Shiny Days on the CDT and PCT

When I first woke up at 3:30am, the inside of the tent was covered with condensation despite my campsite being far above the creek and valley floor. I got out my towel and dried the inner ceiling and the outside of my sleeping bag, then slept through the 4am alarm to make up for it, pulling the hood off my bag up over my head and making it hard to hear.

I woke next just after 6am, before the alarm reprise. There was a wind blowing now, and it had already carried away every last bit of dampness from the inside of the tent. I hurried to pack as quickly as possible to lose as little extra time as I could. I climbed down the hill at 7, but I hadn’t made breakfast because I was out of water. I stopped where the creek was close to the trail and there was a tree providing good wind protection to collect and filter water and make breakfast. So it was nearly 8 before I was hiking in earnest.

I missed a turn at Shadow Lake, and lost more time climbing up through the woods back to the trail. This was kind of fun though, and I’m glad I got to see the creek coming down through that forest.

I lost more time to a loose bowel issue, and I was looking to do so again when Cliff and Lost caught up to me. I won’t get into it, but this issue cost me more than an hour throughout the morning, and I wondered if it had something to do with the alterations to my breakfast drink (use of a new protein powder in particular). I hoped it would not recur the next morning because it was very costly in terms of time.

Next up was the climb over Texas Pass, which wasn’t that bad. There was a trail the whole way up. It read was steep, but I have seen steeper. It took less than an hour bottom to top. It was definitely no Knapsack Col. I stopped for my first snack break on a boulder at the top of the pass.

When I got around Lonesome Lake at the bottom of the other side, I caught up to Cliff and Lost most finishing a meal. They said they intended to finish the entire alternate that day. I was pretty doubtful I could, especially with the multiple unintended diversions. Really the overall difficulty of the section should have been a reason as well. I climbed Jackass Pass right behind them, passed them on the way down to Arrowhead Lake, then stopped for lunch on a sandy beach on its shore. I didn’t catch up to them again.

After picking my way across the rocks and slowly down a steep hill with a winding trail, then up and over a nasty rocky hill that was only sometimes a proper trail, I came to the swiftly flowing North Creek, where an overnight hiker lady from Utah was already filtering water, and I needed to do the same. I was here alternately watching the hikers pass through, the trout in the creek, and the water slowly leave my dirty reservoir for an entire hour.

Just down the hill from here was Big Sandy Lake, the biggest and most accessible lake in the area. Plenty of people here, but most were coming in or going out of the wilderness along the Big Sandy River to the west. I headed around the east end of the lake then left the alternate for an alternate-alternate going up around Clear Lake then up a flat granite water slide for a mile to Deep Lake, in my opinion the most beautiful lake I had passed all day. There were plenty of people hiking this route too, and I traded pictures with one group at Clear Lake. I stopped for dinner on the shore of Deep Lake, then headed out over the little saddle back to the main alternate about 6:30.

The trail on the other side dropped down to the edge of Temple Lake/Rapid Creek. I didn’t want to lose so much elevation just so I could gain it again climbing over the pass at the south end of the lake, so I left the trail to try to stay high. I had to drop down several times when I got cliffed out on the high route, and had to do some difficult (with a pack on) bouldering in a couple of places. I don’t think I was the only one to try it, as I found a lone pink Croc among the trees way up there far from the trail.

Anyway, after a while, I came to a trail proper that slipped gently up to the “official” trail, which climbed steeply up the side of the rock slide to the pass. I could have saved a lot of time by just going down to the lake and catching that trail at its base, but I had a lot of fun trying to navigate the high route. I came over the top of the last, steepest, and most technical pass of the day about 8pm, just in time to get some incredible views with the sunset colors.

There was something of a trail coming down the other side, though it kind of disappeared near the bottom. I found my own way across the outlet of the “Frozen Lake” at the top of the Little Sandy River and out onto the plateau beyond. This was far above the trail indicated on the map, so I descended toward the river and crossed the marked trail without ever seeing it. I thought maybe I had just missed it in the twilight, but soon figured out that it was only the vaguest suggestion of a trail even when I was right on it. Just spots where the grass was slightly less trampled or the bushes didn’t quite connect.

It was pretty dark by this time, far past my usual encamping time, and I was to the point where I was just looking for a flat and level spot far from water to make camp. I thought I found such a spot, and stopped to get put on my headlamp, but it turned out to be too rocky and too steeply sloped. Eventually, I spotted a big boulder straight up the hill, and went to look behind it, thinking it might hide some level ground and give it some wind protection. It was mostly as sloped as everywhere else around, but there was a tiny nook near the edge where the bushes met the boulder that was nearly level and just big enough for my tent. Not only protected from the wind but a lot of privacy too. I made camp.

Not many miles to show for such a long day, but very little of the trail going forward would be nearly as difficult. Luckily, there was room in the schedule for a somewhat shorter day, as long as the next day went well.

