Journey of a Million Steps
Colorado Trail ’20 Journal cont.
Day 12 - August 13, 2020
[ 20.6 Miles ] – Bars Left: 17 – Miles Left: 254.9
I woke up right before 6:00 to a power bank barely more than half full, so I left it plugged in and headed down to a creek nearby to freshen up. As I was rinsing out my clothes, a very quiet, collected group of women with yoga gear tucked under their arms shuffled by. I thought to myself how disrupting of their prana it would have been had they shown up five minutes earlier and caught a full moon over a cathole. When I returned from the creek, my power bank had only gained a few percent, so I sat on a bench in front of the restaurant area while I waited for it to charge further. It wasn’t long before Raúl and Fellipe rolled through to grab breakfast while they waited for the little store across the parking lot to open. When it opened at 9:00, I went to check it out. Little did I know doing so would show me another layer of myself.
The first thing I noticed was the unmistakable scent of fresh baked pizza. After smelling nothing but pine forest and hiker stench for 12 days, I’d forgotten there was such a thing. Then came the luxurious selection of snacks and candy in a rainbow of curated-to-make-you-snacky packaging. I floated up and down the aisles until I came across a square bottle of coconut Electrolit. The moment I picked it up and held it in my hand, I thought to myself, “it would be so easy to chug this and stuff your face right now. It would feel so glorious to do so. But are you ready to give up on your mission at halfway for the fleeting feeling of a comforting meal? Have you met yourself yet?” As I pondered this, Raúl and Fellipe came into view with their arms full of snacks. I thought back to the 17 ProBars left in my pack, the 255 miles ahead, and then again how easy it would be to just drop the FKT and eat to my heart’s content. That’s when the Warrior took over and staunchly reminded me I didn’t come out here for ease or consolation, or to give a half-assed effort. I’m here to come face-to-face myself. To stand toe-to-toe with my limitations and push past them so I can grow. I realized in that moment I couldn’t sell myself short for a freaking slice of pizza and some electrolytes. Without another thought, I walked over to where Raúl and Fellipe were standing, announced my resolve to which they responded with enthusiasm, and promptly put the bottle back in its place on the shelf. It’s incredible how such a small bottle can carry so much weight.
My power bank still wasn’t fully charged by the time I was ready to dip, so I took what I had and hit the road. A mile or so down, I had to stop and admire the beautiful woodwork a lovely gentleman named Phred was affixing to a large section of a fallen tree he had in his yard. I asked if he had any up for sale because yes, they were THAT beautiful for me to consider actually adding to my base weight. He offered to show me the various items he had available, so I followed him up to his workshop where I saw the most fabulous setup of tools and machines he uses to transform wood, leather, and metal into an assortment of cutting boards, coasters, and knives. After going through some organized boxes, I walked out with four coasters to gift, his contact info, and the most spirited grin. It’s not every day you stroll past an artist’s home and get to see where all the magic happens. It draws from the headwaters of creativity and pours inspiration into your pool. Thank you for being here, Phred.
After a quick camel-up and social session with a mixed group of section and thru-hikers at Chalk Creek, I entered a 6.6-mile dry stretch with prominent sun. I was feeling stellar, so I ended up running a few downhills and flats. Flow state kicked in early today and stayed engaged all the way until I stopped and dropped just past Lost Creek.
Day 13 - August 14, 2020
[ 17.1 Miles ] – Bars Left: 15 – Miles Left: 234.3
Woke up to a trillion little nightlights still illuminated above around 4:00, vertically positioned on a slant instead of horizontally – I’m improving. I stared into the galaxy until the stars bled into the light and my stupor was interrupted by a self-designated squirrel alarm clock that started precisely at 6:00. The little guy was perched up on a branch in the tree right above me, hunched over, gripping the bark and staring into my soul while its entire body contracted with each chirp. It continued for 19 minutes nonstop before a friend joined in, and then both ceased at 40 minutes because I had finally packed up and cleared their turf by then. Oh, nature.
Fooses Creek Trail was no easy feat – it may have had something to do with my breathy rendition of Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb,” but I was thoroughly winded by the top of the steep incline and had to take a moment to catch my breath first before the view could take it away again. On the way down, I caught a marmot with a big catlike tail waving back at me while it bounced away – such a goofy sight.
Mostly hiked through forested areas today although there were a few more open sections dotted with dead trees and branches. Came across another lower hoof section of most likely a deer on the side of the trail – I always wonder where the rest of the animal is when I encounter this.
Further down the trail, I drifted within 20 feet of two male moose hanging out in a grove of trees next to the dirt road winding over to Marshall Pass Trailhead. In my sleepy, aloof state I didn’t even notice them until I felt their side-eye stares piercing through my daze. I immediately passed vibes of respect and shuffled to a safe distance before whipping out my phone to get a picture. Even with the adrenaline rush after the moose encounter, I couldn’t fight the urge to settle down before sunset and ended up making camp at a peaceful spot not even a mile up the ridge from the trailhead. Tapped out before the sun even fully dipped below the horizon.
I’ve begun to take one small bite of ProBar with a sip of coconut oil every three hours or so in efforts to keep the engine running while stretching the fuel as far as I can. It’s so amusing now to think back to pre-hike prep when I was constantly deliberating calorie/weight ratios. What a nightmare that must have been for my dad. While he was doing dishes: “Pecans or walnuts? They’re both great brainfood, but pecans have 200kcal per 28g while walnuts have 200 per 30. Ok, you know what, pecans.” In the car: “What if I brought two pouches of coconut oil instead of one so I can have eight tablespoons a day versus four, and drop some bars?”
