WalkingCarrot

Editor’s Note: Nowhere Man and Carrot finally made it to somewhere from which they were able to send their email updates - two weeks worth of them! So as to not overwhelm anyone’s email, I’ll post these in groups of two or three over the next couple of days.

We were supposed to be hiking today, but we started our trip with a “zero” day, no trail miles.

The CDT challanges those who cling to plans and predictability, or so we have heard from fellow hiker friends. One of the lesson it teaches is to be flexible, roll with the variety of challanges, whether from weather, terrain, navigational problems, unmarked trail, or no trail at all. We expect that our plans will not go as expected, that, at best, they will be but a roadmap…..We just didn’t expect to have to make major alterations day one.

We arrived in Glacier yesterday and stopped at the backcountry ranger’s office to get our permit. We had not made an advance reservation in part because I was reluctant to pay the $30 nuisance fee to make an advance reservation and in part because we were still hoping the snow might melt enought to hike the Highline Trail from Waterton Lake. We were prepared to start at Chief Joseph and hike up the Belly River, but we did not think we would be shut out of BOTH options. We were. Snow covered many camsites in the backcountry, so the park service was directing many backpackers to the relatively snowfree Belly River. And the one campground after Red Cloud Pass only had one snow-free tent site, greatly restricting the number of permits available. Our choice was to delay our start at least 3 days (and pay an advance reservation fee for this privilege to guarantee that we could do this) or to go to “Plan B” - delay one day and start at Many Glacier. OR to skip Glacier and do amaj!
or rearrangement of our hike plans. We opted for Plan B, leaving July 3rd. Although it’s a day later to the start of our hike, it’s 2 days EARLIER than we had planed to leave Many Glacier, the first stop on our original itinerary. Two days ahead beats 3 days behind. We consoled ourselves with the thought that we will save the best for last. Next September we can hike the 38 miles from Many Glacier to Waterton, after doing the southern half of the CDT for a more fitting end. And we are glad that the lesson of being flexible is so otherwise painless as spending an unplanned day in Glacier Park, avoiding a foul morning rain, eating, drinking, day hiking and resting up for tomorrow.

0 Trail Miles hiked

After a lavish breakfast at St Mary’s Lodge, Carol and Irv drove us to Many Glacier for a lovely send off, joining us for the first mile or so of the trail. A glorious day, sunny, warm and full of promise. Wildflowers in abundance. Stunning views of rugged peaks, deep valleys, glaciers, snowfields, and waterfalls cascading from such heights as to become vertical panoramas. It is hard to imagine that the trail could get any better than this - have we set ourselves up for a letdown by doing the best part first? Of course the trek is about more than scenery, it’s a journey into places inside ourselves as well.

We were on the trail for only a short while when we flushed a grouse. The grouse went wild, burst into a frenzy of flight, wings flapping wildly and went up into the brush, veered back and dive bombed The Carrot. The Park Service’s “shock” video warned about the dangers of bears, mountain lions and death by drowning, but never mentioned grouse. Nevertheless, The Carrot took her cues from the video, raised her arms to look big, spoke firmly to the beast and was about to drop to the fetal position and cover her neck when the grouse flew off laughing. We decided to take it as an omen of welcome and a warning to not underestimate the myriad of possibilities not mentioned by the Park Service, both possible dangers as well as possible delights.

Despite dire warnings from the rangers, the trail was in relatively good shape. True, it’s still early seaon hiking, with bridges not all in place yet, and some stream crossings are still on snow or in knee deep cold, swift water. And Piegan Pass was challenging, but very “do-able”. We we’re glad that we brought the ice axes, for the security they provided in crossing the steep snow fields. But, the soft snow made the traverses possible with slow, kick steps and steady nerves. And they kept the day hikers out.

Piegan Pass itself was clear of snow, but deep snow below timberline made the approach and descent tiring, and created some navigational challenges. Generally the snow in the trees was compacted enough to walk on with only very minimal post holing.

Unfortunately on one step I went deep into the snow, all the way to my waist with my foot wedged near a rock. We spent ten minutes or so digging my leg out…in all a good day for the first of the trip. Muscles are tired and sore and I’m wishing I had increased my training and weight loss regimen, but the leg strength is still good.

We made it into camp, at Reynold Creek, at 9:30, late, tired and surrounded by mosquitos, but with enough daylight left to make dinner. The only people we saw all day, after saying goodbye to Carol and Irv were a couple who were in camp, on a short overnight trip. The solitude is appealing.

Approx miles 14.2

It was hot and humid all day, muggy, until the skies burst forth with rain and thunder and lightning - appropriate for the fourth of July. And it was buggy, the mosquitos were unrelenting, the same swarm following us all day picking up fellow fighters along the way. The continued even as the rains started and assaulted us again before the rain really stopped.

Wild flowers carpeted the trailside creating a tunnel in many places as our lower elevation walk traced the south shore of St. Mary’s lake and started up the Red Eagle valley. We walked through an area where a stand replacing fire burned several years ago, probably in 2003. Arnica and Nettleleaf Horsemint led the way to a lush regrowth of the understory. Fields of Yellow contrasted sharply with the blackened tree skeltons still standing.

Downed trees along trail around Red Eagle Lake slowed our pace, but we made it to our campsite with enough time for a before dinner tea hour and a leisurely meal.

Shortly after going to bed, in fact as I was starting to write about the day’s events, we heard some loud splashing in the water and some grunting noises. Whatever it was, was BIG, LOUD and didn’t care about it. Either a Moose, Human or Bear. The grunting ruled out human, at least those evolved enought to have some language skills. As were pondering “moose vs bear”, and fondling the trigger on the bear spray, the beast jumped into the water in a splash heard round the lake, then grunted again and made a low growling sound. All this was happening only about 50 yards away. I was convinced we had a boisterous grizzley bear, or perhaps a saber toothed moose, but could not convince The Carrot to go outside and look. We talked to each other, loud enough to let the beast know we were there, lest it take an exit path through our campsite. At this point I really had to go outside and relieve my bladder but decided to wait. It’s amazing how much security the thin fabric walls of a tent provide, really. At least it seems much safer inside. Returning to journal writing to pass time, I waited until the coast was well clear, before having a good look around and an opportunity to better mark my territory as a guard against the beast’s return. Eventually we drifted off into a slumber made sound only by the tired sore muscles and of a bear spray canister for a pillow.

Approx miles 15.2

Today we walked up Hudson Creek to Triple Divide Pass and over to the Atlantic Creek valley. Gaining and losing a couple thousand vertical feet under sometimes difficult trail conditions.

Shortly after leaving camp, the trail crossed Red Eagle Creek at the confluence with Hudson Creek on a suspension bridge over a narrow gorge holding a stunning waterfall. The bridge, a seasonal one, was not yet in place. The CDT for some odd reason crosses Red Eagle Creek and then croses back again in less than a mile. So, we bushwacked up Hudson Creek through the fire scarred forest with it’s thicket of downed, charred trees and new understory. We found a well used game trail and crossed over Hudson creek in a fast flowing, crotch deep, very cold ford. After bushwhacking up a prominent ridge we finally regained the CDT. A very time consuming mile of off-trail travel.

Just as we re-joined the CDT we saw a black bear running away. As the rangers suggest, as we hike we are making noise to alert the bears to our presence. We clap, talk, and whistle, but mostly we sing, since music “hath charms to soothe the savage beast”, or at least to certainly scare them away. This bear was a tough critic - judging from the speed of this hasty retreat our off-key efforts are VERY effective.

Triple divide pass lies just below Triple Divide Peak - the point which divides three major watersheds - the Pacific via the Columbia River, the Atlantic via the Missouri river and Gulf of Mexico, and Hudson Bay via the Nelson River. Water falling on top may part ways with it’s nearby droplets and travel very different journeys.

Climbing towards the pass out of Hudson Valley, the trail again disappeared under a long snow chute requiring kicking steps into soft snow and using an ice axe as a third, balancing, point for safety.

The bushwhacking, unbridged stream crossing, ice cold ford and snow chutes sure keep the “riff raff” out, at least most of them (although we made through). We didn’t see another person on the trail all day.

We did see wildlife, in some abundance, another sure sign of less frequent visitation. A white tail deer greeted us just out of camp. Then there was the aforementiond music-hating black bear, a ptarmigan heralded us at the pass, a hoary marmot was gatherng grass for food or nest, and numerous mountain goats and bighorn sheep were on either side of the pass.

Thunder clouds raced through the skies all day borne on some wild winds, but they kept moving on their way. On the descent, a seasonal waterfall dropped heavy sheets of water on the narrow trail. The steep terrain did not allow for an easy way around, so we donned rain gear and pack covers and raced through the icy shower. We hurried down the pass, crossing more step snow chutes to camp at Atlantic Creek. All in all, a tough but rewarding ten miles of hiking.

Approx miles 10.7

Thunderclouds darkened the morning sky. They came and went all day, adding drama to our crossing of Pitamakan Pass.

On our way up Cut Bank Valley, a trail crew just below Morning Star Lake was re-setting a footbridge, well two of them were anyway, while the other three were on a smoke break.

After Morning Star Lake, the trail switchbacks its way up towards Pitamakan Lake. Patches of snow finally became a blanket of white with the trail hidden somewhere beneath. The intermediate destination was clear enough, we needed to climb a ridge to Pitamakan Lake, circle around it’s outlet and climb another ridge to rightly-named Lake of the Seven Winds. So we did, all on snow, all without benefit of trail. Coyote and moose tracks suggested some good ridge walking routes. From Lake of the Seven Winds the trail, free of snow and full of wildflowers, switchbacks up a very windy (of course) slope to the pass. Ironically, flowers on these high slopes and passes have a big head start from those in the lower forests still under snow and likely to be so for sometime yet.

Pitamakan Pass was very windy, just as it was in Sept 2003 when we last visited it during a 3 day hike. At that time we gazed down on Pitamakan Lake and at the valley beyond imagining the day when we would be hiking the CDT via that route. That day came - today, and it was much like we imagined - windy, tiring and exciting.

We started down the south side of Pitamakan Pass enjoying the views of Old Man Lake and the valley. High on a hillside we watched an Elk graze and hustled our way into Camp.

The Two Medicine Lake car campground has several sites for hikers - convenient but not like the back-country. As we stepped across the footbridge into semi-civilization, a Park Ranger, in shorts, an ammo belt around one shoulder and a shotgun around the other came running towards us. Having no outstanding warrants or parking fees I wasn’t too worried, but still startled. A very quick conversation about trails and bears ensued, as he kept running and turned left at the fork where we had come in from the right - something about two bears feeding…but isn’t that what bears do for the 7 months of the year they aren’t hibernating? Bears and hikers have that in common - if you aren’t walking you’re eating, or sleeping, or pooping in the woods. No wonder many hikers feel a kinship to bears.

Approx miles for the day 15.1

Car campgrounds are usually noisy places - babies crying, kids running around screaming, drunken fireside chats with loud belligerent and boisterous people. They are places to avoid, even when camping with a car. We wanted to get an early start, so this seemed perfect. With quiet hours over at 6am, we figured we would have to be up and going not long after. Not today. The campground was quiet. Dead actually, not a creatured stirred except some robins in the underbrush. We had to wait until the alarms went off.

The trail climbs out of Two Medicine valley to a mountain known as “Scenic Point”, 2,000 feet elevation gain in 3 miles, with stunning views of the divide and nearby glacier-carved peaks unfolding the whole way. On the way up we met two tourists from Tulsa. They drove for two long days to visit Glacier National Park, and choose this particular hike because at the top the views turn east to the plains. They toted a camera/lens tripod of a size that the Carrot envied. At the top they turned the camera towards the hazy plains. The towering peaks and deep valleys on the other three sides seemed of little interest to the Tulsa tourists. It’s a pecularity, which I’ve never understood, that many people travel not to see those things that are new and different, but seek out those things that are familiar or most like “home”, whatever home is for them.

The trail drops off Scenic Point winding across ridges, through a delightfull canyon and across the table land towards the town of East Glacier, where beer and burgers lie. Our pace naturally quickened. The CDT is seldom marked as such, but through the park the trail was easy to follow, from its well worn tread and obvious route. The last two miles coming into town the CDT ran into a maze of horse trails, OHV routes and errant footpaths with no signs, markers or other pointers. Going on the theory that “all roads lead to Rome” (or in this case East Glacier) we tried to walk on the path of least resistance and ended up within just a few feet of the signed trailhead. Tired and thirsty, we found Pizza and Beer.

Approx miles 10.5

The CDT travels along the foot of Glacier Park’s most southern peaks from East Glacier to Marias Pass. The distance, 14.4 miles makes it an easy day hike, but not if you are loaded down with 9 days of food to get through “The Bob”. Like many hikers we have opted to hike with packs and one day provisions and hitch back into town from Marias Pass to spend the night, pick up our other supplies and start south through “The Bob” tommorow.

The guide book states: “This section has none of the grandeur of the more northern portions of Glacier National Park. The trail gets relatively little use and in parts is badly overgrown. Still it provides a servicable connection between East Glacier and the Continental Divide to the south of highway 2.”

Damned by faint praise, as the saying goes, so we had low expectations for the day. We were pleasantly surprised by a delighful walk.

Leaving East Glacier, we found a confusing path of roads, trails, “third world” shacks, agressive junk yard dogs, junked cars, jeep trails and horsepaths. (Note to other hikers: do not follow the guidebook; DO follow Jonathon Ley’s description on his map set.)

After this initial confusion and delay, we found a good trail and had a lovely walk in the woods and meadows, with wildlfowers and mountain scenery that would surpass many days on the Appalachian or Pacific Crest Trails.

Best of all, this was the first day of hiking where we could step across streams and keep our feet dry!

As we aproached Marias Pass, two coyotes crossed the trail not more than 60 yards ahead of us. Often on our trips we see coyotes in pairs. I take this as a sign of safe travels, as if these coyotes and their brethren are leading the way and watching out for us.

A few minutes later we arrived at Marias Pass. Usually we have good Karma with hitching a ride to town. It helps to have gray hair and to keep it short; it helps even more to have a long legged brunette Carrot…today was no exception. Within 5 minutes we had a ride that dropped us right to the door to our motel room in East Glacier!

Miles for the day - who knows, the guidebook calls it 14.4, the NPS signs say 15.2, Jonathan Leys maps put it at 14.8….it’s all about the same, and doesn’t really matter much. Another lesson of the CDT: don’t worry to much about being exact on such things, just worry about arriving at the destination safe and sound and let the numbers work themselves out….anyway, for the record I’m going with JL at 14.8

After a leasurely breakfast at the Two Medicine Grill, we donned our packs and took position on the Corner of Highway 2 and 49 holding our thumbs out towards Marias Pass. One local, shortly after we started, got out of her car across the street and hollered out that if we were still there after she had breakfast she’d drive us to the pass. Meanwhile, the tourists all avoided eye contact or just shrugged. A guy and his son came out of the cafe and offered that if we had rope to tie down the packs to the roof of their van we could pile in the back with the six of their family; we opted to wait. Another local offered up a ride if we were still there when she finished errands and finally a young couple, servers in the restaurant on their day off, stopped to give us the needed lift.

At Marias Pass, the lowest pass on the Continental Divide, an obelisk commemorates Teddy Roosevelt for his conservation efforts. (Transcontinental Highway 2 is also known as the Theodore Roosevelt Memmorial Highway).

South of Marias Pass, the route “designated” for the CDT follows the crest. That trail has not yet been built and, because of concern from native american tribes, it may never be built. A jeep trail goes up South Fork Two Medicine Creek. It’s closed to jeeps, but open to OHVs. This is the route preferred by the guidebook author and many CDT hikers. Meanwhile, in order to keep the CDT on a non-motorized trail, as much as possible, the Forest Service has contructed an “official” temp CDT route that goes up a dry ridge with no views, contours along and comes back down a dry ridge with no views. Extra miles, extra elevation gain/loss, less water, fewer views - nothing very desirable. BUT, it does avoid a few miles of OHVs.

Loaded down with food for 8 days, and interested in scenery and water, we opted for the river route. So did about 16 OHV riders. Their impact on the landscape, in a word - disgusting.

The trail crosses the stream about 15 times in 8 or 9 miles. Spring run off is diminishing so most fords were only knee deep, but a couple dampened the crotch. The stream was runing swift and clear. Until we got to the 7th crossing. There it was cloudy. The distant noise of yelling and engines became louder as we aproached the next crossing. When we arrived we found brush torn up, winches pulling smaller ATVs along, mud splattered men, machines and beer coolers. About a dozen of them. The stream was running a chocolate brown, making it hard to see our footing. As we forded, we had to feel our way along the bottom. But, this route is designated as open for OHV travel, including all the stream crossings. It may be legal, but that don’t make it right.

It’s not right, in my opinion, to be able to cause that kind of damage to either the stream or the public resource. I’m sure the fish would agree. I imagine the OHV rider who stopped and did not cross the very first stream crossing, but pulled out his fly rod instead, would likely agree.

A few miles later we ran into another 4 riders, the last one stopped to chat. He was a nice enough fellow, very friendly. We chatted with him awhile. Almost apologetically said that he usually rides his horses back here but this year the snow and water levels haven’t allowed him to get the horses out. I liked him, but just because he was nice doesn’t make it right either.

The trail showed signs that the four of them had made it through all 15 stream crossings, clear to the divide. Creating, along with other riders, many mud pits, ruts, tracks of uneven height, and general road widening. This kind of abuse isn’t “multi-use”; it’s about driving out other users. It’s about pushing agencies to re-route other users onto less desirable options. I sympathize with the plight of the amiable rider who stated, again almost apologetically, that this was about the last place they could ride around here. Perhaps there are better places, closed forest service roads, that are potential OHV trails, at least some that don’t involve so many stream crossings.

