CDT Sobo – embracing the brutality

I open my eyes to see my tent wall hanging a centimeter above my face. My tent is small, but not that small. Maybe a stake has come lose?

Still half asleep I push against the fabric. Wet and heavy. Loaded with snow. Shit.

I fully open my eyes and basically all tent walls have half collapsed under the weight of the snow. Unlike the night before, when the wing was pounding and announcing the snow. Last night it had started quietly but constant.

Even though I had been twisting and turning all night because of the cold, I hadn’t noticed the snow piling up.

Do I pee in my shoes?

My quilt is slightly damp too. Great, a wet shelter, a wet quilt and considering the weather forecast from my inreach, it will stay wet for two days.

When I step outside to fetch my bear can, the snow is already ankle deep and it doesn’t seem to stop any time soon. Thick, fluffy snow flakes.

It would be beautiful, no it is, but I have to head up into the mountains today and I don’t know how the conditions will be. One thing is for sure though: it will be wet and cold. My shoes and socks: frozen!

I quickly wrap them in my rain jacket and place them in the foot box of my quilt in an attempt to thaw them, but no chance.

What do I do? I can’t hike in sandals in these conditions. Do people pee in their shoes to thaw them? I stare down on my trail runners and shudder. Yikes!

I pull and bend the fabric to soften the shoes and squeeze my sore feet into them. It hurts so bad, but I gotta get going.

A white maze: getting lost

Today the CDT leaves the valley entering yet another burn zone. The fire can’t be that long ago, the regrowth is less than a meter high. It’s interesting to see the charred trees covered in snow. Fire and ice. As if nature wanted to prove just how volatile it can be.

Not long before I climb back into the mountains where the snow hadn’t melted yet. Today it’s not a dusting, a thick white velvet carpet is covering the land.

And unfortunately filling the boot track fast, meaning in a few hours I won’t be able to rely on it for navigation. As if traversing the snow wasn’t painfully slow enough, pulling out my phone to make sure I am heading into the right direction, will make it worse.

A few days ago I had felt silly for carrying all this extra gear: spikes, gloves, a full rain suit, but now it’s literally saving my ass.

Hiking through this in my tiny shorts? Yikes.

How far until the pass? 12 miles. Which is not long in normal conditions but forever in this snow.

Just don’t stop and don’t injure yourself, then you’ll be alright, I encourage myself.

„WRUMMMS“

The ground has broken under my feet and I’m knee deep in snow. Postholing. In itself just annoying and slowing you down. The danger is not knowing what’s underneath the snow. Last year on the PCT I heard about a thru hiker who post holed and had a branch sticking in their thigh.

I try to carefully find my way across the white. The trail is buried somewhere deep below and the boot track is harder and harder to follow.

„SWOOSH“

My right leg has sunken into the snow, completely until my hip. I shift my weight onto my forearms and try to wiggle my leg free. Successfully, but my shoe is still in there. Laying on my stomach now, I’m trying to fish for my trail runner in the hole.

If only someone could take a picture of me now? I giggle.

Somewhere up here I’m supposed to have a view of the „Chinese Wall“ but all I see is white white white. Am I still following a boot track or am I just imagining this spur?

My head is spinning.

Maybe I should eat something. I lay my backpack against a tree, trying to find a bit of cover and open my jar. I poke at the oatmeal. Another hour and it would be ice cream. What do I do when all my food freezes? My only source of warmth is my body.I giggle to myself again, picturing stuffing frozen tuna packets in my sport bra.

I’m probably losing it by now.

Before shouldering my backpack again, I check the GPS. 7,6 miles to the pass. With this speed, it will take me almost 4 hours!

Two normal steps, wrummms, postholing and repeat.

I can do this, I tell myself. This mountain won’t last forever. Just keep moving and eventually you’ll get there. And from the pass it’s just down, lower elevation, less exposure. Maybe warmer? I didn’t want to give myself too much hope.

The magic of the Bob

And suddenly, like a miracle, the trail appears again. Sometimes just for a stretch. Sometimes snow covered, sometimes muddy and slippery. Maybe it’s the sugar kicking in or the fact that I have made it this far, but suddenly I see the beauty in this crazy day. How quiet it is, how serene and peaceful.

How privileged I am to stomp through this white cold madness.

A plane flies above me. I can’t see it behind the clouds, just hear it. The outside world still exists? People are flying somewhere?

How does anything besides this snowy mountain exist? I can hardly believe it.

On the pass I quickly shovel down some rice before traversing the heavenly, long promised DESCEND. I feel something weird on my face, „Is that the sun?“ I say out loud.

Quickly the snow covered trail turns into a mudslide, but I couldn’t be more joyful. I’m dirty anyways.

The trail leads into the most magical of forests and suddenly I understand „THE BOB“. Between the trees I discover cozy campsites, tucked between the trees, equipped with fire rings. Personally, I rarely think bonfires are worth the effort (or wildfire risk) but yet fire rings add a certain ambiance to campsites.

„Too early!“ I tell myself, „it’s gonna rain tomorrow and you don’t wanna spend half the day trudging through the wet before you can hitch into town.“

A few miles later, I give in. A magical little spot is pulling me in, inviting me to set to my wet tent and listen to the river murmuring.

Okay okay, little camp site.

I pitch right above the water, only to imagine that IF THE SHORE COLLAPSES, I might drown tonight. But oh well. Sometimes, I think like my dad.

It’s the first evening in a while that I’m not plagued by mosquitos or the weather and it’s kinda nice to sit one of the logs. It still rains but otherwise there wouldn’t be a rainbow over my tent. Wet and tired and happy and hungry, I sit there and stare at the faint stripes across the sky. 
Life is wonderful.