Through the bathroom door: “Hey Pahps, what if I totally miscalculate my caloric needs and bonk? That would be seriously no bueno. Or what if I’m totally overestimating and end up bringing way more than I need? Watch me be the one person who actually overeats and gains a bunch of weight on a thru-hike. How hysterical would that be.” While cooking: “Ok you know what, I’m just going to take as many bars as the opsak can hold and trust my body with the rest. I mean, the human body and its ability to adapt is miraculous beyond belief. So I think it’ll all work out. Plus I got plenty of body fat to burn. And if I bonk I bonk because this is the best I can do. I don’t even know why I’m stressing. Like I’m sure it’ll be fine… right? riGHt?”
Day 14 - August 15, 2020
[ 25.2 Miles ] – Bars Left: 14 – Miles Left: 217.2
Woke up with the rising sun energized and ready to go. One of the first trail junctions I came across was one between the CDT and “Starvation Creek” – very funny.
You know something’s amiss when horse poop starts to look like brownies… I mean, I’m well aware I haven’t been providing my body with the proper caloric supply for the physical demand I’m putting it through, but damn. After this, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at another pile of equestrian poo without cracking a smile.
A group of something like 12 dirt bikers, and then another group of five or so blew past me on trail today. I didn’t realize motorized vehicles were allowed in this section, but while I hunched over and shielded my face from the dust storms, I imagined how fun it would be to dirt bike there.
The terrain was relatively mild today, hovering in the 10 and 11k’s all day with small ascents. Plenty of cows throughout – water, not so much. A 14.1-mile dry stretch took a lot out of me with the last water until Razor Creek being at Tank Seven just like York had said. I camel-ed up, filled my full 3.16 liter capacity, and rationed it pretty well over the course of the day but began running low as night fell. Deciding against detouring to Baldy Lake or dry camping with no water left, I decided to make the 5.7 mile push to Razor Creek where there turned out to be only a trickle of water – fortunately there was a superb leaf nearby to channel it with.
I’ve noticed if I stop moving for more than a couple of minutes, the exhaustion catches up quick. That happened in the few minutes it took to fill up my bottles, so I decided to call it and planked around midnight.
Day 15 - August 16, 2020
[ 28.1 Miles ] – Bars Left: 13 – Miles Left: 192
Woke up cold at 2:00, zoned out for a couple hours into the starfield above, and observed my thoughts from a detached place. I’ve gotten used to not having anything particular on my mind and just an overwhelming sense of stillness and gratitude in my heart. I’ll do whatever it takes to carry and instill this peace into daily life.
Hiked out right before 5:00. The usual afternoon exhaustion kicked in extra early around 10:30, and flow state kicked in extra late around 17:00. At one point, I sat down in the middle of the forest service road in a seemingly endless road section for a sip of water and promptly fell asleep with my head between my knees. I plodded on for a few more miles leaning heavily on my poles trying to blast the sleepiness away with music, but the moment I made it to the juncture where dirt road became trail again, I scoped out a solid tree stump and napped. I’ve found 22 minutes to be the perfect duration as it’s just the right amount for a power nap and the upper limit of how long I can stop moving at night before it starts getting too cold.
22 minutes later, I woke up, took a couple bites of ProBar, sipped some coconut oil, and noticed I was missing a sock on the outside of my pack aka deluxe drying rack. The safety pin securing it was gone, too. To whoever finds a black ¼ Darn Tough sock, I sincerely apologize – I really didn’t mean to leave that trace. Might just have to change my trail name to Dobby now to match my single sock.
Monchego Creek seemed promising, but when I got there, the water wasn’t flowing and upon closer examination, I noticed a cow skull marinating in it. I thought to myself, “Pfft, I ain’t even thirsty…” and walked on.
Today was probably the toughest day I’ve had so far – between the immense physical pain, exhaustion, eye-burning from wildfire smoke, and lack of clean water or water in general, I had to dig deep to keep moving along. Love cows, but I’ve learned I don’t love sharing water with them. And after trekking through almost 25 miles of scarce, excrement-laden water sources in full sun today, I’ve realized just how much influence seeing clean, flowing water has had on my morale and how I’d begun to expect it as a given. Time to recalibrate.
I reached the junction at Forest Service Road 597 as night fell and made it a little less than a mile before I started sleep-stumbling, so I stopped and dropped at the first semi-flat dirt patch I saw.
Day 16 - August 17, 2020
[ 24.7 Miles ] – Bars Left: 12 – Miles Left: 163.9
After another frigid night of cowboying, I was reluctant to get up until the sun rays touched me, so I took my sweet time configuring my pack for the day while sitting up still bundled in my quilt. Sunshine crept closer and closer – imagine my confusion when it skipped right over me. Yeah, turns out I was in the shade of the only tree around. If this were Lion King, Mufasa would be telling young Simba the dirty hiker in the shade is most certainly not his kingdom.
After I chose which foot to give the fresh sock to and finished packing up, a cheerful soul I later came to know as Skunkbear greeted me as she passed by.
