Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76

by Mary E Davison

  My children could see what their mother was doing, and where she was. In a macabre sense, they would know how to find the body. In a more hopeful sense, I could press the SOS button, and help would come no matter where I was in the world. I hoped neither of those uses would ever be necessary. But I would carry the device for a GPS, and as a concession to old age and safety. The inReach also had the capability for limited two-way communication, which turned out to be very helpful for RockStar supporting me.

  Chapter 47 July 25, 2017

  The Cutoff

  RockStar and I met in Anaconda. She would take short walks to get in better condition, and I would take longer ones to complete the section between Storm Lake and Champion Pass, all slack packs.

  Storm Lake was beautiful, the hills thick with a profusion of wild flowers. Parrot's beak, miner’s candle, western saxifrage, rock jasmine, and bear grass joined all the usual high elevation flowers. RockStar sprayed me with OFF to discourage mosquitoes, and I headed out.

  Those first four days on the Anaconda cutoff I had no paper map. The Guthook app on my phone and the maps on my inReach device worked in tandem to give me needed information as I walked to my previously placed car. The next day RockStar dropped me off at the Twin Lakes Road and drove a few miles closer to town before she started her shorter hike back to the motel. I pretended I was home doing my usual neighborhood walk, and the miles went by in good order. The trail routed through the town of Anaconda. I stopped at a grocery store to eat lunch in air-conditioned comfort and stopped at the Dairy Queen for a hot fudge sundae, which I ate as I walked. There are perks on a road walk through town.

  After stopping at the motel to compare notes with RockStar, I doffed my pack and a few minutes later was out again for a quick walk with just water and umbrella to my previously placed car at the junction north of town. Reaching my car at 14 miles for the day, I drove back to the motel, and we retrieved RockStar’s car. Each of us were meeting our goals and having a good time. Since it was still early, and I’d had such a good day, I drove out to the junction again and hiked 3.3 more miles of very pleasant walking, even on a highway with traffic. Following the old rule, "Walk on the left facing the traffic, and step off the road when cars approach," I had no problems.

  The next day we did the usual early-up drill and placed my car where I left off the day before. RockStar drove me 14 miles up Cottonwood Road and dropped me to walk back to my car. She chose a spot to do an out-and-back hike to her car. She had a 700-foot elevation gain; my hike was downhill or flat, but longer.

  My umbrella was up most of the way, and hazy clouds disappeared into intense sunshine. I stood in the road getting three blasts from farm sprinklers overshooting the field. It felt good, but wet coolness didn't last long in the hot sun. I was overjoyed to finally find a farmhouse with shade trees and lawn by the road. Murphy and Movin’ On—SOBOS, whom I’d met earlier—caught up with me and sat in the shade as we chatted.

  Highway 48 was brutally hot highway walking. Sun shining directly on the device on my chest strap said it was 110. It probably wasn’t really that hot, but it felt like it in the sun. RockStar drove by with a carload of thru hikers, passing me about a mile before my car. They were properly impressed with the old lady who was “crushing it.” Actually, I was walking fast because I was terribly hot and wanted to reach my car as soon as possible.

  Catching up with Murphy and Movin’ On resting in some shade, we walked on together to my car. Hallelujah. I took their packs to town so they could walk the last five miles without them. After dinner, we drove my car to Cottonwood Road and left it so we would have less driving in the morning.

  During those first three days, RockStar gradually increased her conditioning: 4, 6, 8 miles. So the next morning we decided to go together for 8.7 miles. Driving to Champion Pass, where I’d stopped in 2015 required driving through Deerlodge and a lot of miles on a bad gravel/dirt road.

  I explored a possible short cut road to use later, but the other road, though on my GPS, fruitlessly ended at a locked gate. RockStar had gone ahead while I was exploring, and I caught up with her just past Four Corners. RockStar then went ahead while I was eating lunch. By the time I caught up with her, she was done, and her knee was hurting. I walked the last 3.6 miles as quickly as I could to bring the car back to her, as both of us were very concerned about her knee.

