with Forest Road 114

I woke up feeling pretty good. I packed quickly and noted the weather was slightly more sunny than cloudy. Today would be up along the ridgetops. These kind of hiking days are love / hate. If the weather is clear, they are lovely with views to the horizon. Stormy and you hate almost every minute.

The snow mounds were limited at first. Limited to trees and northern areas. Indeed, the views were pretty good. Once I came to my first ridge, I could see the trail going up the next ridge in the distance.

I could see the trail climbing the mountain ahead.

On a whim, I turned on my phone and got reception. It is very random how connectivity appears on one mountain and not another. I did the only reasonable thing I could and that was check social media.

I started cruising along the ridges. From the footprints, it looked like two people were about three or four days ahead. That was a relief from a route-finding perspective. The snow became almost continuous on the ridge.

After about 30 minutes, the footprints were overlapped by a more recent traveler: a bear. It was cool to see how the bear used the trail, even following on switchbacks. I presumed it was not stalking the others and it did not seem fresh, so I was not worried.

Another traveler joins the trail.
Although the snow melt made it bigger, here is a comparison to my size 13 shoes.

It started drizzling. The views disappeared. I stopped for a snack and had a hail storm roll over. The hail turned to graupel then snow. I entered an area that had burned the prior year. It felt eerie. The ground was charrred and skeletons stood, half burned, large charcoal logs. The white snow contrasting with the black reminder of what must’ve been a hellacious fire

The weather gets bad over the burned out forest.
It was eerie, almost like walking through a graveyard.

I stopped just short of the top of Mt. Locke, 7,200′. The wind really picked up, driving the snow almost horizontally. I made a sarcastic video about the elements and wondering why more people don’t go backpacking. Within 20 seconds of finishing, a massive lightning strike hit nearby. “Holy Mary Mother of Jesus” ( I’m paraphrasing). I knew this was very bad and I had to get down.

I sprinted the 50 feet to the summit, following a clear trail. However, the trail stopped at a sheer dropoff. There were the obvious remains of a former lookout tower, two sheer sides, and the slope I came up. I was stumped and a little panicky. “Where the f*** is the trail?” Please understand that at that moment I am the tallest living thing around and I am carrying two carbon fiber hiking poles in a backpack with small aluminum stays.

I whipped out my map, but it didn’t help. I ran down the trail, resolving to take my chances in the charred landscape I had just come through. However, out of the corner of my left eye, I caught a small flat spot on the blackened ground. I looked and sure enough it was the trail leading away from the top.

My mind kept up the refrain “This isn’t good. I’ve got to get lower.” For my age, I did a pretty good job running down the foot-wide path. However, the trail was only about 30 feet below the descending ridgeline. In short, while I was losing elevation, I was still relatively exposed to the high point. Soon, I saw a sequence of trees along side the trail. I set my sights on the shortest one. First, I stashed my hiking poles. Next, I dumped my backpack. Then, at last, I assumed the position near the short tree. Supposedly, you should squat down as this creates the least amount of body for a lightning bolt to transit. (Not to be cynical, but I did try to imagine how much chipper I might be if lightning only traversed a three foot squatted me versus a six foot standing me.)

Unfortunately, another bolt struck. It was close. Deafening. It made the air smell weird. You know that thing where you are supposed to count “One Mississippi ” to gauge how far away the bolt struck? Well, this was at “O”.

Considering my age, the fact I was squatting, and the proximity of the strike, I was proud that the only thing to come out of me involuntarily were some swear words.

Hoping that the electrical component would move on, I decided to wait 20 minutes. No more lightening occurred and the storm’s fury eased noticeably. I grabbed my poles, backpack, and pep-stepped down the trail, eventually reaching a junction that would pull me off the ridgeline. Ironically, I was now on the Bluesky Trail.

Leaving the stormy ridgeline to join the Bluesky Trail. Note the Pacific Northwest Trail marker below the trail sign melted in the heat of last year’s fire.

The next two hours were spent descending a steep trail in a slow persistent drizzle. I stopped to put on my rain pants and noticed how scarred and blackened my legs were from climbing over charcoaled trees in the burn area. I also realized I had lost my glasses in my panicked run.