Aside from the roaring and whinning of engines, the muddied waters, mud bogs and other scars, the river walk was otherwise delightful. Really.

The views nice - this is a transition zone from the extremely rugged terrain of Glacier National Park to the merely rugged terrain of the Divide country through the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

As we approached the low divide where we would camp we passed a beaver pond, whose chief architect was out for an evening swim. I think I failed to mention that yesterday we spooked up a Goshawk from his perch on a log bridge in a mature Lodgepole Pine forest.

Our camp tonight overlooks several peaks which lie ahead, less formidable than those behind us. a relief.

Approx Trail Miles today 11.3

Dark clouds greeted us as we woke. Ominous, so much so that not even the birds were stirring. The early morning promise of a cold day was delivered. For the first time this trip I hiked in two layers of shirts.

We quickly came to Badger Guard Station, itself guarded by a herd of cows. (First cows on trail for this trip.) The jeep road went trough a barbed wire gate, designed to keep the cows on one side, with a sign clearly stating non-motorized users only. We were trading OHVs for cows; not sure if we we trading up or down. As it turned out, the OHV riders had been ignoring the sign, and judging by the ruts it was not just a few of them. So we had both - cows and OHV use of the trail.

We climbed the North Fork Badger Creek for several miles with ocassional views. Eventually we left the jeep road, crossed Badger Creek, picked up actual hiking trail tread, and left cows and OHV damage behind.

The trail climbed gradually until we crossed over Muskrat Pass, on the Divide and, for the first time this trip found ourselves on the west side of the divide, the pacific drainage.

Just before Beaver Lake the trail splits and a stock route circles above the lake while a more established trail drops needlessly below it. We followed the stock trail but it just died out before meeting up on the other side above Beaver Lake for the climb to a low, unamed pass on the divide. We followed an old unmaintained trail until it became a game trail and eventually just disappeared. Then we bushwhacked awhile through thickets and bogs and many fallen logs. For the first time this trip, I got out the compass and then the GPS. The topo maps on the GPS helped a good bit. We were close to the pass, but not quiet there - more bushwhacking and log jumping but with greater certainty. We found the well worn CDT trail at the top of the pass. There’s nothing like bushwacking for an hour to make you appreciate an established trail, even one with many ruts and difficult footing from years of stock use.

Back on the trail we came across Grizzly tracks in the mud - fortunately NOT soft and fresh, but dried and a bit older. BUT BIG - my whole foot was swallowed up by just the foot pad part of this track. First Grizz tracks of this trip.

We made camp just north of Badger Pass. The Carrot is fascinated by Badgers and hopes that the Pass’ namesake will show up.

For the first time this trip we saw NO other people all day.

Miles - longest day of the trip so far, 16.0 per guidebook, 17.2 per JL, same route. Felt more like 17+…first day of the trip over 17 miles…

Cold night last night, some of the puddles in the trail had ice on top this morning. Fortunately, the clouds were gone and the temps returned to someting expected in July - hot.

After a short jaunt across Badger Pass we followed Strawberry Creek on a long descent over well worn trails. The hooves of many horses had passed this way pounding an uneven surface.

Strawberry Creek was impassible just three weeks ago. A friend and fellow long distance hiker had got this far and turned back to Marias Pass rather than trying to cross it. A forest service trail crew said that the rivers had been running as high, or higher, than any locals could recall. They would not even attempt crossing Strawberry Creek, three weeks ago, on horseback. Although a lot of melt can, and usually does, happen in three weeks, crossing Strawberry Creek has been one big concern since the start. A concern made worse as we started seeing footsteps coming back up the trail this morning. But, today all three crossings were no more than knee deep.

We turned up Bowl Creek, the designated CDT, rather than pursuing the Clack Creek route recommended by both the guidebook and previous hikers. The alternate route required a ford of the South Fork Flathead River, which we were skeptical about, and didn’t want to hike a mile and half to only find out that we might have to hike back.

We camped at a crossing of Bowl Creek just below Sun Mountain Pass, but not before we incorrectly turned up the Bowl Creek Trail. The general direction and landscape seemed wrong, so we turned back after about a half mile. Part of the problem was that the signs had burned.

Most of the route along Strawberry Creek and all of the route along Bowl Creek was burned last year year - part of a very large fire which also had burned much of the trail south of Marias Pass for the first dozen miles. Re-growth of the understory has started. We came across an off-duty trail volunteer out picking Morels…..mmmmm……Morels. It’s a shame that the Carrot doesn’t like mushrooms, they would add nicely to our evening meals.

As we approached our intended campsite we came across the forest service trail crew, camped at Grizzly Park. They’re based out of Shaeffer Guard Station and deploy ten days at a time, out in the field. With the burn, there’s lot’s of work for them to do.

We hear that there are two other CDT hikers who are a day or two ahead of us, which would explain the pair of footprints we’ve been following since Marias Pass. We found matted down vegetation which would appear to be their campsite at Bowl Creek crossing.

Trail Miles for the day 15.1

Crossed over Sun River Pass, and spent the morning and first part of the afternoon walking through the same forest burn area we have been in. As with most fires the burn has created a mosaic and regeneration is variable. Trail crews have already been working and many sections of trail have short re-routes.

The burn has opened up some filtered views of the nearby mountains. The loss of canopy has opened up a lot of light and walking through these burns is much hotter and drier than the still green forested areas. Another phenomena of the burned are are the odd noises. One noise seemed to be something like a frog making a clicking sound (we were in damper areas when we heard this). The other sound was more of an incessant grinding and seemed to becoming from under the blackened bark, near a small pile of sawdust.

We came across a 9 person forest service trail crew out of Choteau, out on a ten day stint. We finally hit what these crews call “the green” - the unburned part of the forest. Much nicer walking. We followed “Open Creek” up a narrowing valley as it made a number of umapped switchbacks. At a trail junction beneath Kevan Mountain, we turned south and started up a high ridge encountering patches of snow not yet melted. We detoured past milky, glacial green Levale Lake. Continuing up the ridge, the snow cover got more frequent and deeper, slowing progress. The altitude, too, slowed progress.

We crested the ridge at 7,535 ft and then we hit “The Wall.” Spread out in front of us, the North Wall is geological extension north of the same formation known as the Chinese Wall. Sheer cliffs drop from the divide to the east creating a dramatic escarpement. NOW we are truly in “The Bob”. The last couple days have just been what you need to get through to be HERE. Walking on the east side of the Wall, late in the day, the light isn’t the best for photos, but the landscape is inspiring.

We droped down to a high alpine meadow/bowl area just south of the ridge and camped among Beargrass and Glacier Lilies at about 7,300 feet, our highest camp yet. The views from camp are stunning and very much up close and personal. At this elevation the evening is cooling off quickly and we head for the tent while the light is still fading on the high rock faces.

Trail Miles for the day 12.0 (although it seemed like more)

Sunrise on the Wall was as magnificent as we expected it would be. An ideal day to be walking in the early morning light. Slow going - taking all those photos.

The trail has been largely unsigned and unmarked. Even the trail’s line on the map is very general, including none of the many switchbacks. Descending one ridge we ignored the side trail to the creek and followed another in a series of switchbacks, until we were half a mile (and 300 vertical feet) down the wrong trail. It just seemed like we were dropping too low and in the wrong direction. A close look at the map and GPS confirmed my suspicion. Back up we went to follow the “side” trail.

When asked if he would like a glass of water, WC Fields notabley responded: “I never touch the stuff, fish pee in it.” Well, there’s a good reason to get drinking water from the high creeks coming straight out of the wall’s cracks - anything puddling up in the basins….well, Elk wallow it. They sure do.

We came across a ridge in our walk at the base of the wall and spotted about a dozen elk grazing and wallowing in the shallow waters. They were upwind and took off, continuing upwind, for the next ridge. There they scattered. But two young bulls would continue to lead our way along the wall, playing hide and seek for several miles. It was easy to know when we were near - just follow your nose. These elk had a strong and distinct odor, sort of like cattle but a little “sweeter” and more gamey.

For several miles we crossed through an old burn from 1988. Time and weather have bleached white the dead trees, standing like skeletons and leaving little of the landscape to imagination. The wind howls, whistles and whispers through these open basins, ridges and tall white tree skeletons. The souls of the trees survive; they wail and answer the wind with faint, but very human sounding, laughter, cries and chatter. Wind and trees join the constant babbling of the creeks in a wilderness chorus.

The 8 miles or so of walking along the wall was slow and tiring. Switchbacks, lingering snow, lots of divides, downed trees and time for photos combined to slow our pace. We didn’t reach Red Shale creek, where the trail turns away from thw wall, until almost 5pm. We needed to make some more miles, but knew our options for camping would be limited, until we turned back up Rock creek. Off we went at a brisk pace, first through “the Green” and then re-entering part of the 1988 burned area. Nine more miles and less than 4 hours later, with legs tired and numb from nearly constant motion, we found a decent spot to camp near Miner creek.

John, a CDT hiker from England, was already camped near the creek. He mentioned that a small group of other hikers are camped on the far side of the creek. We’ll wait till morning to meet them. Light is fading and nightime chores need to be done: I’ll set up a spot to hang the bear bag and make dinner, while the Carrot sets up the tent and the “nest”. We also need to get water and put on layers to keep the mosquitoes at abeyance.

Trail miles aprox 17.5

The air is cooler and more humid this morning, the sky is hazy with just a hint of smokey smell. We cross the creek and spend a few minutes chatting with the party of four women breaking camp. They’re on a week long trip through the Bob, heading partly the same way as we are but on a slower schedule.

The morning and early afternoon were a pretty nondescript valley walk, climbing a couple thousand feet back up to the higher country. At least we were enclosed in green - this was the first day with no burned area since Marias Pass.

We came upon a frantic female Grouse on the trail, hungry for attention, clucking, spreading it’s tailfeathers and generaly trying to attract us away from it’s tiny nearby chick.

John caught up to us and stopped just as we were finishing lunch. He had just seen a bear not far back on the trail.

South of MY Lake, we crossed a ridge and THE WALL came into view. That is the Chinese Wall. It’s Bigger, and therefore must be better, than the North Wall. It’s longer, taller, overall more dramatic. But it’s more than just a big hunk of rock. It’s a REALLY HUGE, big hunk of rock. Seriously though, it’s impressive beyond description with words or even photos. To appreciate it’s depth you must sit in front of it’s stillness and watch it come to life. At its northern end, we watched a herd of Mountain Goats grazing on the steep slopes of a grassy ravine.

We wanted to watch the wall, so we made camp on the first benched area we descended onto, close enough to watch the mountain goats. A young White Tail doe came out to inspect us. Deciding we were no threat she continued to graze on Glacier Lilys. While making dinner, another heard of mountain goats emerged from a high notch in the Wall decended to a narrow grassy ledge, grazed awile and disappeared into a series of high, narrow rock ramps. A Golden Eagle soared amongt he cliff faces and tops, undoubedtly looking for young Mountain Goat kids straggling behind the herd.

The Chinese Wall got its name, according to some locals, because of the “Chinese Faces” that can be seen in the wall. The Carrot read somewhere that it got its name because it is as awe inspiring as the Great Wall of China. It’s certainly a formidable barrier, and a huge attraction.

Nearby our camp we look up and see some of the rock faces. I’m not seeing the oriental look. But I do see a Lion with a regal nose, a thin looking Bill Cosby and, as evening wears on, the Pope, a scowling Cougar, and Richard Nixon come out to stare back at us.

The Wall lives in another dimension of time and it just can’t be appreciated even at hiking speed. It requires quiet observation to plumb its depths. If this iconic rock formation were closer to civilization it would, perhaps, be as well known as Yosemite. It certainly would have been photographed by Ansel Adams. But, as the guidebook author points out, we are 20 miles from anything resembling a road. Good. It takes effort to get here, on foot or on horseback. The kind of effort which goes along with quiet observation, not the car-door-slamming, quiet-destroying kind of quick look.

Our early camp near the northern end of the wall will give us a chance to walk along the east facing Wall in the early morning light. We also got to set the tent set up before rain comes. Felt a few drops on the trail, but now, as evening comes on, the skies are clearing. A yellow-orange moon waxing towards full rises over a ridge to the east. The Ground squirrel chatter quiets down as the Wall goes into a silent slumber.

Trail Miles for the day, 11.2 approx. Camped at 7,366

The morning came with crystal clear blue skies. As we walked along occasionally another face in the Wall would appear, but few as vivid as those near our camp. And no other part of the wall had as many faces so close together. Perhaps if we lingered longer more would have come out.

Walking along the wall is a bit like walking in a canyon, except that it’s one sided and there’s no river bottom. Snow and mud again slowed our progress. We came across the first group of horse-packers we’ve seen on this trip. Actually two seperate groups, 3 people and 6 horses in each group. Fourty Eight hooves churnin’ up the mud on the trail ahead. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against horse packers in this area or on this trail. We spoke with both groups and they were nice people enjoying the out of doors and the wonders of nature. One group was a family, and it was nice to see them out enjoying such a healthy activity! And horse packers have a long tradition of backcountry travel. In fact, as groups, and individuals, they have contributed greatly towards the efforts to preserve wild areas as well as build and maintain trails. For that, we hikers owe them a debt of gratitude. BUT, walking in the mud pits, ruts and dried pot-holes created largely by horse hooves is tiring, slow going and unpleasant. And restoration of the fragile alpine meadows, now turned into mud pits, cannot be achieved by merely closing areas to camping, while leaving them open still to heavy horse traffic. Further limits or restrictions would be required to achieve that goal.

Ryan - a Forest Service trail crew chief and Minnow, his Black Lab, caught up to us on a break. We had met him a couple days before on Open Creek. He’s on a 2 day hike to check up on his other crew out of Indian Point Guard Station. It’s quicker than hiking out driving around and hiking back in.

At midday clouds rolled in, threatening rain but delivering only sprinkles in the evening. We lingered over lunch and last views of the Wall before heading down to a series of forks of the Sun river. A pleasant walk through forest, with occassional views of the majestic peaks dotting the Bob Marshall Wilderness. We walked through the fringes of the Ahorn fire, another from last year. Mosaic patterns on the hillsides showed a great variety of heat intensity in the burn.

As we get closer to the Benchmark trailhad, the trail gets wider and shows signs of increased use. Around Indian Point, we met a father and his teenage daughter and son, from New Jersey, heading in on a five day backpack trip. They were struggling a little with heavy loads and tender feet, but were smiling.

About a mile or so from our intended campsite we came across a bear very intently sniffing and digging around in the grassy understory above the trail. He was about 80 to 90 yards away and through the Lodgepole Pines it was hard to say for sure whether he was an average sized brown colored black bear or a small grizzly. We never had a good look at the face and the shoulders were so busy digging it was hard to say what might have been hump or just rippling shoulders. We moved on without disturbing him and then started making noise lest he be interested in coming our direction. As we moved on down the trail we were also moving upwind and feeling like our 8 days without a shower would be handy to alert, as well as deter, him.

We passed a camp - one of the group of horse packers we had seen earlier. A little farther along we passed a backpacker’s camp and a nearby fly-fisherman, casting his fly rod in the Sun River to an evening hatch of insects. We made camp shortly after that, figuring the bear would have a lot more to check out, if he was so inclined, before he got to our slim pickings.

Miles for the day - aprox 17.0

This is our “going to town” day. We are headed to Augusta, MT, with gusto! So we’re tripping down the trail with cheeseburger dreams and we’re thinking milkshake madness…. mmmmm ….breakfast with bacon, and endless cups of coffee…..The Carrot’s trail appetite is kicking in, so town should be interesting.

But we are’t so distracted, or driven, by thoughts of food that we fail to notice the trail’s delights. Purple Lupine shimmering in the morning light appear fringed in silver. The Ahorn Fire from a year ago has left large swaths of Lupine and other wildlfowers, along with a strong understory of vibrant green grasses.

The trail, as we get closer to Benchmark, is more and more heavily used. A Forest Service Trails Crew is on their way out, after a 10-day work stint, as is a string of pack animals with their supplies. Outfitters are on their way in with a string of horses carrying hay for a remote base camp. Families come and go on horse and on foot. Fly fishermen are on course for their favorite hole. The trail gets so much use it’s wide enough to drive a car on, but you aren’t allowed, and fortunately no one has.

We make it to the road end at noon, but there’s not much right there, just a few cars at the trailhead parking. We walk a couple miles or so down the road, so we are beyond the 2 car campgrounds, various outfitter parking areas, forest service admin site, landing strip and Benchmark Wildernes Ranch. It sounds like there would be a lot of traffic, but there isn’t.

A couple in a Suburu with a canoe on top pass by and give the universal shrug for “no space”. Three forest service rigs go by. Two of them stop and apologetically explain that they’d like to give us a ride but would risk losing their jobs if they did. A half-dozen cars go by, but in the wrong direction - they are heading in. A Large SUV, loaded down with 6 adults stops and says they have no room (they don’t) but will deliver a message somewhere if we want. We thank them and say that we hope it doesn’t take us THAT long to get a ride. A couple in a Jeep Cherokee stop and say they are only going another mile to a small lake - we think they just feel bad about passing us up. Then just as they pull out, a pick up truck loaded with a dad, a young daughter and a couple of yapping dogs stops. No room in the cab, he says, but we can ride in the back. Great - we’ll take it - we’ve been waiting and hour and a half and this is the first vehicle which actually presents a possible ride, who knows how long before we would get another opportunity! (Note: in that 1.5 hours, no traffic came in or out of Benchmark Ranch.)