Trail miles: 13.4

Distance to Lander: 32.9 miles

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I let the 4am alarm and its backup ring out, but I was awake, uncomfortable, sleepy, but knew I needed to get started. So I eventually got myself going, first packing purely by moonlight through the tent and eventually getting my headlamp out. I was able to turn it off as soon as I started hiking just after 6.

Just down the hill, on the approach to Rambaud Lake, I scared up another early morning porcupine but it vamoosed before I could get a picture. The rest of the day, I caught no rare sightings. Just fish, cows, chipmunks, grouse, Gray jays, and other smaller birds.

I saw some lights of people packing on the other side of the lake. I started to go over there wondering if it might be Cliff and Lost, but it was three tents and people I didn’t recognize. I backed off before accosting them and stopped to put up my coat and headlamp.

Later, I passed that same guy who I had seen the night before climbing Knapsack and who apparently had hiked out to Pinedale just minutes ahead of me judging by his experiences stopped to take his coat off. We crossed the next creek together, me picking my way across the shallows taking advantage of the waterproofing of my new boots and him just wading straight in and saying it wasn’t that cold.

An hour or so later, I stopped at the shore of Lower Pipestone Lake to start filtering some water and take a morning break. A single tent stood by the trail a hundred yards ahead. A loud lady got out of the tent and looked toward me. I waved, but I don’t think she saw because she proceeded to take her shorts down and squat in clear view of me, then wander around noisily taking sunrise pictures of the tent before going back inside.

The old guy caught up to me there and stopped to wring out his socks. I was already leaving when he arrived. I left him there but I’m sure he passed me at my next stop. He’s a much faster hiker than me on average. I doubt the people in the tent ever knew we were there.

I started feeling really miserable in my gut a few miles later, an uncomfortable sensation that eventually turned into genuine GI distress and an emergency stop. This helped, but left me still feeling quite bad as I walked on toward a lunch stop. I hardly wanted to move during lunch I felt so bad, and I just kept hoping that eating would make me feel better. I still felt a little off as I forced myself to pack up and leave because there were still miles to do.

But I still felt a little bit weaker than normal for the next couple of hours. When I stopped for another break and ate and drank some more, I finally started feeling a little closer to normal. Cliff Richards and Lost Keys caught up to me at this point, but I passed them on the next hill. I got ahead of them on the long high plateau I crossed all afternoon, but they passed me again without seeing me while I stopped to eat dinner.

After dinner, I finally felt back up to my usual strength and powered after them, nearly catching them when they took a break on the other side of a creek crossing. I took a long way around the valley to cross a lot of smaller streams by rock hopping and got to where they had been just after they left. I saw them again just ahead of me at the turnoff for the Cirque of the Towers alternate, but they were outhiking me and I lost sight of them. I expected to get ahead of them again in the morning but getting up earlier.

For an hour, I hiked up the valley toward Texas Pass, but at 7:30, I climbed a tall hill overlooking the valley and made camp on the levelest place I could find that wasn’t covered with elk pellets or cow manure. It was right on the edge and had a great view of the valley, the creek flowing through it, and the spires above it. Best of all, it wasn’t crowded with other tents and hikers like I expected the area just below Texas Pass must have been. I was in the tent just after 8, ready for another early bedtime, looking forward to another early morning and beautiful weather for my tour of the Cirque.

Trail miles: 20.9

Distance to Lander: 46.3 miles

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I had planned to do a late bout of sewing before leaving camp, so I started getting up at 6 when there was enough light to sew by, only to discover that my needle had disappeared. I had stuck it in a pocket with a small pencil in my repair kit because it had a tendency to poke through the side when attached to the thread spool, but now it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. I got a late start for nothing, and my things will have to go unsewn for another week.

I didn’t make it out of camp until 8:30, and I didn’t make it back to the CDT until 9. But I did a decent job hiking for the first few hours. Almost right off the bat, though, Andrew (Secret Squirrel) passed me and went flying up the hill in his ultralight pack. The last time I saw him he was just reaching the top of Lester Pass as I was approaching the bottom. It’s incredible that he wasn’t already way ahead of me. I think he must hike fast but take a lot of zeroes. I might see him again.

Soon I arrived at Pole Creek, knee-deep and very wide at the trail. I scrambled through rocks and bushes upstream for a while looking for a rock hop, but it was a waste of time. I went back to the trail and took off my boots.

On the other side, I found a bag of food someone had left behind. Summer sausage, uncured Canadian bacon, cheddar jack sticks, and a ball of mozzarella. I ate half the mozzarella and packed the rest out. Whether I eat it or not, I couldn’t just leave it there beside the trail to rot. That’s as bad as littering myself.

I stopped for lunch and water collection just after that, and though I was there for basically an hour and a half, I felt a lot better hiking out than when I arrived. Also, I stripped a twist tie I didn’t realize I had for the wire and used it to hold my gaiter together in lieu of sewing.

