The Colorado Trail: Breckenridge to Salida
Day 7 (8/8/20): 19.4 miles
Highway 9 (Breckenridge) to Meadow at mile 123.8
I woke up at midnight with a headache, feeling incredibly dehydrated. Every orifice on my face burned. I got out of bed and fumbled around in the dark, digging in my backpack for Advil. I took one and chugged a glass of water. It’s so easy to get dehydrated in town; I’m eating saltier food, I’m busy running errands, and I’m not sweating so I don’t think about my body needing water. I laid back down and drifted to sleep once more, not waking again until 5:30AM.
It’s always bitter sweet leaving a hostel—the soft bed, clean sheets, the shower, a flush toilet, the Keurig i.e. liquid life dispenser—but I was also really excited to get back into the mountains. I caught the 6:45AM bus out of town with a couple, Tim and Sara, who’d also stayed at the Fireside Inn, and we leap frogged each other for most of the morning. I was having a tough time getting going; my chest felt tight, like someone had their foot on it, and my nose was stuffed. The higher I climbed, the more paranoid I got: would I be able to breath above 12,000ft? I was only at ten-something and felt like I was gasping. I told myself it was all in my head, that I needed to just think about something else and get into a rhythm. I think I was partially right. The longer I walked, the better I felt, I took the miles slowly and drank 2 liters of water within my first six. Finally I reached the last stream crossing before the pass, I knew I had two more miles to go before I would top out at 12,495ft, between peaks 5&6 of the Ten Mile Range. I could see “a” pass above me, but it looked too close, and sure enough, when I created the rise, the trail continued to ascend. The view was gorgeous and my breathing—while labored—felt quite normal for the effort. Breckenridge sprawled 3,000ft below where I stood at the top of the pass. I’d met up with Ru, a hiker I’d eaten dinner with a couple nights ago, and we walked the rest of the day together. The conversation was a welcome distraction from the chaos of Copper Mountain Resort, we encountered what felt like masses of people on the trail as we started our final climb of the day, and having to stop and step aside repeatedly for mountain bikers began to get psychologically wearing. They were all really friendly, but the stop and go nature of the hike made it hard to get into any sort of groove.
A couple hours passed and we made it to the meadow I wanted to camp in for the night. Ru was going to keep going so that she could get into Leadville at a descent hour tomorrow; I would be skipping that town but hoped to explore it later once I reached my car in Durango. I made camp quickly and immediately started cooking dinner, chickpea pasta-macaroni and cheese, with dried spinach, and real cheddar cheese. It was hot and seriously delicious. I am wiped out, my eyes burn and my nose makes a whistling sound every time I exhale. I am pleased, though, to have made it over the pass without much trouble at all, and to be camped at 10,854ft. Tomorrow is a new day!
Day 8 (8/9/20): 23 miles
Meadow to West Tennessee Creek
I woke up to thin layer of frost coating the surrounding vegetation and a sharp chill in the air. I hadn’t slept well, I’d pitched my tent poorly on a slant and kept rolling off my sleeping pad throughout the night. I’d wished for morning all night long and finally, it was here. I went about my morning chores and just as Tim and Sara were leaving camp (they’d arrived the evening before), I sat down to drink my coffee. It was the perfect temperature to climb Searle Pass (12,043ft), chilly in the shade but warm in the sun.
As I began to climb the valley, I became aware of a smell that must have arrived during the night and grown progressively stronger throughout the morning, it was so pervasive, I only registered it when I paused to breathe in the smell of pine. Smoke. Now I recognized the morning haze to be evidence of a fire, not the fog I initially supposed it to be. When I passed a couple backpacking, I asked them if they knew what was burning; they told me the fire was north of Grand Junction, not anywhere close to the trail.