The bed of the pick up is in total dissarray and a tight squeeze, filled with two bags of cans, a cooler, several camp chairs, fishing gear, carpentry tools, including a large level and wood saw, various bars, poles and paint gear. Not one part of the truck bed’s floor is showing, so it’s uncomfortable to sit as we drive along bouncing up and down along the 30 mile gravel road to Augusta. In a mile we pass the Jeep Cheroke at a small lake, in 3 more miles we pass the Suburu at another lake. The sun is shining, the scenery is supurb, the dust swirls around the bed of the truck and in it’s “wake”, but they are mainly in the distance behind us, and, we are headed for cheeseburgers and beer - all is good!

After a hearty breakfast at Mel’s (in Augusta) with John Williams, a fellow CDT hiker, the Carrot and I hit the road to get a ride back to Benchmark. We had only walked to the middle of town, when an elderly couple getting into their packed Honda Civic asked where we were headed. We repplied “Benchmark” and mentioned we’d sure appreciate a ride if they were headed that way. A few minutes of repacking their backseat and stuffing their trunk and we were on our way.

The Rocky Mountain Front is an impressive sight from Augusta. Rolling plains, mostly ranchland, meet the steep mountains in a dramatic fashion. On the drive, we passed pronghorn Antelope, as well as Pelicans (no kidding) which are frequently seen at Nylon Reservoir.

The couple dropped us off halfway, as they took a side road to their cabin. A handfull of cars and two rides later we were back to the trail.

We started up the Straight Creek trail, a pleasant river walk with occasional views and a steady even climb. A Grouse Hen strutted to distract us as her 4 chicks all struggled to perches on low branches of a nearby tree.

Before long, the Carrot commented that Fred was back. Several days ago, in the Bob, the mosquitos started to drop off in numbers. But, the Horseflys quickly took their place. One Horsefly in particular, Fred, had followed the Carrot closely for the last two days in the Bob.

Evidently, Fred had been waiting for us to return from town. Now, loyalty in a Horsefly is not necessarily a good thing. All that buzzing alone is bad enough, but the Horsefly’s intentions are always questionable and not usually honorable.

At our first break Fred took a bite out of my calf - whether Fred was hungry, jealous, or just doing what Horseflies do, it didn’t matter. I put my foot down. On Fred. Fred is dead; long live Fred.

There’ll be replacements, there’ll be more Freds. The Carrot thinks many more - that they will swarm and seek vengence. I’m of the mind that they will heed my warning and their numbers will diminish.

We walked through an area burned last year, returning with a lush understory of grasses, Arnica, Cow Parsnip and others. Filtered views of many nearby peaks were opened up by the fire.

Continuing up the Straight Creek Valley, we passed through green forest and finally entered the area burned by the 1988 Canyon Creek fire. It burned about 250,000 acres, including about half of the Scapegoat Wilderness. At the time, it was the largest fire Montana had experienced since 1910. We will be seeing more of it in the coming days.

We are camped in nearly the highest reach of the headwater of Straight Creek. The valley has narrowed and the slopes are mostly the white stick figures of trees left by the ‘88 fire. Regrowth has brought back scattered trees, most 5 to 7 foot high.

As the sun drops down the sky is streaked with lomg, thin, white lines - just like a cartoon sun. They are interesting, but disappear when the sun finally sinks.

12.7 miles for the day.

As soon as the sun came up the tent went from “pull the hat over your face” cold to “pull the sleeping bag open” hot.

We continued on through the burned area, up and over Straight Creek Pass. Trees have started to come back, but aren’t nearly large enough to provide any shade. It’s a hot day and it’s hot walking in these burned areas. Very little relief until we find a remnant pocket of green and stop for lunch in the shade and a dip in Dearborn River. After scrubbing off a layer of salt and dust during the swim and then lounging over lunch in the shade, the long sleeved shirt feels good. The sun makes all the difference.

Leaving Deerborn River we climb a ridge alongside, and above, Blacktail Creek. We gain 1,700 feet in just 2 1/2 very dry miles, and cross a small spring just below the top of the climb. We drink well and fill the water bottles and water bag. In a few more yards we meet the top of the ridgeline and drop into a saddle right on the Continental Divide. There are more sheltered area nearby to make camp, but the evening is calm and clear and the views from the saddle are much more expansive. So we set up camp and make dinner as the day dissolves slowly into dusk and the surrounding peaks go from brightly lit, to the softer tones and shadows of evening.

Total miles for the day: 13.9

We camped on the divide last night, in a saddle at about 6,900 foot. I got up to pee once towards the Atlantic and later in the night I got up to aim for the Pacific.

The day started out with a steep ascent up a ridge forming part of the divide. And so the day would go, as we walked along the crest; lots of ups and downs. One ascent climbed 900 feet in just over a mile.

At times the expansive views and the general feeling of being on top, was reminiscent of the Pacific Crest Trail. But also some of the steep ascents, with minimal switchbacks, were reminiscent of the Appalachian trail. We would follow the crest of the divide very closly most of the day.

Water was scarce - one of the downsides of a ridge walk. We dropped way down off the divide into a small basin that holds a seasonal pond for water and lunch. After lunch we loaoded up the water bags and bottles as this was the first, last, and only water on trail all day.

Frequently there are switchbacks that don’t show on any maps and can cause confusion, especially if there are unmarked junctions with other trails that have no record.

Approachng the crest of the divide again, the trail came to one of these problem areas. The actual trailtread (perhaps because it’s relatively new, or perhaps for other reasons) did not correspond to the guidebook description, or the Jonathan Ley map. The junction with another trail was a surprise and it took the two maps, guidebook, the GPS, a old fashioned compass and 15 minutes of pondering to guess the correct choice.

Walking the crest gives a good perspective on where we have come from, where we are going, and the general landscape dynamics. The break between the grand peaks of the Scapegoat Wilderness and the more gentle ridges which lie ahead is dramatic.

We push to make miles to set ourselves up for getting to Rogers Pass by mid-day and we push because we need to get to a point where we can get water to camp. By our last rest break the sun is sinking and the deer are coming out. A buck makes a striking silhouette as he curiously watches us.

We finally arrive at Lewis and Clark Pass shortly after 9pm. Deb sets up camp, as I head about a half mile and several hundred feet elevation loss down an old dirt road to fetch water for this evening and tomorrow. Again we are camped right on the divide, not far from where Capt Meriwheather Lewis crossed the divide in July 1806, on his return trip. He wrote about the plentiful game in this area. Were he here today, he might write about the cows grazing.

Trail miles 16.5, but it seemed like 18 or 19.

The morning started with a brisk climb, under cloudy skies, of about 1,000 feet over about a mile. Back up and over rocks and wildflowers to the crest, grassy ridgelines and expansive views. We rolled on like that with long gradual ups and downs, occasionally punctuated with the steep, lung-gasping ascent or knee-jarring descent.

Overcast skies showed a line of dark clouds from which descended distant curtains of showers, creeping ever closer. Gusts of winds cleared the way and an occasional sprinkle just teased us for an hour or two. Finally rains came consistant enough to put on the pack cover and rain gear. Just in time for another climb, leaving me as wet inside the rain jacket, from sweat, as outside from the rain.

It was off again and on again with the rain, as it was with the rain jacket, until we arrived at highway 200 at Rogers Pass.

A couple of cars passed with no luck. Then, a large pick up truck hauling a trailer with several horses (in the trailer) and several teenagers (in the cab) stopped at the pass to adjust somthing or other. After a few minutes of making adjustments, and probably of sizing us up, they came over and offered a ride in the bed of the pickup - amongst several saddle bags, pack boxes and an old dog named Zip. With rain just tapering off and more on the way, it was a gamble.

Many are the joys of riding in the back of a pick up, in the mountains, on a warm sunny day. But, it takes a long distance hiker, intent on lunch in town, to choose the back of a pick up with rain on the horizon. We hopped on board. A few miles before town the clouds burst again. Sitting right behind the cab, hurtling down the highway, the rain flew overhead and around us, and was streaming down the front of the trailer a few feet away - but we were dry as a bone. Until we stopped.

Lincoln has everything a hiker would want - several eateries, a decent grocery store, a laundrymat, a library with internet and 4 motels. All full with fisherman and highway construction/maintenance crews. We finally finageled the last room in town (at 3pm in the afternoon) when the carpet cleaner from Missoula didn’t show. Between checking out rooms and laundry we missed the opportunity to get online at the library, but we ate well and enjoyed more rain showers from the comfort of the last motel room.

Miles - 8.0

Getting a ride back to the trail took longer than expected, much longer - we waited for almost 2 hours to get a ride the first 4 miles and then waited another 2 hours for a ride to the pass. Finally a local couple stopped and drove us past their place, all the way to the pass. They stopped, they said, only because of the sign we made and the fact Deb was a woman.

Leaving the pass we climbed 1,300 feet on sometimes steep switchbacks with the added weight of food packed for the next four days and three quarts of water for the dry trail ahead. We regained the crest of the divide and started back on the roller coaster of views.

Afternoon clouds rolled in and rolled out, looking several times like it would all blow over and clear off. It would clear, but then new clouds would form again from out of nothing. Sometimes mountains make their own weather.

We had hoped to make it as far as the saddle above Canyon Creek, about 9 miles or so in. We took a break at a high point with a commanding view ahead at the last 3 miles. Our route would be along the broad exposed crest and climb over some locally prominant peaks. Dark clouds let loose some sprinkles along with the promise of more. Thunder and lighting were in the distance still, but closing in fast, along with a curtain of water. The high ridge was not where we wanted to be during a lightning storm. We dropped into the next saddle and then off of it a bit to a large stand of stunted trees, but at least they were taller than our tent. We found a sloping but flat spot to make camp. Short of our goal and short in water, but safer.

Two storm cells moved through, lots of flashes of lightning, some so bright you could see them through the tent, some sounded very close. Occassioanally strong gusts of wind rocked the tent, but the stakes held. Heavy rain mixed with small hail kept a racket going. At one point I thought I heard an olde Englishman out yelling something about trading his kingdom for a horse. Personally, I would have held out for at least a sturdy cabin. But, we each have our own ways for ridin’ the storm out.

After the rain, with darkness falling fast, we fixed a quick dinner, sipped some carefully portioned reserves of water and turned in for a sliding-down-to-the-end-of-the-tent slumber.

Miles -about 6.7

By morning the storms had spent themsevles completely, leaving us with a sunny, but cool, ridgewalk. Throughout the day we would see evidence of gullywashers from last night’s storm, areas of the trail where loose debris including small rocks had been pushed aside by rushing water.

Between delayed rides and storm delays we did not make very many miles yesterday - so we will have to turn in big days today and tommorow to get to McDonald pass by Saturday afternoon.

After a couple of miles with expansive views, we entered the “lodgepole tunnel”. Still on the crest, but heavily timbered for most of the rest of the day, punctuated by the occasional patch of lupine, or a rabbit, deer or grouse.

We crossed Flescher Pass, and took a long lunch break. Our first source of water since leaving Rogers pass yesterday was off trail, .4 mile down the east side of the pass.

Trying to make up for lost time from yesterday’s delays, we trudged on throught the Lodgepole Tunnel. The trail picked up and followed an old jeep road which turned into a better gravel road that came out at Stemple Pass.

We paused for a break, then trudged on. The sun was setting and an evening cool was coming on as we got water from the very headwaters of Poorman creek. As there was no place flat nearby, we trudged on. We continued past an old dilapidated miners cabins, past a grazing allotment complete with cattle and finally found a flat, cow free spot to pitch the tent. I’ve nothing against cows mind you, some of my favorite burgers are made from them - I’d just rather not share my campsite with them or their bovine by-product.

And they’re not the only creatures I prefer to camp away from. Not far from here, near Lincoln, an 800 pound grizzly, the largest ever killed in Montata, was hit by a car about a year ago. It’s on display at the forest service office in Lincoln. I’d rather not share my camp with that grizzley either.

Ted Kazinski, aka the Unabomber, lived in a simple cabin near Stemple Pass, not far from our camp and just outside Lincoln. It’s easy to picture him going stir crazy, cooped up in a small cabin surrounded by Lodgpole pines and winter drifts of snow, and cows. The unabomber is another creature I’d rather not share a campsite with, but he’s locked up anyway.

Bear or unabomber - both probably encountered lots of people without creating any problem. But both have that hidden potential danger. They are both fierce creatures, best avoided if possible.

We make dinner in the dark tonight, a result of a long day of hiking. Covered 23.2 trail miles, our longest day on this trip, so far.

From our camp to Dana Spring, the first thirteen miles of our hike today was a roller coaster trail, sometimes steep, with often inspiring views and a lot of elevation gain.

From the top of one set of cliffs we watched a hawk fold it’s wings back and nose dive, whistling past us, just for fun. It caught an updraft, circled a couple of times and repeated the performance. It took us almost 8 hours to reach Dana Spring.

We tanked up on water at Dana Springs and ate a late lunch. Fom Dana Springs things changed - the CDT follows a forest service road, gently rolling along near the crest. But we have transitioned from the wilder morre rugged terrain to more gentle countryside. Not all miles are equal.

The guidebook calls this stretch “pastoral”. I’ve known those who would call it the “sacrifice” lands. Views of nearby clearcuts, laced with roads designed for industrial logging and / or mining. Grazing allotments large enough and permanent enough for frequent cattle guards, piped springs and occasional holding pens. Not the same as wilderness walking - not all miles are equal.

Yes, we need some lands that produce timber, beef and metal; and some of the lands near the divide are ideally suited for these purposes. But….we should not believe the fantasy that the divide is one long corridor of wildands. Actually it’s more like a cross-section of the american intermountain west.
It’s always still the CDT, but the miles and scenery aren’t the same. They’re not equal.

The grades are much easier on the stretch after lunch and our total elevation change is a lot less. We cover 9 more miles in about 3 1/2 hours - the miles are not equal.

We’re closing in on highway 12 and McDonald Pass. We camp in a no-name saddle about 14 miles from McDonald pass. We can see city lights in the valley. Off in the distance, sometimes to the east and, sometimes to the west, we hear the low rumble of the trains and their lonesome whistles, as they climb the tracks and cross rural roads approaching the Mullan tunnel.

We share the pass with telephone lines. Overall, our sense of remoteness is shrinking fast.

Miles for the day 22.4

We hike alongside more Cows and climbed more peaks. Moo and more Moo. Pastoral!?! Heck no! Pasturized and synthesized and trying to get climtized (to the elevation) is more like it. We’ll adapt.

A slight detour at Mullan Pass, where I looked at the map too quickly and went to the right of the mountain, held us back some. The trail goes left of the mountain; the prudent hiker, upon seeing his mistake goes back - to correct it - we go forward - Always forward - never go back, take no prisoners, never retreat, the adventure unfolds as it should, blah, blah, blah….so after crossing under two barbed wire fences, consulting the maps, guidebook and GPS, whacking some bush and then whacking it some more, we finally regained the trail. But, we did get to see some clear cuts that no other hikers ever get to see……

Back on the trail, we ran into a northbound hiker, the first actual backpacker we have seen actually on-trail sinc 7/17. ZiggZagger - we hiked for a short while with him on the PCT in 2004. He will finish his CDT hike at the Canadian border in early- to mid-August.

After a final 1,500 foot climb we crested a mountain peak with several communications antennae on the top. The peaks are ideally situated for such use, as are many peaks high on the divide; some peaks will be put to use for various things that are not typically associated with wilderness. That’s OK; we have diverse needs and we are shrinking the areas for potential use. But, this is one more example of how the CDT is not one long wildlands corridor; in fact, it emphasizes the need to preserve what is left of it.

As we aproach Highway 20 we hear the traffic from about 3 miles away. The vrooommm of cars pierces many parts of silence. This is, by far, the busiest road we have crossed so far. But cell reception is good, we call our friend John Gatchell and within 20 minutes we are vroooming down to a lakside swim and the delights of Helena.

Trail miles about 14.5

After we made a quick visit to the Montana Wilderness Association office, John dropped us off at MacDonald Pass shortly before noon.

Acording to the historical marker at the pass, Constant Guyot built a toll road over this pass in 1867. And Cromwell “Bird Boy” Dixon earned a $10,000 prize as the first aviator to fly over the Continental Divide, which he did somewhere near this pass in September 1911.

The walk south fron the pass was very pleasant, rolling hills, occassional views mixed with meadows and forest. But much of the day was spent walking forest service roads, the official route, while an actual trail awaits construction. Road walking is tough on the feet and leaves little room for inspiration, mostly the mind wanders.

I began pondering the Soy Milk we had as part of breakfast. Such a versatile plant, soy - we enjoy roasted soy “nut” snacks on the trail, and edamame is a treat; of course soy sauce livens up many a dish, and tofu and tempeh have their place in many meatless dishes. Soy Milk aka “Silk” provides a lot of nutrition with none of the lactose problem. Just think what Soy oil might be like. Like “Silk” for soy milk would they call soy oil “Soil”? Instead of “extra virgin” would the top of the line, the very best “soil” be called “top soil”? How would a food product with that name sell? Imagine a restaurant menu featuring “Herb crusted fresh fish sauteed in top soil”. Well, eventually most all trail pondering comes back around to food.

The walk came back to trail, albeit briefly, where the Carrot found the first ripe wild strawberries - very tasty. And there were a number of Mule deer, each one taking a quick look at us and an even quicker exit.

We kept a good strong pace and took few breaks. Despite missing a turm at one of the road / trail junctions and meandering around the wrong meadow, we were able to make it to Ontario Creek and enjoy a nice flat campsite nearby the creek.

Miles for the day 18.0

Slept in, but the body still needed rest. As happens often, we stayed up later in town and return to the trail needing to sleep.