It was 3pm and I’d only done 5.5 miles of the CDT. I would have liked to hike a lot faster, but the trail was just steep climbs followed by steep descents all afternoon, with frequent detours to avoid blowdowns. By 5pm, I had only done another 4 miles. It looked like it was just going to have to be one of those “I’ll do better tomorrow” days. I stopped for supper.

When it was time to start eating, Cliff Richards and Lost Keys rolled up. They had spent two days in Pinedale just before I’d gone in, hitching to and from the Green River Lakes trailhead. They had then gone over Knapsack Col as well. And then they had camped at Island Lake and spent all morning swimming in it, not hiking out until 10am. Since I had taken two effective zeroes in Pinedale as well and a poor day of progress, that put us in roughly the same place, vowing to go further the next day. I pulled out the meat and cheese I found and they wanted to carry the cheese. I let them have it to lighten my load, even though it was pretty good mozzarella. If I see them again, I’ll see if they can give me a needle in return.

They went on, then I went on after supper. I climbed over Hat Pass, one more long climb for the day. Soon I felt some straps tapping the backs of my legs and took off my pack to find I had left the lower compartment open after taking out the meat and cheese. As everything there was further stuffed into the packing cube that was too wide to fall out, I hadn’t lost anything, but I surely would have before I bought that. Halfway down the other side, I turned aside to cross a wet meadow and make camp in a bowl ringed with trees on the other side. It was 8 when I got into the tent. With the great weather, I knew I had no excuse not to get up with the first alarm in the morning, and the trail ahead seemed a lot less hilly. Bigger miles would come.

Trail miles: 12.8

Distance to Lander: 68.0 miles

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I got up to get my watch when the 4am alarm went off. Then I slept lightly until the 5am alarm. I didn’t have much to do to get ready to hike, and we had everything packed and in the car by 5:45.

Our first stop was the famous Wrangler Cafe, a breakfast diner with a menu so immense it was impossible to decide. One thing was for sure, though. There would be hash browns. And toast. Those came with or in almost everything. I decided on a “Greek breakfast” which was basically a ham, egg, and cheese sandwich, but with piles of scattered hash browns where the bread would be (and rye toast on the side). I added a pancake and we all added biscuits, equally famous.

The hash browns were incredible, the biscuits were alright, and the pancake was perfect, but I was too full to finish it. I spread jelly on the toast and took it with me.

Our destination was Green River Lakes for a small group hike around the lake. Most of the way was a pretty well-maintained dirt road, but it did slow us down a bit so that the trip was 1.5 hours in total. With some preparation and packing for a day hike (and the unfortunate loss of most of my Gatorade into the day pack), we set out together around the lake.

The setting was much the same as it had been the first time except warmer and drier. The snow was gone from the peaks. However, the hike was much slower because now it was a moving photo shoot, and every vista needed a picture taken by every party member of every other combination of party members at every camera orientation and zoom level. The first tenth of a mile took fifteen minutes.

Things picked up about halfway through. The hiking itself was about the same speed, but there weren’t as many views or as many pictures. Even so, it was already looking like we wouldn’t make it back to the car by noon nor get me back to my trail by 2. I took to hiking way ahead of the other two to find a shady spot to get some blogging done. That way, even though I would have to start hiking late and therefore make it to camp late, at least I could just go right to sleep as soon as I was set up and only be a few hours behind on blogging.

Because I was always walking ahead and then stopping to blog and wait for the rest to catch up, I scared off a pair of moose before anyone else could see. So after that I took to staying put even after the others caught up, letting them get way ahead and get first dibs on the animal sightings, then catching up, passing them, and repeating the cycle.

We finally made it back to the campground about 1pm. I had been hoping to be finished by noon, but the last few miles were really hard on my mom. Gail seemed to do quite well though. 5 or 6 miles is a long first wilderness hike. Anyway, my mom stopped at the boat launch parking lot, Gail brought the keys to the trailhead, and I drove back to pick her up to save her the last quarter mile. She said her legs were wobbly and she was feeling sick to her stomach. It was probably a result of not drinking enough before starting or just generally not being accustomed to exertion at 8000 feet above sea level.

With a bit of speeding, we were back in Pinedale a bit after 2, and as soon as I had cell service, I had phoned the Mexican place the forest service ranger girl had recommended to have me a burrito ready. So, we stopped to pick that up, then swung by Ridley’s for some Lamisil (days of hiking in wet socks made a great environment for fungal growth) and a Gatorade to drink with my burrito. Then, we were finally headed back out to the trailhead, where, after eating the burrito, pictures, and some shenanigans, I was ready to hike out by 3:30.

The hike up to Seneca Lake was much the same as the one down but in reverse. My pack was heavier and it trended uphill, so I went slower. I took a break at Photographer’s Point this time, which seemed like a prettier view on that clear afternoon. I saw two grouse going up compared to only one going down, but just as many chipmunks.

Around 7:30, I arrived back at the very same campsite from two nights before and pitched my tent in the very same place. It’s nice when you already know where to go and don’t have to think. A cold wind picked up as the sun set, so I cooked in the vestibule while snuggled in my new tent, then got to sleep at a much more reasonable hour than the previous night. Not even the squirrels were yelling through my tent walls. Just the wind in the trees.

