The granite ridge lines, spectacular mountain views, and distant squares of agricultural lands far below greeted me as I traveled upwards. Or so they would have, had Zeus not been scheming.
Short Update
• I’m in Washington, 400 miles into the trail
• my feet are finally dry!!
• the trail IS surprisingly social
Long Update
Bonners Ferry is not a bad place for a zero.
With how water logged my feet have been, it was the chafing that wore on me. An extra pair of DarnToughs, despite the 90 grams of heft, never sounded lovelier.
After breakfast I traveled to the outfitter to see about some socks. In addition to countless guns, knives, tree stands, guns, and other subsets of things I don’t typically see meandering REI, they had DarnTough socks! Whistling a jaunty tune I left and ran directly into an EABO (East Bounder) by the name of Retro. We exchanged pleasantries and numbers, and I continued on my way. An hour later, Retro was at my room to use the shower, and we made lunch plans with a trail angel from Sandpoint. We enjoyed ourselves at lunch for 4 hours.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, I went back to my hotel, and then Cache22 called. He was 15 miles east of me on trail, but was grabbing a ride into Bonners Ferry. And just like that I had a roommate for the night! We even managed to catch the dinner salad bar at the grocery store before it closed (produce!!!).
A trail angel gave me a ride out of Bonners Ferry in the morning. I walked asphalt for some miles, and then some gravel for longer. As the Selkirks loomed large before me, the road transitioned to dirt. I began climbing the 8000 feet straight up as clouds billowed even higher into the sky. The magnificent ridge I climbed towards was masked in fog. The rolling, dense clouds swept over everything, hiding trees from rocks and obscuring jagged, breathtaking topography. And so I climbed upward, gaining 1000 feet every mile or so, steadily ascending into the clouds. My rain gear kept me dry as thunder ricocheted across the peaks.
At dawn, I donned my rain gear before emerging from under my tarp to begin “The Bushwhack.”
Long trails are silly beasts. Often because the concept of such a trail requires connecting one well-defined trail to another well-defined trail using roads until dedicated single track is built 30-or-more years later. Sometimes, the trail makers just draw a line on a map and call it a trail in hope that a trail may one day exist. There is a 10 mile section of this trail that other hikers say does not exist. These ominous comments led me to believe that I should just follow whichever vibes the wood nymphs willed, and choose a direction to travel into the depths wilderness.
2 hours of falling into creeks and sliding off damp logs, and I was cursing the gods. While my rain gear was impervious to water, the openings in my gear were not. Wet vegetation smacked my face, throwing rivulets down the inside of my jacket. The willows rung themselves out along my hipbelt, water cascaded across the discontinuity to soak my pants. My rain gloves acted as water catchments whose reservoirs, once filled, drained along the hydrological gradient of my sleeves, irrigating my arms. My feet, however, were dry.
No, just kidding. I was wet. Very, very wet. Would I ever be dry again? No. Probably never.
And then I quite literally stumbled onto an actual trail. There’s actually trail? Yes — I really hate the fear mongering from other hikers. Loathing the comments that had led me to the will of the woods, I began following the densely overgrown trail instead, reducing my brush bashing by several orders of magnitude, bringing me closer to civilization.
I finally surfaced onto a road. A very wet road, but one free of vegetation. I cackled with glee and began walking towards Priest Lake. As I circled around Priest Lake, a glimpse of blue sky abused my emotions. I remained wet as a final thunderstorm washed over me.
I got to the roadway intersection where I planned to settle down for a damp night’s sleep. Standing in front of me were 6 llamas. I heard chatter off to one side, and a packing group of 12 were circled up in the road, catching the sun that finally decided to emerge, right in time for bed. One of the men called me over and handed me a beer. I sat in the middle of the road, drinking a cold beer, and began to warm for the first time in two days. The sun’s rays twinkled, before turning towards dusk.
I’m finally dry (mostly), and in Washington.
With love,
Jeff