Journey of a Million Steps
Colorado Trail ’20 Journal
Background
I believe the purpose of life is to live – I mean to live fully in each moment, not merely drift from day to day in half measures. So it was only natural when I learned of the Colorado Trail’s existence in January, an old, tired flame forgotten somewhere deep inside the shell of a person I had become flared up and burned so hot it melted away years of indifference to reveal an insatiable childlike curiosity and wonder.
In this modern day and age, it’s either the most common or heartbreaking story that someone who’s only spent 24 years in the human condition is already almost completely burnt out. I vividly remember lounging back in the passenger seat of my dad’s SUV one sunny afternoon explaining to him what it felt like that life seemed to have lost its shine. That I longed to marvel again. To wonder. To become undone and bring forth an evolved version of myself.
Not even 6 months later, the CT came into view. Up until that point, my scope was mostly limited to the famous Triple Crown trails (PCT, AT, CDT). No firm time in mind – just someday, one day. If anything, more of a pipe dream easy to exhale when people asked. But the CT immediately gripped my soul and began pulling at the seams. Some visceral part of me recognized this as the rekindling my spirit had been seeking. And so, the journey began.
I scoured the Internet for every byte of information I could find regarding the trail and gear and familiarized myself with the makes and breaks of backpacking through forums, blogs, articles, and whatever else I could find. Given how the thought of figuring out logistics around resupplying for the PCT was intimidating, the idea of not resupplying at all on the CT immediately resonated with me. So on the beautiful, sunlit morning of August 2nd at 6:45, I set out from Waterton Canyon bright-eyed bushy-tailed with 84 Oatmeal Chocolate Chip ProBars, some coconut oil, peanut butter, pecan halves, electrolyte mix, and energy chews with the intention of putting in 54 miles a day and emerging in Durango in roughly 9 days.
Well, the trail had other plans for me deciding I needed a much longer course of mountain medicine and instead prescribed 21 days 12 hours and 52 minutes, ending on August 23rd at 19:37.
Below is a glimpse into the other lifetime I lived over the duration of those three weeks. As for the more substantive details regarding the process of bringing about Soph 2.0, maybe I’ll write a book about it one day 😉
Day 1 - August 2, 2020
[ 27.5 Miles ]
The first day of the rest of my life started from Waterton Canyon Trailhead at 6:45. By the time I was a couple miles in, my spine was already buckling under the weight of my pack. Dr. Hartman’s stern voice played back in my head, “You’re crazy. You need to be realistic. It could go either way – it might not bother you at all, or it could get a lot worse.” I brought my focus back to the trail in front of me and heard my own voice say, “I appreciate your concern, but I need this.” A few miles later, I inadvertently invaded a rattlesnake’s personal space where the dirt road becomes single-track – my first reminder to stay present and be mindful of my visitor status in these wild lands. There was an “active bear in area” sign although I didn’t see one, and another sign stating hikers had to carry their own water. I found this odd given the rushing river right next to the trail, but I didn’t end up replenishing until the end of Segment 1 at the South Platte. I’m curious how this dry season will manifest up in the mountains.
I had read about Gudy Gaskill while conducting my research and come across pictures of the Gudy Gaskill Bridge that links the first two segments, but seeing it with my own eyes and crossing over it was a whole different experience. I not only felt a soul-deep gratitude for everything she did to bring the Colorado Trail into existence, but I swore I could feel a different energy in the breeze. Couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful way to start Segment 2.
The first couple miles of the segment were mostly overcast, but the sky opened up as I was heading up the ridge. At one point, I sat down to refuel and a ray of sunshine was focused through my water bottle in such a way that it burned my arm. I was stoked (it was much cooler than it sounds). All the chocolate in my ProBars for the day melted from being in the bottom pocket of my pack. Between being exposed to my body heat and the hot weather, something with chocolate chips probably wasn’t the best choice – but hey, this flavor had the most calories per ounce and I was nothing but thankful for the time my dad spent helping me rewrap 84 of these things.
The vast expanse of space and rarely seeing another soul was quite an adjustment for me. Super emotional day overall – starting the monthly bloodworks didn’t help. At one point, Mama Nature casted a full-spectrum double rainbow over a nearby peak – prompting me to produce a torrential downpour.