When I reached the pass, I was blown away by the view looking out either side. Jagged rows of peaks made up the horizon line, all colored a hazy blue-grey due to the smoky air. I looked to my right just in time to catch a mahogany colored marmot bumble under a rock pile, it’s long tale the last thing to disappear. Picas whistled and peeped in the rocks all around me, one of the braver ones sat on top of its rock castle with a purple aster hanging out of its mouth; it’s rounded ears, pricked curiously in my direction.
I always say hello to the animals. Maybe that seems strange to passers by, but to me, it feels only right to acknowledge them the way I do humans I happen to encounter while hiking.
I hiked with Tim and Sara from Searle Pass to Kokomo Pass, and we chatted while simultaneously gawking at the gorgeous alpine vista we were walking through. We met Mary Badass, a tanned and weathered woman in her 60’s who truly was a badass, since she’d hiked the AT and the PCT back in the 80’s before they were fully developed as they are today. She was out hiking the CDT currently and would be walking well into November.
After the pass, I continued on alone. I fell into my 3.5-4mph pace easily, pausing only twice to dunk my sun shirt in a couple creeks to keep me cool as I zipped along. I passed through several dry stretches of trail and I found them rather beautiful. The day wore on—wore on me—I finally began to grow tired around 3PM. The campsite I’d planned to stay at turned out to be a no-go, the creek was bone dry. I was so grateful I’d filled up my water bottle at a spring a ways back. I pushed on another mile and when I got close to West Tennessee Creek, I was relieved to hear a gurgle of water.
The mosquitos harassed me incessantly as I cooked dinner; I covered my legs in my rain coat and had to wear my puffy to keep them off my back. I was sweating profusely under all the layers as I ate, but refused to give myself any relief because I knew the tiny, whining assholes would attack the minute I exposed myself.
Tomorrow I will walk to the base of Mt. Massive, which is exactly 20 miles away. I am excited and curious to catch a view of the mountain I want to climb. Until then!
Day 9 (8/10/20): 20 miles
West Tennessee Creek to Willow Creek
I. Am. Wiped.
But I’ll start at the beginning.
I woke up and packed up, as per the usual, and was met by a couple of inquisitive Scrubby Jays when I dug my morning cat-hole. They watched me curiously and hopped closer on their respective branches, one of them even came down to inspect the job at eye level. I couldn’t help but laugh. They are cool looking birds, the size of small crows, all grey except for their pale faces and black beaks. They remind me of birds from a fairytale, one I can’t quite put my finger on. Luckily I buried my business before either one fell in.
The morning was stunning, golden, and fresh. I started walking just after sunrise, and so the dawn had only just begun to kiss the mountaintops and dapple the trees. I passed through one luscious meadow after the next on my way to Porcupine Lake in Holy Cross Wilderness. I was moving slow, feeling the 42 miles I’d walked over the last two days in my legs and shoulders. I’d run out of stove fuel last night, so I couldn’t make coffee this AM, and I contemplated whether or not I could go into caffeine withdrawal if I only ever drank one cup a day, and then missed a morning. Or maybe I was just tired from walking up and down mountains? When in doubt, the answer is usually the simplest explanation.
As I descended from the saddle after the lake, I was awestruck by the scenery I found myself walking through. Indian paintbrushes, purple aster, yarrow, fireweed—all lined the trail and dotted the hills. Marmots whistled and pikas “cheep”-ed; I caught one mahogany colored marmot off guard, it was caught straddling it’s rock burrow and remained frozen long enough for me to capture it on video. I felt like I was walking through a dream, if it weren’t for the mosquitos calling me back to reality every so often.
I found myself climbing again, to yet another high point, and exhaustion replaced my dreamlike trance. I was concerned that I was no longer on the CT, the distances just weren’t adding up in my tired brain. I distracted myself from the steep hike and my growing uncertainty by watching the hummingbirds dip their beaks with precision, into brightly colored flowers. The longer I looked at the wildflower covered hill side, the more of them I saw.