Long climb out of Ontario creek, but eventually the trail leveled out and we rolled along alternating between trail tread and jeep tread. Surrounding us is a forest of mostly young Lodgepole pine and an understory of Whortleberry. Occasional ripe Strawberris continue to delight The Carrot.

We entered the Little Blackfoot Meadows proposed wilderness area and took an alternate walk down to the meadows and up a creek basin - our first walk along water in well over a week. We lunched in the shade near a delightful creek; unfortunately, so did the mosquitoes.

The valley seems remote, and we are told the upper reaches are a likely Grizzley Bear denning site. We haven’t seen a soul since seeing a couple of day hikers just south of MacDonald pass yesterday. Our feeling of solitude is broken only by the tire tracks on the trail from motorcycles, who aren’t supposed to be in this area.

We return to the crest and the trail follows the divide. Here the divide is mostly forested, with an occassional meadow. The slopes are gentle and there are marshy pockets amongst the meadows. The water in the marshes is brackish and liberally laced with Elk sign - not good for drinking, but excellent breeding ground for hordes of hungry mosquitoes. They follow us closely as we walk faster and faster. We’re unable to out walk them. When we need to stop and consult the map in an unmarked meadow, we first pull out the deet, then read the map quickly and move on.

We gain a dry ridge, forested but with a light breeze and fewer mosquitos. It’s a bit lumpy, but light is fading, so we’ll make do and make camp.

Miles - approx 18.1

We awoke to the sound of Elk walking nearby in the woods, hooves crunching fallen tree limbs, and then bugling their “good morning” greetings to each other and to us. As we ate breakfast several Elk cows and their calves wandered nearby, until they sniffed the air, detected us and ran. The Carrot felt that they came and put on the show to honor her on her birthday.

We walked along through the woods, passed the ghost town of Leadville, climbed to the divide and enjoyed occaional views of the valleys and mountains beyond. We crossed back into cattle country, which at least brought us to some developed natural springs.

A cold front moved through last night leaving a few sprinkles and noticably cooler temperatures today. So the open ridge walking was cool enough despite the lack of shade. Most all the day was spent one one kind or other of road or jeep trail or former road. Very little actual trail tread. Still some nice views, the usual wildflowers in bloom. There was the occassional cow, a couple of deer, 3 trucks, 2 motorcycles and 3 ATVs, all day, but no hikers.

Miles - 17.5

Mostly a roadwalk day - on roads all morning and afternoon.

Trudge, Trudge, Trudge past cows and more cows, power lines, forest service campsites, and private cabins. Between barbed wire fences for much of the route, keeping us out or keeping cows in. Across Interstate 15, frontage roads and power lines. Civilization is creeping closer.

The feet and legs really take a beating with so much road walking and mine are sore and tired, especially the soles of my feet and my calves.

We finally hit a trail in early evening, after about 16 miles of the road walking. Fairly new trail, just a few years old. Much different than most CDT trail, this section uses many switchbacks and a low grade to climb the mountain. It was nice to be back in the forest. Unfortunately there were no views, except an occasional pocket of high elevation marsh or meadow, which should have held moose, but only turned out mosquitoes.

We pushed on late to get up and over the mountain and to get some miles down. Dropping slightly from the top we found a creek, the water was only slightly yellow-brown, the color of water in many creeks the last few days. We filled our bottles and hoisted the sweaty packs to press on as the sun set. A cool breeze sent a chill through me as the damp pack hit the sweaty back. Hustling down the trail, on a steady side slope, we found a small flat “bench” area above the trail and made camp. An occassional breeze, and a dab of deet kept the mosquitos at bay. We cooked into the darkness and watched the stars come out. Through a screen of lower hills, the distant lights of Butte also came out.

The night breeze is warm, much warmer than last night at the same hour. Nonetheless we head for the tent. Some of life’s most pleasurable moments are the simple ones - after a long, tiring day, it’s a real pleasure to lie horizontal, on flat ground, with a cushion of pine needles and sleeping pad, stetching out the legs, wigglng the toes, inside a tent beyond the buzzing of mosquitoes outside, on a warm summer’s night.

Miles for the day - 21.7

After a few miles of older trails through meadows and forest, we found ourselves back on roads. Jeep roads at first, gradually improving in condition.

We found ourselves on a ridge above Delmoe Lake with the guidebook describing one route and the maps going in a different direction. Even the exact point of departure was uncertain. They would not come back together for a dozen or so miles. The mapped route seemed more straight forward, so that is what we followed. It involved a bushwhack down the ridge, but even that seemed better than the maze of OHV routes.

Until the fall. My foot caught a rock and my downhill momentum carried my to the ground. I twisted and rolled as best as I could, so that my right side and the side ofthe back took the brunt of the fall, but the side of my face thwacked the ground hard enough to scrape and jar the neck. Only a couple scatches, whic actually was pretty lucky.

We made it down to the road around the reservoir and picked back up road walking. A long, hot, dry 10 miles, with barely a quart of water each. The only creek which still had water was a stagnant brown with that fetid “marshy” smell. A number of cars, pickups and ATVs whizzed by ont heir way to recreate at the lake, raising a cloud of dust each time. We drank sparingly, conserving what little water we had.

By the time the road approached I-90 at Homestake Pass we were parched. Fortunately, only a third of a mile off trail, there is a Forest Service Picnic area near the Pass, with water. There’s no place like Homestake Picnic area for the tired and thirsty - nice cold well water and picnic tables.

We crossed I-90 on an overpass, our second interstate highway in 2 days, and picked up new trail to return to the crest of the divide. About 3 and a half miles in there’s a broad saddle where we made camp. The whine of the highway is muffled but can still be heard, feeling very out of place.

Today we did aout 21.4 miles. Over the last five days we have averaged a little under 20 miles a day. We have done this so that we can set ourselves up for a short hike tomorrow (about 5 miles) in hopes to get in before the Post Office in Butte closes. Since it’s Sat, they’re only open till 1pm.

The neck is stiffening up from the fall, but hopefully some advil and some rest will help.

Up early to get our 5 miles in as quick as we can to get to Pipestone Pass, to get to town. With trail tread so new the surveyors stakes are still showing, the walking was easy. The views were nice and a cool morning made for a very pleasant hike.

Unsure how long it might take to get a ride we hustled to the pass. Pipestone pass is only about 8 miles from the edge of town, but Butte is the largest town near the CDT, very spread out and potentially one of the most challanging for getting in, out and around about for chores. Getting to town is the first half of the challenge, the other will be getting to the post office which is off the beaten track, a mile from pretty much aything else of interest. And it is Saturday, so their hours are limited 10am to 1pm. We wanted to make sure had plenty of time and arrived at the Pass shortly after 10am

We had not even had time to really get organized (put on a clean-ish shirt) and walk the couple hundred yards from where the trail comes out to the actual top of the pass, when the second car stopped, gave us a ride into town and detoured to drop us at the post office’s front door! You just never know how things like this will turn out.

But Butte is a large town, so the post office is large and not accustomed to dealing with hiker general delivery type mail. After 4 requests and two personnel we managed to find all the boxes and letters we expected. We walked the mile through the residential section to the “center of everything not in uptown” aka Exit 127 (of interstate 90) and Harrison ave) and found a room at the Butte War Bonnet hotel, checked in, showered up and ready to get some lunch by a little after noon.

We managed to get chores done (including laundry at the “Suds and Fun” a Laundromat/Casino) between downbursts of some serious rain showers. It’s nice to be in town and not on the trail when it rains. We’ll relax tonight, enjoy the hot tub and take a zero day tommorrow for more rest and to sort out groceries and the rest of our resupply.

Trail Miles - 5.0

We were fortunate to have learned about the Northern Rockies Outdoor Center before our trip. Cindy and Kate extended a warm welcome when we arrived in Butte and eagerly agreed to help us out by providing a ride back to the trailhead at Pipestone Pass.

Newly constructed trail made the hiking much more pleasurable, better underfoot, more shade, scenery, sources of water. Except for a couple short connectors, we were on trail for the whole day. The Butte Route is getting better. Clouds kept the day cooler, but never threatened rain. My kind of clouds.

Nice new trail - so new that neither the guidebook nor Jonathan’s maps had any detail for a section of about eight miles. Fortunately the trail was obvious enough and well enough marked that we had no navigational problems.

And, as the day turned to evening, more wildlife. An Elk cow was grazing in a meadow, oblivious to our passing; a Mule deer cow was startled to see us and bounded away.

Late in the day, we rounded one bend and came upon a young Black Bear and two cubs off a short distance, heads down in the tall grass, grazing very intently. The cubs were hanging fairly close to the mom as she was busy eating. The cubs were more interested in playing than eating. One spent a lot of time rolling in the grass, lying backside down, stretched out and pulling itself forward. The bear essentials to happiness - food and back scratching. We watched, snapped a few photos and quietly moved on so as to not disturb, or startle them. They never showed any awareness to our presence………

These animal encounters would have been far less likely, and certainly less interesting, had we been on roads instead of trail.

The clouds cleared off and we continued on, putting a few more miles between the bear feeding grounds and our campsite.

18.2 miles

Shortly after leaving camp, we came across a crew of Americorp volunteers doing some routine trail maintenance. They’re part of a large contingent from Missouri woring on various parts of the CDT in this part of Montana.

The few creeks we passed on the trail were marshy, muddy and/or stagnant. The new trail tread soon ended and the route turned back into a road walk. We could see and hear I-15 in the distance. Meanwhile, the walk was hot, dry and dusty. No shade. Cow country, so creeks were dried up, or fenced off and fetid from cattle. As we got closer to the interstate we passed a couple of agricultural drainage ditches and kept walking. We passed under the highway, followed the frontage road, turned and kept walking, longing for water and for shade, but with neither in close sight.

Then, a pickup truck passed us, pulled over and the driver got out, curious about where we were going and whether we need anything.

“Some water would be nice”, I said.

Frowning, the man replied: “I’m afraid I don’t have any water, but I don’t suppose you two would want a beer?”

The left and right brain began bickering. The right brain cautioned that alcohol will actually dehydrate you quicker and end up making you thirstier. The left brain simply said “beer”. The right brain pointed out that alcohol would make you feel lethargic and it would be harder to continue walking. To which the left brain pointed out - BEER! The right brain tried a couple more logical points about the hot sun, long road etc, which I can’t quite remember because the left brain started chanting, “beer, beer, beer!!” Of course, the left brain’s vastly more compelling argument won out. And, as the brain’s neurons work so rapidly, at least when they’re sober, all this took place in a millisecond and I responded to the original question, seemingly without hesitation: “Sure, we’ll take a beer!”

He brought out three and we stood in the road chatting and enjoying this unexpected bit of “trail magic.”

By the time we had finished, our trail angel offered to go get water and return. Tossing us another beer for the road, we continued walking. By the time we got to the trailhead, he had come back with a couple gallons of water and a couple more beers. We found the shade of a large tree, took a late lunch and a long break. And drifted off into a short siesta, with the right brain singing a lullaby of “I told you this would happen.”

The trail at this point starts a long climb on an old jeep road, returning to the forest. We kept a good pace going, enjoying the more shaded trail. We topped out and started rolling along near the divide. The afternoon became evening.

We came across a small black bear cub on the trail. He saw us, turned and ran off into the brush. Not sure of where momma bear was, we started talking loudly, so that she would know we were there. Her head popped up above the tall grass, helping us to be sure we wouldn’t get between her and the cub. Just then, the other cub jumped out of a nearby tree. Soon, all three bears scampered off, perhaps in search of Goldilocks….

The trail crossed a grazing allotment and started to climb again. Passing by an Aspen Grove, we startled a cow Moose, who strutted away.

We kept climbing and eventually, with darkness starting to settle in, we came close to a small saddle and made camp. Right on the divide, with the city lights of Butte twinkling on and off in the distance.

I sat down and peeled of my shoes and socks. I’ve been using duct tape on my left heel. It helps reduce friction from the shoe, alleviating a Hot Spot. Usually duct tape works well. Usually. But that means not always. Today it didn’t work well. When I peeled of my sock, the duct tape peeled off to. And it pulled away a piece of skin about the size of a nickel, exposing the deepest, redish layers of skin. And it hurts. Not sure what I’ll do about it in the morning. For now, I am going off to sleep, dreaming about bears and beers and blisters…..

Miles for the day 23.4

As we were low on water, we deferred breakfast. Simply got up, patched the heel as best as I possibly could and headed out.

Let’s talk about blisters. The blistered area on the heel hurts. Basically it’s an open wound, raw skin, and no matter the bandaging or padding, any pressure against it is painful. You can limit the rubbing some, but every time your the foot hits the ground there is impact of some kind on the heel, and it hurts. This happened about 16,200 times today.

It sounds like a lot, because it is. But it’s no exaggeration. My hiking stride is a little under 3 feet. So I take about 1,800 steps a mile, about 900 with each leg. We hiked about 18 miles today. 18 x 900 = 16,200. Of course, it felt more like 16,300 or 16,400 steps of pain. But at least we did a “short” day of 18 miles, and at least it was only one heel, othwerise the “fun” could more than double.

The hardest part is to walk “normally”. The heel wants you avoid touching the ground and tries to force you onto your toes. But this is a fool’s temptation. It would result is calf tightness, knee pains, back pains and other problems. So it’s important to force the heel to suffer some now, for the overall good of everthing else. Easier said than done. Fortunately after a mile or so the body starts masking the pain; either dopamine or just plain stupidity but the brain makes it possible to forget what’s going on. Until you stop for a break and start the cycle all over.

Otherwise, it was a nice walk, mostly “trail”, which was more often than not an old jeep road, closed to traffic and shaded by lots of forest canopy. In some place there is “new trail” - mostly just blazes on trees without any trail tread. There were some views with occasional glimpses of the Pintler mountain, looking very imposing. They will be our route after Anaconda. Surprisingly there was more water today too, enough water. We kept a decent pace despite the heel blister and made it to state highway 569, a lonely country road by about 7:30pm.

We could see the road for the last 20 minutes and not a car had gone by in that time. We needed to get a ride into Anaconda to resupply and one of the challenges is that it involves taking highway 569 to state highway 1 and changing directions to a small town 17 miles away. The other challenge is very little traffic. Not wanting to get stuck at a lonely highway junction at night, we figured we’d give it the long shot and try for a half hour to get the right ride, then probably resort to camping by the road and resuming our efforts in the morning.

Well, just a couple minutes later, before we even had the packs off, a small car screetches to a halt in front of us and offers a ride all the way into Anaconda, dropping us off in front of the motel of our choice. By 9pm we were checked in, showered up and feeding on beers and burgers, a whole lot more delighful than the “emergency” Mac-N-Cheese we had been resigned to.

Miles 18, or 32,400 steps, 16,200 pounding down on the left heel….

At 8 minutes past 8am today which is August 8, 2008 or, if you prefer, at 08:08 08/08/08 we left our room in Anaconda bound for the trail, with high hopes for such a propitious moment. With all the “perfect numbers” (0) and infinity signs lined up how could the day not be perfect and how could it not linger so all day?

It started out so well, too. The motel owner drove us out of town to the highway junction, so our chances of getting a good ride were dramatically increased. The second car drove us to the trailhead and we were ready to hike before the last coffee in the travel mug was finished.

Low lying clouds, or high flying fog, clung to the pass and the nearby hills to the west. The sun rising to the east, rose to the moment and added its drama to the landscape. We walked through meadows dotted with young lodgepole pine, no trail tread in sight, but followed the topo map to where we would intersect an old ranch road. We were surrounded by the Hagan ranch, now a wildlife preserve manged by Montana Fish Wildlife and Parks. The Pintlers rose dramatically not too far in the distance, with clouds dancing all around. Except for the tall wet grass, which soaked us from toes to shorts, it was all very pleasant.

Of course, all these clouds finally won over the sun and the day turnd to dismal grey and a drizzling rain, all before lunch. The perfect moment didn’t last. By 01:55pm 08/08/08 we had donned rain gear and pack covers and found ourselves on a gravel road, with no views and construction trucks, off to lay concrete for some trophy home, roaring by. Numerology? I’m still a skeptic. Enjoying the perfect moment, even knowing it can not last? THAT, I do believe in.

If the perfect moment lasted forever, all moments would be perfect, which would become exceedingly ordinary and nothing would ever stand out as exceptional. We need to have the oridinary, the dull, the miserable, the bad and the ugly, to ever appreciate the good, the wonderful and the perfect. Of course, this is easier said now that the rain has stopped and the sun is back out shining.

After a late lunch under the sheltering branches of a large tree, we resumed our walk up the road to lower Seymore lake, gateway to the Anaconda Pintler Wilderness. At the lake, the road ended and the trail began. Our road walking days are behind us now, at least for a good long while.

The landscape is lush and side creeks are frequent as we follow the trail up the narrowing valley. It’s nice to have such frequent opportunities to sip cool, clear mountain water. The clouds are all but gone and the sun shines in patches through the forest canopy. Not enough to dry all the wet brush, but a nicer outcome to the afternoon than we anticipated a few hours earlier.

We come across several cow elk with calves. They become agitated and scatter in several directions. One lingers for a better look at us, but bolts when I point a camera at her - instincts that may serve her well.

The climb gets steeper as we get deeper into the valley. Eventually we level out and arrive at the basin which holds Upper Seymore Lake. The lake is a popular destination, so we are not surprised to smell the smoke from a campfire as we get closer. But there are plentiful places to camp, so we move on around the lake a little farther from the two fisherman who are already there.