When I reached the fire station around 20:00, I met Blue and someone who had met the end of his trip through severe dehydration. My heart shattered for his situation as I watched him make ride arrangements. After filling up at the spigot, I walked over to the power lines near the road and pulled out my phone to make a call. Holding back a tidal wave of emotions, I brought the dusty device to my ear and waited. When my dad’s voice came through, I dropped the remnants of my composure and told him all the things I should have said years ago through stifled sobs. The light of golden hour filtered across the landscape and faded as we talked, flawlessly matching the moment we shared. Wiping tears from blurry contacts, I hiked on for another mile or so before making camp before Little Scraggy Trailhead. Between it being the third time I’d pitched this tent and the crazy compact ground, it took an hour of fumbling before I was finally settled in for my first night camping alone and in the backcountry. Lost my Tibetan quartz somewhere along the trail today, but I trust it’ll serve whoever finds it the same way it’s served me. Coyotes in the distance howled me to a half sleep.
Day 2 - August 3, 2020
[ 17.5 Miles ]
Snapped awake shivering and slightly disoriented around 2:00. I made the mistake of not eating much before bed – only a small handful of pecan halves. It was 61 out according to my watch, but boy did it feel like 30. Instead of getting up right away, I stared at the moon through my tent for a long time feeling thankful for solid gear and the opportunity to be out here. I already have a renewed wonder of what each new sun will bring. No soreness or stiffness so far.
As the sun ascended its throne, I finally decided it was time to get up. Well, nature skipped over calling and practically screamed the moment I moved, so given the open landscape with widely-spaced trees and wakeful tent occupants in the vicinity, I ended up frantically excavating a cathole in my vestibule. All I’m going to say is desperate times call for desperate measures.
Hit the trail again right around 8:00. When I grabbed my trekking poles, I noticed something went to town on one of the grips last night. Hope you enjoyed your snack, little buddy! Water was much more plentiful than yesterday. Shots rang in the distance for a stretch as the trail passed a rifle range. I’m getting a bit tired of the ProBars but still trying to eat one every hour despite not having felt hungry at all. The trail gradually gained elevation, and I hardly saw anyone for long stretches through the forest. A little before 16:00, a torrential rain/hail cocktail caught me off-guard and I was soaked before even thinking about throwing on rain gear. Given that it’s stuffed to absolute capacity, I haven’t been able to roll the top of my 37-liter Pa’lante yet, so after hastily pulling on my rain shell, I leaned over my pack to keep the contents dry. Couldn’t help but laugh so hard I cried.
About five minutes later, the clouds broke, sunshine peeked through the trees, and I was rigidly waddling up a trail that now had a stream of water cascading down it. When it leveled out, I stopped to air out my rain shell and regain my bearings. It wasn’t long before a friendly voice greeted me from behind. I was relieved to see another person. We bantered about the storm as I finished recalibrating and resumed hiking. Not even 50 feet down the trail, we came upon a couple of people who had a camp with four horses. The two introduced themselves as Allen and Donna, who tame feral horses to save them from being shot. Donna asked if we were hiking together and after we told her we’d just met moments earlier, she made the remark, “Well, you might just become new best friends.” After a few minutes of chatting with them, the woman I later came to know as Kremlin continued on while I stayed to hear more. Allen offered me a ride on one of their horses. Given my FKT mission, I turned down the kind offer and took to the trail again even though my inner fire flared at the idea. A few minutes later, I decided life’s entirely too short to not do things that call to your soul, so I turned back and rode a Harley around their camp. Hello, my old heart.
After the thrill ride and getting back on the move, I was faced with a stark reality. I was still soaked to the bone and iced in the breeze. With flashbacks to Doc talking about hypothermia in August during Wilderness & Survival Skills class swirling around my head, I sat down to get some fuel into the furnace. I bit into a ProBar and immediately felt nauseous. The monkey mind in me started wondering if this was the beginning of the end of my trip. Thankfully it wasn’t. About half a mile up the trail, I came across Kremlin straight chilling on a log having some food totally unfazed by the storm. I was immediately drawn to her energy. She listened patiently as I unloaded to her how I was straight up not having a good time and then when she finished eating, we hiked a few more miles before camping out near the first exit point of Lost Creek Wilderness.
