CDT Part 9: Wrapup

The sun shone directly into the plane's windows, blinding me and the other passengers. I quickly closed the windowshade as my flight home took off from the Denver airport. A few minutes later I opened the window to look out over the Rocky Mountains. Directly below me, I saw a jagged ridgeline. A ridgeline I knew. A ridgeline I had walked. I saw that class III traverse and the steep ascent of James Peak. I'd been there. I'd walked it. And I'd walked everything to the north and south, as far as the eye could see.

That's the moment that it really hit home. As a matter of practice, I avoid dwelling on the enormity of a long hike because it's usually a dispiriting thought. In that moment, though, I was able to reflect on on the hike as a whole.

Usually I like to have these blog posts have a theme or a story, but not today. What follows is a random mishmash of random CDT related stats and thoughts. Sorry guys.

Pacing and timing

Prior to the CDT, I was a bit concerned about my pace. The CDT measures in at about 2,900 miles and the hiking season is only about 5.5 months in a normal year. I ended up completing the trail in just under five months. A faster than expected pace, combined with an early start, allowed me to complete the trail just after Labor Day. 

Overall, I was happy with my pacing and timing. I started on April 10, which would be very early in a normal year. However, this year was not a normal year. Southern Colorado recieved only about 50% of median snowpack over the winter, which meant the high country was accessible much earlier that it normally is. I still arrived a bit too early (a late-season storm dumped a couple of fresh feet in early May) and ended up waiting a week for more snow to melt. However, I enjoyed the challenge of navigating through the San Juans in the snow. It was tough, but doable. It tested the skillset I've worked toward for several years.

The not-hiking part

In general, I employ a slow-but-steady hiking strategy. I'll never be the fastest hiker, but by limiting off-days and striving for consistency, I can make solid progress. On the AT, for example, I took just six zero days - days on which I did not hike at all. On the CDT, however, I took significantly more: a total of 16 zero days.

New Mexico: 2
Colorado: 13
Wyoming: 1
Montana: 0 

Immediately, the 13 in Colorado stands out. Seven of those days were spent waiting for more snow to melt, and during that window, I took a trip to southern Utah with a few other thru-hikers, where we did a leisurely backpacking trip. Even after factoring those seven days into account, though, I still took six zeros in Colorado. 

I hit my stride in northern Colorado and only took one zero in the second half of the trip, in Pinedale, Wyoming. I did take a few short "nero" days in Montana, where I hiked maybe five miles and spent the rest of the day in town. Overall, though, my progress became much steadier as the hike progressed.

Expectations

I'll admit it - the CDT was quite a bit different than I expected. When I first became interested in the CDT, it was still a fairly young trail. Many roadwalking, bushwhacking, and navigational challenges awaited hikers, only the hardiest of which could reasonably be expected to complete the trail. The trail's unofficial motto, "embrace the brutality", says it all.

Coupled with the CDT's reputation was my own experience. In the five years since the AT, I had done off-trail routes in various parts of the West. I'd done ridgeline traverses of the Winds, Beartooths, and Absarokas. And most significantly, I'd done the Hayduke Trail. I knew what to expect from the CDT - at least, I thought I did.

I was dead wrong. The CDT, while certainly less developed and defined than, say, the AT, is still a trail for the most part. Most of it has established tread on the ground. It's oftentimes signed or marked. Logistics are fairly easy and straightforward. And, for those who choose to use it, there's a smartphone app that basically eliminates all the navigational challenges one might otherwise face.

The end result was a little bit of disillusionment on my part. I had expected a 3,000-mile Hayduke, and I got... well, not that. Sure, compared to the AT and PCT, the CDT is a little rough around the edges. But, in terms of on-trail experience, it's a lot closer to the AT than it is to the Hayduke. The whole "embrace the brutality" thing may have been true a decade ago when it was coined, but is increasingly outdated these days. I definitely had to make a conscious effort to come to terms with this new reality. Don't get me wrong; I loved the CDT. However, I had to remind myself to appreciate it for what it is, not for what I had originally wanted it to be.