After the steep trail and clambering over blow downs, I came to an abandoned road that was now the trail. Oddly, about 5 miles from the parking lot at the start of this trail, I came across an abandoned wheelbarrow.

Pushing a wheelbarrow five miles uphill was a feat of strength and futility for some soul.

Those last miles were wet and slow, but around 6:00 I reached the parking lot, came back up the trail a bit, and set up a soggy campsite in a meadow. Almost 11 hours to cover a lousy 19 miles, but I was glad to be alive.

Going Solo

July 1, 2018. West Glacier, MT.

We were to meet for breakfast. Ing would get on Amtrak back to the twin cities and my Dad would drop me off at the trail. Amtrak notified us of a massive delay (four hours). So we ate breakfast, then Dad & Ingrid took me to the trail.

We said goodbye on a Forest Service road. I was glad Grandpa and Ing got some bonus time together, but a little sad to be on my own.

Again, the clouds hung low as I walked for a few hours on a gravel road. The mosquitoes were fast. Usually I can out-walk them, but these guys ingeniously drafted me and got the back of my legs pretty good. Eventually, it started drizzling so the little buggers disappeared and I popped open my umbrella.

Amazingly, I saw another backpacker. I caught up to her. Originally from Israel, she has lived several places and hiked some long trails, like the Colorado Trail, which overlaps part of the CDT.

The road eventually turned into an abandoned forest service road. I saw my first official PNT trail marker. Alders and huckleberries grew in from the sides. It was a great way to use an old road. The Forest Service cant afford to maintain all their roads. I read somewhere they were the equivalent of the largest construction in the world.

While this trail was good for me, it was also a highway for bears. Indeed, on one section it seemed like a rest area. Needless to say, there was a lot of “Hey bears” from me along the narrow parts.

It switched to a real trail as I got higher. I stopped at the transition point. Two guys and a pack mule came by, said Hi and went on another trail. A real good cowboy chat that was.

Alders pushed in from the sides as the abandoned road turned to trail.

I descended the narrow trail across and down a steep slope. At the road at the bottom, I still felt strong so I went past the Red Meadow camp and pushed on.

Looking across the valley before Red Meadow
Looking down the valley before Red Meadow Camp

I missed my last creek water supply and settled for a snow melt pond just before I went on a trail again. I immediately encountered snow patches on the trail. Snow patches are a big hassle. You step up on them and, depending on the temperature and consistency, walk across, slide, or sink in to a deep hole. In short, it is slow.

Knowing the trail would soon climb a ridgeline and stay there, I found a flat, snowfree place to camp. I built a little fire to take the damp off the 20 mile day and went to sleep early.

Out the Other Side

June 30, 2018

We were ready on time. There is a rhythm to breaking camp in the morning. Even after just a few days, it becomes comforting. Also, I noticed the lightness from having consumed three days worth of food.

Today we would climb 900 feet through Brown Pass and then descend over 2,000 feet, ending with a six mile hike alongside Bowman Lake. I was leery of another icy pass, but it turned out to be snow free. Before dropping over, we took one last look east into Glacier.

The steep descent was made more challenging by fallen trees across the trail, a reminder of how severe the weather can get over the winter. Ingrid was a natural for choosing from a) under b) over or c) around.

Eventually, we heard chainsaws. Then, we saw the crew. They were working on a huge 3 tree collapse across the trail. I sent Ing down and around to get the chainsaw worker’s attention. Never, ever surprise someone operating a chainsaw.

I took the high route above where a massive tree’s roots had been pulled from the ground. It was about 8 feet of loose rock sharply down to the trail. I took two steps, then both my feet flew out and I landed flat on my backpack on the trail right in front of the trail crew supervisor. He complemented me on my grand entrance.

It drizzled off and on as the gray clouds clung to the mountainsides. We were making good time. In reality, I could not keep up with Ingrid. I think she felt sorry for me and every 30 minutes would stop and wait for me, ostensibly to check the map on my phone.

We had made plans to meet my Dad at the campground at the foot of Bowman Lake. That, combined with the prospect of cooked food, a shower, and a bed was exceedingly motivational. Almost exactly on time, we found him and he was happy to see his granddaughter.

