CDT: The Terror of Flies – Leadore to Lima

On our way from Leadore to Lima, the CDT is testing us in ways we never imagined — from relentless biting flies to grueling climbs, this journey is as brutal as it is beautiful. Each day brings new challenges, whether it’s the heat of the midday sun, a rollercoaster ridge walk, or the sheer exhaustion. Yet, there are moments of breathtaking beauty, like watching elk at sunrise or enjoying a perfect meal after a hard day. The CDT is the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but with every challenge, we grow stronger, more resilient, and more determined to reach the finish.

CDT Day 38 – Beautiful Ridge Walk After Leadore

Trail Angel Randy gives four of us a ride back to the trailhead, sparing us the torture of hitching under the brutal midday sun on that lonely, dusty road. The ride is a mix of bear encounter tales and the bizarre story of a hiker’s run-in with a creepy clown — because, of course, that’s a thing on the CDT.

We hit the trail in the heat of the day, but the breeze keeps us from melting. Still, no breeze in the world can prevent the inevitable swamp ass. The ridge walk is spectacular, with expansive views of the valley below, and the wind ripples through sunburned grassy meadows like water on a lake. The dry conditions mean fewer bugs, and the wildflowers add splashes of color, reminding me of the Scapegoat Wilderness — simply stunning.

Back on the CDT after Leadore

We reach Elk Mountain at 10,177 feet, the highest point we’ve hit on the CDT so far. The climb is long and steep in places, but every drop of sweat is worth it. The views are jaw-dropping, and we linger at the summit, soaking in the golden hour and the cool breeze.

Climbing up Elk Mountain

We find the perfect campsite near a small spring in a beautiful meadow, our highest camp so far. The evening is almost chilly, a welcome change from the heat and bugs we’ve been dealing with. It feels luxurious to sit outside for dinner, savoring the cool air. We could push on another mile like the others, but this spot is too good to pass up. Why trade a perfect meadow for an uncertain forest site with more bugs?

Dinner is a triumph — a trail version of bibimbap, one of our dehydrated meals, with a twist. Ryan adds pepper jack cheese and ramen, transforming it into something creamy, savory, and absolutely delicious. We’re not sure what to call this concoction, but it’s definitely one of our best trail meals yet. A perfect end to a perfect day.

Trail Bibimbap with cheese

The saga of my phone mishap really got pushed into the background by all that. The plan is to get it repaired in California, thanks to Ryan’s brother, and hopefully have it back by the time we reach Mack’s Inn. In the meantime, I’m stuck with my backup — a Chinese phone that’s only good for navigation. It has no reception, a terrible camera, and a busted audio outlet, but it’s better than nothing. Ryan’s brother is also sending my old Samsung Galaxy to Lima, our next town stop. It has terrible battery life but at least the camera works. Yesterday was all about sorting this mess out, and while it sucked up most of the day, I’m glad we found the solution that sucks the least.

CDT Day 39 – The beauty is in the details

This section of the trail is a feast for the senses — gentle climbs, a refreshing breeze, endless views, and a symphony of wildflowers and butterflies. It’s one of those days where every turn reveals something new. There is so much to see, it’s in the details: Clusters of white, yellow, and violet flowers, and butterflies dancing through the air — white ones with black freckles, orange with brown spots, and tiny violet ones flitting about. Max the moth decides to join our journey, hitching a ride in a cozy corner of Ryan’s backpack. 

We reach Morrison Lake, where we take a dip to wash off the trail grime. The lake is serene, with two fishermen quietly floating in a boat. We meet Karma and Akela and share the cool water with them. But our peace is short-lived as biting flies descend on us. Even the fresh lake water can’t fend them off, so we cut our time here short.

A dip into Morrison Lake

The climb out of Morrison Lake is hot, and the flies return with a vengeance. We decide to take an alternate route through Ram Valley, enticed by the promise of a scenic adventure. Almost immediately, we regret the decision — the terrain is challenging, and navigation is tricky. It’s the end of the day, and we’re feeling the fatigue. A quick snack revives us, but the steep, trail-less route keeps us glued to the GPS. But there is a very pleasant smelling herb.