Day 3 - August 4, 2020
[ 17.4 Miles ]
Drifted in and out of cold sleep for a few hours before fully returning from the dreamscape at 5:00. I’ve gotten about seven hours of half-sleep over the last three days. I had to laugh at the original plan to hit the trail at 2:00 every morning given how I learned with a quickness how difficult it is to get out of my quilt without the light and warmth of the sun. So instead, I laid there for a long time reflecting on my experience so far and feeling immensely thankful for Kremlin, whose existence is a divine blessing. To have crossed paths with her in this lifetime is nothing short of a divine synchronicity. There’s no other way I could explain how I came to see spitting similarities in another being. I mean for starters, what are the actual odds of meeting someone who’s just returned from Antarctica, after working in the position I’ve been in the process of applying for? Especially out here, of all places. And then there’s the whole myriad of finer details like the last four digits of my phone number being her birth year, sharing similar worldviews, wild tendencies, and familiarity with less common ideas and texts, preferring to use military time, an affinity for David Goggins – the list only grows… I’m perplexed.
Early on in the day, Kremlin and I hiked through a gorgeous, expansive meadow where I stopped to rinse out my clothes and collect water from a horse-poopy stream. I surprisingly didn’t mind the taste too much and instead honored it as earthy elixir.
We hit the first aspen forest around late afternoon with a few blowdowns to step over/maneuver around shortly after getting back into the pines. I grow increasingly thankful for deep, enriching, and often sidesplitting life talks with Kremlin. You know those people who just get it? She gets it.
My favorite part of the day was pausing in deep woods to watch a blood-red sun meet the horizon while enjoying a nostalgic American Spirit with before breaking out our headlamps and continuing on into the darkness. A mile or so later, we camped nestled in aspens with cows close by. They were reluctant to moo-ve 😉
Day 4 - August 5, 2020
[ 15.4 Miles ]
Today had a monumental start. I not only finally fully fell asleep last night, but I’d also finally eaten enough to obtain the first roll to close my pack. Woke up to some pretty intense condensation and a wet quilt, but it magically dried while being compressed in its stuff sack all day.
Hit the trail before sunrise and crossed into cow country soon after. The first task was dodging cow pies galore while brushing my teeth with one hand and typing a message to Papa Tang on my inReach with the other. I saw my first herd of grazing cows right before a stream where Krems was having breakfast. Given the mixed things I’ve read about the cows, it’ll be interesting to see for myself what it’s like to share water with them. Lots of mild climbs and descents throughout the day. During a break, I received my trail name “Antalones” derived from the Spanish word for pants “pantalones,” alluding to the fact that at any given time, I probably have at least one ant in my pants. My first experience with trail magic took place at the Kenosha Pass parking lot provided by a gentleman named Lone Star who was stocked with beer, snacks, and stories. Krems enjoyed some beer while I soaked up the stories. About an hour later, an amusingly buzzed Kremlin and I practiced fencing with our trekking poles while walking toward Hwy 285 and then proceeded to royally wave at drivers after crossing because sometimes you’re hikerclass not trash. Lots of branch-teepees strewn throughout the forest on the other side – someone or something left a serious trace. We hiked another six miles or so before making camp near Jefferson Creek where we met Aladdin and gawked at a mama moose with her baby across the creek for something like 20 minutes. At one point, Mama Moose made solid eye contact for about five minutes before resuming chewing. Learned I could hold my breath for five minutes. Mid-staredown, I carefully leaned toward Kremlin and whispered, “I’m sending her loving vibes right now…” Without breaking eye contact, she replied, “Me, too!”
Day 5 - August 6, 2020
[ 20 Miles ]
Caught a few winks and woke up early again but didn’t get up until the sky lightened. The day started with a quiet, slightly melancholic climb up the mountain before I caught up to where Kremlin was taking a break. The whole way from Jefferson Creek to Georgia Pass felt relatively mild despite being about a 2k gain – trail legs, is that you? Views opened up a bit before the high point where there was a patch of snow downhill from the trail. Of course Kremlin and I dropped our packs to go play in it. Standing on slushy snow mid-selfie, I slipped laughing uncontrollably and came within an inch of losing my front teeth to a rock – this of course only made me laugh even harder. Not sure if it’s obvious yet, but I’m easily amused.
Took a snack break at the high point at Georgia Pass where Aladdin had caught up. Aladdin acquired his trail name here while sitting on a sleeping pad that was flapping wildly in the wind like a magic flying carpet.
Super stoked to encounter the first CDT trail marker shortly after descending from GP. Good deal of rises and falls in elevation until a dry camp near Keystone Gulch. I was hobbling and placing much of my body weight on my poles by halfway – my feet decided things have been too vanilla so far and shook them up by popping out quarter-sized blisters on the outsides of my heels.