Hit the trail right around 8:00. A few minutes in, a nice gentleman named Mudskipper came up. Nature called soon after we exchanged introductions and engaged in the usual trail chat, so I told him I’d catch him up the trail and darted for the trees. A little later, I greeted a couple of runners through a mouthful of toothpowder suds while brushing my teeth off to the side. In “the real world,” I’m someone who doesn’t sleep without brushing and flossing first, yet this was only the fifth time I’d brushed and flossed my teeth in 16 days…
If nothing else this trip, I’ve reached a new level of acceptance of myself and my appearance. And I’m not talking about not having minty-fresh breath, the backcountry B.O., or looking a little dirty or weathered. I’m referring to the highest order of hiker trash with my now perpetually peeling face, bloody cracked lips, and oil-slicked hair that I try not to touch to avoid agitating the colossal buildup of dirt, dust, and pure grime on my head in conjunction with everything I just mentioned.
It seems I haven’t been able to find it in me to be as concerned with what I look like without, because any outward appearance would pale in significance to the peace and happiness within at this point. Not saying I wouldn’t welcome a good shampoo, rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat – just saying I’m alright with this unprecedented level of scrappiness. And to make matters even more riveting, both of my hearing aids tapped out today, so I’ve had to put myself much closer to people to hear what they’re saying. No sarcasm – this trip just keeps getting progressively better.
Hiking through La Garita Wilderness was rad – lots of differing scenery from rugged mountainsides to expansive grasslands. Although it was hot and dry, the cliff section overlooking Cochetopa Creek to the left was my favorite. High places with spacey views are my jam.
I was super sleepy by the time I reached the Eddiesville Trailhead, but a brief chat with a group of five thru-hikers, two of which were Mudskipper and Skunkbear, provided me with a temporary boost. The next four hours to the saddle under San Luis Peak were a little rough as I fought off a bout of extreme drowsiness. But when I reached the beginning of the descent overlooking San Luis Pass, I was met with the epic sight of a lone tent pitched in the valley below.
When I got down to where the tent was, I greeted someone I later came to know as Switch before continuing toward the next climb.
I’d been tracking a pair of Lone Peaks over the last couple of days, but then they dropped off suddenly near the pass so I figured maybe whoever it was had gone off to resupply. Serious storm clouds were gathering by the time I passed the sign, but I had a feeling they’d blow over before they unleashed, so I decided to go for the exposed saddle.
About 10 minutes into the climb, I turned back to take in the vista and concurrently noticed a tiny Switch packing up in the distance. I grinned and continued on. Not even 20 minutes later, I turned back to find her right behind me cutting through the heavy storm air and intense currents of wind. “TROOPER!” I hollered into the gusts as we trekked on toward the top. A few minutes later, we reached the high point where the resilient sun broke through the moody clouds and illuminated the landscape in the dreamiest way. The electricity in the air only further fueled my stoke. After snapping a few photos and soaking it all in, we began the descent. That’s when I realized I was hiking with the Lone Peaks I’d been tracking for almost 50 miles.
While maneuvering through a forested section, I suddenly tripped over a root and came within a few inches of impalement on a protruding branch attached to a fallen tree. Fortunately, I caught myself with my poles, but I was helplessly amused picturing how cartoonishly nutty that stumble must have looked to Switch. This sparked a bout of laughter as we took turns constructing sentences with our new trail-term alluding to the situation I was just spared from. “Did you hear about that one girl? She got straight kebab-ed yo.”
Switch found her home for the night when we reached a relatively flat campsite up the hill from East Mineral Creek. I was still planning to do my hike-until-I-drop thing at that point, but something told me to just stay and hang with Switch, so I listened.
I wasn’t exactly psyched at the thought of hiking on in the gusty wind anyway. The pines surrounding our camp were dead, but after assessing them for widowmakers and not seeing any, we decided if the whole thing somehow came down in the wind, then it was just our time.
I insisted on pitching my tent in a cozy nook slightly too small, so I had to deal with the consequences of my stubbornness, which manifested in the bathtub floor floating off the ground and the sides flapping wildly like a flag in a tornado.
Day 17 - August 18, 2020
[ 20.8 Miles ] – Bars Left: 11 – Miles Left: 139.2
I slept surprisingly well despite the Dyneema debacle. Switch told me she slept soundly too despite our tents being so close together my front guyline was practically under the back of her tent. Our conclusion: Dyneema-flap is a white noise of trail life.
We hiked out right around 8:00 after three horsepackers with four horses trotted by. I splurged for breakfast today and had a whole bar, and then spread another half bar over the remainder of the day. I’ve been doing an unintentional intermittent fasting thing of sorts where I stop eating when my stomach stops asking for food, typically around 16:00 each day, and then don’t eat again until the next morning with the exception of the occasional celebratory pecan and lick of peanut butter before knocking out.
I’ve been tightening my shoulder straps and hipbelt each morning to maintain proper pack fit, but my body seems to have adapted to this eating “schedule” given I haven’t felt weak yet – only sleepy. But I know this won’t be sustainable forever.
Switch and I tried to catch up with the horses for most of the morning, but every time we gained a saddle, they’d be heading over the next one. I gained the most complete perception of what a mountain mile entails today when while looking across the valley, Switch reported we only had another 1.8 miles of ascent before the next downhill. So I pointed to the next saddle off in the distance where barely perceivable dots of the horses were and asked if that’s where the descent would begin. She replied, “Nah, that’s only like 0.5 miles from here.” Brah, to think I was sitting back in Aurora calculating my mileage per day thinking I could crank out 54 miles a day at a 3mph pace and get SIX hours of sleep each night AHAHA. I think it’s safe to say one mile of this trail requires the same effort of at the least two to three, and at certain points anywhere from five to 10, paved miles.