After encountering a day-hiker who assured me I was on the correct path, I began a long descent to Timberline Lake Trailhead—which included many snack breaks—and I reached a creek I could submerge my tired body in. The day had heated up and Glacier Creek proved to be just the ticket to lift my spirits and my energy level. Another climb and I found myself in Mt. Massive Wilderness. I was both excited and nervous to give this 14er a go the next morning; it would be my first one and I hardly knew what to expect. I wanted to catch the sunrise and was planning to get moving while it was still dark out. My walk had flattened out and I gratefully eased my worn out body through it.
At one point, I stopped walking quite suddenly and collapsed purposefully on a square boulder. I pulled my pack into my lap and rested my head on it. I felt as though I could fall asleep right then and there. I watched listlessly as a few scrubby jays fly back and forth over an adjacent marsh. I waited for the mosquitos to find me, but they never did. My mouth was dry and I knew I needed to drink more water. With a belabored sigh, I got moving once more.
The final climb of the day I executed at reverse-snail pace, slower than slow. My feet sloppily scraped the sandy trail and my toes got caught on rocks. The descent to the Mt. Massive side trail, and Willow Creek, felt like a sweet blessing when it arrived. And seeing the creek almost brought tears to my eyes.
I camped next to the creek and hopefully plan to snag a few good hours of sleep before waking up around 3:15AM to begin the 3,500ft climb to the summit which looms above me. At the moment, I cannot fathom how the energy will find me, but that is a worry for tomorrow.
Day 10 (8/11/20): 26.5 miles
Willow Creek to South Shore of Twin Lakes before Collegiate East/West split (with summit of Mt. Massive)
PART ONE: 7mi r/t to summit, 3,350ft elevation gain
I woke up in a state of confusion when my alarm went off at 3:15AM. My dream brain imagined I was getting a phone call and my sleep brain felt it was more important to answer the call than the alarm. I rounded myself in the dark and immediately started packing up, I figured the faster I got moving, the less time my body had to realize how exhausted it was. I took a sip of my overnight “cold brew” coffee, and shut off my headlamp as I walked by the still-sleeping tenters around Willow Creek.
I retraced my steps to the side trail leading up to Mt. Massive and without hesitation,turned left. It’s funny how one’s perception changes in the dark, all I have to go off of for ascertaining my surroundings is a 10ft diameter beam of light; trees look silver, all flowers look ghostly white. I believed the forest I walked through was mostly dead and lifeless, but only because I was viewing it in grayscale. When the landscape opened up into a meadow, the waning moon lit my way, so much so, that I no longer needed my headlamp. Up, up, up, I climbed. Slow and steady, 1... 2... 3... I counted my steps in my head and set my breathing to match. I’d been walking for a little over an hour but it seemed like much less time had passed.
The terrain became steeper, and scrubby trees gave way to waist high willow bushes, and eventually, those disappeared too. It was still dark and I was finding it harder to breath. The right side of my lower back felt as though I’d pulled a muscle, so I tried to take deeper breaths using my stomach, rather than my shoulders and chest.
1..... 2..... 3..... my pace grew slower. My steps felt a bit clumsy now.
A warm yellow glow was lighting up the horizon behind me, and giving me greater visual details of what still lay ahead. Mt. Massive was truly huge, and it seemed like I’d barely made a dent in the climb. I could hear ptarmigan (mountain chickens), clucking and cooing to their peeping babies, other birds had started to sing too, and the pika sounded off all over the mountain side.
The sky was much brighter now, but still the sun had yet to rise. I reached the saddle and for the first time felt as though I might actually make it to the top. My breathing felt more natural and a thrill of excitement ran through me as I looked at the rocky traverse which lay ahead.
My pace quickened as much as it could without sending me into a state of total oxygen deprivation. I was climbing a narrow ridge, not more than four feet wide, and to my left lay an entirely new world. Tan and brown and red peaks soared, covered in lingering patches of snow, they seemed to be the only thing that existed. Emerald green lakes sat in cool stillness bellow their prominence. The sky above was pale blue, layered with fluffy pink and peach clouds. The sun had partially risen now, and melted like liquid gold over the landscape.