Eventually, the terrain opens up, and navigation becomes easier. We’re able to choose our own path, zigzagging up the slope at our own pace. The effort is worth it when we reach the highest point, greeted by one of the most stunning views on the trail. The golden light of evening bathes the landscape, creating a magical moment. No rams, though — just their droppings.

Would I recommend this alternate route? It’s definitely an adventure, but not something I’d suggest tackling at the end of a long day.

On the Ram Valley Alternate

We descend on the other side, rejoining the red line. But the trail remains elusive, faint and easy to lose. We constantly have to check the GPS, which is frustrating when we’re already exhausted. We push on, searching for water, and finally reach the next spring. Unfortunately, we find only stagnant pools that smell like sulfur and a tiny trickle further up. I carefully scoop water from the trickle with the lid of my pot, trying to avoid dirt, and then filter it. It’s slow going, but we manage to get enough.

We decide to call it a day, we’ve done 22 miles. It’s late, and the spot we’ve found is beautiful. We eat chili mac with cheese while watching the sunset, and as if on cue, an elk runs across the hill, silhouetted against the fading light. Our first elk sighting — a majestic moment to end a long, exhausting day. There are a few mozzies, but they don’t bother us much. All in all, it’s been a challenging but rewarding day with a lot of elevation gain.

A beautiful evening on the CDT

CDT Day 40 – The Battle Begins

The day begins beautifully, bathed in golden light with stunning views toward Cottonwood Peak. The trail isn’t much of a trail here, mostly cross-country, with navigation needed in spots. There are some steep ascents, but the breathtaking views make up for the effort. Along the way, we meet Tinker, a 78-year-old hiker working on his triple crown in section hikes. He’s quite the character, with a Santa Claus vibe — minus the big belly. He keeps talking about doing a certain stretch “when he’s old,” and later clarifies that “old” means 80.

Early morning hike

There’s an alternate route up to Cottonwood Peak that looks tempting, but with the trail already challenging and the day growing hazy, we decide against it. We’re feeling sluggish today — maybe yesterday’s elevation gain is catching up with us, or it’s the humidity that’s sapping our energy.

Cottonwood Peak

As the trail wraps around Cottonwood Peak, we head down toward Harkness Lakes, which are more like swampy ponds than actual lakes at the moment. We take a quick lunch break, but the flies swarm us relentlessly. At least the clouds keep the temperature down, and the rain, though sparse, offers some relief with its big, heavy drops.

Following a dirt road towards Deadman Lake, we’re grateful not to be hiking in the blistering sun. But soon, the rain picks up, driven by a strong wind that whips it against us. I even feel cold, something I haven’t experienced in a while. The rain is refreshing at first, but as we fight against the wind, it starts to feel more like a battle. Thankfully, it only lasts about 20 minutes, but the aftermath is a return to humid conditions — and, of course, the flies are back.

Deadman Lake after the rain

 As we walk the 4WD road, three cars full of families pass by, heading to Deadman Lake for some fishing and relaxation. The road down to the lake is steep — so steep that it makes our knees ache walking it. I can’t imagine driving it!

We gather water from the lake outlet, knowing there won’t be a reliable source for the next 13 miles. With heavy packs, we start the climb back up. It’s not as tough as we feared, thanks to some shade from the trees and a gentle grade with a few switchbacks — a rarity on this trail. But as we ascend, the flies become unbearable. They’re everywhere, biting relentlessly. When I swat them away from my head, they attack my legs and arms. I’m not an aggressive person, but taking out these little monsters gives me a strange sense of satisfaction. If they make me suffer, I’ll make them suffer too. They only live a few days anyway, and there are plenty more where they came from.

Not a very happy hiker at the moment

We push through the swarm of flies and the occasional mosquito, finally reaching the highest point. On the downhill stretch, we find a nice campsite nestled between the trees, offering some shade. It’s only 5 p.m., but we’re completely drained. Taking a longer break here is out of the question — the flies would drive us insane. So we call it a day, ready to escape the relentless buzzing of our tiny tormentors.

