Idaho border calling and my first trail magic

Day 19, leaving storm lake pass

The Anaconda-Pintler wilderness surprises me with her beauty, plenty of lakes and views, while the Sobo climbs are gentle, enjoyable, almost fun.
For the first time in almost 500 miles, there are day hikers! Only a handful though, something going on in Montana that people are missing out on this paradise?

Climbing out of the valley before rainbow mountain, I turn around and notice the smoke for the first time. The sky is hazy.
I pull my phone out.
One bar of service, enough to WhatsApp Boomer about it, who quickly checks the fire situation and no surprise: a wildfire popped up not far from the CDT.

It’s sweltering hot and my first (skinny) dip of the season is Johnson lake. But there isn’t much time to be lazy. It’s late afternoon and the bugs are out to eat me.

I get in a few more miles before I seek shelter in my tent. The little black monsters flying against my tent walls while I turn off my alarm. No more rushing. I have time. Fuck being fast.

Day 20, north of rainbow mountain

For the first time on trail, I woke up in the morning and blissfully decided to turn around and continue sleeping. I had gone through my bearvault the day before and noticed I can stretch my food to one more day, allowing me to slow down.

Maybe someone will catch up to me?

Day 21, Hogan Creek alternate

It sounds like rain drops on my tent. But it’s hundreds of tiny black flies flying against the green fabric.

July. Everything is swarming outside. Everything wants my blood. As much as I respect hikers with a minimalist setup, tonight I’m grateful I don’t have a bivy under a tarp. But instead an enclosed space big enough to sit up and rummage around.

Speaking of rummaging: Time to dig through my bear can. Which is mainly filled with empty zip locks and plastic wrappers. It’s looking bleak on the snack front. Last night I woke up hungry.

But I’m not surprised, I packed for 3 days and then decided on trail I’ll do this section in 4. Tomorrow is the last day. You have to be a little hungry on the last day and absolutely starving by the time you roll into town. Otherwise you carried too much food. At least that’s my philosophy.

My nighttime routine consists of swallowing 3 big magnesium tablets and scouting farout comments. One key difference compared to the PCT is trail beta. So much of it isn’t marked but hidden in the comments on random trail junctions or streams: campsites, short cuts, alternative water sources. So each night I scroll through the comments of the next waypoints, looking for hidden tips.

And tonight there’s even a treasure: A 5 mile shortcut, avoiding burn area and partly on forest service road. Plus a cabin on the way.

I might need my ear plugs to drown out the buzzing of the insects though.

Day 22, Chief Joseph Pass

„Pleaseeee, don’t let the place be busy“, I beg. My sweat soaked shirt is sticking to my chest, my lips are dry and cracked from the relentless sun. I haven’t showered in a week, my legs are covered in dirt and swollen mosquito bites. The last bit before Darby was a huge burn scar and I’m exhausted.

There is no point hitching into town this late. The post office is closed already and I’d be stuck in town. I don’t necessarily want to spend money on accommodation when there’s a tent in my backpack – my free home. Either way, the highway is empty when I hurry across the wide lanes. July in Montana and no one going anywhere?
I head towards the buildings behind some pine trees. „Please don’t be busy“ I beg silently as I walk around the corner.

A few vehicles in the parking lot, an RV parked at the back. Looks like a caretaker. Shit. My plan was to wait here to the morning, charge my power bank, stealth camp somewhere between the trees.

Whatever, I shrug. I’m too tired. After setting my pack down, I plug my devices in an outdoor socket. I’m filthy. I quickly pull my shoes and socks off and give them a rinse in the bathroom. The door swings open. Feeling caught I stare at a middle aged woman, who smiles and says „hi“ before disappearing into one of the stalls. She doesn’t seem to mind my dirty appearance or the fact I’m washing my socks in a high way bathroom. After a few days out in the wilderness, I sometimes forget how to interact with people.

Before she comes back, I return to my backpack and sit down on my bright orange foam pad. Whatever, I think again. Trying to accept my status as traveller, hobo, hikertrash. On every hike, there’s this transition phase where I have to accept that I’ve left society in a way. And that society can tell. As someone who doesn’t like attention, carrying a huge backpack across small towns isn’t the best way to fly under the radar.

Someone left a paperback on one of the benches, it looks worn. „The high tide club“. I’m tired of my own kindle downloads. How bad can it be? I‘m quickly engrossed in the poorly written holiday novel when a truck pulls up next to me. 3 women climb out, nod at me and head to the rest room. They’re my age, dressed in tasteful outdoorsy clothes. I feel embarrassed, sitting like a drifter next to the bathroom. „You’re hiking the divide?“ One of them shouts. „Yeah, I do“ I reply relieved.
„Want some Oreos and a La Croix?“ one of the women asks and my shy smile turns into a wide, happy grin. I had been out of food and hungry. And their lighthearted kindness is about to feed my stomach and my soul. When she returns from the car, a foil wrapped chocolate croissant rests on top of the Oreos. This is my lucky day.

An hour later, the caretaker shows up. A tan man with white hair and beard. „The sprinklers will turn on in a minute“ „oh, I’ll be out of the way, so sorry“ I mutter, starting to collect my belongings before I get into trouble for loitering. I had been there a few hours by now. „You should be fine there, just warning you. Might get a little wet over there. Might feel nice though“
I relax, he’s friendly. Not smiling, but friendly.
„You‘re spending the night here?“
I decide to try my luck: „uhm, am I allowed?“
„Sure, I don’t mind. Just no parties“
I chuckle and nod.
„If you need anything, I’m in the RV over there. My name is Joe“
„I’m Maja, thanks Joe“ I smile.

Less and less cars stop by during the evening. I rarely hear any passing on the high way either. I don’t feel comfortable finding a spot for my tent just yet. I’ll wait till sunset.

A silver car pulls up and a couple, the age of my mum walk towards the bathroom. The woman asks where I’m from. „Germany“, I can tell she didn’t expect that answer. „Are you just travelling around?“
„I’m hiking the continental divide“ I point at my backpack. She thought I’m a drifter.

How quickly we are stripped from social status? A few weeks ago I was tugging on my collar before starting yet another zoom call. I guess neither me nor this woman can picture me doing that now.

Technically, I am homeless.

Besides the fact that there’s a return ticket with my name on it. But what am I actually returning to? Nothing. There’s no life that will continue, no routine to get back to, there’s a stripped, blank nothing, decorated with a imaginary post-it saying: Go figure it out. I love the nothing though. Will I take job in a country I haven’t lived in yet, or return to one of the „this once was my home for a while“, will I fall in love and follow the promise of heartbreak?

She disappears into the bathroom and when she returns she says „you just don’t have a German accent. Your English is really good.“
I can’t tell if she’s genuine or if she doesn’t believe me. „It’ll show after a while“ I say and smile. Because that’s truly how it is with my accent. They walk around the area for a bit before returning to the car.

The woman is already in the passenger seat when the man stops and turns around to me. „Guten Tag“ he says. „Gute Nacht“, I reply and smile. That was a pretty sharp way to test my story.

And for a while, surely for tonight and hopefully a few weeks to come, the figuring out can wait.