Navigation

Navigation is the big scary bugaboo in the minds of a lot of prospective CDT hikers. There are basically two map sets.

CDT Maps by Jonathan Ley: The Ley maps have been around for approximately forever. They were published in the early 2000's after Jonathan hiked the CDT himself. Each winter, he updates the maps using hiker feedback and comments and makes them available for free to next year's hikers. While I had a few nits to pick with the maps, they were extremely useful. While other tools and resources make things easier, it is possible to make it to Canada with only his maps if needed.

Pros:

• Offer lots of different route options, on the macro scale (Gila River vs Black Range) and the micro scale (The trail routing here is completely ridiculous, just cut straight across the river and pick up the trail on the other side)
• Provides valuable beta on the reliability and quality of water sources (although that beta might be from 15 years ago at this point!)
• Points out oddities along the trail and things worth seeing

Cons: 

• Scale is too zoomed-out to do any serious, heavy-duty navigational work
• "The line" is often slightly inaccurate. Makes it very difficult to ascertain exactly where the trail is, even with a GPS
• "The line" is dark and thick, and often obscures the topographic/road/trail information on the base USGS map - the exact place where you'll be walking
• Doesn't differentiate between trail, road, and cross-country travel in any meaningful way

Guthook CDT App: I can't offer too much commentary on the app since I didn't use it. But according to pretty much everyone, it's accurate and helpful. One specific criticism I did hear of it - it doesn't have nearly as many alternate routes as Ley's maps do, and its trail corridor is rather narrow - if you have to bail, you'll quickly run off the edge of your maps. 

I try not to be too much of curmudgeon when it comes to electronic navigation. GPS is a great tool, and is incredibly useful at times (say, when you're in the clouds above treeline and can't see more than 15 yards in front of you). At the same time, electronic navigation is more prone to failure than analog maps are (skill of the user notwithstanding). My personal philosophy: if I'm ever in an environment where my survival depends on staying found, I will always bring two independent sources of navigational data. One can be electronic, the other, analog. When it's 30 miles to the next water source, getting lost is not an option.

What's next

Well, there's another long hike on the docket for next year. Plans are still solidifying, but it's a trek I'm really excited about. In the meantime, I'm spending the fall catching up on all the things I didn't get a chance to do over the last five years - spending an extended holiday season with my family, doing a few hiking trips that have been on the back burner for years, prepping for the aforementioned long hike. Stay tuned for more!

CDT Part 8: Leadore to Canada

Well, I just walked from Mexico to Canada. 

I walked. From Mexico. To Canada.

Along the way, I climbed the highest peak in the Rockies, slogged through waist-deep snow, gobbled wild raspberries, swam in astonishingly cold lakes, and mostly, did a lot of walking. But most remarkably, I didn't lose or break my spork. Now that's an accomplishment worth lauding.

The big finish: Glacier National Park really did live up to the hype. Although the weather was a bit spotty, I loved the park. Everything is so vertical. The lakes are baby-blue. The glaciers themselves are small, emaciated, and pathetic (hey, we're bringing back those Coal Jobs, right?), but the park is still one of the crown jewels of the CDT. What a place to finish!

Fire, fire everywhere: In my last post, I predicted that I would hit at least one fire closure between Leadore and Canada. In fact, I encountered three. One resulted in twenty miles of paved roadwalking but was otherwise pretty inoffensive. Another forced me to miss one of the highlights of Montana - walking next to the famous Chinese Wall escarpment in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. The third, and most aggravating, closed the Waterton Lake finish of the CDT. It forced me to enter Canada not on the shores of a beautiful lake, but at a random paved road crossing east of the park. 

Still, I can't complain. Shortly after leaving Leadore, I happened upon a new wildfire that had started very, uncomfortably close to the trail. I shifted into high gear and jogged around it before it could get out of hand. A couple days later, it did get out of hand, and forced the closure of a huge chunk of Montana - with a hundred-mile re-route, all on pavement. A week later, a line of dry thunderstorms moved through the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness and started a couple of fresh fires in the same place I'd been earlier that morning - again closing a large swath of the CDT. Had I been just a week or two behind, I would have hit hundreds of miles of fire closures, not only in Montana but farther south as well.

