As far from my hopes for this hike as this was (for the past 5 years, it’s been an adventure I’d looked forward to sharing with a dear friend), I took it in stride and walked on. It has been messy and sad and lonely. I am grieving the loss of a friendship I held close to my heart. There have been positive moments like meeting my friend Lamar on top of Mt. Flora, but mostly I have been totally isolated, often afraid, and sometimes in real danger with no backup. The trail is no harder or scarier than it has been the 1000 miles before this, but not knowing what lies on the back side of a climb has a different vibe when there’s no one around. I haven’t seen another thru hiker on trail or in town in 300 miles. I have hiked alone and traveled alone and thrived alone, but there has been no thriving. I have been exhausting my physical, mental, and emotional resources to survive.
Nonetheless, I’ve held on and continued to try to network and find other hikers who would welcome all parts of me—the parts of me that are a hiker and the parts of me that are a budding healer (and yes, this comes with responsibilities back home that I cannot 100% unplug from) and the parts of me that are building my own sanctuary (and calling about windows and doors and siding) and the parts of me that desperately need to experience a full range of emotions on this journey. I mess up sometimes and rudely answer the phone when I misinterpret the situation, and I forgive and ask grace both when I cause and receive insult from situations like this one. Those hikers are out here, but they are weeks behind and not sustaining a pace (rightly so!) that will get me to school on time. I could shape myself into a worthy candidate for re-entry into my former crew, but I’m afraid I would no longer recognize myself. I could continue alone.
I have been preparing to choose the latter, but the 900 miles of the CDT that walks through grizzly country is fast approaching. I’ve weighed the risks, assessed the situation, and reweighed and reassessed. People hike through grizzly alone every year. They are fine. However, the trail will no longer be home if I am constantly paranoid by every breaking twig. It is by far the most important stretch of triple crown trails to have a group of three or more. Call me chicken, but I’m not going to do it alone. I’m also not going to be anyone other than who I am in exchange for the protection of a warm body.
There are three major goals and needs on the table, and I can only choose two: the completion of my hike and 2nd installment of my triple crown, my safety, and myself (and all of the messy passion that comes with her).
If you know me, you know that through hell and high water I finish what I start. It doesn’t need to be fun or comfortable or easy. In fact, the harder, gnarlier, and more insane it is, the better! Thru hiking requires this kind of spirit, but it also requires a spirit of reverence and humility. Steamboat Springs, CO is the northern terminus of my time on the CDT this year. I am going home to my community of badass women (and dogs and family and other folks) who embrace all parts of me, still love to go on sadistic adventures, and are waiting with open arms.
I am leaving the trail for now to save Blueberry, my very most favorite version of myself who laughs until she pees, walks with God in the cool of the afternoon, and gets to take up all the space she needs so others might have the freedom and the courage to do the same. Turns out saving my love affair with thru hiking requires an act that is, for me, braver than any traverse with my ice axe. However, Blueberry must live to see the completion of her triple crown (and her MD/MPH and the healing of many and possibly overturning a seat for congress in TN District 1-watch out folks haha).
Keep my blog in your favorites bar…I’ll be back and anyone who knows me knows I’m dead serious. But for now, happy trails.
Leave no trace.