ProBars are getting tastier by the bite, but swallowing pieces of coconut oil in its solid state is still irrefutably dreadful…
The stars were unbelievable from the bench adjacent to camp overlooking the mountains and city lights of I think Keystone? off in the distance. Full view of the Milky Way and countless shooting stars streaming light across the sky. I realized later that may have been the Perseids meteor shower. Went to sleep late tired but so joyful.
Day 6 - August 7, 2020
[ 21.4 Miles ]
Hit the trail right after 7:00, knees were stiff for first half hour descending into Horseshoe Gulch. Stopped at a small stream to collect water and rinse my shorts and socks from the previous day. Lots of day-hikers and runners around this junction. At this point, I could probably whiff their shampoo and dryer sheets upwind. Krems and Aladdin came down the trail while I was finishing up my ultra-wash cycle aka forceful swishing through two inches of water. On that note, I think I’m getting used to this not showering thing. I’m pretty sure my hair will have gained the ability to stand on its own by the end of this trip, but at least I’ll finally be able to fully express my inner troll doll.
At the Blair Witch Trail junction, I paused for a moment to appreciate that I didn’t have to go that way and that my original plan of camping in the area for the second night didn’t pan out because first of all – what an awful movie. And secondly, even if it’s fictional, I’m not looking to mess with anything that has to do with dark spirits – let alone in the middle of the night. Shortly past this junction, I saw mooses number 3 and 4 chillin’ up the slope chewing indifferently as they tend to do. Passed through Breck around 10:30. Super bittersweet, as I knew it would be the last time I would see Kremlin or Aladdin on trail.
The climb out of Breck was felt – especially because I didn’t replenish water at the river before starting. The sun was beating down, super dry terrain – only small, stagnant and murky puddles along the way. I stopped to deal with blisters twice before the second half of the climb began.
I reached the top of the ridge overlooking Copper around 16:30. Exceptionally windy up there – my trekking poles blew to the side with every advance. A girl in front of me I later came to know as Cookie Monster misstepped at one point and had to sit down in order to regain her footing. In contrast, the descent into Copper was smooth – basically pole-vaulted the whole way down to minimize pain.
I reached the area above Center Village a little after dark. I’ve only ever snowboarded here in the winter – never thought I’d hike here from Denver in the summer. I began looking to cowboy somewhere soon after – it was a too-tired-to-pitch-the-tent kinda night. Ended up waiting for the village to close down and tried to nap huddled in a corner of one of the tiny hobbit houses on display.
Day 7 - August 8, 2020
[ 20.1 Miles ]
Couldn’t stop shivering, so I started hiking again at 1:30. Last night/this morning was the first time I’ve night-hiked alone. I was hypervigilant, striking my poles together every few steps to make noise, and constantly scanning my surroundings to make sure I wasn’t being stalked by a mountain lion – or worse, a freaky figure conjured up by my own imagination. I caught a pair of reflective eyes in the beam of my headlamp, but they quickly darted away as I approached. Someone was camped out near the creek, and in my delirium, I kept zoning out on their tent as I passed by.
Hiked until around 4:00 before feeling insurmountable sleepiness, so I stepped a couple feet off the trail and napped leaned up against a tree stump with knife-in-hand in case some animal was feeling feisty. Woke up shivering and resumed hiking after another hiker passed by around 5:30. The next five hours to Kokomo Pass were excruciating. The heel (hell) blisters called for attention multiple times at four layers down with no signs of stopping. I intentionally stepped in a stream with shoes and all thinking the cool water would soothe my peeved feet while it evaporated. I quickly learned it doesn’t work that way. After slipping by three mountain bikers socializing up at Elk Ridge, I passively reached the Kokomo Pass sign right before 10:45. I was running on fumes by this point and getting progressively sleepier, but didn’t want to burn daylight. Met Panballs at a small stream and briefly chatted with him before continuing to plod down the trail, stopping at every little trickle to splash water on my face in an effort to stay awake. Met Tow Truck at another stream, who I later learned was the occupant of the tent I kept staring at last night and the hiker who passed me while I was posted up against the stump. Had a quick encounter with Mary Badass down the trail, who’s 63 and told me she had been on the CDT since New Mexico – badass indeed.