Shots of olive oil: I've never been hungrier in my life. I ran out of food several towns in a row, even after bringing extra to accommodate my increased appetite. I simply needed to consume more than I could possibly carry. I resorted to buying olive oil and drinking it straight from the bottle - no chaser. It was pretty gut-curdling, but did do the trick. At more than 200 calories per ounce, it took the sharpest edge off my hunger.

Seasons changing: Summer has come to an end in northern Montana. It's no longer short sleeve weather, most nights are at or below freezing, and yes, it snowed last week. The wind howled over the alpine passes - sharp and cold, with a bite to it - strong enough to knock me off my feet on a couple occasions.

What's next: I'm headed back to Utah for a bit, but the adventures will hopefully continue. I'll also have at least one wrapup post for the CDT with thoughts, unsubstantiated opinions, and maybe some stats and trends.

CDT Part 7: Pinedale to Leadore

The end is finally in sight. 

For a thru-hike to be successful, it's essential to maintain focus. To that end, I don't allow myself to think about the goal - about finishing, about Canada, until the latter stages of the hike. To think about hiking 3,000 miles when I've only hiked 300 is more than a tad disheartening. 

However, once I reached the two-thirds point of my hike (2,000 miles, in Yellowstone National Park), I finally allowed myself to think about the end. After all, it was only a month and a half away. I would soon be going aboe 10,000 feet for the last time. I'd be crossing into my final state. I'd need to arrange my maildrops to the very last towns on the CDT. Before I know it, the end will be here.

I was discussing this with a few fellow hikers the other day. The question - if the CDT were twice as long, would you still hike it? Having already hiked 2,300 miles, would you be stoked on another 3,000+ miles? I realized that, if only the seasons permitted, I would absolutely love to do it all over again. I just love hiking that much.

Themes:

The Hollow Leg: While my attitude is still upbeat, my body is definitely feeling the effects of nearly 5 months on trail. Around Pinedale, my appetite went bananas. Suddenly those 5-day resupplies I had sent myself were only good for 3 days. I actually ran out of food coming into Leadore and was so hungry that I drank all my water flavoring packets - 5 calories each - just because they were something. I can eat my fill, and be ravenously hungry two hours later. I've had to spend additional time in town in Idaho and Montana, just trying to lessen the calorie deficit I'm running. In Lima, MT, I ate three huge meals in town and left fully fueled. And that day, I cruised up and down a very steep ridgeline. By contrast, two days later, I slogged. The terrain was easier, but energy-wise, I was simply running on empty. I simply cannot eat enough in a day to account for all the energy I'm burning right now.

Flyrannosaurus Rex: As previously mentioned, the mosquitoes were horrendous in the Winds. Since then, they've gradually gotten better. Unfortunately though, they've been replaced by the Flesh-Eating Flies. These horseflies are about an inch long, make an ominous buzzing sound like that of a wasp, and draw blood when they bite. And when you kill them, they leave a disgusting yellow slimelike blood substance on you. They're pretty annoying, and their bite is pretty painful, but they're still better than the mosquitoes. Good riddance to those guys!

Walking the Backbone: One of the highlights of southern Montana has been the routing of the CDT. For the most part, the trail has stayed right on the Divide itself. Oftentimes, my right foot is in Montana and my left foot is in Idaho. And while that means constant ups and downs (probably the consistently steepest part of the trail thus far, even moreso than Colorado), it's also meant great views, wonderful fields of wildflowers, and a top-of-the-world feeling. I must give this section of trail surprisingly high marks.