After a lengthy stretch of alpine tundra, we planted ourselves down for a break on the edge of Snow Mesa where I took a bite of ProBar and downed a squeeze of solid coconut oil. Still not my preferred fuel choice, but it’s gotten easier to swallow.
A couple miles of hot, dusty elevation loss later, we emerged in civilization at the edge of Hwy 149 where I wavered between sleep and wakefulness while Switch waited for a friend. When her friend pulled up, we said our goodbyes and after a bite of ProBar and two big mouthfuls of now liquified coconut oil, I crossed the highway to start Segment 22. Not even five minutes up the trail, my stomach violently protested the extra coconut oil I’d taken in – twisting into a fit of cramps so intense they folded me in half. Leaning into my poles trying to breathe through the waves, I trekked on for another quarter mile before I came across a slanted rock protruding from the dirt road. I promptly dropped my pack and reclined against it thinking a quick visit to the dreamscape would help hit the reset button. Thankfully, it did. 12 minutes later, I woke up feeling worlds better. Moral of the story – coconut oil may be a superior source of energy, but in the words of Bon Qui Qui, don’t get crazy.
I hit my second stride after the power nap, so the next rock-loaded 8.5 miles rolled right by into golden hour where I paused to don my night-hiking gear and admire a regal view of the San Juans cutting across the horizon to cradle a rapidly descending ball of light.
As night fell, I passed a couple of tranquil tents where the forest picks up on the other side of a marsh. Without much hesitation on forfeiting my original plan to surpass the highest point tonight, I found a snug spot in a notch of pines and settled for the night.
Day 18 - August 19, 2020
[ 24.4 Miles ] – Bars Left: 9 1/2 – Miles Left: 118.4
Aligned with the overarching theme of this trip, I woke up exhausted with my quilt obnoxiously cooing, “But, baby, it’s cold (and dark af) outside.” But then the Warrior quipped, “You can either go back to sleep and keep dreaming, or you can get up and live your dream.” Well it’s not exactly a hard decision when it’s framed that way… I promptly broke camp, lightly flexed my wooden knees, and started up the mountain just in time to catch a fiery sun emerge through the pines.
About five hours later, I reached the highest point of the trail at 13, 271ft, which didn’t end up being as exciting as I’d anticipated. I had thought I’d be thrilled or relieved, but instead, a wave of melancholy washed over me knowing I was nearing the end of my trip. Granted I was still a little over 110 miles out, but I knew those miles would roll right by just as all the others have. I asked myself out loud, “Where are you, Soph?” and then answered, “I’m here” before continuing on.
I entered flow state relatively early today, but it gradually faded as the afternoon heat began creeping in over the steep descent toward the old mine sites. A group of stoked dune buggy drivers blew past me, returning my shakas and smiles before they zoomed up the mountain. With the abundance of gravel scattered over the dirt road and almost no tread left on my soles, it was no surprise when I slid out and rose again looking like a sugar-dusted beignet.
Having spent the entire day above tree line, I must bestow my most heartfelt thanks to the CT Gods for granting me safe passage. Although that hurricane wind thing during late afternoon wasn’t too cute – but I know they had to give me a little something to keep things interesting. And I’d take hiking through that over a lightning fest any day.
Today was the first day I chased the sun. No particular reason – just wanted to see if I could get to the end of the segment before reaching for my headlamp. However, by the time it met the horizon, I was still up on a ridge over four miles out, so I picked up my pace and bounded toward the remaining glow. It had vanished by the time I got down, but my eyes had adjusted well enough that I was able to keep plodding along the dirt road without breaking out artificial lighting.
After only seeing two people early on in the day, a headlamp beam near Stony Pass Trailhead was a welcome sight. I decided to call it soon after passing the trailhead.
Day 19 - August 20, 2020
[ 20.9 Miles ] – Bars Left: 6 1/2 – Miles Left: 94
It’s still summer, but I can feel the unmistakable aura of fall in the air. I awoke before sunrise this morning, but that holds different meaning now given the sun’s been gradually rising later each day and takes a different track across the sky than it did back in June. In the same way, it’s been setting earlier – yet I haven’t felt any inclination to rush myself in order to spend every last drop of daylight moving. Since I’m usually completely spent by the time I call it a day, mornings have been a more ideal time for introspection, general contemplation, and arbitrary musings. Free of incessant materialistic shouting, my headspace is more primed to receive the Universe’s whispers through the silence. And with the knowing that these are the last few mornings I’ll have on trail, I especially savor each moment.
After freshening up at a small stream nearby, I lounged back in my tent and took a moment to take in the space. I felt overwhelmingly blessed for the cosmos to have brought me to that particular place, at that particular time, to experience that precise moment in gratitude the way I was experiencing it. But I had to snap back from that one quick – there’s no end to that thought vortex.
Shortly after hitting the trail, a familiar face caught up. I’d thought he was way ahead and I wouldn’t see him again. He’d thought the same about me. “Are you going to stop to resupply?” he enquired after I told him I had 6 1/2 bars left. “Nahh, I’m not going to cave.” He then informed me, “There’s a difference between caving and being smart” before continuing up the trail. While I agree with that statement, there’s also a difference between being plain stubborn and pushing your limits while listening to your body and intuition every step of the way.