The lake is ringed by rugged mountains, mostly cliffs. Their images are reflected in the lake. Rising fish dimple the surface and two ducks cruise by. Their wake makes the reflected cliffs ripple. A few clouds wander around the peaks and a quarter moon rises over the mountain to complete the scene. Unsure of whether the clouds are strays or the vanguard of evening showers, we hurry to get the tent up and dinner made. Since we arrived at 8:08 pm, and it’s stil 08/08/08, we aren’t surprised by another perfect moment, but we know it won’t necessarily last long. We settle in, ready for whatever the night and next day might bring.

Miles 20.8

Actually the Pintlers are here and they’ve been coming for a long time. While walking on the ridges around Butte, we had views of the Pintlers from many places. The closer we would get the larger they would loom. In fact they created an imposing facade. And many local people we met would extol the virtues and beauty of the Pintlers, so they loomed large in our imaginations as well.

Yesterday, we arrived at the Pintlers portal, Upper Lake Seymore; but today we finally arrived at the crest of the divide in The Pintlers, beginning a stretch of ridge walking which will take us through the Pintlers and beyond, all the way to Yellowstone.

The CDT reaches Goat Flats, on top of the divide and, at 9,400 feet, the highest point on the trail so far. The feeling of being back amongst “real” mountains is strong. Nearby peaks jut into the clouds, fragile alpine plants blanket the passes, deep, glaciated valleys seperate sheer walls of rock. The CDT follows the divide fairly close, deviating around the more technical ridges, dipping into lake basins and climbing again to ridgeline passes. The divide itself follows no rules, except that water on one side goes to the Pacific and water on the other ends up in the atlantic. We found ourselves doing a lot of up and down today, over 4,500 feet of elevation gain. Some of the views were simply stunning.

The weather remains unsettled and we dodged several thunder showers. The sky would be clear, then cloud up quickly. A few rumbles later some raindrops would fall and we would head for the sheltering embrace of low lying tree branches. The rain would pass and the skys clear off completely. This pattern repeated itself four times. The last cloudburst included some pea size hail. We waited on a couple of these to make sure we could safely ascend and cross the next pass.

Forward progress slowed from both the unnexpected breaks as well as all the photo opportunities that such dramatic clouds bring. We struggled against fading light and a final 1,000 foot ascent to make it to Warren lake. He guidebook author describes Warren lake as the nicest lake along the CDT in Southern MT. We were as anxious just to find a decent campsite as we were to check out the accuracy of the lake’s rating.

Dinner by moonlight again. A not so bashful deer wandered around our camp, while a salamander slithered into the tent until properly escorted out.

Miles 18.1

A windy breeze kept a chill to the morning, but dried things out. A large weasel bounded across a log not far from camp, urging us on as we packed up to continue our trek.

The day was much the same as yesterday, more ups and downs, including some steep stretches, more clouds (threatening, but no rain), more mountain passes, and more stunning scenery.

Lupine lead the way up all the passes along with a supporting cast of many other wildflowers, notably Yellow Columbine that has purple highlights on some petals and Indian Paintbrush as vividly red as we’ve ever seen.

The top of Rainbow pass was guarded by a young Bighorn Sheep ram. He ran away after we got close enought to get a good whiff of our “scent”. After a knee jarring, calf tightening descent we had lunch at Johnson lake. As we arrived we saw a couple of backpackers taking the non CDT route on the other side of the lake. During our late lunch, the clouds thickened and the temps dropped, as if a front had moved through. Thankfully still no rain.

A long, grinding pull out of Johnson lake brought us to Pintler pass. On the way up we encountered two northbound hikers, Curly and Annalisa, retired women hiking the CDT in sections. They intend to finish the CDT next year, completing their “triple crown” - the CDT, AT and PCT.

Descendng from the pass to Pintler Creek, we passed a youth group of 7 or 8 headed for Oreamos Lake, and heard about another group of 11 or so camped at Pintler Creek. My but the Pintlers are popular today! We got to Pintler creek, got water and headed back up.

After our third big climb of the day we regained the high country and came to a rolling plateau, just below the divide and above Elk Park. The clouds had cleared off completely. We camped just southeast of the divide, amongst a thinly spaced grove of gnarly old Fox Pine trees, at about 8,800 feet, our highest camp yet. With the sun already down behind the divide, the clouds cleared off and at our high elevation the temps dropped quickly. We ate dinner, enjoying the late evening light and the stars and quarter moon, but not lingering long. After the last bite from the cookpot we hurried into the tent, realizing that in just a couple weeks the cooler temps of fall will be upon us.

Miles 14.0

We got an early start and had a cooler morning. It was the first time for bringing out the gloves and polypro bottoms to walk in. And it took a couple hours to warm up enough to take them off.

The trail followed the divide very closely, which is possible now because it has become more rounded. The ridge upon which we camped last night marks the end of the hgh peaks of the Pintlers and the start of the roller coaster of ridges that we will follow to Chief Joseph Pass. The transition is dramatic; as quickly as they soared into view, the Pintlers now fade into the distance.

Along with the change in terrain, the views change too. Instead of “in your face” towering peaks, passes, cliffs and ridges, we now see wide open spaces, distant mountain ranges. To the west we see the Bitteroots, to the south the Deerlodge mountains and to the southeast are the Pioneers, somewhere more distant are the Spanish Peaks and Centennials. Closer in is the broad bottomland known as the Big Hole. We have a front row seat to it all. This is the land of rugged mountains and of BIG SKY.

We walked for several miles through areas burned in 2000. Skeletons of trees charred black gradually losing their bark and exposing wood bleached white. Wildflowers are back, but not much new tree growth. The trail can be easily lost in burned areas, but we managed to stay on it.

We met two northbound backpackers, from Colorado, out for a week in the Anaconda Pintler Wilderness. Further down the trail we came across a 4 person volunteer trail crew - their work was helpful and we thanked them for it.

One of the day’s pleasures was coming across, in several wet meadows, the uncommon Yellow Monkshood. Smaller in size than the purple Monkshood and easily overlooked, it was at first both familiar and yet strange.

Late in the day, the sky became quite filled with wispy brownish layers of haze that are most always woodsmoke. Atop the ridge we could trace them all the way back to a large, distant plume of smoke billowing skyward from somewhere in the Bitteroots in Idaho. While the smoke makes the views far less clear, at least the fire source of the smoke is nowhere near us.

We were on a big push for miles today, starting to hike just after 8am, with very few breaks and getting into camp just before 9pm. But we were slowed down by a couple steep sections and some other areas with no trail tread and/or rocky footing. Not as many miles as we would have liked, so we’ll need another early start tomorrow to get into Chief Joseph Pass by late afternoon.

Miles 22.2

Today was mostly about making miles. We needed to put on a big push to make the 20 miles to Chief Joseph pass and then walk the mile down to Lost Trail Pass to meet our friends Carol and Irv.

Fortunately the trail cooperated and reasonably good trail tread existed, the terrain cooperated by becoming more gentle and we simply had to keep walking at a steady pace with few breaks. There was not much in the way of scenery to distract us from our task. Mostly lodgepole pine forest alternating between “The Green” and the burned areas. Much of this terrain burned in 2000, or in more recent fires.

We crossed Gibbons Pass - a historical route used by the native americans for trade and travel to/from hunting grounds. It was also used by the Nez Perce in 1877 as they attempted to avoid being incarcerated on a reservation in Washington. General John Gibbons, for whom the pass is named, followed them and launched a surprise attack….more on that in later entries.

Several elk and deer, and several hours later we made it to the Lost Trail pass - 4:30 pm.

While waiting for us, Carol and Irv had met Rambler, a northbound hiker. We stopped in Sula to meet him and exchange trail info before going onto our own resupply stop in Darby.

21 Miles

After packing and finishing up last minute chores and calls, we had a big breakfast. Carol and Irv took us back up to the trail, but first we drove over to the Big Hole National Monument, site of the battle of the big hole.

In August of 1877 a band of the Nez Perce tribe, who chose to flee rather than be rounded up and put onto a reservation, crossed the divide and made camp at the Big Hole. Colonel Gibbons and his men launched a surprise attack. The Nez Perce put up a valiant defense and casualties on both sides were quite heavy, including many Nez Perce women and children. The Nez Perce continued their flight from confinement, and managed to elude Col. Gibbons and General Howard for several more months and many hundred miles. Chief Joseph led his people on an odyssey that would follow the divide, crossing it several more times, dropping in and out of valleys, through Yellowstone and towards Canada. We will look down upon much of their route in the coming weeks. Visiting the Big Hole monument is a good orientation.

Carol and Irv joined us for a short bit as we walked south from Chief Joseph Pass. The pass is a triple divide - the water flowing to the east will find it’s way to the Missouri river. To the northwest lies the Clark Fork and Columbia watershed, to the southwest lies the Salmon river / Columbia river. The Idaho/Montana Border follows these divides and so it is here that the Continental Divide becomes the border between two states for the next 300+ miles. To appreciate this phenomena, consider that in the west state borders are generally straight lines following arbitrary lattitudes or longitudes. There are the couple places where a river defines a boundary. But the only state boundary which follows a mountain crest, a watershed divide, is the Idaho/Montana border. To truly appreciate this unique borderlands, walk the CDT. For the next several weeks we will walk the line.

The trail uses a jeep road which stays on top of the broad saddle forming the divide. On his return trip Captain Merriwether Lewis followed this same route for several miles. It’s an OLD jeep road for sure.

Eventually we pick up some actual trail tread. As we follow the divide the trail sometime just disappears in the grass; at other times it’s new and well defined. We walk in some ares burned in 2003, in other places the forest is green, or the crest breaks open into a meadow and offers views to the distant mountains of Montana or Idaho. Occasionally there are glimpses of the rugged ridgeline that lies ahead. But, in general, it’s a mellow ridge walk with a couple of surprisingly steep hills.

The new shoes I bought in town are comfortable and cause no new blisters. We drop off the crest and take a short side trail to broad flat ridge where there is a spring and camping opportunities. The wind whistles ans blows steady on the ridge, but we are sheltered nicely in the trees. We are into camp earlier than usual, so we make our first camp fire of the trip, as much for aesthetics as for warmth.

Miles 10.2

We slept in some, to recover from town, where we didn’t sleep enough. The early going today followed the divide closely, so it was filled with lots of steep ups and downs. We weaved in and out of green Lodgepole forest and areas that were burned in 2003.

After Big Hole pass, the trail followed an occasionally-used forest service road right along the divide for a mile or so and ten the CDT veered off onto relatively new trail tred on the Montana side, traversing the headwaters of several small creeks. After a couple miles the trail came back to the divide at a No Name Pass, the new tread ended and we descended steeply on an ancient jeep road into a basin in Idaho. Strewn with ankle twisting rocks at a knee jarring pitch, this road was a far from satisfying downhill experience. The road bottomed out in a narrow, dark gulch with a few possible campsites but we pressed on to get a few more miles in.

Up we went, climbing, steeply in places, on old trail tread along the South Fork of Sheep Creek. Ripe Huckleberries slowed our progress some. The last time we saw Huckleberry bushes was about 350 miles back, in the Bob Marshall wilderness. At that time there was only the occassional small, hard green berry.

Hiking later than we wanted, we finally made camp in makeshift site on a sloping bench above the creek. The rapid descent of the narrow valley sends the creek’s waters rushing over the rocks, providing a serenade to send us to sleep.

Miles 14.6

After a long, steep, steady climb in the trees, where we gained back 2,000 feet of elevation, we broke back into the country of rugged mountain peaks, high ridges, wet alpine meadows, boulder fields and scree slopes. Drama returns to the divide.

The divide itself is far too jagged for a trail, so the trail crosses a high pass into the Ontana side and then dips into a series of high basins, traversing along their upper edges, crossing over several ridges transecting the divide and general goes up, down, up down and repeat. Occassional glimpses down the creek valleys show the wide open flatland of the Big Hole area.

Snowpack lingers along the high shaded ridgelines and creeks are numerous. Wildflowers carpet the low wet areas and line the creeks. Red Monkey Flower has the big muscle and dominates the creek banks, but there are a profusion of others able to elbow their way in, including Groundsell and Indian Paintbrush.

We know we are in mountain goat country, from the terrain as well as the hoof prints so numerous as to have worn a groove right in the trail.

After a particularly long, steep climb we drop into upper Slag-a-Melt lake and make an early camp. We will have a choice to make in the morning: follow the trail as it drops way down the valley to come back up the next one, OR go cross country over a low ridge south of the lake. Either choice will end up at Lena lake. Too late tonight for either one to be a good option. We’ll see what the morrow brings.

The moon is full tonight, but won’t be rising until late as we are nestled close in to the walls of the cirque holding the lake.

If we stay on schedule, around mid-day today marked the halfway point for our hike, as measured by days on the trail. The feeling of accomplishment is tinged with sadness that it’s all going by so quick.

Miles 12.9

We decided to stay on the trail rather than pursue the cross country route to Lena lake. The trail soon dropped by Lower Slag-a-Melt lake, where a large group is camped. They have tons of gear strewn about, tarps erected over tents, lawn chairs and more. They hauled it all in on ATVs. The CDT follows an OHV trail for about a mile which provides these machines acces to the lower lake. It’s tough walking in their ruts and churned up dirt.

Back on trail tread towards Lena Lake and my right leg starts to “twinge”. It’s a sporadic, but quick, sharp pain on the inside of the knee, which I feel when I lift my leg, and it reoccurs several times in the next couple miles. It seems to go away after the next break.

Descending from Lena lake the trail crosses Big Swamp Rd. The guidebook and maps follow the road to the right a short ways. New trail is a few feet to the left, out of sight and unmarked. It takes us a good half hour to 45 minutes to sort out the confusion and start back up the long switchbacks.

The basin above Little Joe Lake is filled with creeks, meadows and wildlflowers. Purple Lupine, Red Monkeyfower and Yellow Groundsell, occasionally punctuated by red Indian Paintbrush grow thickly and form a mosaic intense colors with green edges. Jagged Peaks rise on all sides.

On the other side we drop into a basin dominated by a vast field of boulders and gravel. There is nothing growing, no “green” of any kind. It looks like a lava flow, except the rocks are granite. Eventually the rippled patterns reveal old morraines, both terminal and lateral. But whatever glacier moved these rocks around has long been gone. A small snowpack at the head of the boulder field is all that remains.

We climb to Little Lake with Homer Young’s Peak rising like a pyramid above. Circling around and above the lake, we come across more carpets of wildlflowers. They fill the gullys, where small creeks flow, so completely that the water is hidden and the plants appear to be cascading down the basin. Instead of water spraying white off the rocks, there are splashes of purple, red and yellow.

These basins and peaks are one of the most exceptional areas that no one has ever heard of. This area belongs in a national park or wilderness area. It deserves the protection they would provide, so that others may enjoy the beauty we experienced today.

We endure the long, knee jarring descent past Rock Lakes and onto Miner Creek. We have 4 miles and a 1,200 foot climb to the next likely campsite. We would probably have to push past dark, so we choose to make an early camp instead.

Miles 13.6

We are scheduled to meet Sandy Compton at Bannock Pass late in the afternoon on Thur Aug 21. We started from Chief Joseph a day earlier than originally planned. Although it was late in the day, it gave us a “head start” on this section, allowing us to slow down through some of the rugged and beautiful lake basins. We enjoyed that, but now we need to pick up the pace and put on the miles.

We started the day with a climb of about 1,100 over 1 1/2 miles. Despite some new trail tread, and some switchbacks, there were places where the trail crews skipped the switchbacks, possibly out of malice or forgetfullness, and the grade easily exceeded 20%.

After reaching the viewless top we immediately crossed over the ridge and started down. Thus began the morning’s roller coaster of viewless ridges.

Between Englejard Creek and Hamby Creek we encountered an unusual area of blowdowns. There were hundrds of blowndown trees in less than a mile. All blown over in the same direction and all looking like the came down wthin the last year or so - still green needles suggested that the trees weren’t down long. Most showed signs of beetle damage. It would appear that some major wind event occured and took out the weakend trees. For us it meant hard hiking, negotiating our way over, under and/or around trees. And hard navigating. In this area the “trail” in many places was not well defined to begin with, following rock cairns rather than tread. The downed trees destroyed or blocked from view many cairns. All in all not a fast start to a day where we wanted to make up miles.

On the ridge between Hamby and Berry creeks we met a day hiker, John King, from Idaho Falls, doing sections of the CDT, one day (one BIG day) at a time. He sets up a base camp, then goes out and back one direction on one day and then does the opposite direction the next.

From Berry creek the trail turned back into a road walk. With so little traffic (only one car in about 12 miles) the nice even grade and generally smooth surface was a welcome change of pace. The return to cattle country was not. The trail drops well away from the divide in order to get around a section too rugged for trail. The surroundings are mostly sagebrush flats. We make decent time on the forest service road, making up for the morning’s delays.

Coming the other way on the road near Skinner Meadows, we encounter a northbound thru-hiker, Coulter. We chat, exchange trail info and news and swap a quick story or two, but as it’s evening and we are both anxious to get to camp, we move on.

We pass a herd or two of cows. Turning up Darkhorse Canyon, we hope to leave them behind, but the cowpies tell of their occasional presence. We go a short ways to a well used area just off the road where Darkhorse Creek swings near and make camp, amid tall lodgepole and scattered cow patties, serenaded to sleep by the creeks and the distant moos.

Miles 18.1

We followed the jeep road and occassional cattle trail to the side up Darkhorse Canyon. The trail follows this jeep road as it makes a wide detour up to an abandoned mine at the head of the canyon, with needless extra miles and elevation gain and loss, before dropping back to Cowbone Lake. A suggested alternate route involves an obscure, faded trail and a bushwhack straight up to Cowbone Lake. We opted for the alternate.