After a snack, we headed first to Polebridge Mercantile for some baked goods and then on to West Glacier for dinner and a motel near the Amtrak stop.

For me, this his has been an incredible trip. Usually, I schlump along and take photos to communicate to others what I saw. However, on this trip I was able to share the experience with my daughter. I hope she enjoyed it enough that one day she will take her son or daughter to watch waterfalls and mountain lakes. Plus, being able to end the trip meeting up with my Dad, who tried to instill an appreciation of nature in me, was an extra blessing.

Stoney Indian Pass

June 28, 2018

(Apologies but my blog vendor, WordPress, has deployed a brilliant business strategy of preventing customers from loading photos remotely. I’ll try to keep Instagram updated with photos. )

The wind at Coseley Lake died down during the night, offering a gorgeous mountain-reflected-in-the-lake view.

We broke camp and started what we knew was going to be a tough day: about 2,200 feet over Stoney Indian Pass.

At first, the trail climbed gently with a lush understory. The weather turned a little overcast, but that actually makes for good hiking. We ran in to a trail crew that had been doing trail maintenance. This was welcome news. Over winter, trees get blown down or avalanches and landslides knock trees across the trail. They are a pain to get around. Thus, we were fortunate to have them clear our way.

We started gaining elevation and encountering waterfalls. Above one we could look down and across the stream and see a huge reddish brown grizzly grazing.

At a higher level, we climbed into a bowl shaped area that had twin waterfalls feeding a crystalline pond.

Climbing still further, the temperature dropped and blotches of snow appeared. We climbed past still another waterfall and just above it we had to cross the ice fed stream. I hike in mesh trail runners and keep them on for stream crossings. Plus, I use a hiking pole to cross facing upstream so I am basically moving a triangle across. I sure as hell don’t link arms. Ingrid wanted to keep her boots and shoes dry and cross barefoot. Reluctantly, I let her do that. I remembeted that Q-tip did that on the CDT. Knowing that in such cold water your feet hurt after 7 seconds and start numbing after 10, I crossed right behind her, downstream. There were definitely some nervous Dad moments as I watched her struggle the last few feet as her feet (and mine) grew numb and had trouble finding the next step with the waterfall only about 20 feet downstream.

We were now entering areas where the snow fields covered almost one third of the trail. It started drizzling and we donned rain gear. Finally, after a rigorous set of switchbacks and a good sized snow field, we reached Stoney Indian Pass.

The views were amazing. As the clouds thickened, they began enveloping the uppermost peaks. The rest of what was visible was gray stone with snow accents. Several hundred feet down from us was Stoney Indian Lake. Clear parts were blue, but a portion was covered with ice and obvious avalanche debris. This was going to be a steep descent on a north-facing wall. Rhonda and David had given us some tobacco and explained a humble ceremony which Ingrid and I performed.

As we started going down, I insisted Ingrid take my ice axe. I broke out my hiking poles. At the top, almost the entire trail was under a steep snow bank. We could barely discern the trail, cobbling together melted snippets and the vague footprints of a couple people who went before us a day or so earlier.

More unnerving than the waterfall, I was seriously concerned about Ingrid slipping and sliding down hill into a tree or rock. So, we eventually came up with a plan to bushwhack our way through the areas barren of snow and intercept the trail further down. After a nerve wracking hour, we eventually found a flatter portion of the trail. About 50 feet before reaching the lake, we did our best shoe skiing down the last slope which was fun and a release from the tension.

After the lake, we crashed down several hundred feet and a good six miles to Kootenai campsite. We were both tired. We opted for an early dinner. Even though campfires were permitted at this site, we both chose to just go to bed. For those of you who know I am a bit of an insomniac, seeing me go to bed by 8:30 would shock you.

Beside a lake with a gentle breeze and a thick, lush forest behind, it was no surprise I fell into a deep sleep right away. Until the sticks started breaking somewhere in the woods.

Day One

June 27, 2018

{NOTE My blog vendor, WordPress, is not allowing me to load photos remotely. I will try Instagram as a way to provide visual interest to the dry, crusty written word in my blog. Will add photos here later. Sorry.}

Yesterday, we made it to Many Glacier ranger station. We hoped to get a permit that matched the online reservation we made months ago. The challenge was that we requested a route over two passes and this was a heavy snow year. The ranger was hesitant to give us our route. However, we finally won her over with our microspikes, ice axes, and experience, plus a full-on charm offensive. I’m sure it was the microspikes.