Trail miles: 0 (not one of those 13 or 14 miles hiked counts!)

Distance to Lander: ~81 miles

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After waking up in the night to tighten my guy lines from the shaking power of the wind, eventually my tent warmed up and I could be comfortable. I couldn’t sleep through the night though. I woke up on several occasions. And when there started to be some light, it was raining, so I rushed to pull things in. The rain was light and didn’t last, but I slept in until 7 anyway. By then, the sun was starting to come over the peaks and peek between the clouds, warming up the whole tent whenever it hit it directly. The intense cold winds continued, of course.

By the time I came out of the tent, the chatty old man I was talking to the night before had long since left. So had the three guys down on the water. I could see a few figures on the other side of the lake and one woman crossing the rock hop to the other side. All that was left in camp was me and the tent in the trees above me.

I hiked out about 9:30. Just over the starting scree field to get to the other side of the lake, I was already warm enough to take off my down coat. Two guys from New York (Long Island and Albany) caught up to me there. They were the guys from the tent above me. They would be right behind me throughout the climb.

The first section had something like a trail, or at least a route. There were footprints in the snow when the track wasn’t clear. Sometimes the many streams coming down the hill just ran down the trail. Sometimes the trail was a muddy bog. It felt like a climb up to any other pass but wetter. Somewhere halfway up, I started to feel the effects of the altitude, so I started occasionally hyperventilating to make sure I was getting the oxygen I needed to get up to the col without getting a headache.

The last part of the climb, just above the source of the Green River–where I grabbed a bag of water just for safety’s sake–was a more of a free-form hands-on affair. I stopped for a morning snack, then strapped my trekking poles to my pack to free up my hands for better climbing. Then I just found the best way I could up to where the col was. Maybe it wasn’t always the best or recommended way, but everyone gets to do it how they decide to do it.

I took a break with the New York guys at the top of the pass when they caught up to me there just before noon. In total it was a 2.5 mile climb in 2.5 hours. 1 mph doesn’t put it quite in the bottom tier in my trail ranking system. In short, it wasn’t that bad. It was quite literally the high point of my trip so far at 12,288 feet.

The descent was much swifter. Some Chinese ladies had made a nice series of post holes down the Twins Glacier, which was covered with fresh powder and easy to make tracks in. Bits of snow knocked aside with a step had a tendency to roll down the hill and gather up more snow as they went until they formed into giant cheese wheels standing at the end of a narrow track. When I came to a steep and rock-free area of snow, I took a shortcut by just sitting down and sliding down the hill until I reached the next rocky patch. I was able to do this a couple of times before the hill started to get less steep. Then I could sort of ski across the snow field on my shoes. It took maybe only five or ten minutes to reach the bottom of the glacier this way.

I continued to work my way down into the basin along the creek that was forming among the rocks. A little after two, I reached the bottom, as evidenced by the campsites people had built by arranging stones into wind barriers. I stopped behind one extra large boulder that was doing a decent job of blocking most of the wind for lunch. It was just after 1. The New York guys joined me shortly thereafter, and we hiked out again about the same time. I got way ahead of them once we regained a proper trail and didn’t see them again.

The trail in question was a boggy, rocky mess along the valley floor running alongside a chain of increasingly large lakes. It was also an extremely popular trail. There were just as many people headed to the top of the basin as moving down it with me. Scores of people.

An hour or so into this, the weather changed its mind. I ignored the little drops of rain at first, but they got more frequent until I had to stop and install my Packa. No sooner had I gotten that on and started hiking again, the rain turned into hail. Much larger hail than what I’d seen two days before. Sometimes it stung when it hit. Then, before the hail had even stopped falling, the sun came out again.

Coming into the Island Lake area, I came over a hill with very little wind for some reason, so I decided to take advantage of the return of good weather with a snack break on a rock there. But I had barely gotten started snacking when it started raining again. Back on went the Packa and I started hiking again, figuring that handful of calories could get me to dinner.

As soon as I climbed out of the Island Lake area (another extremely popular area mobbed with hikers and their tents), I was stopped for a conversation with a forest service ranger. Once he has confirmed I had a trowel to bury my poop (yes, he said those exact words) and that some of the people hiking next to me hadn’t pitched their tents too close to a lake (they had–he promised to give them a ticket if they didn’t move them by the time he came over there), he was willing to give me a lead on a good spot to legally camp and chat about his job.

I hiked across the Fremont Crossing, joined the CDT, passed the tiny lake where those others were illegally camped, left the CDT again, and continued up to a ridge overlooking Little Seneca Lake. I posted up on a rock there and started filtering the water from the Green River source to make dinner. I had just started boiled the first bit of water for dinner when another forest service ranger, a small lady, hiking up the hill came over to chat. She was headed up to join the other guy, but in the meantime, she was happy to give me some tips about where to eat in Pinedale.