It began nice enough, with a pair of diamond blazes marking on old road, which sort of led to some bits of trail tread. They ended pretty quickly, but the direction was clear enough and snippets of game trail led us to a creek crossing and a couple more blazes. All of this funnelled us to a wide chute offering the one opening in a band of cliffs. The chute was steep, but faint game trails criss-crossed it and ice cold spring water laced with abundant wildflowers made it pleasant. More Yellow Monkshood was an added bonus.

We caught back up with the CDT at Cowpone Lake, nestled right below the divide. Gaining elevation quickly we followed more obscure trail as it ascended and traversed several small basins befor breaking into steep talus slopes. We crossed the trail-less talus and followed trail tread so narrow and steep that the forest service must have contracted mountain goats to build it, or at the very least consult on it. On the way to the top of this no name pass we came across the CDT day/section hiker John King on his days walk. We saw him several times as he was coming and going and retrieving a camera. At the top we waived goodbye as he returnd the way he’d come and we went on.

From the top of the pass we continued up, with one eye on the building clouds. A front seemed to be moving in bringing thunderheads along with it. As we started to drop into Goldstone pass we took a break to watch the storm clouds and see what might be happening. It didn’t take long before the clouds burst forth with wind, rain, hail and lightening. It didn’t take us long to hightail it down as low into the pass as we could go. We found a very old, large downed tree and huddled under it to stay out of the rain and hail.

Shortly after we dove under the log, a hawk came gliding low through the trees to seek shelter in the same general clump of trees where we were. We waited for the storm to pass. Just as it seemed to die down, the hawk, with a silent flap or two, took off through the trees and over the edge of the pass diving down. We decided that this was as good a sign that the “coast is clear” as any, and emerged ourselves. Plenty of storm clouds in the distance, but we were given a window in which we could climb the next peak after the pass.

After 3/4 a mile and 700 feet the CDT reaches the highest point so far (southbound) - 9,731 on a spur peak of Goldstone Mountain. We both really felt the elevation as we climbed the peak. The panorama is stunning, but we didn’t linger. We watched the movement of several storm cells and knew our window was closing. We dropped into the next low saddle.

We found a small cluster of stunted Whitebark Pine in the saddle and had a quick lunch, finishing just as the next round of rain began. We huddled under the tree and pulled our Tyvek ground sheet over us as more rain and hail came. This time we had a front row seat to the receding storm cells as they continued down the valleys and over distant Montana mountains.

This wave broke and we continued on, crossing over the next open spot and into the woods. The trail then follows the divide as it drops into forest, offering some shelter from the occasional spritz of rain. Despite an ever present ominous sky, we had some good fortune and were able to get some miles down and camp set up without getting wet.

Miles 16.5

We rolled out of camp under a few thin clouds, fairly early to tackle some bigger miles today. We detoured off the divide to get water from cow trampled Pattee creek. The divide is wide, flat, and tree covered, with few discernable landmarks. The challange in bushwhacking back was not the walk through thin forests, but navigating to the trail corridor through so much “sameness.”

Shortly after we were back on trail we encountered two northbound CDT hikers, Red Beard and Mike. They mentioned two other hikers just in front of them, Boston and Cub, who we must have missed while we were off getting water. We exchanged the usual hiker chat and data then moved on, as clouds were building and we needed to keep putting miles down.

The trail rolled south over gently undulating terrain, crossing the 45th parrallel (halfway between the north pole and the equator) and then dropping into Lemhi Pass.

Lewis and Clark made their westbound crossing of the Continental Divide over Lemhi Pass, leaving the headwaters of the Missouri and crossing over for a “first taste” of the Columbia. From above the pass we could look out and picture their easy climb along the gentle hills and long valleys from the east, their hopes high of finding an easy portage, a northwest passage, to the Columbia. One can only imagine what went through their minds as they reached Lemhi Pass and gazed upon the formidable Bitteroot range. An historical marker at the pass quotes Lewis as describing the mountains before him as “immense”. I’m sure he also used a few four-letter adjectives, obscured by time and deleted by history.

Below us to the east lies Sacajawea springs - the uppermost headwaters of the Missouri reached by Lewis and Clark. The springs were a fountain from which flowed the source waters for the first half of their journey. Symbolically, a “halfway” point of their trip.

It was also at these springs where they had reached their highest terrain and where Meriwether Lewis discovered (one of his many such discoveries) a plant unknown to European/American science, menulus lewisii, Lewis’s Red Monkeyflower. I wonder what the Shoshone guides must have thought about the expedition’s “discoveries” of plants that they knew so well? Were they amused by these visitors excitement over ordinary flowers? Did they hold these tourists in the same disdain reserved by locals for tourists anywhere?

South of Lemhi Pass the trail started going back UP, staying cose to the divide, often through open terrain with views of mountains and valleys of both Idaho and Montana. We passed another of our own halfway marks late in the afternoon, having covered about half the miles from our start in Glacier to Rawlins. Another mark of accomplishment, which brings satisfaction, but also some anxiousness, a feeling of “it’s time to get on and get done.” Lending to this anxiety is the cold front which has brought us unsettled weather these last two days and has also left us with a “nip” in the air, an early taste of fall.

The clouds which threatened rain all day have held back. The cooler temps helped us move along and after lunch we did 11 miles with over 3,300 elevation gain. Once again, cows were our companions for much of the way. Cows polluted a fenced off spring at 9,100 foot. And they startled a herd of elk who ran amok near the spring. Even at a 9,500 ft summit, high on the remote divide, with broad panoramas of both states, we came across more cows! It’s enough to make me consider becoming a vegetarian, hoping that reducing demand will reduce supply. Either that or eating nothing but burgers, ribs and steak as an act of vengence.

We camp at a 9,200 foot high saddle, our highest camp yet. The Whitebark Pine offer a break from the wind, but the night promises colder temps at this altitude. The moon rises mostly full and made orange-red by the smoke from distant forest fires blown in by the cold front.

21.2 miles for the day

We waited all night and the cows never went home, so indeed how long cows are out is truly the mark of a long period of time.

The trail continued to follow the crest, often along very open broad ridges. Rugged ranges of mountains in Idaho contrasting with gentler terrain and wide open basins in Montana. We had dramatic and constantly changing light, which is the optimist’s way of saying mostly cloudy with heavy winds.

How windy was it? Well, it was so windy that cows where swirling around funnel shaped clouds, like something out of the opening scene from the Wizard of Oz. It was windy enough to have to lean into the breeze for balance, which caused problems when the gusts stopped momentarily.

The wind and clouds kept the temps cooler and we kept a steady pace going. Occasionally the trail tacked into the lee side of the divide or into trees offering relief. We made the long rollercoaster descent into Bannock Pass in good time.

Chief Joseph lead his surviving tribe across Bannock Pass after the battle of the Big Hole. One of their several passages across the Continental divide on their way through Yellowstone and towards Canada.

At the pass we met a northbound thru-hiker, Sunsetter, who’s camping out for the night to resupply in the morning from Leadore.

Friends of our from home, Sandy, Kerry and Ken, drove in to meet us at the pass, bringing our resupply box. We drove up a side road to some sheltering trees to camp. Fresh salad, stir fried ahi pasta and veggies went down nicely with some beer and wine, for a delightful evening repast.

Miles 15.4

We awoke to one of nature’s own alarm clocks: the conspicous sound of cows “crowing”, sort of like a rooster’s “cock-a-doodle-do” only more grating. This was not your typical barnyard “moo”; this was the sound of free range, Alpine Bovine (latin name - “bovinus alpinus”) - it was a cock-a-doodle-moo, mmrroo…mmmrrrrooo..mroo

The winds of yesterday continued through the night and brought with them another cold front, leaving us clear and cold skies. They also brought the first real taste of fall, a hard frost.

We breakfasted on skillet fried potatoes, eggs and sausage, sorted our resupply box and packed to go. Unfortunately our map bag was missing. We will not have detailed maps for the next 90 miles. We have a page from the delorme atlas that covers maybe 40 miles of trail, but lacks any topo info and is at a scale that’s not very useful for figuring out trail junctions or other nuances. As we were leaving Bannock Pass we met a Forest Service person and were ale to get a Salmon NF Travel Map, at an even less detailed scale than the Delorme, but still of some use. Well, it could be worse, at least we do still have the guidebook description, and the route stays pretty close to the crest, so when in doubt “up” is always a good guess.

Sandy is joining us for the next “leg” of the hike, fron Bannock Pass to Monida Pass. We waived goodbye to Kerry and Ken and set out climbing an old jeep road along a fence line on the crest through grass and sagebrush country. With 8 days of food and an incessant climb back into the high country, our pace was very measured. After several hours and a half dozen miles we entered trees again and took lunch - ham and cream cheese on bagels.

We continued the steady climb in mostly open country, occasionally passing through thin groves of Whitebark pine, with good views of the trail ahead and behind us. The trail topped out near the summit of Elk Mountain, we dropped packs and climbed off trail the last couple hundred feet to the summit, 10,194 feet. This is the first time the southbound trail goes above 10,000 feet.

The panorama was stunning. We can see clearly almost the entire route we climbed today. In fact we could trace back most every twist and turn of the Continental Divide back through the Beaverhead Mountains, past Lemhi Pass, all the way to Goldstone Mountain where we ate lunch 3 days ago. Ahead of us we can see clearly our general route for the next several days as well as the Italian peaks and beyond. On the Idaho side, the Lemhi Range dominates the skyline to the south and west, the Lost River range rises behind as well as the Sawtooths and the Bitteroots. On the Montana side the Tendoy, Pioneer, and Tobacco Root mountains, as well as various other mountain ranges all come into view. This is the top of the world!

The day has been cool despite walking mostly in open country exposed to the sun. Now on the top of Elk mountain, the sun is sinking, a breeze is stirring and the day is cooling off quickly as we slide into evening. We head down the mountain at a brisk pace to keep warm and drop 1,500 feet in just 2.5 miles to a flat saddle with ample flat areas for camping.

Miles for the day 12.8

The trail conntinues to follow a jeep track as it works it’s way up and down along the divide. These are wide open grasslands, dotted with sage and other dry climate vegetation. This is home to elk, mule deer, pronghorn antelope and prairie falcons among other animals, including cows. But this range land is not some flat western basin. This land is buckled and brash, with steep slopes and sudden drops offs. These are rolling rangelands, a vast western landscape all jumbled up - this is vertical rangeland really.

So up and down we went, laboring under the incessant sun. Sometimes on the CDT, it’s possible to imagine what Sisyphus must have felt like, condemed to push the same pack continually up another hill.

At lunch, to celebrate my birthday, the Carrot gives me her traditional hand-drawn card about trail life. A long hot climb to the hill we are on leaves us wanting a short siesta in the cool shade.

We continue the rangeland ridge walk in the afternoon. The guidebook fails to record a number of these knolls making the afternoon walk longer, and harder, than anticipated. The Italian Peaks are drawing closer and loom large in our imagination as we will walk through in a couple days. Prairie Falcons take flight over the fields along the crest hovering and hunting for food. The trail drops off the divide to Morrison lake on the north east side of heavily glaciated Baldy Mountain. We make camp nearby and enjoy the cool, clean respite that the waters of the lake provide.

Sandy has brought along some freeze dried chocolate dessert, but everyone is tired so we will save it for tomorrow.

Miles 11.6

Walked across a washboard of ridges along the base of Baldy Mountain. The change from big basin sage land to glaciated mountain face is sudden and dramatic. We walk in the crease of this transition.

A thick layer of smoke obscures the mountains in the distance. It seems to be from distant fires, so it’s not a worry, but it does change the mood from cheerful to more dreary.

A cold, clear spring emerges from under a tree at the base of a talus slope in the Tex creek valley. Cows are nearby and all over it, but the first few feet haven’t been fouled, so Sandy scoops out the mud and creates a better catchment. Refreshing. A cool relief on a hot day. It would be reasonably easy to build a fence to protect this water source from the invasion of the cow (water) snatchers and poopers.

We met a northbound thru-hiker, Jeesus. We chatted and exchanged info and were able to borrow his copies of the Jonathan Ley maps from Nicholia Creek to Monida, easing any lingering navigational concerns. A definite relief from relying only on the guidebook description, which is useful, but barely adequate on its own.

We climb and cross high, broad sweeping, plateaus fractured by gullys and punctuated by cliffs and rock out croppings. The views are sweeping, with mountain peaks and passes close in as well as more distant. There was no trail tread, only the very infrequent, lonely cairn or post, often out of site.

We stopped at a high point with an especially commanding view of the plateau environs and watched a half dozen Pronghorn Antelope, as they first stopped grazing to check us out and then ran off to a more distant ridge.

We met Cicely B, a northbound thru hiker. We had watched her emerge upon the distant horizon of the plateau and walk across a trackless outslope. Her appearance on the one slope gave us great clues as to which direction we should head. We stopped and exchanged the usual info and gossip.

Then we met two mountain bikers pushing their bikes up the pass at the headwaters of Meadow creek just northwest of Cottonwood mountain. They started in Lima and are headed to Chief Joseph pass. While we plead guilty to the label of being crazy enough to hike the CDT, the thought of mountain biking, even part of this trail, should label someone as certifiably insane.

While the main CDT route drops deep into a valley only to climb back out, we traversed around Cottonwood mountain on a well-used contouring trail. In fact this user-created trail was in better shape than much of the CDT we have seen.

Back on actual CDT trail tread we dropped to Rock Creek and on to a camp near a small spring fed pond frequented by elk. Unfortunately the springs must come from under the pond as the only water coming in is from a muddy, elk trodden seep. We giver the filter a good workout.

15.8 miles

We walked out from the woods which surrounded our campsite to a barren sagebrush land dominated by rolling ridges and cattle.

Walking beneath 18 Mile Peak, a glaciated beauty, we passed Harkness lakes, really just a bunch of treeless cattle ponds. Private lands with a swarm of cattle lie at the head of a couple creeks creating a cow cesspool. We continued along the rolling ridges descending to Bear Creek, where Sandy and the Carrot went in search of a spring in an aspen grove, and found cold fresh water. We crossed Tendoy Creek and then at Nicholia Creek we started back in a general upwards direction.

In the Nicholia creek drainage, near where we cross it, a large herd of Elk are grazing just upstream, and upwind of us. There are perhaps 75 to 100 of them, mostly cow elk and calves and they are maybe 200 - 300 yards away. Partially hidden by hills, we are able to watch them for a good while. As we cross the creek and start up the hill we come into their view and they first circle up into a big herd. Then, in a flash of sudden and fast movement, they take off, flowing like water, converging into one or two trails and move uphill into the cover of trees. A few short whistles from cow to calf and then silence. They have disappeared and it is as if they were never there. If another hiker came along behind us they would have no idea how mnay elk the woods were hiding. It makes me wonder how may places we have passed with hidden elk herds.

Clouds rolled in making the climb up the next hill less grueling. Smoke from a forest fire somewhere upwind in Idaho started rolling in, filling up Deadman valley.

Deadman creek and lake are absolute gems - deep, cold and clear. Fish rising to flies, oh for a rod and reel. We make camp near its shores, enjoying the cool waters.

Miles - 14.1

Winds picked up overnight and blew the hazy smoke away, leaving behind bright stars and a dusky milky way. The morning was cold and the sun did not penetrate the narrow canyon holidng Deadman Lake until after we were gone. The trail left the lake and went up, straight up, the east side on a 20% grade, a grind first thing in the morning.

We were back on the divide and rolled on through open high country, dominated by sage. The temps remained cool all day and made for nice walking.

Shortly after leaving Bannack (that’s Bannack with two “a’s”, not to be confused with Bannock pass with an “a” and an “o”) we flushed a Sage Grouse. Bursting with energy and furiously flapping wings to achieve a cruising altitude of about 12 feet the bird then glided back to earth 150 yards away.

We walked along the top of limestone cliffs and found the Buffalo Bone cave. Back just a few feet from the edge of the cliffs. It’s really a vertical shaft and the bottom is lined with assorted bones, horns and antlers, probably from animals falling in through the snow. That’s one theory - the other is that it’s a garbage pit for the workers who quarried limestone from the cliffs nearby.

For the first time since coming into East Glacier 7+ weeks ago we could look out upon a view with no mountains in the distance. Past the limestone cliffs we could see into southeast Idaho and our view was of the Snake river plain.

We walked cross country, along the crest, with no trail markers, to get back to the trail after our diversion to see the buffalo bones. And we continued to walk towards Garfield as it dominated the landscape, nice to finally see it up close. We have been gazing at Garfield at a distance for almost two weeks, watching it get closer and closer. In the past few days it didn’t seem like we were making much progress, until now as it looms large.

We found a thru-hiker’s pack beside the trail where the sign incorrectly identifies a seep as Buffalo spring. We waited and looked around and eventually met a northbounder, Sharpshin. A mile or so later we met his hiking partner Strix. Our conversations were brief as it was getting late and we still had miles to make.

We just missed seeing the several moose spotted by the two northbound hikers, but we saw more elk including a distant herd and a bull grazing on a nearby slope.

We camped at a pass between Garfield and Red Conglomerate peaks. Massive Garfield seems to hover just above our camp. An elk walked nearby camp, snorting, as we finshed up dinner in the dark. We couldn’t see him, but the snorting was distinctive. Coyotes serenaded us with a chorus of howls during dessert.

Miles 15.4

The moring came cold and cloudy. After about 3 miles of climbing we came to a high pass at the head of Sawmill Creek. Old trail posts and signs, as well as the guidebook and maps all pointed over and down. New trail tread, posts and alterations on the sign pointed up. We followed the new trail as it toured the basin at the very head of Little Sheep creek, then ascended a spur ridge of Garfield Mountain and switchbacked down a series of ridges and basins to the Sawmill Creek trailhead, where it joined up with the old trail. Although it added a mile or two of distance and 500 or so feet of vertical climb, the trail, and views, were delightfull.

