CDT Days 15-17: No Water Cow Carcass Death

I wreak of cow carcass and my socks are more dust than fabric at this point. The pounding of my feet on the hard-packed or rocky road has caused my feet to swell already beyond my first pair of shoes and the blisters have begun to balloon. There’s no real remedy for my aching feet, and I wince with each step as it feels like I’m walking slowly across hot coals. I desperately want to cry but I don’t tend to cry easily and alas I cannot. The wind blows up more dust filled with cow pies into my nose, and I shoot what feels like the thousandth snot rocket of the day. I talk myself through each tenth of a mile and grasp at my podcasts and music to somehow make me tune out from this reality. The road stretches on ahead and it feels like I may walk this road forever. Don’t worry too much though, there is a sense of humor in the title and writing of this post.

I’ve pushed myself beyond what I thought I was mentally capable of doing in the desert and in retrospect I feel stronger than ever. But the long, monotonous days through ranchlands with water sources that make you question the very magnitude of your thirst push you to your limits and then past them. With not another soul around, it often felt like I was swimming in a desert landscape where I would never arrive at any definitive place.

The roads were lined with discarded beers from hunters, fishermen, perhaps working folks on their way home. It does not go unnoticed by the hikers dragging themselves along, hoping for a mirage of cold beers to appear at the next junction. There were brief moments of serenity as the sunsets arrived, the antelope frolicked, the afternoon clouds floated by. But it felt like an in-between rather than a destination.

Just one comical water source story I can share is from the spring-fed green cow trough. After a series of stagnant cow ponds and containers, this particular source had an actual flowing inlet of clear, cold water. Approaching the couple of cows that were drinking there, I let them know that I just needed to get some water. They reluctantly moved aside as I happily filled up my first round of water to down. There was potentially 24 miles ahead (yes indeed it was) without any viable water and I wanted to start out hydrated. In the time that I had snacked and drank my couple of liters, the young male cow had called for his friends and now there were a gang of four very sternly guarding their precious water source. I stood on the opposite side of the green trough, next to a freshly rotting cow carcass and pleaded with them to move. They weren’t convinced. So, reluctantly I walked over to the neighboring metal trough and, surprise, it was populated with about 20 giant black and orange tarantula hawks. I chose the cows. I didn’t get more fresh spring water but, I did manage to scoop some of the less stagnant water from the green trough. 

I never wanted to step back out of the spacious, hot shower at Davila Ranch that I hobbled into the night before heading into Pie Town. The water felt like a magic potion for all of my previous ills. My blistered feet, the stench of cow carcass, the weariness of questioning every approaching water source washed away and my peace returned with this one simple action. Fresh towels and clothes, and a fridge full of eggs, potatoes and onions left me frozen in a sudden shift from struggling to feeling exceedingly spoiled.

The ability of someone to set up a simple kitchen, shower, and sleeping area for thruhikers (and bikepackers) that feels like it’s changed our lives in a major way…it’s sort of comical because of how simple it is but also so special because of how decidedly these people went out of their way to build this place and make this a reality for weary travelers. Bless the Davila family. I know I would’ve somehow arrived, but it feels like without their generosity I would’ve never made it into Pie Town. Same with a biker here who was experiencing heat exhaustion near that area. It is unexpected places like these where you find the hidden gems of humanity, and that in itself makes you want to keep going.

If you’d like to contribute to my CDT thruhike fundraiser please visit this link.