We Didn't Start the Fire: The entire West is on fire at this point. At least, that's the way it looks. For the past week or so, the sky has been filled with smoke, presumably from larger fires burning to the west. While on the ridge last week, I saw a dry thunderstorm pass well to my south, and a few minutes later, a plume of smoke drifted upward. That fire spread very quickly (fire danger is in the Very High or Extreme categories across most of the West right now) and apparently forced the evacuation of at least one town in eastern Idaho. Nothing's affected the trail so far, but with conditions like this, it's a near certainty that I'll hit a fire closure/re-route or two between here and Canada.

What's Next: I just passed the 75% mark and have only about a month left on trail. The trail will soon leave the Idaho/Montana border and cut eastward, past the mining towns of Butte and Anaconda, before heading north through the Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park. The next post will likely be written in Canadian. Don't worry though, I hear Canadian and English are mutually intelligible. 

CDT Part 6: Grand Lake to Pinedale

In my most recent post, I lamented the fact that I hadn't hit my stride on the CDT. Multiple zero days and unexpected delays had contributed toward a nagging feeling that I just wasn't making much progress. 

Since then, I've walked nearly 500 miles in 20 days. 

It helped that the terrain evened out, of course. But although I'd been hiking for more than four months now, I hadn't yet entered that state of flow where the legs go on autopilot, the mind is free to wander, and the miles come easier. Upon leaving Grand Lake, however, I realized I'd have to really turn on the jets to make it to Encampment, WY, before the post office closed for two days the next weekend. I pushed myself and made it in time to pick up my package, and then kept that momentum going across the dreaded Great Divide Basin. Over the years, I've discovered that I'm happiest when I keep moving at a consistent, reasonable pace, spending minimal time in town. And over the last three weeks, I've achieved just that.

Themes:
 
The Great Divide Basin: Among CDT hikers, the Basin has a reputation as a bit of a boogeyman. If you've ever drive Interstate 80 through the state of Wyoming, it's the boring, hot, crappy central part of the state that's tedious enough to drive through, let alone walk through. The water is either chemically undrinkable, disgustingly cow-fowled, or completely non-existent. And there's absolutely nowhere to hide from the blazing sun. There are no trees, no tall rocks, no overhung cliffs - just flat country with foot-tall sagebrush. Fourteen hours per day, in 95+ degree heat, and absolutely nowhere to escape from it, not even for a minute. It really takes a toll, not just physically, but mentally. I averaged close to 30 miles per day across the Basin, just to get across it as soon as possible and escape to the relative cool, shade, and glorious cold water of the mountains again. 

Pretty, but undrinkable.

The Wind River Hordes: Of course, as soon as I got into the mountains again, I wanted to be back in the desert. Well, that's not true, but a new challenge confronted me: mosquitoes so thick they're worthy of "Eleventh Plague" appellation. In the Winds, I've covered up from head to toe - long sleeves, long pants, a headnet, and DEET - all day, every day. I've never seen bugs this bad before. A few days ago, I killed six mosquitoes with one swat of my hand. Oh, and it's rained every day too. 

The Wind River Magic: In spite of the challenges that the Winds present, they really are beautiful. Although it was still too snowy to do the off-trail route that I really wanted to do, I still took a small detour through the Temple Pass and Cirque of the Towers area. I'd been there before, but it was no less beautiful this time around. The lingering snow on the north side of a few passes allowed me to do some glissading. Bonus: even ravenous zombie-mosquitoes can't catch up with you while you're sliding down a snowfield!

Happy 150th, South Pass City: I was cruising across the Great Divide Basin when I ran into a local on his ATV one morning. We got to talking, and he mentioned that South Pass City (approximate population: 50) was having its 150th anniversary celebration the next day. He mentioned that there would be concerts and... BBQ! I was still 51 miles away from South Pass, but I determined that, if I really hustled, I could make it for lunch tomorrow. So I went into overdrive, hiking 36 miles that day and 15 the next morning to arrive just in time for the festivities to start. South Pass is so small that normally, there's not even a place in town to get a hot meal. When I arrived, though, I found two food trucks, a free concert going on, and old-timey baseball tournament between several cow town teams, random gunpowder explosions, and more. I spent most of the day there, sitting in the glorious, glorious shade, watching baseball and drinking pop. Happy birthday, South Pass!