With this being my first backpacking trip/thru-hike, I can understand if more-seasoned backpackers and thru-hikers have more of an inclination to treat me as an amateur to the trail, but don’t get it twisted – I’m no amateur to myself and my needs. Not after completely self-destructing and then rebuilding from the wreckage to learn these things. I’ll continue to trust my internal compass to tell me when and if I need to change course or completely abandon ship regardless of what anyone else’s compass says.
The differing conditions and scenery across Segment 24 kept me on my toes. Outside of planning water carries in drier areas, I’ve generally preferred to take the trail as it comes, so I didn’t know what to expect.
I passed a huge herd of sheep around noon, collected water from a melting snowfield after that, reached the point where the CDT splits off toward New Mexico, and raced a gathering storm over an exposed area to a series of steep switchbacks that led down to Elk Creek. I had packed out turmeric caps to help with pain and inflammation, but those ran out on Day 10, so the switchbacks ended up being some serious kneebusters for me.
A few miles later, I hit the first avalanche debris field. I had been looking forward to the blowdown section since before my trip even started, so I was thrilled there were four more after. Just something about climbing trees – even if they’re horizontal apparently.
The rest of the day was steady. Dark clouds teased rain on a few occasions, but only large, scattered drops came down before ceasing again.
Closer to the evening, I stopped for a moment at a trail junction between the Colorado Trail and Molas Lake Campground and Store. When I saw the word “store,” I was immediately taken 180 miles back to Mount Princeton. Without another thought, I continued on.
Chasing the sun again today, I reached the highway just as it became too dark to see, flicked on my headlamp, and continued on to Little Molas Lake where I pitched home for the night at the first flat spot I saw.
Day 20 - August 21, 2020
[ 12.7 Miles ] – Bars Left: 4 – Miles Left: 73.1
Despite having slept steps away from the water’s edge, I woke with no condensation on my tent or quilt, which called for a fist pump and hushed cheer. It’s the small things, and everything’s worthy of celebration 🙂
Dawn was stunningly serene, with water so still it mirrored the trees surrounding the lake. I’d long read everything in the Universe is sound. Admiring the reflection through breath clouds, I couldn’t help but notice how resemblant of audio waves the opposite edge looked.
I passed a multitude of day-hikers early in the day as I made my way up the trail, but they quickly thinned out over the span of a few miles, replaced with a mix of section and thru-hikers. By the time I reached the first water after Little Molas, I’d already leapfrogged with a couple of sunny souls named Adam and Nia before arriving at the stream a few minutes apart. I was busy fumbling with a leaf trying to establish a good flow when they caught up and Adam cheerfully hollered, “Got a good spot?” I laughed and hollered back, “Nah, still trying to find one!” so they took a few steps upstream in search of better flow when I heard another voice say, “There’s a good spot up here! And also a little further up, too.” When I ascended to where Adam and Nia were, I noticed another joyful soul perched on a shaded rock having lunch.
She introduced herself as Deuces with one of the funniest and relatable trail name backstories I’ve heard. Naturally, we gathered around her invigorating energy. We were deep in a hilarious four-way conversation when someone Adam and Nia knew, Jarhead, came through and joined the fun.
About half an hour later, I reluctantly left them and returned to the trail. It wasn’t long before I came across Deuces’ friends, Blackpacker and Selamawit, lounging in the shade off to the side of the trail. What I thought would just be another brief, passing greeting ended up turning into an epic six-hour affair. Multiple people including Adam, Nia, and Jarhead passed by with Deuces updates, so I decided to hang around while Blackpacker and Selamawit waited. When Deuces arrived, she posted up against a tree and joined in on the hysterical conversation. Unfortunately, Deuces’ ankle had been injured on the way, so Blackpacker, being the leader of their expedition, decided it’d be best for them to make camp. About a mile up the mountain, we came across a relatively flat area in a field of wildflowers and planted ourselves down, keeping an eye out for Deuces coming up the trail. With the sun dropping toward the horizon, the temperatures were getting lower by the minute. That’s when in the middle of our conversation, Blackpacker stopped mid-sentence, looked down the trail, and stoically announced, “I can smell her. She’s coming.” So we turned into three meerkats, quietly but excitedly awaiting her arrival. And sure enough, not even three minutes later, Deuces came hobbling up the trail with a big smile on her face. I was so elated to see her.
A few last good laughs, group selfies, and bear hugs later, I wistfully headed toward the retiring sun – my heart overflowing with love and joy, my head playing back jokes of “mountain cashews” and “wild fruit snacks” buried along the trail.
With all the beautiful people I’ve met along the way, I’ve realized I live for moments like these. Raw, unrefined moments of human connection that often serve as cornerstones of lifelong bonds between strangers. I live for the stories, personal truths, life lessons, the unparalleled beauty of authenticity – the loving, uplifting space humans create and share when we allow each other to just be. It doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from – at the end of the day we’re all connected and heading toward the same finish line. Let’s walk each other home…
As darkness set in, I flicked on my headlamp and was making my way across a meadow when I suddenly caught a little glimmer ahead. I thought it was someone’s headlamp, so I continued down the trail toward it expecting to come across someone’s camp. As I got closer, I noticed it was actually two little glimmers. I figured someone had left a shiny trace and thought nothing of it until when I was about 15 feet away, I realized the unmoving glimmers were eyes staring at me from behind some tall brush. Given its height and close spacing of the eyes, I thought I was looking at a human, and froze. I stood like that for half a minute, just staring, before I faintly caught something move above one of the eyes and realized it was an ear. The ear of a deer that was probably just as freaked out as I was. After it bolted, I continued on toward a quiet pine forest where I stopped and made camp for the night.
