I woke up at the 6:30 alarm feeling very groggy, like I hadn’t had enough sleep. Based on my bedtime, you’d guess I had gotten a nice seven hours, but I had been woken up multiple times in the night by sudden light, brief, and intense rain. The first time I had gotten up to double check nothing was peeking out into the rain.
Anyway, I didn’t succumb to the desire for more sleep. The sun would rise soon and make it too warm to sleep anyway. I had let my full water bag fall out into the rain, so it was a bit dirty. I spit some clean water into the aperture before connecting it up and hanging it from the tent pole. I let that happen while I got myself ready and the inside of the tent packed up. I was worried from the rumbling of thunder in the distance just after sunrise that I was going to have to stay hunkered down until a storm passed, but when I peeked under the tent flap, the sky was clear for miles, and the clouds on the horizon looked set to miss me. So I made my breakfast, finished packing up, and started hiking about 8.
A mile past the lone car parked at Bannack Pass, I began the steepest climb of the day. Just starting it required me to take a snack and water break to fuel up. The sun was already out in full force, possibly the hottest it would be all day. But it was less than a mile to the top of that hill, and I made it by around 10. Then an annoyingly steep descent followed by a much less steep climb, and it was time for another break in the shade of a patch of trees just past where the road became a no-motors-yearlong track.
After a few pleasant switchbacks, the trail took a straight shot up a meadow toward the slot formed by Little Deadman Creek. A very large dark cloud was looming, but I didn’t stop because I wasn’t sure whether it would bring rain. It was thick enough I took off my sunglasses comfortably. A few large drops started falling, but some clouds do that for a minute and then stop. I was working my way along the side of the hill, well past where the tree cover ended for good, when the rain started to pick up. I could tell it was about to open up, and dropped my pack to pull out my Packa and get myself and my pack more water-resistant, getting plenty of heavy rain on my back during this transition.
The moment I got my pack back on, the rain switched to hail. I tried to keep walking but I didn’t have my puffy coat or caving helmet for armor. As the hailstones increased to marble size and the sharp wind gave the extra propulsion, I felt like I was being shot at point blank range by a paintball gun. I tried turning my pack into the wind to take the brunt of the assault, but the ones that hit me in the ear and shoulder could not be blocked and especially stung. But five minutes later, the hailstorm ended just as quickly as it began. The wind died down. A few minutes later, the sun came out, and I opened up the Packa to let my clothes dry. Soon, I was around the hill, over the lip, and descending the switchbacks to the lake.
I lost the trail briefly at a switchback and spotted something like a green metal roof through the trees. But once I found the trail again, it didn’t come anywhere near any buildings, and later I would get a very clear view of the whole hillside and see nothing like that. Either it’s very well hidden or it was an optical illusion.
At the bottom of four more long switchbacks, I arrived at a tiny stand of trees next to Deadman Lake just as a heavy rumbling cloud was starting to let a few drops go. I was thirty minutes late for lunch already, so I pitched my tent under the trees just in case a lunchtime torrent was imminent. It was a bit of a struggle with the soft dirt that was full of pebbles, but some rocks got the thing standing. It kept me out of the wind well enough, but the rain stopped as soon as I climbed inside.
The trail from there led up the canyon a decent amount before crossing the creek that fed the lake so that the climb up the opposite hill could be a straight shot with only a mild incline. It was a long climb, but I had enough calories in me to do it without a break. Around the shoulder of the hill was an even longer descent, terrace by terrace, into the Nicholia Creek canyon. It took longer than expected to reach the creek–about 1.5 miles after the initial switchbacks with the creek’s course visible the whole time. Finally, there was a sudden sharp u-turn in the trail cutting back to a very strong, fancy new bridge over the creek. It was basically dinner time, and the Bridget’s wooden supports seemed like a few place to sit.
There were more dark clouds crossing as I cooked and ate. I kept my pack covered just in case, but I only felt a couple of fat drops and then nothing. However, it was cold enough with the wind blowing and the sun blocked to require a coat. I had to take my coat off a moment later when the sun came out, then immediately put it back on when another cloud consumed it. But don’t worry, I was already all dry from the midday soaker.
The sun didn’t come out again, and the mosquitos took advantage of the shade, coming out in its stead all along the creek I was following next. As soon as I came out to the parking lot at the end of the canyon and found the next turn, I stopped to do a repellent reapplication. And to remove my coat for the climb, since climbing is hot work. At the top of the hill, right before the next water source I intended to collect from, I realized it was already 9pm. There was a nice flat campsite right there that someone had even once built a primitive tipi near. I had already put in plenty of miles for the day, so I started setting up. I went down to the creek for a bag of water and hung it from the tipi to filter while I did so. But it was filtering so slowly and I was so eager to get to bed that I interrupted it after two liters. There would be plenty of time to filter more in the morning if needed.
This time I got to sleep by 11. Could have been earlier if not for the slow water. Oh well, still an improvement.
Trail miles: 16.7
Distance to Bannock Pass (Leadore): 44.7 miles