Unwelcome guests in our tent

CDT Day 41 – Fly Hell

Maybe we’ve died and gone to hell, all because we didn’t take care of eternity in our lives. It’s something you can’t fully grasp until you’re in the thick of it. “It can’t be that bad, right?” We thought the same thing when NOBOs warned us about these godforsaken biting flies. But now, here we are, pitching our tent for lunch, diving into it with dozens of flies hitching a ride, and realizing that the struggle is real — very real.

Hiking early morning and late evening are the only way to escape the flies

The morning starts off deceptively calm, as we walk through golden light toward Buffalo Spring, the long-anticipated water source. When we arrive, we can’t find the pipe at first — just two empty cow tanks. The flies are relentless, swarming us as we desperately try to figure out where the water is. It’s nearly impossible to think straight with hundreds of flies trying to take a bite out of you. The big horseflies are the worst, their bites searing with pain, but thankfully they’re not as common. The smaller flies, which look like harmless domestic ones, sting less but make up for it in sheer numbers, biting every second until you’re on the verge of losing your sanity. And their bites are so itchy!

Ryan finally manages to focus and spots a patch of green, leading us to the hidden pipe. We quickly fill up our bottles and hightail it out of there, but the flies follow us relentlessly. I can only wear my bug net when hiking downhill through shaded forest; on uphills or in open areas, it’s just too hot. As long as I keep moving, I can tolerate it, but breaks are inevitable.

So, we pitch the tent in a shaded spot in the forest for a long lunch break. We’re diving into the tent, dragging dozens of flies with us. The first 20 minutes are spent swatting and squashing our unwelcome guests. Finally, we settle in, cold soaking our Vietnamese pasta salad (we deserve something fancy) and laying down to rest.

Earlier, we read about a bailout option — a 12-mile road walk directly into Lima, which is now sounding incredibly appealing. But, we decide to push into Lima tomorrow evening on the red line. The original plan was to camp near the road and head into town early in the morning to save money on a night’s stay. But with a cheap accomodation option in Lima and the promise of no more flies, the idea of getting there sooner is too tempting to resist. We’re done with this madness.

Biting fly madness

We pitch the tent a second time for dinner, knowing from our observation that the flies go to bed around 7:30 p.m. After eating and taking a nice break, we continue for another hour before pitching the tent a third time for the night.

Late evening hiking has its perks

Everyone told us this stretch was particularly bad, so we’re hopeful that things will improve after Lima. I’m more than ready to leave behind the constant soundtrack of “bzzzzzz, slap, scratch”.

CDT Day 42 – A 12-Mile Rollercoaster Ridge Walk

We start hiking at 5 a.m. to avoid the heat and the flies as best as we can. There’s a big climb ahead, followed by a 12-mile ridge walk that hopefully brings a nice breeze to keep the flies at bay. The plan works perfectly. We tackle the climb alongside the rising sun, and at the top of the ridge, we spot two elk watching the sunrise together. It’s a breathtaking moment, one that feels like a reward for the early start.

Early start to avoid the biting flies

The ridge walk is a rollercoaster, with ups and downs that stacks up a day’s worth of elevation in a short time. It’s beautiful but exhausting. Luckily, the breeze allows us to hike and take breaks in relative peace — just a few flies instead of the usual swarm. I wear my leggings today to protect my legs, which helps, though it’s hot. Hikers with breezy pants are the real winners here, able to fully enjoy the beauty of this section.

The views are expansive, with green rolling hills stretching endlessly in front of us. Cows graze peacefully on one side, while signs of civilization dot the distant plains on the other. This is one of the most beautiful stretches of the CDT so far, but also one of the most challenging. The CDT never makes it easy — there’s always something to keep you on your toes. You really have to earn this one. 

Rollercoaster Ridge Walk

When I first heard the slogan “Embrace the brutality,” I thought it referred to the challenges of wilderness — weather, steep climbs, river crossings. I didn’t expect it to mean biting insects and blowdowns. In the Bob, our minds were strong but our bodies weak. Now, our bodies are strong, but our minds are wearing down. It’s time for a town break.