The downhill to Cataract Creek was painful. The blisters were loud, lungs were crackly from all the dirt and dust I’ve breathed in, and my kneecaps felt like they were going to pop off which resulted in lots of involuntary slide-outs and butt landings. Add a hundred biting flies and mosquitoes that were apparently more drawn to picaridin than repelled by it, and you had one sleepy, irritated hiker. About 10 miles rolled by with me half asleep, kept upright by only my poles. By the time I got to Cataract Falls where Panballs and Tow Truck were filling up, I felt unequivocally spent. They passed their good vibes to me and moved on, and I stopped to soak my feet and track down the Warrior within because homegirl was clearly not at her post. After recalibrating, I shuffled along for another few hours before coming across Panballs and Tow Truck’s camp. They told me I looked defeated when I showed up at the waterfall and they didn’t think they would see me again – that I was done with the trail. I’m glad I pushed on – if nothing else, just to experience their pleasant energy again.
It’s growing increasingly apparent to me that I’m not going to reach Durango in the originally anticipated three (more) days without some sort of supernatural intervention, but I still have an unshakable trust in my belief that things will work out somehow without the need to get more food. Going to forge onward while staying tuned in to my body.
Reflecting on the past year, 24 was good to me. It was a year of dissolving, shedding, healing, rebuilding, venturing further inward than I ever previously have. It was a year of slow, but steady transformation. Meeting more of my truest, highest self and learning how to love it in its entirety – appearances, contents, strengths, weaknesses, quirks, all. Walking away from the tribe to derive my own truth. Bringing my shadow self to light and giving it love – acknowledging and embracing instead of rejecting and shaming. Taking stock of where I’m at, and where I’d like to be by the end of this human experience – what I would like my life to be a statement of. I realized how empty I’ve felt inside and how much I needed a refresher on everything this life could be and yet wasn’t as a direct result of my own perceived limitations and splintered state of mind.
I hardly recognize the person I was three months ago – let alone six months or a year, but it’s a feeling unlike any other to know you’re moving closer to being the person you were put here to be even if that path diverges from everything you’ve known and from those of people you’re close to. Rough day today – no doubt. But nothing quite compares to being out here, held in Mother Nature’s arms, on earth in its pristine state, basking in the serenity of knowing this is where I come from and where I will return to one day. I can’t say I’ve ever felt peace like this before even though I’m hurting physically and quickly running out of food. I feel immensely thankful for how far I’ve been able to come, and however far I’m destined to go – on this trail, and in life. Welcome, 25. So much love and gratitude.
Day 8 - August 9, 2020
[ 18.5 Miles ]
Another day off to a leisurely start – didn’t break camp and hike out until after 9:00. Knees were stiff for the first hour or so, heels have piped down a little since yesterday. I got excited seeing a bridge thinking there was rushing water underneath, but it turned out to be bone-dry – interesting sight. The terrain leading up to and going through Holy Cross Wilderness was super mild – it was nice to coast for a while. I couldn’t be more thankful for how favorable the weather’s been so far. Other than that hailstorm the second day, I haven’t felt a drop of rain, which is crazy considering I heard a monsoon rolled through the week prior to my start where it rained for five days straight. Praise the CT Gods!
Hardly saw anyone all day and then Panballs came up from behind right as I reached the Timberline Lake Trailhead. Hiked on for a little more than a mile and then made camp near Busk Creek. Hung out and ate a full-spread dinner consisting of one ProBar, a few pecans, and a couple mouthfuls of peanut butter on a big rock in the middle of rushing water while Panballs cooked his pasta and night fell around us.
The atmosphere was something out of a movie – surreal forest scenery with two humans perched on a rock conversing about growing up, sharing an unbelievably serene moment in the wilderness. At one point, Panballs reached over and offered me an Oreo, which was down the hatch before I had a chance to think about it. I immediately wondered what I had just done – if I had just completely trashed my unsupported FKT by taking the cookie. I guess I was so lost in the beauty of the moment that I had also lost my sense of mind. The occurrence occupied my headspace for the rest of the night, but I realized it was out of my hands at that point and something to be left up to the FKT community to decide.
Day 9 - August 10, 2020
[ 30.7 Miles ]
Crossed paths with two incredibly sweet older ladies, Diane and Linda, out on a day hike who asked me if I could take gifts of food after hearing about my situation. I explained my mission and kindly declined, but took a picture with them to help me remember their sunny dispositions down the line. I’m overwhelmed by the outpouring of generosity from everyone I’ve encountered so far. My heart overflows with gratitude.