We had to watch the bear video that also covers other hazards. The Park Service recommends that people ford rivers by linking arms and walking perpendicular to the current. Admittedly I am an amateur, but this seems absolutely daft. First, if the current is strong enough to knock one over, wouldn’t the rest fall like dominoes? Second, if my arms were linked to yours and I fell in, no matter how much I loved you, my fingernails would be two inches deep in your flesh, sealing your fate to mine.

Anyway, they gave us a permit for a route which they said was “not recommended.” I was very tempted to ask whether the ever recommended routes they did not permit.

We were able to check in to our motel early, drop our packs, and take a 10 mile hike. We took a popular out-and-back trip to Iceberg Lake. All shapes and ages and sizes were on the trail, almost all happy. Except for the parents of young kids who were stomping down the trail grumpy with grumpy kids.

As billed, Iceberg Lake had an iceberg. Also, there was that guy. You know, the one who understands that the park rules and several signs saying No Dogs applies to everyone else, not him.

The next day we were picked up by the shuttle taxi. It was very interesting to meet David and Rhonda. They live on the Blackfeet Reservation. They started the shuttle service to transport folks around the Glacier area. In addition to educating us about their culture, challenges on the Reservation, and their business. I was most impressed with how they have adopted four children in their community from parents unable to properly care due to drug or alcohol problems. I felt small next to them. They know full well that each of these kids are prone to the same problems as their birth parents, but Rhonda and David opened their hearts and home to give hope.

Around 11:00 we reached the Canadian border at Chief Mountain. We took the obligatory border photo and then started hiking.

The meadows were full of flowers and the forest was a lush green. We spent the first hour descending to the Belly River. Once there, we encountered several hikers and enjoyed the snow capped peaks. Just before we broke off the main trail we ran into the ranger who issued us our permit. She was hiking off-duty and was helping an on-duty ranger with an injured hiker. She checked our permit. Thorough.

We climbed up out of the valley and reached our destination after eight miles. It was Coseley Lake. As the park name suggests, most lakes here are long and narrow since they fill glacier carved valleys. About 150 feet across from our campsite rose a massive stone mountain. Behind behind us, another. While beautiful, the effect was a bit of a wind tunnel.

To manage bear vs backpacker issues, you must camp in designated campsites and each site has a separate food preparation and storage area. During dinner we met a young couple from Missouri on their second backpacking trip and a local, experienced mother-daughter team. It was great dinner conversation but we turned in early.

All in all, a great first day. Ingrid was a natural at finding the right route. The weather was perfect. A good start.

And So It Begins

June 26, 2018

So we are beginning! I am very fortunate to be hiking the Pacific Northwest Trail. Even more of a blessing is that I’m being joined at the start by my daughter, Ingrid. She is joining me for the start through Glacier National Park.

About the Pacific Northwest Trail

There are three famous National Scenic Trails. The Appalachian Trail (AT), Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), and Continental Divide Trail (CDT) make up the famous Triple Crown of long distance hiking in the US. They are approximately 2,200, 2,600, and 2,800 miles long heading in a north/south direction. While also a designated National Scenic Trail, the Pacific Northwest Trail (PNT) is far less traveled and not as well known.

I was attracted to the PNT for several reasons. First it is an east west trail. A hiker going west starts in Glacier National Park and goes across northern Montana, Idaho’s panhandle, northern Washington, across Puget Sound (on a ferry…I’m not swimming across), and lastly it crosses the Olympic peninsula with a final beach walk to the westernmost point of the continental 48 states. It goes through three National Parks and covers some of the most remote mountain ranges around.

The second attraction is its distance: approximately 1,200 miles. Roughly half the distance of the Triple Crown trails, the PNT is long enough to be an immersive experience, but not so long that people forget you and your kids start referring to you by your first name instead of Dad.

Lastly, as a less traveled trail, I like the notion of an uncrowded adventure. Although the westerly direction I am taking is the most popular, I’d be surprised if there were more than 150 people doing it this year. As a frame of reference around 6,000 people hike the AT each year.

