Day 32
Fred and I are sitting in front of the laundry room, which is our favorite place. Water, power outlets, toilet, shade. Phil’s huge pickup truck rolls into the motel parking lot and two hikers get out: Mr Robot and Niccolo! Hikertrash party.
The four of us eat lunch at the diner, sharing ideas and plans. The Teton Alternative, famous for including another national park in the CDT thru-hike, but also known for cross-country hiking, bushwhacking and climbing. We share GPX files and routes, but after our plates are empty, we get stuck planning. Is it worth it? Making the detour, planning to miss part of the official CDT?
This path is not as straightforward as simply following a line on the map. All the alternatives and side quests make the CDT more of a DIY adventure.
Day 33
I’ve climbed over a gate and am just tying my shoelaces when a man on an ATV appears. He gets out to open the gate. “You hike like the guy behind me?” I nod. “You’re way ahead of him.” “I’m faster.” He laughs kindly and walks away. I notice a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “I’ll never get used to this,” I think. But I’ve learned one thing about the locals: strong women are not frowned upon here.
Day 34
Slowly collapsing
I rub my eyes as I turn off the alarm. Another bad night. The wind tugged at my tent until I got tired of it. I unzipped the mosquito net and pulled out the trekking pole that held up my tent. I just let the fabric fall over me and went back to sleep.
Now it’s 6:10 am and I should be hiking already. But I’m sluggish and I’m slowly sorting out my things. My feet need to be taped. I don’t think it will help much, but I have to try.
Now they hurt. All the time, not just at the end of the day. I’ve noticed that the pain changes the way I walk and eventually causes my muscles to become stiff. But for some reason I can’t explain, I just keep going.
The path leads through meadows and forests. This is the area where the US sheep experiment is being carried out, which is notorious for its overly cautious sheepdogs. But all I hear is their quiet “baaaaah” somewhere in the distance. No dogs and no people in sight.
When the boys and I were in Lima, we joked that we were just unlucky at the height of the biting flies and that things would get better now. Of course, the nobos coming up the trail told us it would get worse. But I guess it’s not that bad anymore? Maybe I’ve just gotten used to them sitting on my bare legs and hands, sucking my blood until I hit them and their dead bodies fall off.
Nap or just sleep?
The heat hasn’t gotten any better, however, and around 2 p.m. I give up. On a ridge, hidden between some small trees that provide shade, I decide to pitch my tent. I drag myself inside and almost immediately pass out. I’ll hike the remaining 16 kilometers in the evening.
It’s 5pm when I wake up and I don’t feel the least bit energetic. Can I just stay here? I look at my bear can. There’s no way I can. I already don’t have enough food for tomorrow.
The CDT follows a beautiful, grassy ridge covered with countless wildflowers. Blue, yellow, red, purple. While our water sources are scarce in the Idaho-Montana section, nature is blooming magnificently there. It is almost dark when I set up my tent somewhere before the turnoff to Blair Lake. I have not hiked more than 10 miles.
Day 35
South of Lima, the CDT passes the shortcut at Mack’s Inn (blue line), but after reading the comments on Farout about the red line (official CDT), I decide to stay there.
A beautiful canyon and the Targhee Pass, two things that are music to my ears. Much more tempting than a walk down the street and a burger.
But just thinking about food makes my stomach growl.
Hell Roaring Canyon is overlooked by orange cliffs on either side. The bushes to the left and right of the water will bear ripe berries in a few weeks. But to my disappointment, the CDT climbs out of the canyon almost immediately and after Raynolds Pass I’m back on a long, exposed gravel road through meadows. It takes forever to get just to the base of Targhee Pass. All this time there were no switchbacks in the Montana-Idaho section and now as I drive up the pass they seem never-ending. Eventually I stop counting.
Sore flesh presses painfully against the back of my shoe. I feel a blister on my heel that has burst. The last water source of the day has dried up by the time I get there. I’m hungry, but I’ve already eaten my daily ration. Hiking is hard.
When I finally reach the pass, the view isn’t even that impressive anymore. I frown.
At least there are good camp sites, hidden between rocks and small pines. The reward is a beautiful sunrise. I’m already wrapped in my blanket when I hear footsteps outside. I’ve started to differentiate between heavy and light footsteps, heavy means interesting.
I carefully lift the rain cover of my tent and try to make as little noise as possible. But that wouldn’t have been necessary, because I’m looking into the eyes of a huge mountain goat. “Hi buddy,” I call, but he just turns away and continues to examine the ground. I watch him in awe for a while. Maybe these hard days are worth it?
I mean, I’m sitting at my sleeping spot watching a mountain goat on a pass. Tomorrow I’ll be in West Yellowstone. Eating ice cream. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a cheap hotel room.
Today was hard, but also great.
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