Day 21 - August 22, 2020
[ 24.8 Miles ] – Bars Left: 1 1/2 – Miles Left: 60.4
Today was such an exhilarating, wholesome day. You know those days when you wake up just already feeling your oats? Well it was definitely one of those mornings for me because I woke up with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the beat in my chest and the breath in my lungs. It was only 2:30, but I guess it’s never a bad time for some appreciation and reflection. And by some, I mean five hours of it. By the time I decided to pack it up and move out, I had appreciated myself back to sleep once, woke up, appreciated some more, and then the sun was coming up.
Cascade Creek was surreal in the morning light – I heard and felt the waterfall before I saw it. Affixed to a large rock nearby was a plaque commemorating Gudy Gaskill. My vision blurred with tears of gratitude as I came upon it and managed, “Thank you for existing. Thank you for everything.”
Not far up from Celebration Lake, I noticed some sort of animal tracks on the trail in front of me. I couldn’t figure out what animal they belonged to, but continued to analyze them as the trail narrowed and started up a mild incline. The tracks were overlapping all other shoeprints and bike tire tracks, so they were definitely fresh. Then I thought to myself, “Oh man, I hope I don’t take a moose by surprise…” Just as I rounded a turn, I heard a sweet voice say, “You can come up!” A goofy grin broke out across my face when I realized the tracks belonged to two llamas that were accompanying the grand souls that are Terry Price and his daughter, Hilary. Terry was lounged back on the hillside and Hilary had continued on with the llamas when I approached and leaned in on my trekking poles, ready to engage in another splendid trail convo. Well, I was given a much greater gift. Over a span of about five minutes, Terry and I got into everything from trail banter to metaphysical musings. Something told me Terry Price would be a great friend and teacher in this lifetime.
Shortly after I parted with Terry and Hilary, I caught my first real rainstorm. This time, I was able to don my raingear just in time for the torrential downpour, which only lasted about 10 minutes. Feeling super drowsy all of a sudden, I stopped near a bush off to the side for a quick refuel before continuing. 15 minutes later, I still hadn’t managed to overcome the urge to sleep, so I found a fallen tree, laid out my wet gear, set my timer for 22 minutes, and leaned in for a power nap. When the alarm went off, I popped a Clif blok and recalibrated my mind. In the middle of my mental pep talk, three day-hikers tailed by three precious dachshunds passed where I was sitting. They asked if I was okay, and generously offered me bars and beer from their packs – another lovely, appreciated display of trail magic I politely declined. I leapfrogged with them several times before the trail split and we took different directions. One of their pups ended up following me toward the CT instead. That’s when I heard, “Gottfried? GOTTFRIED! Where are you?? Gottfried! Get over here!” through the trees before one of them came charging up the trail behind me and little Gottfried turned back. Maybe he’d caught a whiff of the peanut butter I was packing 😉
By this time, I had caught up with Jarhead from earlier days, who’d leapfrogged me while I was snoozing earlier. As storm clouds brewed overhead, we headed up the incline hoping to gain Blackhawk Pass before an electric tempest. Struggling to keep my blurry, burning eyes open, I stopped for a bite and a few drops of contact solution. Today’s the third day of not having removed my last pair of daily contacts, so this came as no surprise. Jarhead quickly disappeared over the saddle.
A couple of miles later, I caught up to him while he was filling up at what would be the last reliable water source for 22 miles. After camel-ing up myself, I hiked behind him, admiring the sunflower-covered hat hanging off his pack while he sought camp for the night. A few minutes later, we came upon a ton of feathers strewn across the trail. Anyone else probably would have looked at that and thought, “Oh man, some poor bird got messed up here.” Well I have this thing where every time I’ve seen a feather on trail, I’ve smiled imagining an archangel had placed it there as a blessing, letting me know everything was okay. So I came up on this patch of feathers visualizing some angel who had been assigned to me for the day looking down at me doing something totally sketchy and unsafe shouting, “Ooh, girl! WHAT are you doing!” grabbing feathers by the handful and chucking them down.
It wasn’t long before Jarhead found his sunlit spot on a bed of pine needles down the slope, so we exchanged well wishes and I continued down the trail.
A couple quiet and contemplative hours later, I came across a group of four dirt bikers, Ryan, Jake, Alfred, and Matt, hanging out before a trail junction. As with every other person I’ve seen on trail, I smiled and said, “Hey, how’s it going?” This sparked a synergistic conversation that led to me finding my own spot in the dirt. During introductions, Ryan lit up, telling me about his daughter also named Sophia. He then mentioned the name meaning wisdom before turning to me and asking, “Are you wise, Sophia?” and then reassuring me, “It’s okay to say you’re wise” in one of the most grounded, resonant voices I’ve ever heard when I didn’t respond right away. When I did, I said, “I’m not sure if I’m wise, but I think I’m… deep.” He nodded in understanding and then proceeded to ask me if I had brought any books along to read. I told him how much I would have liked to, but didn’t for the sake of weight. Then I asked if he had, to which he replied, “Yeah, you know Tao Te Ching?” In that moment, the feeling of familiarity I experienced during my encounter with Terry filtered through. Something told me Ryan was someone meant to be in my life for more than just a season. A few minutes later, a fifth member of their crew, Reed, pulled up on his bike and joined us in the dirt.
