CDT Day 23: Why I Like Hiking Outside the Bubble

I’ve never done a thruhike in “the bubble,” and I don’t think I ever want to. As I lay here in bed at this cozy hiker and biker hostel in Grants, NM (Lava Flows), I’m reveling in the stillness. There’s nobody else here, and after still getting to talk to a few other northbounders yesterday evening, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

As much fun as it is to trade stories and plan together, I’m almost always someone who seeks out silence on my travels. Rather than join into a high-energy crowd of trail folk drinking beers, I’d rather wander a town just to see what and who I find or sip some tea with a good book or movie. 

Flip-Flopping Can Avoid the Crowds

On the PCT, I was a flip-flop when that was still a slightly looked down upon thing. But during that 2017 year of “Fire and Ice,” many people couldn’t actually finish, and I ended up loving my timing. I went north from Burney, CA and then essentially flipped south to the Mexican border. The snow was melting just as I was progressing, and I was not derailed by fires. It also set me up with a unique opportunity to meet people more similar to myself. Going north, the only people I was surrounded by were those who’d jumped up from the Sierra Nevada due to the snow. And those were the good ones, to be honest. They decided that no matter what people told them, they were going to hike every PCT mile even if it meant flipping. There were even the few who DID go straight through and had harrowing stories of the spring snowstorms and insane river crossings (disclaimer: multiple people died from the river crossings that year and I do not condone people going ahead no matter what). These people weren’t there to get drunk and stuck in trail towns, they were there for hiking the trail. Once I flipped south, I was with the SOBO’s, who were like me and liked keeping to themselves aside from maybe camping together or getting a pizza in town. 

In Reality I Like Hiking in Stormy Weather

Winter, spring, and fall thruhikes have been a part of my life due to seasonal work and having a “shoulder season” or gap typically in spring or fall. So I did the Oregon Coast Trail October through November and it poured rain every single day, to the point where I was forced to sleep indoors most of the time so I could dry my stuff off. There was not another soul on the trail the entire way. I did the South Te Araroa in early spring and faced over 200 kilometer-per-hour winds, but had almost all of the huts to myself in the dreamiest of landscapes. My Trans-Catalina Trail experience took place in January, as a beast of a coastal storm rolled in. My last night on the island, that side of the island shut down and they essentially said get on this ferry back to the mainland now or you might not be able to get back for days. My October stint on the Colorado Trail during the Caldor Fire in Tahoe led to me being in a snowstorm just below Mt. Elbert. Myself and my friends were the very first group of the 2020 season to complete the Tahoe Rim Trail. It was an adventure full of postholing, some snowshoes, hail, and frozen toes. We didn’t see anyone aside from some day hikers near trailheads.

Catching a Trail “Out-of-Season”

When it comes down to it, I wouldn’t change any of those timelines because there’s something special about catching a trail in its “off” time. Sure, you may miss out on some trail magic and might experience some type three fun but, it feels like an adventure in a way that trails don’t when they’ve become busy highways of traffic. So here I find myself again on the outskirts, delighted that I’m one of the last NOBO’s of the season, and not really concerned about catching the crowds. <3

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