When I reached what I thought was the summit, I spied two people walking towards me from yet another summit, when they got closer I asked them which was the “real” summit.
“Oh, they both seem the same,” The guy said.
“But that one has a cardboard signed folded up under a rock,” The girl with him clarified. We took a few pictures of each other and as they left down a different trail than the one I came up, I went to investigate the other peak. Sure enough, there was a torn cardboard sign reading: Mt. Massive 14,422ft, tucked snuggly under a rock. I took a few timer photos with it, posing awkwardly on rocks, before I began my walk back to the flat peak. I was in awe of the light and how it played against the giant rock behemoths which surrounded me. It was a spiritual place to be, standing so high where the air was so thin. I may as well have been on another planet. To think I had doubted my ability to pull my body up to this height. To think I had doubted myself for even one minute.
On my way down the mountain I encountered families of ptarmigan and marmot. An you know what, I swear those marmots were watching the sunrise, poised in clusters on large boulders, all facing towards the sun. And why shouldn’t they? Their home is one of the most beautiful places on earth.
PART TWO: 18 trail miles, 1.5 side trail miles
I flew down to the Massive Trailhead parking area, realizing that I’d completed my whole extra-cuticular excursion in less than 5 hr! And then proceeded at a more moderate pace for the next 6 miles to the turn off for Twin Lakes Village. The 1.5 mile side trail, felt way longer than that in the baking heat. I loathed the idea of having to retrace it, and re-gain all the elevation just to lose it again coming down to the highway. I put the thought out of my mind and fantasized about food instead. When I arrived to the general store, I saw a bunch of hikers sitting outside and immediately felt overwhelmed. The town was literally just the general store, so I went inside to find something to eat. The owners were incredibly nice, they gave hikers a 5% discount on everything later, brought out gallons of water for us, on the house, because there was no spigot. They let us charge our electronics and throw away our trash. Seriously amazing people.
Part of me had been expecting to camp super close to town and take a day off the next day, but there really wasn’t anywhere close to camp, and nothing was shaded. I’d dropped down into a desert with two lakes in the middle of it. After chatting with my mom, I resolved to move on, though, how far, I wasn’t sure. I purchased all the food I thought I might need for the next 85 miles to Salida (I forgot to buy cheese, of course) and headed out just in time to see Tim and Sara roll in. We caught up for a few and I learned of an alternate option besides having to hike back up that godforsaken side trail in the afternoon heat.
I walked on the highway for about a mile and joined the trail again for the long walk around Twin Lakes, only having missed 1.2 actual trail miles. The loop around the lake was totally out of the way and didn’t make much sense to do, but it wound up being gorgeous, reminding me a lot of the more arid spaces in Patagonia. I even jumped in the lake before I reached the damn. I chose to camp just before the collegiate split, tomorrow I will take the west route, as opposed to East. But for now, all I want to do is rest my tired feet.
Mary Badass
Day 11 (8/12/20): 16 miles
South Shore of Twin Lakes to South Fork Clear Creek
Before I really begin, I want to talk about an interaction I had with another “hiker”.
I’d set up my tent near the South Fork Clear Creek, there was another tent near by—clearly not a thru-hiker’s tent—further back in the woods. The space I chose was close to the trail and, given the flowing creek, probably out of earshot of the other one. I sat outside my tent for about an hour, eating and checking the guidebook. I then left to get water and ran into Blue, who I’d been hiking with on and off all day. She decided to make camp near me.
When I returned to my tent, this couple is standing around it, looking awkward. I say hello, in my usual friendly way, thinking they want to talk tents and backpacking—but no.
“Yeah, we were going to have a campfire here,” The guy said without any greeting. My tent was nearly on top of the fire ring; it was the flattest spot around.