The clouds cleared off and the temps remained nice and cool, a delight to hike in. We seemed to have dodged another rain storm, a definite delight.

The Carrot stumbled and did a face plant, opening up a small cut abover her right eye. I turned around so fast to see what the commotion was about that my right leg outpaced my left and I ripped my pants along the seem under the crotch. But the Carrot’s tear required more immediate attention. The blood looked bad, but it wiped off and we washed the wound well. With a short break the small cut closed pretty quickly.

We continuing on, following rolling hills with tread, and trees, nice, delighful walking. The valley of Shineberger creek was wide, open and beautiful. An elk grazing in the meadows was at first curious about our arrival, then took off.

We took Jim Wolfe’s recommended ridge, a detour from the official CDT route. Leaving the valley we folllowed the guidebook and bushwhacked up steep sage covered slopes, then followed the ridgeline on tracks well used by hikers, cows and elk to the divide. The clouds cleared off as we climbed the last ridge. The long light of evening cast delightful shadows across the valleys and ridges.

Back on the divide, we picked up the faint tread of the CDT and crossed over a few knolls to drop steeply into an unamed pass. On a bench just above the pass we camped at about 8,400 feet. The large knoll we just crossed offered some protection from the wind, so did the sagebrush, but the gusting breeze on the exposed ridge made it feel like a night in late Septmenber, not August, reminding us that the season is rapidly changing.

Miles 15.7

We got up just before the sun to get an early start. We have a bit over 17 miles to do to get to town. The trail kept close to the narrow crest the whole way, with distant views to either side. Mountains dominate the Montana landscape, while on the Idaho side we gaze upon the flat Snake River plain and distant dormant volcanos. By noon we can see trucks rolling along the interstate highway and at lunch we can make out the junk heap (literally) that is Monida. We have Lima MT in our crosshairs.

With burgers in mind, and in the mind’s eye, and beer on the brain, we keep a quick pace. The roller coaster ride continues and gives us almost 2,000 ft of vertical in the morning, but becomes an incessant drop in the afternoon. On the last 6 miles of gravel road we move along leaving a cloud of dust.

We pass the junkyard looking like a post-apocalyptic vision, having more brick-a-brack than just old cars. From the payphone in Monida, where not a soul is stirring, we call the Mountain View motel in Lima and shortly the very hiker friendly owner, Mike, arrives to whisk us away to town.

Sandy, the Carrot and I enjoy an evening of grill-your-own-meat at Pete’s, a few beers and relive the wonderful memories of the last week.

Miles 17.2

In Lima we met Daniel and Ben, bikers from the San Francisco bay area who are peddling the Great Divide Bicycle Route (GDR) from Calgary to the Mexican border. Compared notes and websites with them over breakfast.

Mike and Connie from the Mountain View Motel continued their wonderful hospitality, dropping us off at the trail right where we got off. First we had them pose in front of their shoe tree - decorated with hiker’s blown out, worn out old shoes.

Northbound CDT hikers from England, Paul and Cookie, arrived last night and rode back to the trail with us. We had a quick info exchange in Mike’s car before heading off in opposite directions from the same point.

We entered the Centennial mountains and after the first 8 or 9 miles of road walking crossed the divide, dropped to a low gap and left the cows behind. We also entered a land of green forest and rolling plateaus rather than the hunchback crest we had been in during the last section of trail.

Sandy is gone but not forgotten; the sudden silence speaks volumes about how much we miss his company. After 8 weeks on the trail, the conversation runs its course and Sandy sparked some new subjects. Now the Carrot and I walk on going back into our own individual inner realms.

Clouds started rolling in during the afternoon, threatening at times, but only delivering a few sprinkles. It’s the start of labor day weekend, complete with car campers and yahoos on OHVs. We see a few, but about the same time we see the last of the cows, we leave the yahoos behind. I guess they graze the same pastures.

The Carrot sees a moose, or at least his big behind before he ran off. We are back where we want to be.

One of the “delights” of late summer hiking is having to “de-burr” the socks several times each day. We started getting bad burrs during the last section, but these have gotten worse. I understand the evolutionary need to spread seed, but I hope we are able to adapt and find a fabric that will repel these nuisances. It’s better than co-evolving in some kind of sympathetic relationship.

We hike past sunset, one of the few good ones we have seen, with magnficent displays of pinkish orange and long rays of light.

The spring, which is our destination, is down to an autumn trickle - at 7 minutes per liter to fill a bottle we end up taking up all of the remaining daylight just to make sure we have water. BUT, water is the one thing we can not do without. Finding it, getting it, carrying it trumps every other need or comfort. Fire has turned the Whitebark forest into skeletons near the spring, leaving us with little in the way of sheltered campsites, but it’s late, dark and the clouds still threaten rain. Besides it’s way past time to move on so we make do with what we have and hunker down, setting up the tent between some fallen logs for the night.

Miles 18.8

Winds whipped the tent around and a few raindrops fell last night. Storm clouds clung to the divide’s nearby peaks, the strong wind piling them up at first rather than blowing them away. Cooler morning temps kept us bundled up as we walked until late in the day. Eventually the clouds moved on with the wind.

The leaves of Fireweed, Oregon Grape, and a few other harbingers of autumn, are beginning to turn red, our first fall colors - autumn has arrived. A few summer colors are lingering, the occasional Showy Fleabane, Tall Larkspur and Aster, along with a few others are hanging in there. Mountain Ash, bending over with berries, but still holding onto bright green leaves offer a nice contrast. But it is the first fall colors which capture our attention and focus our imagination on fall.

A stand replacing fire burned through much of this area in 2003. Thick understory new growth, and some tree regeneration obscures the trail in many places. We stopped many times to look for faint tread, old blazes or other clues and often ended up just following a previous “line” hoping to find something. Somtimes that worked, sometimes we just wandered around more before stumbling onto trail.

In long distance hiking, some days just do not go as planned, especially on the CDT. After lunch we continued through overgrown meadows. The trail completely disappeared on one ridge. We bushwhacked around for awhile, then we sat down and used the guidebook, map, compass, GPS and took a best guess. With a solid front of storm clouds laden with rain off in the distance, but headed our way, we were anxious to get off the ridge and back on clear trail. Setting off on a likely contour, we came across faint tread, but it did not seem to connect in either direction. In hindsight, I think we were on an old abandoned stretch of the CDT, used prior to a re-route that was completed a number of years ago. We folllowed it as best we could and ended up on game trails well above where the actual CDT was likely to be. Again stopping to assess the situation and come up with a game plan, we determined we were about 200 feet above the trail and headed down a broad slope in unburned green woods, figuring we should find good trail tread below us. After a few more game trails we found the CDT. None too soon. We had lost at least an hour on our detour, maybe more, and the temp was dropping fast as the storm front’s squall line got closer.

We stopped at an unexpected creek, for a short snack break and to get water so we would be fully stocked if we could not reach our destination goal and had to camp short. It proved to be a fortuitous decision.

About 10 minutes later rain started and it looked like we were in for a good solid soaking. We decide it would be prudent to make an early camp. There was an ideal spot at hand and we took it to get the tent set up and stay dry. By 6:40 we were settled inside the tent listening to the rhythm of steady raindrops. Surprisingly, but fortunately, the rain didn’t last too long and we could cook.

Delayed by weather, we missed the miles we wanted to make, so we’ll have to have a big day tomorrow to make up for it. Sometimes the day just does not go as planned. Today was one of those days.

12.4 miles

The alarm went off early, but the cold air outside kept us in a bit longer than we’d hoped. It had rained for a couple short spells overnight and the clouds still hung low on the ridge above us threatening more.

I found a nice sized moose antler while taking care of morning business. Too heavy, and bulky, to even consider carrying out.

We broke camp and hit the trail, bundled up against the cold with 3 layers. It was a good thing too. It started to snow. Not just a passing flurrry either, but a real first taste of winter with enough to color the ground white and leave wet cold clumps of slush on the leaves of the plants growing over the trail in many places. It seems like only yesterday we first noticed fall colors. Wait, it WAS only yesterday. Well, that was a quick season. It was also only a week ago that we were so hot our water bottles would warm up cold spring water with minutes. With a cold wind blowing, hiking conditions were basically miserable. We kept a good pace going to keep warm and made only short breaks.

The trail dropped to a low point of about 7,000, a trailhead access, and we thought about stopping for the day to wait out the storm. But, it had let up some and we were already behind schedule. We pressed on and back up to the divide. All day dark, thick storm clouds rolled in and out. Occassionally a few snow flurries would fall, but none lasted very long. The cloud ceiling was low, covering most all the mountain peaks, but we could see under the clouds, to Island reservoir on the Idaho side and to Red Rock reservoir on the Montana side. We stopped periodically to re-assess the situation, so our progress was not fast.

At the gap below Taylor Mountain, we looked up and decided that the conditions were not good to be starting a climb up to a long open traverse, where we might not find a sheltered campsite for 6 to 8 miles. The ridgeline was socked in, so not only might the snow, rain, and wind be miserable, but also the trail visibility might be poor. Hard enough finding trail when conditions are good. The wind gave the cold a bitter bite. Add to that the sound of distant thunder that we heard a couple times. It was obvious that we could not follow the Trail up the mountain safely today.

Camping at the pass, hoping the storm would be gone in the morning was possible, but not desirable since it would leave 31+ miles to do tomorrow. We had watched a road contouring the mountain as we dropped to the pass. The map showed it going about half way or more around the mountain at a contour. We decided to follow it and see how it could help us. We walked about 5 or 6 miles on the road until it started down into a dead end canyon. We camped at a bend on a ridge that we can use to go up the mountain tomorrow. We still have 26 plus miles. We may not be able to do that in one day, so we are starting to ration/save lunch, snack and dinner food to last an extra day. Short rations, but still enough.

We entered and spent much of the afternoon walking through the Sheep Experiment Station operated by the US Department of Agriculture’s Research Division. What kind of experiments they do here is not clear. But they must scare the sheep into hiding as we saw none.

With the sun going down and temps dropping we made and ate a quick dinner. How cold was it? It was so cold that the olive oil congealed despite being burried in the middle of, and insulated by, the pack. It poured thick like molasses.

Miles for the day 17.3

Fire and Ice

“Some say the world
will end in fire,
Some say in ice,
From what I’ve tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
to say that for destruction ice
is also great
and should suffice.”

–Robert Frost

The clouds overhead blew away in the night. We awoke to a layer of frost on the inside as well as outside of the tent. The water bottles, kept inside had a frozen plug on top and the platypus drinking tube was filled with solid ice. In a word, it was cold. We were warm inside the sleeping bag, so we waited for the first rays of sun, which always make movement so much easier.

We left our camp at the end of the contoured road and bushwhacked up a moderately steep ridge about 1,000 vertical feet or so to reach the trail on top of Taylor mountain. A thick layer of couds filled the valleys to the south. As the morning progressed they would break up and clear off, but for a time we climbed in that ethereal realm above the clouds. The views gradually opened up to the south and we could see the distant, and massive, Grand Tetons.

Unable to contour because of deep cut canyons, we climbed all the way to the main ridgeline of Taylor mountain.

Once there, we passed above the head of Carrot canyon (an immediate favorite, of course) and started our descent. Walking a knife edge divide we could gaze back at the bulk of Taylor mountain and could see north to the Absorka range, all covered in white from yesterday’s snow. Other mountain ranges to the north were also covered with the early season snowfall. Along the usually windy ridgetop many trees were covered in a 2 inch hoarfrost, slowly melting in the midmorning sun.

The windless day, warm sun and still cooler temps made for very pleasant hiking conditions. Our only concern lay directly ahead of us in the rolling table lands east of Taylor mountain. Smoke. A dozen or so scattered plumes of it. The fire(s) looked like a smoldering ground burn, not too threatening as long as we did not have to walk through the middle of it. We walked on keeping eyes and nostrils open. Soon we came across long lines of fire hose, much of it laid next to the trail, as if preparing for some kind of line of defense. At a low saddle we came across two fire managers who had set up a water holding tank, more hose and many generators/pumps. We chatted with them a bit.

We had come across the Willow fire, likely started in June by lightning, first detected in July, and being managed as a wildland use fire by the Caribou-Targhee Forest. But a line had been drawn at the Divide, the Montana border. Land managers on the Montana side, BLM and Beaverhead Deerlodge did not want to let it burn. So, they insisted that any hot spots that migth blow over be put out. As a result fire hose, generators and pumps were laid along long sections of trail. The fire was burning in pockets of sub-alpine fir, and had many smoldering plumes spread over about 4,000 acres. As we continued on we could see pockets that had previously burned, surrounded by seas of unburned vegetation. Very interesting.

Crossing the large plateu above the fire(s) we dropped into the Montana side of the divide. We walked on newly re-routed trail not mentioned by the guidebook or maps. With no warning we found ourselves re-routed away from Blair Lake, a landmark major enough to be the end of a section in the guidebook, and an important water source. Rather than backtracking, we forged on and found an unmentioned creek in a couple miles.

Past Lillian Lake we entered Hell Roaring Canyon. Mt Jefferson towered over the canyon as we walked up its wide valley. Remote, beautiful and feeling surrounded by terrain rugged enough to ensure complete solitude, we were in the heart of the Mt Jefferson Wilderness Study area, managed mainly by the BLM (Bureau of Land Management). The willow lined canyon bottom and grassy hillsides with may small tributary creeks provides excellent wildlife habitat for the full range of flora and fauna to be found in the greater Yellowstone ecosystem. At any moment we expected to see moose, elk, bear, wolf, or any other wild creatures.

The spring at the canyon head is considerd the most distant source of the Mississippi River. Of course a river that drains the central heart of the continent with headwaters ranging from the Rockies to the Appalachians has many sources, but none travel so far to the Gulf of Mexico as this one. The source spring was dry at its furthest reaches but water ran in small side springs a few hundred yards down hill. We filled our bottles with water as pristine as possible. Finally, we were beyond even the reach of cows.

We camped just above the pass, having survived both fire and ice for at least another day. Our weather delays have kept us out a night longer than expected, but we scrape together enough left over bits for a descent dinner. We had been putting aside some bits to leave over for just this possibility. We have a dehydrated soup packet, a couple ounces of linguine noodles, a couple ounces of dried potato flakes, a couple ounces of olive oil, a couple ounces of sundried tomatoes, some parmesan cheese, herbs, salt and pepper and we have a nice thick stew. Sandy, if he were still hiking with us, would have called it “Slumgullion.” It went well with leftover tortillas, cheese and peanut butter. Not bad for trail leftovers.

Miles 16.0

As we started to break camp, the snow started to fall; small, furious flakes, the kind that can add up fast. Fortunately they didn’t amount to much, despite falling for the first couple hours of our walk.

We passed Sawtelle Mountain, site of a major FAA radar installation. From way down below, after we had arrived at the north end of Island Park, we looked back up and Sawtelle peak loomed larger than life - tall, fortress like, commanding a presence above the general mountain plain, as if it were out of some Hollywood world, James Bond movie.

Our walk out was fast, along the service road for the mountain and we clicked off almost 12 miles in less than 4 hours. At the end of this section, where we came to Highway 20 we stopped for lunch at the Island Park Lodge, where we were able to eavesdrop (in fact, could not help but hear) the monthly Chamber of Commerce board meeting. It was as other-worldly as the “Dr. No” radar dome on Sawtelle Peak.

After lunch we set out to hitch a ride to West Yellowstone where we had resupply boxes to pick up. After 20 minutes and nothing but shiny, new, big-engined white pickup trucks, Camrys and Lexus’, a broken-down suburu stopped, with volunteers from a shoe string enviro group (unnamed here), our kinda folk.

The big city of West Yellowstone was overwhelming with choices, especially of the food variety. But we managed to find decent pizza and a beer or two.

Miles 11.6

We’re in West Yellowstone, doing errands and listening to the multitude of languages spoken by tourists as well as tourist trap operators. The details of our errands are probably boring, beyond a couple of battles with bureaucracy. We won one and lost the other.

WON: The Park Service didn’t want to issue us ONE permit for our whole itinerary through Yellowstone’s backcountry. They figured that since we are planning on staying at Old Faithful Lodge, breaking the backcountry into two parts, our hike is actually two trips and they can’t usually issue the second part until the first is complete. But, after a little kindly cajoling, they relented and gave us the needed permit.

LOST: The public library, like many, has free internet service. You can get on for a half hour per day. That’s it. Never mind that no one is waiting at the end of the half hour, you have to leave and watch
four empty computer terminals begging for you to finish looking at your email. No amount of sweet talking or mournful, bewildered looks could change the prim, proper (dare we say “by the book”) librarian’s firm-ruled mind. You know the one, she wears hornrimmed glasses, a frumpy sweater and an even frumpier frown ….sighhhhh…. I even went back in the afternoon to see if her shift might be over, but if it was she waited anyway just to make sure I didn’t return and flaunt the system’s invalid values. I considered shaving my beard, trading in hiking clothes for the tourist’s uniform hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts and reflecting sunglasses, BUT it is just too cold at night to give up the beard for what would probably be a loosing cause. So, if you did not get a response to your hotmail, you’ll have to wait until we get to Dubois WY, or later……..

Among the most important of other errands was finding a belt for the Carrot. We’ve both lost some weigt. I’ve lost a little over 20 pounds! The Carrot has only lost 2 or 3 poinds but has moved mass from the waist area to the legs and her hiking shorts are so baggy that if she were a teenager again they would be “in style”. Today she got the real belt which allowed her to throw away the nylon hay bailing rope which had held up her shorts in the “Ellie May Clampett” style.