What's next: The northern half of the Wind River Range beckons, including (hopefully) the famous Knapsack Col. Those plans are still up in the air though, as there's apparently a nasty snow cornice lingering up there. After the Winds, it's less than a week through the Absarokas (the locale of last summer's big trip) to Yellowstone National Park. Within a few weeks, I should be in the last state of the CDT, Montana. There's over a thousand miles of trail in Montana though, so don't hold your breath quite yet!

CDT Part 5: Lake City to Grand Lake

In the past, I previously avoided Colorado as a hiking destination. I knew I'd see so much of it during my CDT hike - and I wanted to see it with fresh eyes when I walked into the state. As it turns out, that strategy was unnecessary. I've seen so many wonderful things in this state - and yet, I've already compiled a long list of things I want to come back and see. Such beauty!

Themes!

Beating the Pattern: Every northbound CDT hiker has thunderstorm problems. Except this year. Monsoon season typically begins around July 1st. This year, because of the low snowpack, I've been able to breeze through the state before the storms really get going. I've used my rain jacket twice in the state - and both times, just for a few sprinkles

Momentum Slowing: I took two zero days in all of New Mexico. In Colorado, I've taken probably a dozen. While I've had legitimate reasons for each zero, it still is a bit maddening to constantly be spending time in town, not making forward progress. Weather, snow, friends, and injury have stalled the otherwise blazing pace I'd been setting. While I still have plenty of time to make it to Canada, all thru-hikers feel a certain relentless motivation to keep going - to keep making forward progress

It's Back: After a five year hiatus, the ankle issues that plagued me on the AT have come back in force. Any time I push bigger miles, or hike over rough terrain, I wake up the next day barely able to walk. When I started the trail, I recognized the possibility that I'd have to walk in daily pain all the way to Canada. Looks like that will be the case. These are the situations that test resolve and commitment. I'm determined to make it. Good thing they sell Ibuprophen in mass quantities.

The Metropolis: Northern Colorado is probably the most "civilized" part of the CDT. There are quite a few towns, major roads, ski resorts, and, most importantly, trailheads with privies. The food carries have been relatively short and there are even trash cans to get rid of smelly tuna wrappers. Such luxury!

What's Next: There's only one town left in Colorado - Steamboat Springs. Once I cross the Wyoming border, the terrain will flatten out for a few hundred miles before the crown jewel of the CDT - the Wind River Range. But all that is a week or two away. For the time being, it's about setting a sustainable pace, healing up if possible, and regaining momentum - I'm almost halfway. Onward!

CDT Part 4: Chama to Lake City

Well, the San Juans were everything they were cracked up to be. I expected beauty and misery and got both, in spades.

I entered the range on May 15, and it showed. The next eighty miles were almost entirely snowbound. Each morning, I walked on frozen, hard snow. Any steep terrain quickly became a treacherous affair. Each afternoon, the snow softened and I spent hours postholing - sinking in snow up to my knees, waist, or even deeper with nearly every step.

Decisions, decisions: I've never been more grateful for the avalanche education I've received over the past several years. The actual avalanche danger was quite low in the San Juans, but avi education has provided me a good framework for decison-making in the outdoors. The San Juans were safely navigable, but it took every tool in my metaphorical toolbelt to do so. I had to make the right decision, every single time. I took multiple alternate routes, frequently walked the ridgetop rather than the trail, timed my days to avoid steep and icy sidehills, etc. I can say, with a certain degree of pride, that I stand behind every single decision I made in the San Juans. Of course, you can make a thousand good decisions, and only one bad decision can still end you up in trouble.

Waiting it out: After the first eighty miles, I reached Pagosa Springs and had a good long think. While I could certainly keep going, I judged that doing 12-mile days simply wasn't worth it. So I hitched to Durango, rented a car with three other hikers, and took off to the desert of southeast Utah for a week. We did a nice three-day backpack - one that I had done in January and thus had information for already. Of course, all that information resided solely in my brain, but we were still able to find a bunch of Indian ruins in the cliffs and ledges of the canyon system. We made a few other stops to visit Monument Valley and Hovenweep National Monument. I enjoyed the chance to return to a place I consider home - and to see other people experience this magnificent landscape for the first time.