“Uhm, there’s a fire ban so you really shouldn’t be burning anything,” I said, feeling defensive.
“Well we have friends coming,” He tried again. “Didn’t you see our tent over there?”
“I’m trying to hike Huron in the morning—“ I began.
He cut me off, “Yeah I hiked it today.”
“Well I’m thru-hiking this trail and I’ve thru-hiked many other trails, and I’ve always camped near people; it’s never been a problem.”
Not that I was even remotely close to them.
“Well we are going to have to walk through here.” He said passive aggressively.
I looked at the wide open space around my tent and saw no problem.
“Okay, I’m not moving. Walk through as many times as you like.”
The point of me sharing this situation is two-fold, 1) Individuals are responsible for knowing current rules about fire safety in the places they are traveling and camping. 2) Individuals are responsible for knowing who else might be using the trail they are choosing to recreate on, i.e. if you are camping on the CT during prime thru season (July/August), you are going to be camping and hiking alongside thru-hikers. Be prepared to share.
Back to the good stuff:
Tim, Sara, and Blue all bumped into me in the morning as I was tearing down camp. I’d been moving a little slow and was enjoying looking out over the lake, drinking my coffee. I got moving with them, though, and Blue and I walked 4 miles together, chatting about our experiences on the AT—she’d thru-hiked it in 2016.
When the terrain got steep, and the climb up Hope Pass began, we settled into our individual paces. Mine carried me past many hikers, until I tuckered our around 3/4 of the way up and had to pause to eat a protein bar. The climb was 3,000ft over about 4 miles.
Near the top, I saw Mt. Hope rise up with austerity on the right hand side of the pass. It was beautifully backlit by an ominous sky. I was surprised to see the impending rain cloud as it was still early in the day and the radar had projected the day to be a clear one.
As soon as I rounded the final switchback, I was hit full force by a gust of wind. There were a few hikers already on the saddle taking photos of a monument built of rocks, sticks, and prayer flags. It was a brilliant pop of color against a mountainous backdrop.
Hope Pass is one talked about by hikers extensively, it is both revered and dreaded for its long climb and symmetrically brutal descent. Now that I’d climbed it, I felt like I’d achieved another milestone on the CT.
Looking out over the collegiate west, I was filled with excitement. These mountains were huge.
I had a desire to climb Mt. Huron the next morning—which felt a bit crazy because I’d just climbed Massive yesterday—the trail went right by it. And the climb round trip was only 5 miles (not to mention the 3,400ft elevation gain). It was a big ask for my body, and I’d still have more miles to walk after, but what an experience it would be. I wasn’t sure I could pass up the opportunity to stand on something so tall again.
As I walked and contemplated whether or not to climb tomorrow morning, I realized something rather beautiful: The mountains are like my telephone to God. They broke me in just the right way, into exactly the right number of pieces, so that I could be rebuilt into the person I was always meant to be. And every time I go to them, I am made more complete and more whole. To walk in their shadows and climb to their summits, is a spiritual experience. To gaze upon their towering forms and to be humbled by their magnitude, is to know a Higher Power.
Day 12 (8/13/20): 21 miles
South Fork Clear Creek to South Texas Creek Trail (with summit of Mt. Huron)
I did not sleep well last night; just as I began to nod off at 10PM—after struggling to quell my thoughts about the next morning’s summit attempt—I heard something loud right next to my head and a bright light was shone into my tent. I gasped loudly without ever consciously deciding to. It was that couple. It seemed as though they had purposefully walked as close to my sleeping body as possible, as loudly as possible, and that they had intentionally shone their headlamps directly on me.
I may have fallen asleep around midnight, but it didn’t matter much, because my alarm went off at 3:30AM and I began packing up in earnest. I didn’t dare turn my headlamp on and risk waking my neighbors. Luckily I have my systems dialed to such a degree, that I could pack and unpack blindfolded if I had to, with little trouble.
