CT Days 3-4

Day 3 – 23.1mi

I wake up, not having slept very well. Nightmares kept me frozen, eyes wide open in my tent last night. I managed to calm down enough to sleep again on and off, but it sucked. I’ve never nightmare’d alone in the backcountry before, where it’s already hard to feel safe while sleeping.

The morning seems to drag on, probably because I am tired. It is beautiful though. I follow the north fork of the Lost Creek through a meadowy valley, and then enter the Wilderness again for the second time.

I weave my way through stands of aspen and conifer as I follow the contours of the peaks at their base, winding all the way back out of the Wilderness and down to Rock Creek, the low point of the day.

I’m super tired and starting to feel woozy from all the direct sun I’ve been getting through the more open woods. I filter and chug a bunch of water with electrolytes, and eat some salty snacks.

I get going, but it’s too hot. I start up a treed hill, but quickly break out into the open, grassy hills beyond, with nothing to block the full force of the afternoon sun. I know I should have taken longer of a break, but I didn’t because I was anxious to get to my destination. After a few hellish miles, I give in and find a tree to rest under until I cool down, which ends up being about an hour break.

Why the rush? I definitely feel like I have something to prove. Like, that I can do hard stuff, that I can bear it. Always the worry – is this pressure breaking me or building me up? What will I regret, when it’s over?

I do have the goal of trying to push myself on this hike. But every day so far I stress so hard about making it to my goal. I’m not the kind of hiker to take many breaks if I don’t have to – I like to get it done and then relax when it’s over, when I get to camp. These days have been so long though, that it’s a long time to be stressed out.

And on this hike, I might have to learn to go with the flow a bit more, especially with the weather. Firstly, the timing of being in a sheltered area when thunderstorms are happening. And second, as I have learned today, the heat of the afternoon. Can I still trust myself to ‘make my goals’ and take breaks in the middle of the day?

Still I’m frustrated at how my mind finds no end to the amount of things to worry about. It’s true I am enjoying myself; I don’t regret starting this hike. It’s rewarding to look back and see what you’ve done despite all the shit, but sometimes the shit is really hard to get through.

A few more late afternoon miles and I arrive at Kenosha Pass. Up on the hill before descending to cross the highway, I get a glimpse of where I came from, and where I’m going. It’s cool to see the landscape behind me, and think that I came from somewhere out of sight. Where I’m going looks beautifully terrifying; the Rockies rising in the distance. Tomorrow somehow I’ll be in all that.

I camp just behind the RV sites, and return to the funny water pump to refill a few times. I do not want to be dehydrated to start tomorrow.

I fall asleep hugging my cold water bottles in an effort to fend off the feverish feeling.

Day 4 – 19.5mi

I start at 5.30 am, partly to avoid the afternoon sun that has been doing me in the past few days, and partly because I’m nervous about my first venture above treeline and want to attack it sooner than later in the day.

I’m in the dark for the first 45 minutes or so, with my headlamp guiding me up the hill from Kenosha Pass. Truthfully, I actually pack up all my stuff and then sit around waiting for a while looking at the stars before I can gather up the courage to dark-hike. I’ve only done it one other time, and that was with another person, and there was snow on the ground which somehow reflected the light so you could see everything like daytime. So it’s a new experience for me, but one I really want to try. Given my low heat tolerance and that I like to get up early anyway, it’s my goal to try it a few times and see how it goes.

It goes great this time. I love watching the sunrise, watching everything change color right before my eyes. 100% will try again. Unfortunately the morning air is not as cooly crisp as I wish it to be. So far the weather has been way hotter than I expected, and I’m sweating in my sleeping bag every night.

I cross a kind of plain, dipping into and out of creeks as I approach the wall of mountains ahead of me. Then I reach the sign – Georgia Pass. A long climb ahead to go up and over that wall.

I’m always apprehensive when I see the elevation profile on the map, but the grade is never too steep, given that the trail is also built for mountain bikes and horses. It’s just enough to get me breathing hard, but I can also get into a good rhythm. The morning light makes everything prettier, and the forest is silent, save for my footsteps and clattering poles.

Finally the trees start to thin, and I find I am at eye-level with the big red pyramids that were so tiny yesterday. The pass itself, if taken out of context, could be any other rolling hill, grassy and gradual. It’s funny to me that such flat terrain exists so high up. I guess my previous experiences with mountains are that higher = steeper = scarier. But I feel peaceful here, not scared.

Something about Georgia Pass lifts some of the darkness in my soul today. A weight that’s been there for a long time. I get service near the top and receive a message from the angel who helped me at the start – they say that right after I entered at Waterton, the canyon was closed due to fires. What a symbol – of entering into something different and firmly closing the door behind.

The descent from the pass takes me into lusher forest; so many plants I don’t yet know the names of reach into the dappled light. It smells vaguely fruity, though I see no berries. Definitely a few fresh bear poops though.

I reach my camp at a stream at the base of a steep climb, which I decide to save for tomorrow. It’s only 2pm, but it won’t make any difference if I do it now or in the morning, because I’m going into town and staying the night.

Only a few bikers grind up the trail during my lazy afternoon of mostly napping. I see one hiker around 5pm, pacing fast. I briefly feel silly, lying sore and stiff in my tent, but try not to think of the race. I’ll have enough time, right? My own hike and all that? I could go down the rabbit hole of wondering if I’m going hard enough, so easily. Or I could relish this sunny afternoon anyway. I can’t decide.

I’m a pretty boring hiker, I basically walk and sleep. I don’t even cook. I carry a book that I haven’t even opened yet. But I kinda like making myself so exhausted, and then lying in a semi lucid state, soaking up the sounds and inklings of the forest, in and out of half-dreams. I find it rejuvenating. I often crave to sleep outside on the ground, which is partly why I go on camping trips even in the cold rainy winters where I live. There’s something about it that a stuffy climate-controlled room and an elevated mattress can’t match. I feel like my mind changes and I can access places that are not available to me in a square room, in a building, in a city. Not that I could say what they are, exactly, it’s more of a feeling.