Expected Challenges

Hopefully my wife won’t read this section. She is a worrier.

There are a few challenges to this route that go beyond the regular ones I faced on the CDT.

First, this is a young, evolving route. Between fires and trail closures, the route changes. There is an “official” trail, but even the “official” maps recommend alternatives. And those alternatives can change. The challenge is not only getting lost, but finding new trails not quite as described.

Second, forest fires are a bigger risk on this trip. Southbound on the CDT I avoided most fire dangers. July and August through Idaho, Montana, and Washington is just asking to come across a forest fire. In case you are wondering what happens, the Forest Service shuts down areas likely to be in the path of a named fire. To their credit, they try to work with trail organizations like the Pacific Northwest Trail Association (PNTA) to identify alternative routes.

Third, beach hiking. I know it sounds simple but some areas of the trail are covered at high tide so I need to know my tide charts and avoid being in certain areas at the wrong time. Plus, given my propensity for falling, slick oceans rocks are a new hazard. And hiking on sand is just painfully slow.

Rewards

Foremost, backpacking with Ingrid will be great. Starting anything in Glacier is amazing. Walking through truly wild areas of the Pacific northwest will be interesting. I have read that the Pasayten Wilderness is some of the most beautiful country in the 48 states. Walking through a legitimate rain forest via the Olympic peninsula is another highlight. Plus, my Dad is planning on driving out to meet Ingrid and I when we finish our hike through Glacier.

Blog

I am an irregular blogger. Sometimes it is a lack of cell service. Honestly, there are times when I just crash at the end of the day. Not surprising to those who know me, many times I have nothing to say. So don’t expect pithy daily notes from the trail. However, I will try to provide reasonable updates to my loyal blog readers. As all five of them can tell you, I do stay in touch.

Mind the Gap

 

I was never good at good-byes and keeping in touch.  As a result, I’ve lost some good friends  and probably lowered the quality of my life.  It also explains why it should not be a surprise I stopped writing this blog the day I finished the Continental Divide Trail (CDT).

Very soon I will take another backpacking trip.  To bridge the gap between one trail ending and another beginning I wanted to provide a brief reflection on the CDT.

 

I ended up walking about 2,700 miles.   It took me 4 ½ months.  I lost 50 pounds, 49 of which I really needed to lose. I swear I lost about a half inch of height.  I grew a beard, lost some hair, acquired two scars I still have, and my right pinky knuckle will always be smashed and crooked.  It took me about 6 months to regain complete touch in my fingertips. Clearly, this was a great trip.

238 lbs of optimistic ignorance
238 lbs of optimistic ignorance
188 lbs of happy experience
188 lbs of happy experience

In spite of that list of physical things, I still have flashbacks.  There is no specific trigger, but sometimes an image will just pop up in my mind.  It is usually a view from up high or a beautiful sunset or a hell of a storm.  But it is vivid and real and feels like a micro-vacation.  I’m not sure how long these flashbacks will continue.  I hope forever.

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The CDT is a tough trail.  In the hiking community the catch phrase associated with the trail is “embrace the brutality”.  That’s a bit of hyperbole.  I think it comes from people who have had the luxury of following a well-marked, established trail with trail signage every 200 feet.  The CDT is like a youngster, still maturing and filling out and finding its way.

I am so glad I went southbound.  Once the trail was clear enough to start south from the border with Canada, my only specific weather risk was to get through Colorado before heavy snows might force me off.  Northbounders face two snow risks:  lingering snow in southern Colorado and early snow in Glacier National Park.  Plus, the thunderstorm risks in Colorado challenge northbounders.  Lastly, Montana burns every August.

Surprisingly, the people I met were an incredible piece of the trip.  Almost all other backpackers were friendly and helpful.  Strangers in towns or drivers picking up hitch hikers were generally curious, helpful, and engendered in me a sense of pay-it-forward.   I know there were a few jerks along the way and there is this annoying sub-culture in backpacking to be fast or to have done a lot of miles.   But I must work hard to pull those memories forward.