I pulled my food bag down from the tree and then—as I feared it would—nature called. I’m going to be really honest. I hate digging cat holes in the dark. I had hoped it could wait until after the summit, but alas, I don’t get much say in the matter ultimately.
I did what I had to do, and then headed towards the Mt. Huron Trailhead.
The climb began with graded switchbacks through a pine forest, my headlamp beam guided me until I reached the bowl before the summit. The meadow was wide open, dotted with willow bushes, who’s branches bore white tufts of sheep wool, and the moon now lite my path. I switched off my headlamp and leaned against a rock to catch my breath. I was suddenly overcome with emotion, this welling up of gratitude and love for life. Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes as I looked to the sky in silent thanks.
When the climb steepened, the tufted alpine grasses gave way to rocks and sand. The sky was now brighter as dawn began to break. I gasped and wheezed and then my breathing evened out as I found my rhythm.
The sun had broken the horizon line by the time I made it to the false summit, which was a narrow rocky ridge. With one final effort, I cleared the top. A man was sitting on a pile of rocks and he called out to me, “How do you take your coffee?” I laughed and paused to catch my breath.
Steve and I shared the summit for about 30 minutes before we both decided to go down. He was from Colorado and had made the climb at sunrise to honor his friend who had recently passed away.
When I reached the CT again, I boiled water for coffee and oatmeal, and I reflected on my experience at 14,003ft on the summit of Mt. Huron. What an amazing life I was living.
The rest of the day was equally magical, I even took the time to jump into frigid, aquamarine Lake Ann, before climbing the pass above it.
I camped with Serena and Brudo that night, at South Texas Creek and slept harder and better than I had in many nights prior.
Steve from Golden
Photo taken by Steve of my descent
Day 13 (8/14/20): 24.5 miles
South Texas Creek to Tunnel Lake
I woke at 6:30AM, feeling well rested and a bit groggy from sleeping so soundly. I am sure I could have fallen back asleep, but I had many miles to cover today and the weather was supposed to be stellar. I went through my normal routine, which Serena must have slept through because there was no sign of movement from her tent. Brudo was packed and walking while I was still eating breakfast, but I knew I’d run into him later in the day.
Climbing Cottonwood Pass was easy and beautiful. As I neared the top, I stepped to the side for a group of hikers to pass, one of them pointed to my hat and said, “Nice flicker feather!” She proceeded to elaborate, when I expressed my excitement over someone finally being able to tell me what bird the orange and black feather belonged to. “The northern flicker is a wood pecker, one of my favorites!” She said.
When I arrived at the parking area for the pass, I heard my name being called. I looked around to see Tim and Sara! Standing with there son, next to a sprinter van. I walked over and we caught up on each other’s hikes. Blue showed up too, shortly after. Tim and Sara’s son gave me half a block of cheese—which I ate immediately—and everyone laughed because all I had wanted since Twin Lakes was cheese. I also was given a stick of butter and some cookies. I felt like such a mooch, but a really happy and grateful one.
My body has definitely under gone some changes in the last two weeks. I’m incredibly lean, and yet my hiker hunger hasn’t really kicked in, which I attribute to the elevation. My legs and hands are the tannest they’ve ever been, my skin is so dry it looks scaly, and it burns around my ankles and shins, which I’m treating with hydrocortisone in loo of lotion.
When I walked away from the parking lot, I felt really happy and content. That was probably my favorite trail magic ever.
The rest of the walk was stunning, the most beautiful day so far (not counting sunrise on either 14er). The trail followed the divide and stayed well above tree line for 15miles. I was so absorbed by the view, I barely noticed the miles passing. Or the passes, passing. We went over at least 5!
Towards the end of the day, at mile 20, I felt totally tuckered out. I knew I needed to walk more to set myself up well for tomorrow, but all I wanted to do was pitch my tent and crawl inside. I sat on a rock and ate some jerky and dried cranberries. When I got up to go, I felt surprisingly better, and I tackled the next two passes with full energy. Walking in the evening light is so lovely, I forget that sometimes because I usually walk early in the morning, and make camp before 5PM. I saw marmots and pika and tons of birds, and the sun cast a warm, golden glow over the willow bushes and rocks.