0 miles, that’s why we call it a zero day

On our second ride, heading out of town we got picked up by a rancher from Billings. He was driving a Peterbuilt Cab, the kind used to haul 18 wheel semi-trailer trucks. Only he was pulling a combo RV / Horsetrailer. A large RV compartment took up the front half of the rig and a climate contolled compartment for horses was the back half. He was headed for Jackson Hole for an equestrian competition of some kind.

We walked along highway 20 from Sawtelle to Mack’s Inn, which are both part of the City of Island Park, an unusual place. Island Park is 36 miles long and very narrow. Few people live in the city boundaries, but many homes are right outside of it. The lines were drawn to be able to grant liquor liscenses to various establishments along highway 20. We turned at Mack’s Inn and followed a forest service road overrun with remote cabins on small lots, built at an urban density. It had a similar feel to the outskirts of South Lake Tahoe.

Gradually we climbed towards the Madison Plateau, a broad flat plateau which takes up much of the west side of Yellowstone as well as a large are outside the park. We started in dense Lodgepole forest where some thinning had been done in a few places probably in a vain attempt to protect the populated outskirts of Island Park. Dark, thick clouds had gradually taken over the skies as we walked.

We entered an area of uniformly newer growth sprinkled with charred skeltons and white snags. One of the fires of 1988 which burned such a large area inside and outside of Yellowstone had started near here.

We topped out on one level of the plateau and, after much searching, found Latham Springs. We made camp nearby as the evening light was fading and the dark clouds started to release some of their rain. At first it just sort of “spritzed,” but then the rain picked up in intensity enough that we were forced to eat in the tent. Just as well too as the temps were dropping. During a break in the rain, we cleaned up and moved food bags away from the tent. There are no standing trees tall enough to hang a bear bag.

It’s a cold night again, but we are prepared for it. In West Yellowstone we bought or picked up extra hats, extra socks, a second heavier pair wool gloves and a small flask of whisky. We’ll be warm inside as well as outside. The happy hour drink is a luxury, but one that we can afford the weight of carrying when we are on a section as short as 3 days.

Miles 14.2

After a breakfast of Onion Bagels, Cream Cheese and coffee (another luxury that we allowed ourselves because of the short stretch to Old Faithful), we continued on old Forest Service roads. Many of these roads had tank trap style berms put in place to try and keep out illegal OHV use. New growth abounds everywhere. The ‘88 fire, like most wildfires, burned with varying intensity creating a mosaic pattern. Likewise, the regrowth has returned with variated vigor. Some places look like they are only now starting to recover, while other places have grown back so strong and complete it’s hard to see the original disturbance.

We entered Yellowstone park and had lunch in a pocket of older lodgepole that had been left untouched by the big fires. After passing through Yellowstone’s thin western strip that is part of Idaho we entered Wyoming. Finally a new state. After 9+ weeks of Montana or MT/ID we have entered a different place. It is a mark of progress that feels very real.

The day continued cloudy and cool with an occasional spritz of rain. We climbed fully atop the Madison Plateau and for the first time on the hike had no real georaphic reference points. Every direction looks pretty much the same, flat land and tall pine, spruce and fir trees growing at very uniform age and heights. For this reason, it reminds me of the muskeg swamps of northern New England or Ontario. It’s fairly monotone and the hiking is somewhat monotonous.

We keep our eyes open for the animals which populate the park, but see none. All is very quiet. The plateau is dry and that may have something to do with it.

The divide is so indistinct that without the map it would not be noticed. A few backcountry thermal features near the trail give off steam (and smell of rotten eggs). Just to the east side of the divide lies Summit Lake, our designated campsite.

We gather firewood to ward off the cold chill of the evening - another luxury allowed by shorter days. Across the lake the sun sets lighting the sky with pink, orange and red. We’ve had very few good sunsets from our campsites and enjoy this one.

Miles 15.9

Occasional rain overnight was followed this morning by occasional clouds. The trail stayed on the relatively level plateau for several miles before it started to drop to the Firehole River Valley. We passed through some unburned older forest, but mostly walked through various stages of regeneration from the ‘88 fires.

I remember visiting Yellowstone in 1989 and taking a day hike through areas that had burned a year earlier. The charred black trees and desolate gray soil left a lifeless landscape. Not only were the burned areas devoid of any green plants or large animals, even insects and birds were absent. The silence was deafening. It looked then like it might be decades before anything returned.

The thick stands of black charred trees have now become thinner as many have fallen. Those trees that remain standing are snags, bleached white skeletons. What we found amongst them in the last three days was an abundance of understory growth, varying stages of tree regeneration, plenty of birds and tracks and scat from a variey of animals including bear, wolf, coyote, moose, elk, and many smaller mammals. Twenty years has been sufficient for re-creation of a vibrant ecosystem.

The trail changes from backcountry to “frontcountry” when it enters Biscuit Basin. The basin has some interesting thermal features blowing warm steam across the boardwalk. Tourists are bundled up in cotton sweats and parkas of various kinds. A lone bison grazes near the parking lot oblivious to the cars and buses.

Across the main road we pick up the trail which follows the Firehole river to the Old Faithful complex of Lodges, Inns, parking lots and shops where tourists can part with their money while waiting for the next “performance.” The river walk is full of geezers and guysers. And a few elk so accustomed to people they look unconcerned at our passing by.

Since we are here the weekend after labor day, most family vacationers are gone, save for the stray toddler or two. But there are plenty of Europeans, Japanese and that peculiar breed of American tourists, the “now we are retired so let’s trade the house for an RV and set off to see america’s wonders” retiree. Nothing wrong with that, I could see myself doing it, as long as the RV was a VW. But they all seem to be in a big hurry to rush to the next guyser and wait.

Our room at the Inn isn’t ready so we get lunch and our shopping done, leaving the rest of the afternoon to enjoy some downtime relaxing in the lodge.

Miles 10.6

We were late in leaving Old Faithful, trying to send pocketmail but with some real challenges. Finally I found a house phone with outside access to an 800 number.

We had clear skies, and finally a bit warmer but still cool enough to make for some nice walking.

Three miles away from the nearest road, Lone Star guyser was active and still drew a small crowd for it’s dependable, every 3 hour, eruption. We had lunch nearby for the “2pm show.”

Continuing on we passed a number of backpackers at the several designated sites between Old Faithful and Shoshone lake.

The Shoshone lake geyser basin was eerie - full of steam and bubbling water, but devoid of people. The backcountry was generally devoid of animals. Odd we thought, especially because by all appearances it looked like perfect moose and bear habitat. But there were no such obvious inhabitants. Maybe too many people, or too much hot water (with minerals?) Or, just bad timing? Only the moose knows.

Lake Shoshone, in the park second in size only to Yellowstone lake, was big, calm and beautiful - an inviting place to spend some time. But maybe another day, we had to push on.

Crossing Moose Creek just before dark we arrived at our designated camp site with wet feet, but enjoyed the solitude after the throngs of people at Old Faithful.

During dinner, and through the night we could hear bugling Elk, both far and near. Actually lots of noise, not unlike fingernails on a chalk board with some coughing as a finish. The elk calls bring out the wild, just as coyotes do, but not nearly as melodious. Maybe it’s the lonely, plaintive “looking for love” quality in the bugle….sad, in a way. But still it was comforting in it’s own way, to know we are not alone in life’s basic quests.

Miles 17.3

Somewhere today, between the park’s south entrance road and Heart lake, we crossed over the 900 mile threshold for the trip.

The morning was cold, maybe the coldest one so far. We had difficulty getting out of the tent. The Carrot poured water into her mug to wash out the breakfast drink and the water turned instantly to an icy slush. COLD. We took the frozen socks and bent them until the were soft enough to put on, played with the frozen shoe laces and tongues, until we could slide into to bitterley cold shoes. All this made the fingers numb. A harsh morning to get up and hike, but with 23 miles to go to our next designated site we had to get moving. The park requires you to be on a schedule dictated by the permit. So, off you go, cold or not.

But not as harsh as conditions were for John Colter. Colter was a western pioneer, trapper, explorer; a member of Lewis and Clark’s expedition. Lured by what he saw, Colter returned a few years later to the region and is generally acknowledged as the first white man to see Yellowstone. The establishment back east thought he was mad when he described the geologic and thermal wonders of this area. Maybe they didn’t believe his travelogue.

You see Colter was often at odds with the Blackfoot tribe. He was captured near Yellowstone and escaped, walking without firearms, clothes or shoes 300 miles to a fort downstream on the Yellowstone River. So, sure, I won’t whine about frozen shoes if the alternative is no shoes at all; but I just wonder if his were too frozen to put on during the few moments he had to “pack up and leave.” I guess we can make it to Dubois.

The bright spot of the morning, mostly clear skies, turned gradually grey and cloudier all day. The temps stayed cool, making a crotch deep ford of the outlet of Shoshone Lake, ahem, ‘exhilarating’.

We continued to see quite a few day hikers and backpackers on the trail. It was nice to see people going to places other than Old Faithful in this park of 2 million acres.

We crossed more plateu country and dropped into backcountry guysers, hot pots and hot spots, where the ground radiates heat. It’s probably no coincidence that we saw a number of garter snakes and a rubber boa in the general vicinity of the Heart lake thermal area.

We also saw several deer and a moose meandering in a meadow at dusk. But, the bears which inhabit the Heart lake area were no where to be seen.

At Heart Lake, the terrain shifted from the generally flat plateau to country with valleys, canyons and peaks. Aesthetically pleasing, but with more rugged hiking ahead.

To end the day, we had another creek crossing and hiked a quarter mile down a different trail to get to our designated campsite. We made it just barely before dark, which now comes almost two hours earlier than when we started hiking in early July. With headlamps on, we got water, firewood, set up camp and made dinner.

Thunderstorms rolled through disrupting our dinner, as we scrambled for a sheltering tree, but didn’t amount to much. Still, the storms kept a cloud cover which made for a warmer evening, a nice change of pace.

Miles for the day 23.0

With thick cloud cover, we slept warm night last nigtht - a nice change of pace. At first daylight we heard loud hooves outside the tent, probably moose or elk. Not wanting to “spook” them, we stayed inside and let them fade into the nearby willows.

The trail followed a different route than described in the guidebook, not too unusual. This time it was a nice walk up the upper Snake River valley, full of fall colors: red fireweed, yellow, orange and red of the various understory shrubs. It’s an interesting irony that the ‘88 fires have left more color to landscape. With less evergreen canopy there are more broadleaf shrubs and much, much more can be seen.

We walked with wet feet all day, from fords and muddy trail. We are getting beyond both the distance and comfort level of most people who backpack into the park. The very upper reaches of the Snake river are seldom seen.

No people means that today we saw 2 bears, both big and healthy, both turned and ran. The second bear made a sound, before running, unlike any I have heard a bear make; one that can only be described as an un-bear like “squeal”.

And there were wolf tracks. Lot’s of them. As we leave Yellowstone, we are entering truly wild country, where the edge of the park meets the “Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem.”

Throughout the day the elk continue to bugle, looking for love, or so we think. The storms roll back in and before lunch we are pummelled with rain, hail and sleet. The hail turms the terrain white. We find shelter at a closed, padlocked, backcountry ranger station and eat lunch in the shelter of the porch. Then we hike on.

The afternoon turns colder and intermittant rain falls, eventually turning to snow. Nothing to do but hike on and be thankful that we have thawed out shoes, unlike John Colter.

We leave the valley bottom and climb towards high plateaus as the afternoon turns to evening and the cold turns to colder. Snow falls; toes become numb and then number. Finally we figure we won’t be able to cross the plateau and make a camp, short of our goal, in a high basin at 9,400 foot.

Before doing anything else, before setting up the tent, or starting dinner, we gather firewood, build a pit and start a fire. For warmth, and for the feeling that we can control our situation, or at least think that we can. Nature somehow nods agreement to our efforts.

The late evening skies clear and stars come out. The air is still very damp and drying stuff by fire pulls moisture back out of air and into the fabric. But we feel good about the effort. We eat late, but hot food warms from the inside and we slide into the cocoon of the tent/sleeping bag feeling warm, cozy and much more comfortable than we ever thought we might just a couple hours before.

18.9 miles

A cloudless night meant a very cold night. The moisture laden night air we felt around the campfire turned to heavy, hard and huge ice crystals on the ground, plants and shrubs.

The day started with a climb to Two Ocean Plateau, a white, otherworldly place. Wide open space, distant views and ground with frost shimmering and reflecting the early morning light.
To the west the Grand Tetons rise above the clouded valley. To the east lie the rugged tops of the Absarokas.

We drop into Two Ocean Pass, also known as the Parting of the Waters. Much of the plateau drains into two ocean creek which drops into the pass. OK, you have guessed by now from the names, at the pass the creek splits and some water flows east to the Atlantic via the Yellowstone, Missouri, Mississippi rivers and some goes west via the Snake and Columbia system. It sounds dramatic; it’s unique and so we would expect stunning. It is an iconic place I had been loking forward to seeing. I had pictured a floating leaf wandering side to side, nudged by a fate so simple that the proverbial butterfly wings flapping might influence its course to a final destiny one side or the other of a continent. Not so. The pass is so big, broad and choked with willows that it’s hard to say which channels and puddles actualy end up where. Sometimes the dream is better than reality. And the truth be told, I am more likely to “remember” it more like my vision than like my experience.

But, it does captivate the imagination. The horse “Super Highway” attests to that. Our single track trail become two, then three “lanes”. It’s not only the iconic nature of Two Ocean Pass. The Teton Wildernes, not far from here, is one spot which claims to be the farthest from a road of any kind in the contigous United States, 30+ miles. Elk know it. Hunters too. And it is the start of hunting season.

In the afternoon, we see several large pack trains that supply various outfitter camps. We also see several small bands of hunters on horseback. The 2 or 3 lanes, in places, turns into 12 to 15 lanes scarring 50 foot wide sections of meadows. Wilderness may be untrammeled by man, but the Act made no prohibitions about horse, or cow trammeling, for better or worse.

We followed fresh grizzley tracks, amused because they were on top of the most recent horse packer tracks. A beaver built a dam, creating a need for a diversion in the trail. Following old and more well tread tracks we dead-ended at the dam. Not wanting to back track we navigated the marshy area by walking just below and/ or on top of the dam.

My left shin is starting to hurt. Occasionally painful, it feels like shin splints. But we press on, needing to make up for miles lost yesterday to weather and mud.

A major section of trail changed designation since first printing of the guidebook. There’s new info in a supplement but it’s confusing at/near junctions, so we take some time at each crossing.

By afternoon the skies have clouded up, again, and overall it’s stayed cool. Again, late afternoon sprinkles turned into early evening rain, hail, snow. Ominous. Fortunately, the storm spent itself out and skies cleared just before we made camp.

We pushed for a camp as late as we could and aimed for a flatspot on the topo map above a smalll lake. It turned out to be full of little hills and heavily wooded, but we found flat space between the down logs just big enough for the tent. We set up on a bed of Whortleberry, lumpy but cushy.

Again nightfall brought the distant bugling of elk. But I am thinking that this time they’re likely calling in all the other Elk, urging them to the safety of Yellowstone. After all, hunting season has started.

We did not do as many miles as we had hoped for, leaving us with almost 20 to go tomorrow. We’ll push for town tonight; even though we’ll get in too late for the post office on Friday - we can do that stuff Sat AM.

Miles 20.8

It sounds repetitious, but, once again we woke to frost on tent and frozen water bottles. Ughh. In fact, the drinking tube on the platypus took over 2 hours of hiking to thaw out. A low.

But the day was all clear, brilliant blue skies, and stayed that way. A high. With 20 miles to go to the highway we needed a nice day for hiking to get there in time to get a ride to Dubois.

We came within 50 to 60 yards of a herd of elk, including a bull with a large rack, several young bulls and 15 to 20 cows. A real High.

As the sun melted the mud we slid around a bit. The daily freezing and thawing created a fresh pallet for tracks and last nigths freeze had captured several fresh wolf tracks as well as some which looked more like a mountain lion’s. Very exciting!

The trail wandered across ridges, made it’s way into deep and wide river valleys and offered views of tall, jagged peaks and steep carved cliffs formed by glaciers. The scenery was among the best we had seen in quite some time. Very High.

Old guidebook direction, old directions in the supplement, a trail junction not marked on the map and with signage useful only to a northbound hiker, all lead to taking a wrong turn. Bummer. We walked a mile or so before realizing the mistake. On the “plus” side were some great views, high on a prominent ridge. On the “down” side - we just added 2 miles to an already long day.

And my left shin’s pain really began to bark even louder. It’s likely “only” shin splints, but it’s as bad as any that I ever had in 8 years of competetive running. Downhill is the worst and as we started down of the ridge, I was hobbled, limping and in pain. Definite LOW.

A short rest, and some water and snacks seemed to revive me. Advil got me going again. We had ten miles left and we did it with no breaks, other than for the ocasional stand up photo. We needed to.

After delays due to frozen ground, which turned to mid-day mud, an unexpected detour and shin splints, we had to push hard to make town, or fall back and get in tomorrow. But the logistics of getting, and sending, Saturday mail really made a Friday arrival to town important.

Brooks lake(s) and meadows and mountains were stunning. We pushed on. The day stayed bright blue and clear.

At he highway we got a GREAT ride, maybe the best ever. Almost in an instant, the third vehicle going by stopped. A native of Dubois we were driven up and down the main drag so we could see all the food and lodging options. After crusing town, stopping at the driver’s house to make calls about restaurant closing hours and room availability, we were dropped off at our destination of choice. But, the best part is that we were able to arrange for a ride back to the trail on Sunday!

Nice to end the day on a definite HIGH.

Miles 22 (detour included, heck we walked it.)