I only went a mile more after dinner, just to the point where the trail leaves the shore of Seneca Lake and climbs over the bluff next to it. The first ranger (Brett) had said to camp in these knolls. He wasn’t wrong. I had only gone a hundred yards or so into the hills when I found a beautiful campsite with some wind protection and lake views. I had a nice long easy evening there. There was a brief bout of rain once I was tucked in my sleeping bag, but it didn’t last long enough to worry about. And even though I was still above 10000 feet, it wasn’t even that cold compared to the previous nights.

Trail miles: 10.8 (the Seneca Lake Trail doesn’t count)

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Another cold morning meant sleeping in until 7. It wasn’t cold except when a chill wind came whipping through the cabin from the opposite direction it had the night before. That kind of unpredictability was why I put my tent in the middle of the room. Wind could blow the rain in but none of it could reach my tent. Hence, everything was dry that could be dry. Which is to say, everything was dry except the wet socks I donned and inserted into wet boots.

At 8:30, I left the cabins and walked over the bridge to the campground. I talked to a nobo on the way up to the trailhead, the first Black CDT hiker I’ve seen out here. They are rare, but they exist! There were a number of other backpackers just leaving, some wanting to talk to me, some that I would see later in the day.

My first stop in the campground was the administrative building, namely the trash cans in front of it. One of the guys working there really wanted me to know that “we are the ones who have to pack that out” before he let me add my trash to the bin. Of course, my trash was small and weighed less than a pound, and his “packing out” meant driving out in the back of a truck, so it really was easier for him than me.

Next stop, carry my water bag over to one of the many spigots throughout the campground. Since it was easy and would save me time later, I filled it right to the top. Then, I hiked right back out the way I came in.

As soon as I crossed the bridge again, I met another hiker out to do the Wyoming section of the CDT southbound. We both had the same plan for the day: get to Peak Lake on the Knapsack Col alternate and see whether it would be passable given the amount of snow there was up there after all those storms. We had high hopes because it was shaping up to be a beautiful warm clear day (aside from that cold wind) and would indeed be exactly that. We never got around to introducing ourselves in all the eagerness to hike, even when we met again and again.

I passed hiker after hiker coming around the east side of the lower Green River Lake. It was a surprisingly popular trail. Most were headed north, some were just sitting in chairs with an indeterminate direction, some were fly fishing the river (but from the bank–that glacial melt was far too cold to stand in), but I passed other pair of old guys aimed for the same part of the mountains as me. One of them wanted to chat about moose the second time he caught me. Based on his pace, they wouldn’t be getting anywhere near as far as I planned to that day.

Once I got to the last bridge over the Green River, I didn’t see any more going my way. I stopped for lunch in a sunny clearing (it was still cool in the shade just before the trail started its big climb into the mountains. While seated there, I saw three northbounders coming down, but no one going up. I also changed into my dry, thick socks because my boots were dry and the damp socks were making my feet hurt.

The climb itself wasn’t too bad. It was mostly really gentle switchbacks and had been pretty well cleared of blowdowns, except for one at exactly head height ready to bonk me. I was able to climb at basically the same speed I go over level ground. The only major obstacle was the Trail Creek crossing. Normally, it’s an easy rock hop to cross dry this time of year, but after all that rain and snow, it was raging. I went a long way upstream but could find no easy rock hop routes. Eventually, I crossed on a pine tree downstream from the trail, not an easy feat. But I kept that nice pair of socks dry.

I could keep that steady climbing pace pretty well until the turnoff for Vista Pass, a much steeper trail with a lot more blowdowns. It had been a few hours since lunch at that point and I was starting to drag a bit. So once I gained the more level ground near the top of the pass, I pulled over to a sunny rock near a shallow pond to make supper. I had just started boiling the water when the old southbounder guy from the morning came over to join me briefly. Then he hiked on ahead to do the last three miles to the lake. It was nearly an hour before I finished up and followed him out.

There were more blowdowns and water and mud in the trail for the first mile, though, riding high on the dinner energy, I didn’t let those things slow me at all. Soon I was crossing a scree field, and someone had sort of arranged the rocks into a kind of path. Then I crossed the creek and ran into a wall of boulders. It was a matter of finding my own way from cairn to cairn for this little bit, a real Abol Slide Trail (at Katahdin) moment.

But once I got high enough above the scree, something more like a trail reemerged, and I picked up the pace again. Near the top, the trail turned into a streambed, and I hopped from side to side, staying on the high rocks to keep my socks dry.

There was even more water and mud in the trail as I took a hard turn left and came over Cube Rock Pass, and it was a stream again all the way down the other side to the lake. I started avoiding the trail and finding other ways down. My socks came out slightly damp but largely unscathed. And I got to see my first pika of the year. Finally, some proper mountains!

Since I would be camping down there, I hoped the bowl of the lake would have some good wind protection, or that I could find a protected spot for my tent. Hope for the latter was dashed when I saw just how many tents there were already at the lake. The place was mobbed. A difficult side trail to the foot of an even more difficult climb at an elevation of 10,500 feet, and everyone and their brother had come out.