  After the long drive to retrieve RockStar’s car, we drove to Deerlodge for dinner. By then, she could barely walk leaning on poles and walls. RockStar’s knee didn’t recover overnight. Her chances of hiking didn't look good for at least a few days. I would be a solo hiker with a great friend, who supported me and found things to do by herself while her knee rested.

  “What ya gonna do?” Plans change.

  After laundry and stopping at a CVS and a gas station, we drove to Butte and a Walmart, had breakfast for lunch at Perkins, then moved on to Wisdom, left my car, and finally drove to Big Hole Pass. Setting up for section hiking took time and car miles. I jumped into hiker clothes, said good-bye to RockStar, set up my tent, and ate dinner. I fed the left overs to one of the tons of SOBO thru hikers, who walked through Big Hole Pass that evening. The previous four days had been warm ups. The next day I would carry a full pack and have nearly 3,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain.

  As I packed up in the morning, a dark grey, nearly black fox came very near my tent. I wondered if it knew campers were good for a handout or if it was rabid. It showed very little fear, and I had to yell at it and toss little rocks at it four times to drive it to away. I didn’t like the unnatural behavior.

  Flowers and views south to the section I’d completed the year before gave me opportunities to stop and take pictures on steep uphill climbs, of which there were many. The afternoon was more difficult, and I stopped a half-mile short of my goal. I was tired and had found flat ground. That was good enough for me.

  RockStar brought me orange juice and watermelon chunks at Chief Joseph Pass the next day, along with water. Great trail angel treats. Since we were going to camp together at Gibbons Pass, I dumped most of my gear in her car and slack packed the rest. The hike wasn't too exciting, but I was happy for an easier day.

  Arriving at Gibbons, I found RockStar's wonderful car camping tent and lawn chairs, luxuries on the trail, which I shared.

  Since RockStar wasn’t hiking, I slack packed another day through old burn areas in various stages of regrowth. SOBO thru hikers, who had been in RockStar’s car near Anaconda: Salt Lick, Sonic, Puma, Red Bass, and Lavender, passed me in a new forest of lodgepole pine. Arriving at Schultz Saddle by 3:15, RockStar picked me up in a half hour.

  We had to change my hike plan for more reasons than RockStar’s knee. Though I hadn’t planned to do the Pintlers until late August, two fires had started. I was concerned they might burn their way across the CDT by late August, so I needed to complete that section of trail before it was closed. That changed everything. We hadn’t planned to do that section in six days. But the road access midway was already closed by fire. So two three-day sections became one six-day section. Six days of food weighs more than three days, but what ya gonna do? Plans change.

  It took nearly an hour to drive out to the highway and into Wisdom to the Forest Service. We were lucky they were still open. Though concerned about a big smoke plume in the sky, the ranger said it wasn’t threatening the CDT. A new fire had broken out to the west, and Big Hole Pass was to be closed. Good thing I already had done that part.

  I organized to leave the next day, had a shower, ate dinner, did a little hand wash, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. The fire hadn't closed the Pintlers. RockStar was still supporting me, and our revised plan would work. After 12 busy hours in town, some spent sleeping, RockStar drove me back to Schultz Saddle, and I was on the trail again.

  “Thank you that though I am old, slow, and forgetful, I can still be here.”

  I missed hiking with RockStar, but I was profoundly grateful she was giving me car support. At least I
could see her on town stops. My pack was heavy with six days’ food, and I needed to eat it lighter.

  As I packed up after lunch, the wind shifted, and the air filled with smoke. A lot of smoke.

  The ranger had reassured me I wouldn't be burned up, but I wondered if that covered asphyxiation from smoke inhalation. I walked for a while with my bandana bandido style and hoped that might help. Wind shifted again in the next hour, and blue sky and more breathable air returned. Passing Surprise Lake, with Johnson Peak behind it, I went on to the saddle a half-mile farther.

  The next morning I celebrated my birthday by losing my socks. Hey, a 76-year-old forgets things. I was ready to take down my tent when the first NOBO of the year came by, Thai Stick, a tall, skinny guy from New Zealand, who lived in Thailand. Distracted from my routine by talking, I forgot to put my wet socks on the back of my pack, and left them hanging on a branch. Oh well.