Lucky Strike, Curtis, and Cristiana
Crunchmaster, Grizzly, Snakebite, and Lucky
Lucky Strike, Curtis, and Cristiana
Crunchmaster, Grizzly, Snakebite, and Lucky

What about the animals?   I still get goose bumps when I recall startling bull elk with huge antlers and watching them crash through the forest.  Moose, marmots, mice, mountain goats.  Cattle herds that would either stampede away or, sometimes, give the star treatment and follow like a pack of groupies.  Bears.  If you read the blog, you know I had an unpleasant situation with a black bear and her cubs outside Leadore, Idaho.   I still remember that.  I replay what I should’ve done different and what I did right.  I have no desire to be close to a bear again.  I don’t hate them, but I think they are too unpredictable to be near.  Still, I am very grateful I was able to see so many animals in their natural habitat.

 

I learned a few lessons I wanted to jot down so I don’t forget them:

  • Do not roll-the-dice to get through one more pass during a lightning storm.
  • Down mittens are excellent around the house, but not so much outdoors.
  • My go-to medical technology is duct tape.
  • There is no prize money for finishing the trail the fastest. I am not the fastest.  Or fast.
  • Do not hike with somebody who is carrying emotional baggage, it will weigh you down.
  • Always let the tallest hiker go first in the morning, they will clear all the spider webs.
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Thanks, Q-Tip

 

 

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My Lake

Trip from Dean Lake to My Lake

(June 23rd)

During the night, Lucky said he heard a crunching sound.  We camped near a 30 foot snow field.  Some critter probably walked across.  In the morning, however, it was clear we had a new, temporary teammate.

 

An old mountain goat was hanging out within 15 feet of our camp, walking calmly back and forth.  As luck would have it, my camera battery had drained due to cold.  So I frantically tried to charge it while the goat was so close.  Eventually I got a couple pictures of the old guy.  The Bob Marshall Wilderness does deliver.

This old goat was patient with photos

Our first challenge of the day was getting over Switchback Pass. This was supposed to me a smooth series of switchbacks that led easily over a high pass.  However, due to the snow fields it was precarious.  The trail was high on the steep snow fields.  Since I am naturally brilliant, I had reduced pack weight in East Glacier by getting rid of my micro-spikes and ice-ax.  We chose to go along the bottom of the snow field.  This was slightly more level and had less snow.  Of course, the trade-off was a sheer drop off of 100 feet if we slipped in the mud.

Thus far, Lucky has been our main pathfinder. I am pretty good with balance (that ballast I carry in the middle comes in handy) and open area routing.  As a result, I led us over to a point directly below where the pass was located.  The only thing between us and the pass was a steep snow field of about about 150 to 200 feet.  At that point, I decided the only logical thing to do was to yield the lead to Lucky.  He had microspikes and the Trail Name to make it all possible.  Eventually we got on top and were very relieved.

 

Looking down from Switchback Pass.
The rest of the day found me hiking alone.  Lucky’s injury was clearly hurting him.  There were a lot of blowdowns and I scraped the heck out of my shins. I arrived at the Forest Service back country cabin at Pentagon Creek.  Not only did my current group show up, but also the first team I started hiking with.  The Forest Service outhouse was unlocked and most of us took advantage of the opportunity and gave high marks to the quality of the privy.  We have been in the woods awhile.

 

(Left to right) Crunchmaster, Grizzly, Snake Bite, and Lucky. Pentagon Cabin.
As the afternoon wore on, I eventually found myself getting ahead of Lucky and STD, but trailing Grizzly and the others.  I enjoyed the time and really appreciated the Bob Marshall Wilderness.  It just has a feeling of being in the wild. I had read some comments about it being boring, but I truly felt like I was in remote wilderness.

 

While navigating the many blowdowns, I eventually came to the last hill.  It was a climb over Larch Hill to the day’s destination, My Lake.   I chugged up the hill, my thighs protesting, my lungs working overtime.  To take my mind off the challenge, I thought of what I would say when I reached the Grizzly group.  When I finally staggered into the campsite, I told them “Look, you can camp anywhere you want, but I just want you to know that this is My Lake.”  At first they thought I was insane, but quickly they realized the altitude had caused me to come up with corny humor.

 

Ironically, I fell sleep to the sound of jet engines as I was sleeping under some type of common flight path.