Pickings were slim for campsites that were on only slightly damp ground, so holding out for wind protection seemed a lost cause. I found the chatty old guy who was on the same plan as me, and saw a little shelf to stick my tent just around the corner from him. It was on the wrong side of the rocks to be out of the wind, but I didn’t see anything better around, and it was getting late.

With the tips now broken off both trekking poles, it took some time to get set up in a wind-resistant fashion. My only blessing was that the forecast I downloaded said that even with the windchill, it would only get down to 36 that night.

I was glad to have the first nice day and night in a while be right when I was planning to do this section. What lay ahead didn’t really even deserve to be called “trail.” If you remember my trail classification, it would fall somewhere near the bottom end of that. A 2000 foot choose-your-own-path up a scree field over the course of just 2.5 miles. And then something similar down the other side. It wasn’t possible at all without good weather, much less worth the effort. But on a good day, the views should be incredible.

Trail miles: 17.8

Distance to Pinedale: 20.8 miles

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It didn’t rain all night, but it was very cold. I learned even before I fell asleep that the sleeping bag I bought last year for extra warmth has gotten its stuffing so compacted and moved around that it didn’t provide nearly as much warmth as it once did. But even though it was still slightly cold all dressed up in the bag, it was colder still outside it, and yet colder with even the inner tent flaps open to let the breeze in.

When it’s that cold, I don’t get up before sunrise. I would rather go to bed late and get up late in winter weather. So I rolled over and over to stay in my bag in my tent until 6:30 when it started getting light out. The first thing I did was grabbed my towel to mop up the expected condensation from camping near a lake on a cold night. But when I went to do the same for the fly, it only crackled. It had been cold enough to turn the condensation into frost. There was even a layer of frost on the part of my backpack that wasn’t under the fly. And it was nearly that cold still. Just another August morning in Wyoming, I guess.

Obviously, I stalled as much as possible the putting on of wet socks and shoes and packed up everything I could pack before opening the outer flap to let all the heat out. The sun was firmly in the sky by the time I did that. And the wet boots didn’t end up being that bad. What with stopping to stand in the sun or tuck my fingers between my legs, I was very nearly packed before my fingers and toes were painfully cold and losing feeling. I took off my jacket at the last minute, packed it up, and hiked out around the lake around quarter to nine. Which, you know, was still an earlier start than the last two days.

The trail walked along the dam on the southern end of the lake keeping it from spilling into the much lower meadow on the other side. I can only assume the dam was artificial, but it was old enough to be completely overgrown with trees, which in turn had fallen all across the trail. Right off the bat, I was introduced to the theme of the day: navigating piles of blowdowns over the trail.

I also got a number of animal sightings in. Aside from the cows, herds of which parted before me every time I crossed a meadow, I also saw a deer right off the bat.

I kept seeing small groups of pronghorns in the next long pasture I crossed, sharing the area with the myriad cows, but by the time I reached the other end, they had joined together into a massive but tight cluster of at least 50 of them. I felt like I was on the Serengeti for a moment.

After a short break where the trail briefly entered the trees (as they provided a convenient windbreak for that ever-present chilly breeze), I stopped at a small lake 3 miles in to watch a beaver swimming, at which point Cliff Richards and Lost Keys appeared suddenly behind me. They had cut across a meadow and avoided visiting the lake for some reason. I chatted for a moment about our plans for the next few days and the weather (an especially interesting topic of late) but excused myself as quickly as possible to get some miles in and give Cliff some privacy to take his long johns off.

I committed to not stopping for lunch until 2, crossed a meadow and a creek, and plunged into the next forested section. Once again, there were myriad blowdowns constantly sending me off-trail, and on one such diversion, the rain started falling. I stopped to put on my Packa and got back to work just as the clouds opened up with fifteen minutes of Dippin’ Dots sized hail. It subsided to normal rain, then reprised this performance fifteen minutes later while I was navigating the nastiest stack of trees in the section. After that was a slight lull in the rain, so I finally stopped for lunch. It rained more while I ate, but not heavily, and it did not hail again at all. There was some pretty intense lightning during the next climb though.

Finally, I came up to Gunsight Pass, which wasn’t much of a climb to the top, and didn’t offer much of a view due to the rain, I got a nice respite from the blowdowns as I descended to the Roaring Fork. I crossed the river with blowdowns as bridges (even though my boots and socks were already soaked from the rain), and then had to cross the thickest blowdown-filled section yet. But once I had picked my way across that, I was treated to an easy, muddy traverse across to the edge of the Green River Valley.

It stopped raining for minutes at a time at this point, and the sun was even briefly visible on a couple of occasions. I took advantage of one of those short windows to get a snack break in that could carry me to my destination. Then I came to the edge of the ridge that dropped into the valley and could actually see the whole thing spread out before me. Yet again, it stopped raining long enough for me to drop my pack and climb up on a trail boulder and get a panorama. Then I was making the long descent into the valley.