I made my home for the night just bellow the second Pass, next to a creek that feeds Tunnel Lake. I am happily tired and ready for a good nights sleep.
Day 14 (8/15/20): 13.5 miles
Tunnel Lake to the Butterfly House
This morning I woke up cold and coughing. The air was full of smoke from various fires burning across the state. I had slept okay, but not as well as the night before, and I attributed that to the exposure, wind, and the elevation; I’d pitched my tent at about 12,000ft.
I started my period yesterday—TMI? Well, it’s a fact of life and certainly a factor when it comes to being a female backpacker—I was actively bleeding in my sleeping bag when I woke. In the front country, this is no problem because a washing machine is surely close by. It’s not so simple in the woods. In addition to the mess, walking with cramps is hard. I did one of my biggest days yesterday with some of the worst abdominal and lower back pain I’ve ever had. Walking does help ease the discomfort—to a certain extent—but the nausea is unavoidable.
I delt with my current situation as best as I could and packed up camp. I was walking by 7AM. The morning was mostly downhill until I hit a rocky Jeep road that lead me up to yet another pass. I couldn’t breath. I was sucking air and my chest felt tight, like someone had their foot on it. Stopping didn’t help, there was no catching my breath, I tried not to panic. Ever so slowly I crept to the top, knowing that it was all down hill (at least for a while) after this climb. But even on the down hill I was struggling, and my heart fluttered in an arrhythmic flip flop fashion in my chest.
The scenery was beautiful, but for the first time, I struggled to soak it in. All I could think about was how tired I was and how I couldn’t get enough air to fuel my limbs, even as I tripped down the south side of the pass. My arms tingled, my face felt funny.
I stopped to sit on a rock and tried to figure out what I should do. I didn’t think I had any other option besides walking all the way to Monarch Pass, which involved a 2,000ft climb yet. I pushed on. Feeling half present.
There was a sign stapled up near the Boss Lake Trail Head, it was for the Butterfly House; I thought the hostel was only accessible via Monarch Pass, but this sign said all I had to do was walk 2 miles on a 4X4 road to get there. I took the downhill option, the one that would cause me to lose as much elevation as possible, and I followed the signs to the Butterfly House.
At one point, I walked on this sandy road, so blinding white that I could barely keep my eyes open and I felt like my face was baking off. I weaved and swerved my way down the lane. And then I saw the final sign, pointing into the woods at a complex of red cabins. I was home.
I ran into Shane and Animal Style outside the hostel almost immediately, they were headed into town. Shane was the owner of the Butterfly House; we piled into his van and what was supposed to be a trip to the hardware store and a quick resupply for me, morphed into burgers and tubing down the Arkansas River. It was seriously a wonderful and unexpected afternoon to remember.
My tube flipped in one of the man-made rapids and I popped up in the tail of the wave, spluttering and laughing. The warm sun complimented the chilly water, and I felt like I was on vacation.
That evening at the hostel, I stayed up late chatting with everyone as Animal Style and Shane built a shelf. I met Gone Girl, who was hiking the CDT and had hiked the AT the same year as me, apparently! I think the Butterfly House is already a really special place, even though it’s only been in operation for a month, now. I reveled in the thru-hiker camaraderie and enjoyed the unusually late night.
Sometimes I just need a break, 250 miles is no joke up in these mountains and my tired body is grateful for the reprieve.
Shadow of Mt. Huron from its summit
Today (day 15), August 16th, I am taking a zero day at the Hostel, my first day off, so to speak. I’m catching up on my writing and sorting through some photos, and of course, eating plenty of food.
I’ll catch up with ya’ll again, a little ways down the trail! As always, thanks for reading!