Round two: After a week off-trail, I got back to the CDT and continued north. The decision to wait it out was immediately validated - while there was still some snow and ice left, it had melted out considerably in the past week. I didn't use my ice axe a single time in the next 120 miles. By time I neared Lake City, the mountains were nearly snow-free, even at 13,000 feet. I mailed my snow stuff home in town... we'll see if it comes back to bite me!

Staying high: The stretch from Pagosa Springs to Lake City only dipped below 11,000 feet once. I camped above 11,800 feet every night, hiking as high as 13,200 feet. There's not too much oxygen up here! Hiking 20 miles per day does wonders for cardiovascular fitness - hiking at altitude takes it to the next level.

What's next: theres about 20 miles of high terrain ahead of me, including the opportunity to climb a fourteener. After that, the trail dips down into a lower area with a lot more roadwalking. The miles should go a bit quicker for the next several days. And each day, more snow melts. I've made it through the worst of the snow. There's more tough stuff ahead. But so far, so good. Onward!

CDT Part 3: Pie Town to Chama

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last blog post. Not that this was unexpected or anything.

Yesterday I crossed from New Mexico into Colorado. I spent 33 days in New Mexico, hiking about 700 miles. New Mexico was a mixed bag. The Gila River was quite pretty. The high plateaus and mountains in the extreme northern part of the state were beautiful by anyone's standards. Yet the CDT through New Mexico also featured hundreds of miles of road walking. I love hiking and am glad I did the New Mexico section. But I can't help but think that the trail thus far is just a warmup for Colorado. And boy, am I excited!

Themes:

Hiking the LBT: For years, the CDT has had a reputation as a difficult trail to navigate. Getting minorly lost was a common occurrence. This is a bit anachronistic in the GPS age though, as 90% of people use an app that gives them idiot-proof directions to Canada. There are a few of us holdouts, though, who navigate with map and compass. I'm not interested in removing the challenge from the CDT, and wouldn't have the same sense of accomplishment if I blindly followed a little red line all the way to Canada.

Up until recently, I had remarkably managed a 100% navigational success rate. A few days ago, though, I failed to pay enough attention to my map and went several miles down the wrong canyon by mistake.  When I checked my map, I realized my error, but not before I wasted a couple hours getting back to my intended route. It's almost inevitable that something like this happens from time to time, and though not at all dangerous, I felt pretty dumb. Sometimes you hike the Continental Divide Trail. And sometimes you hike the LarryBoy Trail.

We didn't start the fire: New Mexico has been historically dry this year. Wildfires have already broken out in places, and all the fire towers have been manned for a month now; they aren't normally manned until the end of May. Several fires have started because of unattended campfires. I found one in the Gila and put it out. The entire state is under fire restrictions; in many places you aren't even allowed to operate a chainsaw between 1pm and 1am because fire danger is so high. I'm glad to be leaving the state before it all goes up in flames.

Snow, snow, snow: I'm part of the first wave of thru hikers to hit the high terrain in northern NM and CO. I started early and have maintained a steady, if not fast, pace. It's a historically dry year in southern CO. Normally I wouldn't even consider entering the San Juan range for another month, but I'm poised to go up there tomorrow. Such is 2018. Thus far, I've seen patchy snow above 10,000 feet with widespread snow above 11,000 feet. In the SanJuan's, I'll be above 12,000 for extended periods of time. I've got my microspikes and ice axe and am ready to go. The trail rumor mill is buzzing with tales of horrific postholing. Are the rumors exaggerated? Only time will tell.

What's next: The San Juans, as described above. I expect beauty. I expect misery. This might be the hardest thing I've ever done. This might be the most rewarding thing I've ever done. I've got a cautious risk mindset and a good crew of people to team up with. Onward!