Along this descent, I saw a couple of bull mooses below the trail, one with an enormous rack, but they didn’t stick around long enough to even get my phone out.

Finally, with the rain picking up again, I reached the edge of the Green River. I was planning on heading over to the campground on the other side to make dinner, but there was a fortuitously placed abandoned log cabin with a sod roof nearby I needed to check out. It was completely dry inside, so obviously I decided to make dinner right there. I watched two deer work their way across the meadow from one side of the cabin to the other while I ate.

Right next to it was another smaller cabin with a dirt floor, also pretty dry, so I pitched my tent there while my dessert tea was steeping. I was briefly accosted by a little brown bat during this and got a very good look at it climbing up the wall and out an exit of its own. This was my last animal sighting of the day. I went back to drink my dessert, brush my teeth, then fetch my pack and everything I would need to sleep into the smaller cabin. I would go to bed without having to worry about the rain, though the shifting cold winds and dropping temperatures would still be a concern in the little cabin with open holes for windows.

Indeed, around 11pm, the wind was whipping my tent flaps around so much it woke me. I finally decided to get up and check on the Packa I had hanging in the other cabin. I put my bare feet in my cold wet boots and climbed out into that wind to find my ground cloth all folded up and some bags sent to the other side of the room. The Packa was fine as the other cabin didn’t catch wind from that direction very well, but I took it down and put it against the wall anyway. By morning the wind would have shifted to a direction that could have torn it apart with blowing. Then I returned to my tent to start the process of warming my freezing toes up again from zero. Within an hour, another thunderstorm was raging outside, but I had tightened up my tent guy lines and had nothing left to worry about, so I let the thunder put me to sleep.

Trail miles: 18.0

Distance to Pinedale: 38.6 miles

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I woke up at a few stages throughout the night and morning and it was always still raining. Nonetheless, my tent modifications were effective and everything inside was staying dry. I knew from the forecast that it would still be raining out at my usual rising time, and it was. I also knew that it wouldn’t rain all morning, so I decided to just sleep in until it stopped so that I could pack up without getting myself and all my gear wet in the process. It stopped raining about 8am, and with the extra time of changing clothes and getting the tent interior less wet, I didn’t start hiking until 10:30.

Just because it wasn’t raining doesn’t mean it was dry. There was still plenty of pea soup fog to ruin any nice views I might have had all morning otherwise.

I had a late lunch again on a log just as the rain started again. I kept my Packa on and draped my Tyvek over my pack to keep it mostly dry. I had to hunch over my tortillas to keep the rain off the as I prepared my wraps.

Within an hour of lunch, the sun came out. During another stop, I put away the Packa and stuffed a bunch of bars and candy into my pockets so I could eat while I walked for once. Just past this stop, I left the trail and crossed a meadow to get to a road that ran over Fish Lake Mountain before meeting the trail again. On the way up a steep hill, a brief rain started that I put my Packa on again for, but it stopped and I kept climbing with the jacket off. I also took off my down puff that I had been wearing all day because this was the first time I had actually been hot in it.

Eventually, once I had climbed to the prairie on the top of the plateau, I was glad to have come this way once the weather had slightly cleared. There was no protection from the cold wind, so I pulled the jacket on again, but I could actually see some views of the surrounding mountains, and herds of pronghorns running in the distant fields. A few miles of this and I finally rejoined the official trail. Or, more accurately, the trail rejoined the road I was on. It seems pretty likely that the road over the mountain used to be the trail once.

I stopped for supper near this junction. It was much easier than lunch since it wasn’t raining. I got a weather report while cooking and decided to hike all the way to Lake of the Woods on that basis–it wouldn’t be raining all night. The sun was getting low in the sky and the temperature was dripping, so I put up my Packa and put on my down puff again to do another three miles through cow pasture to Lake of the Woods. I arrived around 8:30, just in time to see the full moon rising over the lake. I set up my tent and crawled inside to change for a mostly dry but very cold night.

Trail miles: 17.4

Distance to Pinedale: 56.6 miles

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To keep from waking everyone else up, I slept in until 6. But then I got up and started packing, and everyone else woke up too. Prince and Beanie Weenie did not really get out of bed, as all they had to do was hitch 40 miles out to Yellowstone that day.

But who did get up immediately was the mystery fourth hiker, Andrew, who turned out to be the lone sobo I had passed the previous day going over the hill to Cub Creek. Apparently, he had passed me again somewhere near Cub Creek where I ate dinner without me seeing, hiked all the way to the road, and spent the night at some random guy’s house halfway to Dubois while I was weathering the storm in the campground.

Anyway, before I had even finished packing, he left, saying he was going to a public restroom because he’s a “shy pooper,” which makes no sense as an excuse to leave to me. It certainly supported our efforts to give him a trail name along the lines of Secret Agent Man–he always comes by when you aren’t there or aren’t looking or can’t see, and disappears again just as mysteriously. Now, I’m thinking maybe Secret Squirrel would be funnier.