When the group heard about my mission and food situation, they immediately offered me open season on their food and beer. But when I explained the voluntary unsupported nature of my trip, they began brainstorming if there was any way to get me fed while honoring that. Joking that acquiring naturally-existing food on trail doesn’t count, one volunteered to try for a couple of grouse nearby and another offered to prepare them while another asked if there were fire bans in the area that would bar us from cooking. What got me was when they actually set to work. A solid effort and a round of gut-busting laughs later, everyone settled back into their spots. Then Ryan asked me if I would like to go for a ride on one of the bikes, reassuring I would be brought back to the same spot to honor the integrity of my trip. He didn’t have to ask twice.
Alfred kindly lent me his helmet, and off Ryan and I went, zooming back down the trail from where I came. At the turn-around point, Jake stopped to soak in the view while Ryan gestured across the expanse at a striking mountain range in the distance. He told me about Lizard Head, a favorite spot of his before whipping the bike around and heading back. When we returned to where the rest of the crew was, Ryan reminded me their camp was unmissable a couple miles up the trail where I’d be welcome to their food and drinks as well as a spot to camp out for the night if I wanted. After a round of heartfelt thanks, I watched as the five of them geared up, mounted their bikes, and took off like a band of outlaws in a wild west movie – leaving me in a cloud of dust and sheer awe.
When their figures faded into the dusk, I stoically started up the road, wearing my poles diagonally across my back like a katana. About a mile later, I stopped to take my last bite for the day and don my night layers as I became increasingly steeped in darkness. With the numerous trail junctions in the area, it wasn’t long before I found myself 0.6 miles past a turn I was supposed to make back into the forest – another scenic detour. It was pitch black when I finally got back on trail. Not even five minutes later, I crossed paths with two people coming up in the opposite direction without headlamps. I said my usual, “Hey, how’s it going” and was taken by surprise when I heard, “Hey, Sophia, is that you?” in a voice I didn’t immediately recognize. When I tilted my headlamp toward the voice, I realized I’d bumped into Ryan and Jake.
Ryan asked if it’d be alright if they hiked with me for a little bit, and the three of us set off down the trail. After a moment, Ryan turned around and said, “Hey, Sophia, can you try hiking without your headlamp?” Visuals of tripping or busting my ankle flooded my mind. “Just try it,” he insisted. I’m really glad he did, because the next 10 minutes held some of the most magical moments I’ve experienced in this lifetime. I was incredibly uneasy at first, yet completely trusting of Ryan, so I just continued walking and following the sound of his voice even though I couldn’t see anything.
“Your eyes will adjust… can you feel the trail?” “Hiking in the dark is such a different experience. I pick up on so much more – the animals – everything.” It took a few minutes, but I was eventually able to barely make out the shape of Ryan’s figure ambling along in front of me, radiating energy like that of a zen master, his hands gently resting behind him. And then, like magic, some force of nature far beyond me allowed my feet to find the trail and move through the forest under a moonless sky brimming with stars. It wasn’t long before a red glow appeared off the side of the trail and I realized we’d reached their camp where Reed and Alfred were relaxing around a smoldering campfire. Jake fed a few logs to the embers, and we settled into a circle as they spontaneously combusted to produce a flame. We talked about life, laughed, and just enjoyed being – sharing silence and space as the firelight danced across our faces. But the silences grew longer as the flames receded back into embers, and weariness caught up with everyone. Before we dispersed, Ryan disappeared into the dark and returned, handing me something while saying, “It’s not much… but this is a gift for you.” In the dim light, I thought it was a small notebook until I tilted it toward the fire and realized he had given me his copy of Tao Te Ching – in the pocket size I had long been scouring bookstores for…
After a round of bear hugs and pleasure-to-meet-you’s, the guys headed for the trees toward their tents. I plopped down into Ryan’s chair, now basking in the warmth emanating from my own heart. Mesmerized by the moments now etched into my soul, I thought about the embers. The logs. The fire. How seamlessly they reflect this life. How we all have embers deep within us – longing to unfold into flames – just waiting for us to toss the fuel in.
I stayed there, lost in thought, as the lights in the trees flicked out one by one. Then, the Warrior stood me on my feet, swung my pack over my shoulders, and pushed me onward into the darkness.
Day 22 - August 23, 2020
[ 35.6 Miles ] – Bars Left: 3/4 – Miles Left: 35.6
A couple hours after I left, I began stumbling more than walking, so I leaned up against a stump for a 22-minute visit to the dreamscape. When my phone chimed a blink later, I took a few swigs of water, shoved my poles into the dirt, and lifted my leaden body off the ground. But even as ready-to-rock my mind was, my body was on a different page. Not even 10 minutes later, I was back to not being able to pick my feet up high enough to clear the rocks and roots. So began the search for the next nap site. Upon spotting a small dip next to a large log, I sat down, assumed my trademark tree-napping position, and promptly entered a deep slumber. 22 minutes later, I awoke disoriented but less exhausted. As the haze cleared, I languidly said to myself, “I know you’re tired, Soph. I’ve been demanding a lot without taking proper care of you, and you’ve been putting out anyway. I see that. I appreciate that. I know we can get through this. You and me. Always.” And with that, I set off into what was left of the night.
This time, I was able to get better mileage before exhaustion caught up again around 4:00. I decided it was time for some horizontal sleep, so I deployed my groundsheet and quilt and knocked out for two hours – waking just in time to start hiking again at first light. I felt much more refreshed and the first few miles rolled by despite the steady ascent.