  I told Thai Stick my age, and he went on at his usual 26-27 mile-a-day pace and told every SOBO he met on the trail to tell me Happy Birthday. What a sweetheart. I was greeted all day by people telling me Happy Birthday. Meeting Hummingbird, a young woman SOBO, I asked her to look for my socks and walk them out of the wilderness for me. I felt bad about forgetting them, but couldn’t add miles to my day to return for them. Phil and Julia (NOBOs) came up and chatted while I was talking to Hummingbird. They’d hiked 2/3 of the CDT the year before and were on a quest to finish. Merlin, Hummingbird's partner, wished me Happy Birthday, too, as did Old Gear (OG).

  I was sorry to have to tell all these CDT hikers about trail closures. RockStar had sent me a text saying the latest closure was from Lost Trail to Miner Lakes, another section I’d completed the year before. Farther up the trail, Continental Drifter wished me Happy Birthday.

  The first water source was a marsh, not ideal for drinking water. At the second I met Star Fish, who recommended I go farther. She and Diesel gave me another Happy Birthday, and I found a place for my tent on a small-game trail.

  After lunch the next day, I headed up Pintler Pass, flowers blooming the whole way. Most high-country flowers were represented, including shooting stars on foot-long stems. Rock jasmine were thick, and there were even a few late-blooming bear grass. A few weeks earlier, a solid profusion of bear grass and heather would have lined the trail, which was now a forest of dry bear grass stalks thickly standing sentinel. I wondered if the locals hiked these trails to see the bear grass like Washingtonians climb Bandera Mountain in the early summer.

  Before I reached Johnson Lake, sun shone red through smoke. I walked past the nice campsite by the lake, continuing to a stream crossing where I stole a deer's bedroom of flattened grass. As I bathed inside my tent to avoid the mosquitoes, a deer came nibbling greenery about 10-feet away. Although I shooed it, it returned, peering quizzically through the trees, perhaps wondering why I was in its bedroom.

  The next day wasn’t one of flowers but of grand mountain peaks. I forded the West Fork of the La Marche, though the log for crossing was unusable—broken and turned on its side. Another big log with its branches still intact had fallen across the water, but was 25-feet across and 3-feet above the river. I might have trusted it for a 5-foot stretch, but not for 25. If old ladies fall three feet onto rocks, they break. I safely waded.

  Before Warren Lake, I got worried about my foot as it felt reminiscent of the stress fracture I’d had a couple years before. So I developed a new gait for uphills: a long step with the left and a short step with the right, preventing the stress of pushing off with the left. Hopefully, I could control the problem without a full-blown stress fracture. Old lady hikers have to discover solutions for problems with old bodies.

  Going up Cutaway Pass, the views were marvelous, better than from the pass itself. After lunch, I passed the Richter family from Michigan, heading to Warren Lake, though they admitted they might not make it that night because they were carrying old, very heavy gear. As we chatted and went our separate directions, I wished I could have consulted with them to save them some grief on their gear choices. But learning through mistakes teaches lessons, too.

  It was hard to get up in the morning. Hiking nine days straight will do that to an old lady. I forgot to treat the water in the platy at night, and the Steripen charge was dead. I still had 1/2 bottle of treated water to hike with, and I put Aqua Mira in the platy for later, but it wasn’t a good start for the day. And it was cold. I glumly wondered if I was getting too old for this sort of thing.

  A tenth of a mile later I came to the water source, surrounded by bank after bank of bright-pink monkey flower. Beautiful. All I could say was, “Thank you, God that this 76-year-old lady can be on this trail to see beauty that so fills my soul with gladness. Thank you that though I am old, slow, and forgetful, I can still be here.” After that, the day went much better.

  On the long climb up Rainbow Mountain I saw two grouse. Lunch was in a gully filled with corn lily. Food gone, the pack was lighter going up the last climb to Goat Flats, where I talked to two Forest Service guys who told me the section from Johnson Lake to Rainbow Lake was now included in the fire closure, although they thought it was still OK for CDT hikers.

  It would be a shame to eliminate the Pintlers for that tiny square corner of the map. But perhaps it was on the closure list for a sliver of old burn with dead trees easy fuel for a new fire. Every year fires somewhere keep thru hikers from seeing a slice of magnificent scenery on the trail.