After countless ups and downs, we start our descent into the valley, followed by a 3-mile walk on a lonely dirt road. Just as the sun threatens to make the road walk unbearable, it hides behind clouds, offering us some shade and even a few soothing drops of rain.

The road walk feels endless and boring, with power lines that seem to get no closer no matter how far we walk. Finally, we reach a creek where we wash off the dirt and sweat, soothe the itching bites on our legs, and make ourselves somewhat presentable for hitchhiking.

When we reach the Interstate, the dirt road follows it for another 3 miles to an underpass. But we don’t see the point in that. It’s already illegal to hitchhike in Idaho, so hopping the fence and crossing the Interstate doesn’t seem like a big deal. It’s not a busy Interstate, certainly nothing like that five lane nightmare it is in California.

We find a decent shoulder to stand on, hoping someone will stop. Cars and trucks race by, and I start to doubt our chances. Just as I say out loud that I don’t think anyone will stop, a tow truck pulls over. Garrett, a local who works for his dad’s towing company, knows all about CDT hikers and kindly gives us a ride into Lima. I can’t believe how lucky we’ve been with hitches on this trail. Even when others have to wait for hours, we seem to catch a ride quickly. Maybe I lose things and break my phone, but we’ve definitely been blessed in other ways.

There’s not much to do in Lima, but we need a zero. The town has a gas station with limited resupply, a post office, two restaurants, a public pool, and a motel.

We meet up with a few other hikers we know—on the CDT SOBO, “a bunch” means five people. We plan to have dinner together at the steakhouse we’ve heard so much about, which I’ve been dreaming of for days. But when we get there, it turns out they only serve drinks on Wednesdays. Pro tip: Plan your town stop in Lima from Thursday to Sunday—you don’t want to miss this gem in the middle of nowhere.

Lima, Montana

There is not much to do in Lima, but we need a zero. There is a gas station with limited resupply, a post office, two restaurants, a public pool and a motel. We meet several other hikers we already know (a bunch on the CDT SOBO means like 5 people). We’re planning to have dinner together at the steakhouse we heard good things about, and I have been dreaming about for days. When we get there, it turns out they only do drinks on Wednesday. Whatever you do, plan your town stop in Lima from Thursday to Sunday because you don’t want to miss out on this gem in the middle of nowhere. 

As we take a zero here, we get to go there the next evening and the food is absolutely outstanding. A husband-and-wife-run restaurant, full of passion. As soon as I smell the veggies frying in butter, I know it’s going to be good. My steak is cooked to perfection, the veggies are delightful, and Ryan’s steak sandwich with horseradish aioli is heavenly. I expected diner food in these small CDT towns, but this is the third time we’ve had food that’s not just good for the trail, but some of the best I’ve had in the USA. Seriously, if you’re ever near Yellowstone on I-15, plan a stop in Lima.

The restaurant’s interior is homey and beautifully decorated, with little touches like beauty products and Airheads in the ladies’ bathroom. We chat with the owner about their ingredients and compliment them on the fantastic food — cooked right in the middle of the dining room. It’s a surprising delight.

The public pool by the high school is free, and despite the motel not having AC, it’s a nice place to hang out during the heat of the day. The rest of the time I spent with scratching my itchy flies bites that cover my legs. Taking some antihistamine gives me some relief, though. 

Lima may not have much, but it’s perfect for a rest day. Some hikers look at us, bewildered, “You’re taking a zero, HERE?” Hell yeah, and I’d do it again. The restaurant alone is worth it, and I feel sorry for anyone who missed out.

The trail is brutal, challenging, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s painful, testing the limits of our bodies and minds, but I never think about quitting. With some rest and good food, I’m ready to go back out there to tackle the next challenges the CDT throws at us. Whatever it will be, we will handle it. 

The result of the last section to Lima: Lots of super itchy bite marks that look like I have chicken pox