Turned down a grand spread of trail magic at the Mount Massive parking lot. Encountered many groups of day-hikers on their way down from Mt. Elbert – all but one asked me how much further until the parking lot. After the excitement around the 14ers was a solitary stretch in which I was the only hiker until closer to Twin Lakes, which was an incredibly majestic sight during golden hour with storm clouds and a rainbow hanging overhead. Losing steam in the section before the village access junction, I began belting out “Waiting Outside the Lines” by a prepubescent Greyson Chance when I realized a nice lady I’d met earlier up the trail named Debbie had caught up behind me. Let’s just say I revved my pace up to a jog and preserved her ears.
Hiked into the night before cowboy camping for the first time under an unreal sky of stars around 23:30.
Day 10 - August 11, 2020
[ 18.1 Miles ]
I woke up in – let’s just say an interesting place this morning. After brushing some ice from my quilt and finishing the daily reorientation of “welcome back, Soph. You’re in the wilderness. In Colorado. You’re good. Everything’s good,” I applauded myself for practically being a professional when it comes to cowboy real estate. In the middle of the night, I’d picked out a stunning location six feet under the stars, sideways on a slant, steps away from two natural gas pipelines. Doesn’t get much better than that, right?
On a more serious note, I think it’s safe to say I no longer have a fear of the dark. The first experience night-hiking alone back around the Copper area was nerve-wracking. But last night was different. I felt so much more relaxed and in flow with the forest. Although my headlamp was dimmed to just above moonlight in an effort to conserve battery, it felt as if my feet inherently knew where to step and as a result, I was able to move smoothly without much thought or hesitation. Curious if I could maneuver with my eyes closed, I shut them and promptly proceeded to trip over a root – welcome laugh for sure. Going through the aspens, I broke through no shortage of spider webs with my face, but after a while I started seeing them as mini finish line ribbons.
Nonchalantly passed Mile 200 in the afternoon – I don’t think I would have even noticed had someone not utilized some small twigs to fashion “200” on the ground. Whoever that was, bless your heart. Besides this artifact, there was no sign of another human until late evening when I walked past some still tents before pitching my own in a serene spot at Harvard Lakes. By dark, my soul was already resting somewhere deep within the dreamscape.
Day 11 - August 12, 2020
[ 23.5 Miles ]
Reached the second entry point into Collegiate Peaks Wilderness right around 12:45. I was still chock full of energy at this point, but the plot had shifted by an hour later as the usual tsunami of afternoon sleepiness overtook me. I stopped to chat with a lovely gentleman, York – or Unicorn to some, who was going NOBO and noticed my fatigued state. He generously offered me food, but I stuck to my resolve and took his picture instead. He said something I loved – “smiles, not miles” and sent me off with the caveat of an upcoming 30-mile trip-ender of a dry stretch and the welcome report of a glorious but steep 2300ft of descent before me.
He wasn’t playing. Sections of this downhill were side-step steep sprinkled with gravel. All it would take was a misstep and down the mountainside you’d go.
I’m glad I made my peace with death before embarking on this adventure because my fear of heights sort of just dissipated in the process. Still, staring down over the edge from high ridges and sloped mountainsides prompts me to turn on my inReach tracking so at least my parents would have an easier time locating me should it become my time. I’m sure a lot of people would find that morbid, but I believe having come face-to-face with the transience of life and my own mortality has led to a greatly enhanced experience of it. Life implies death, and on the same stroke, death implies life.
Anyway, I made it down fine slightly more energized than earlier. Flow state kicked in right around 17:00 and the miles rolled by until it started getting dark and the strong urge to make camp kicked in. I came across Raúl and Fellipe, two bikepackers originally from El Salvador and Brazil, hammock camping near Dry Creek. As tempted as I was to call it a day, I realized I was close to being completely out of battery power, so I decided to make the 4.4 mile push to Mount Princeton Hot Springs Resort to see if I could get a charge somewhere. Navigating the dirt road before Frontier Ranch in the dark – particularly the section right out of the woods, was a stimulating experience to say the least.
In retrospect, it would have been infinitely better to use the red light on my headlamp for better depth perception. But not only did I use white light on already light-colored terrain, my headlamp was dying so it kept dimming to its lowest setting about 15 seconds after I’d turn it back up. I didn’t want to break out the fresh pair of batteries until it completely died, so while fumbling with my headlamp and not being able to perceive the countless dips and divots in the road, I paid for my stinginess in the form of knee skin and wind pant fabric.
I eventually made it down to the resort where I nodded off in a corner waiting for my power bank to charge. I had been prepared to hike the rest of the trail without navigation, but I realized it came down to a matter of safety – especially in this drought season and decided that was worth taking a chance with the FKT board.
Continued here