There’s a Chinese proverb that posits, “One does not hit halfway on a 100-mile journey until the 90th mile.” So when I reached the high point on Indian Trail Ridge at 461.2 miles, I rejoiced – finally having reached my halfway point. But I knew I couldn’t let my guard down yet. I’ve learned too many times, the hard way, how not staying focused during the last stretch of an endeavor can lead to grievous mistakes. I unleashed a primordial howl over the valley and carried on.
Taylor Lake was a striking and welcome sight – especially being the reference of a passing NOBO hiker reporting, “When you can see the lake, it’s all pretty much downhill to Durango” as well as the first water source I’ve come across in 22 miles. I perched myself on a rock mid-descent for a quick refuel and then captured a foot-bomb picture in honor of my late 7th grade social studies teacher, whose adventurous spirit has stayed with me.
At this point, I had already finished the ¾ of my last ProBar from yesterday. It was time to get creative with four pecan halves, a dab of peanut butter, one Clif blok, and a packet of electrolytes I’d been saving for today. I ended popping half a pecan every two to three hours and chewing for 10 minutes before swallowing thinking it would simulate eating more. It worked until it didn’t.
My morning steam had evaporated by the time I traversed Sliderock, which I thought was a fitting name. The slope was entirely made up of this gorgeous, rich, earthy red scree that had slid off the face of a towering, jagged rock wall off to the side. Thinking about how similarly, we shed fragments of ourselves as we advance through various phases in life, I stopped to marvel at the resilience of the rugged landscape before watching my last packet of electrolytes dissolve into a bottle that’s seen better days. Shortly past Gaines Gulch, I sat down at a stream to finish the last of my peanut butter, utilizing a piece of dry grass to pick the remainder out of the nozzle.
The stretch along Junction Creek served as a perfect setting for reflection, providing a change of scenery and hiatus from the heat with the sides of the trail canopied by an array of lush trees, bushes, and tiny plants set against a soundtrack of flowing water. Pops of several red mystery berries perforated the iridescent green canvas. Upon seeing one berry larger, slightly darker in color, and with smaller drupelets than a raspberry, I stripped it off the bush and popped it into my mouth before awareness had a chance to catch up. A couple cagey chews later, I realized it probably wasn’t the best time to practice my adventurous eating and promptly ejected it into a nearby bush before giving a sincere “thank you” and continuing on my way.
The 4.1-mile climb from Junction Creek up to the last high point of the trail felt interminable. I’m not sure if it was because my mind knew I was close to the end and was allowing fatigue to catch up, or the gradual climb was a little too gradual for me. After becoming familiarized with how my body performs across varying trail terrain these last three weeks, I’ve learned it would rather climb steeply for one mile than hike three miles over vanilla terrain to reach the same high point. Regardless of my preferences, I was well aware these were the last few miles and remained thankful they were going by slowly. When I reached the top, I popped my last Clif blok, pushed it to one side of my cheek, and broke off into a light jog.
A visual indication of the elevation decline appeared when little bushes of pearlescent white sage began dotting the sides of the trail again. I thought of Kremlin, who had introduced the lovely plant to me on the third day, and smiled.
As I treaded along, montages of my trip began playing back on my mind’s screen. I watched as overwhelming solitude the first day produced a definitive crack in my emotional fortress. Then I saw myself gazing up at the cosmos all those late nights and early mornings, attempting to fathom how something so tremendous and immaculate could also exist inside me. I went back to long stretches in the forest where I felt my departed loved ones walking alongside me. I saw all the beautiful people I’ve met and the melancholic partings. I revisited all the moments I felt genuinely connected to everything – all the mystifying synchronicities affirming the idea that we’re all points of attention on an infinite stream of consciousness.
By the time I reemerged from my mental movie, six miles had rolled by and Gudy’s Rest was before me, overlooking an ocean of royal green pines adorned with a brush of eternal blue mountains in the distance. In retrospect, I wish I did – but I couldn’t even bring myself to sit down at the bench. My emotions were taking me away. Wiping tears with a darkened sleeve, I sent my letters to the sky and stepped on down the trail. When I reached the bridge over Junction Creek about 2.5 miles out from the finish, I stopped to take a few swigs of water, splash my face, and bring my monkey mind back under control. “Where are you, Soph?” “I’m here.”
The closer I got to the finish, the harder it became to stay present. As I dashed through the trees, Tokyo-drifting on every other switchback, visualizations of reaching the trailhead unremittingly flooded my mind. I wasn’t ready to leave this other life. I wasn’t ready to be reborn back into the world. I had completely come undone by the start of the last mile and slipped into a state of dissociation, a default self-preservation mechanism I’d adopted in my teenage years. “Where are you, Soph?” …….
0.2 miles from the trailhead, I stopped at the final water crossing to call on the Warrior one last time. A primitive stir of emotions kept surging up in my throat, and I thought maybe if I splashed enough water on my face, I would be able to maintain this semi-composed state.
A few moments later, the Warrior raised me on my feet and threw me headlong toward the finish, water trilling off my face into the thirsty ground.
I shattered before I even hit the finish, emerging at the trailhead with my hand over my mouth barely holding back a tidal wave of mixed emotions. I was so lost at sea I didn’t even register my parents until I entered their embrace. That’s when the dam collapsed, swept away in the torrent.
And there I was.
Reborn.
“Where are you, Soph?”
I’m here.
Afterthoughts
Still processing…
Peace and love.