For my part, I finished packing, loaded up, and walked to the Village Cafe again. Even though the Cowboy Cafe had a line of people waiting for a seat, Village Cafe had enough free tables I could seat myself. So, coffee, bacon, sausage, 3 eggs, and hash browns leaving me still a bit empty, I ordered a plate sized hotcake too.

When I left the cafe, I was actually ready to hike, even though it meant hiking in the rain. It was that misty, foggy, and occasionally lightly sprinkly sort of wet. But I wrapped up in my Packa and walked a mile to the north edge of town to stick out my thumb. Much better luck this time. Ken, working up at the Triple Bar J, was headed home from getting a tooth pulled on his day off, stopped for me after I’d only been there ten minutes, and took me all the way up into the pea soup fog of Togwotee Pass and right to the trailhead. Super nice guy, too. Lived and worked in WY his whole life.

So, I headed off into the fog and sprinkling rain up a long road that devolved from gravel to mud over the course of just 3 miles. I had my hood up and my head down, but at some point, I looked up and saw a yurt standing there. It seemed like a good time to take a break, so I climbed the steep and rotting wood steps and pushed open the knobless door. I was surprised to find the place was fully furnished and clearly well-used. There was a double bed (partially soaked since the canvas roof was leaking) and a bunk bed next to it. A table with a propane stove hooked to a propane tank on top. A wood stove in the corner… with hot coals smoldering inside. Someone had just left. I hoped I was allowed to be here. (Comments on Guthook indicated lots of hikers staying there before me.)

So I grabbed a couple of pieces of split firewood from the pile by the stove and slid them inside. I tore a page from the magazine on the table, balled it, and shoved it under them. Then, I just blew a few times on the coals and the fire was roaring again. The stove was a bit leaky and smoke was getting into the room. But it started burning more cleanly soon. So I dragged a chair over and had a long, relaxing snack break next to a fire and out of the wind and rain. It was afternoon by the time I hiked out again.

The fog lifted over the next hour or so, but there was still a cold wind blowing and the sun never came out long enough to dry anything.

I met nobos Crocs and Jibs beside the road. Jibs was on the phone with a hotel in Dubois and could only say a few words to me, but I gave Crocs some tips about Dubois and in return, he suggested a shortcut of the upcoming hairpin in the road. I don’t think I quite found the trail he was talking about, but I did find a decently well-used trail through the dense, wet woods and cut off a mile of trail.

I stopped for lunch a little way past there, a pretty late lunch considering my late start and huge snack at the yurt, and then the trail finally left the road and cut through the woods for a while. Further on, the trail started alternating between wet, boggy meadows and woods. Later on, I was following a series of signposts that seemed to run right through the thickest parts of the bog and thick bushes, which was odd since I had no trouble skirting the bog on the edge of the meadow. It became clear when I checked my map that the trail did indeed avoid the bog and those signposts had nothing to do with the trail. But I was already well away from the trail and there was a good cow track in front of me, so I continued following it out to the road and cut across to the trail on that.

Just past where the two crossed, there was one of those enormous two man Zpax tents nestled at the edge of the woods, which was odd because it seemed way too early to be encamped. I called on it to find out if it was anyone I knew.

It was actually a couple, Cliff Richards and Lost Keys, and they were actually sobos for once. They had come out of Dubois late the previous day and spent the night in the yurt on the double bed then left late in the morning, hence the hot coals still in the stove. Cliff said they were stopping early just because they didn’t feel too good for some reason and liked this campsite, but still intended to hike all the way to South Pass City without a stop in Pinedale. I only saw Cliff’s face, Lost never poked hers out, but I figured I would see them again down the trail.

I, however, still had some time to get some good hiking done and didn’t intend to stop. It was starting to rain lightly again, and I was hiking out into the meadow with no protection from the cold wind. Even with my new gloves, my fingers were freezing.

I made it to my goal of Sheridan Pass without stopping and without having eaten dinner, so I continued until the next stand of trees (for wind protection) and made camp. The rain was getting heavier as I did, so I was trying to keep everything dry and get it under shelter as fast as I could. I decided staying warm and dry took priority over bear protocol (and what kind of bear would be out in that weather anyway?), so I climbed inside my tent, did all the set up from the inside (which is slower), changed into dry socks and added my long underwear, got into my sleeping bag, then cooked supper in the vestibule and ate in the tent. It was a pretty intense rain while all this was going on and it all took so long that it was well into the ten o’clock hour by the time I was ready to sleep.

But I couldn’t. As soon as I lay down, water was dripping on my face. I got out my towel and started mopping up water from the inside of the tent and fly, then modified the shape of my tent the best I could from the inside to stop it from channeling condensation in such a way that it would drip on my face. I put the towel next to my head and finally went to sleep.

Trail miles: 16.5 (counting the mile I skipped)

Distance to Pinedale: 74 miles

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