  The Forest Service guys kindly pointed out posts indicating trail over the tundra-like high country toward Storm Lake Pass, and I headed up. In bad weather, it might have been difficult to see those posts, but the day was still good, though smoke haze was building. White gentian bloomed from Goat Flat to the pass and paintbrush, valerian, sulfur flower and others made displays as I traversed a steep cut around a bowl. Stopping to take many pictures I should have taken even more for I would never be that way again. I have often had that thought on my treks. I don't repeat long trails, and each year I am more aware of advancing years and the reality that I can’t keep hiking forever.

  Down from the pass, the trail was surprisingly good, but at least a mile longer than anticipated. I pounded down the trail in good fashion, but it was an hour later than I’d estimated I’d be. An hour off schedule is not a large difference for six days of travel. Since I was using inReach, RockStar knew where I was when she looked at her cell phone at 2:30 and figured I would be later than 4:00.

  We drove down to Anaconda for a shower. Clean clothes. And a huge chicken-fried steak smothered in gravy. My belly stuffed, I was ready for a soft bed.

  RockStar still wasn’t hiking. The diagnosis of Drs Quack and Malpractice (Me and another 70-year-old hiker) was a torn meniscus. It wasn’t getting better. We ordered Inflam-X from the Your Health Store in Washington as a last ditch effort to help. I was very sorry she couldn’t hike and exceedingly lucky to have such a good friend to stick around to support my hike. I wished for a magic potion to fix her knee.

  We drove to Lemhi Pass for a picnic at the Sacajawea Memorial and to see if RockStar's car could manage the jeep road I soon would be traveling NOBO. She actually liked driving rough jeep roads. We drove in 5 ½ miles before deciding that was far enough, and we hid a gallon of water behind some way-marked stumps.

  Returning to the pass, we chatted with a NOBO from the Netherlands named Franklin and a support friend of Continental Drifter. I grabbed the appropriate food box from my car and a few odds and ends. Leaving my car at the pass, we drove to Dillon to hit the Dairy Queen for sundaes. Yum. Then it was organization, packing, and bed.

  “Bet I’m older than you.”

  RockStar drove me to Bannock Pass and stopped to take a picture of the red sunrise behind us. I started out lacking high expectations for the section. The Pintlers had a reputation for rugged beauty and flowers. But this section did not. I anticipated just a trudging couple of days to get the section done, days that had to be completed but not likely to hold much excitement.<
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  My first excitement was being seduced by the lovely road, not seeing the trail heading up the hill. I had an inReach, Guthook on my cell phone, Bear Creek Maps, and Wolf's book. None do much good if you don't look at them. (My son later told me and enjoys rubbing in that he knew I was off trail before I did as he’d happened to be looking at the inReach information in real time on his computer.) But it was such a lovely road for walking. Sigh.

  Oh well. I went over the sagebrush hill, rolled pack and self under a fence and connected with the CDT, adding a half-mile to my day. It could have been worse. At least I looked when I did.

  Stopping at the fenced spring, I filled my water bottles and hydrated my dinner. Later, I found the head of Black Canyon Creek flowing nicely across the trail, meaning I’d carried more water than needed. I HATED to carry water, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  The Pintlers had been more scenic, yet I took more pictures on this little section. When you are not expecting much, what you do see stands out more. There were many kinds of flowers, though I’d had to have sharp eyes for some. Squirrels and chipmunks abounded. So did moose, deer and elk poop, cows, and cow pies.

  For several miles an old log fence separated the states of Idaho and Montana. Putting up that fence must have taken a lot of work in days before barbed wire. In the afternoon, open country with interesting views of sun and shadow playing on the grassy mountainsides entertained me. Ponds in various stages of drying up dotted the Idaho side of the trail.

  While I was still quite exposed on open jeep road, a thunder squall caught me just before I reached trees. I couldn't seem to reach my umbrella without taking off my pack, although I’d done so nearly every day for sun shade. I got quite wet in the shuffle. Eventually, pack cover on and umbrella up, the storm moved on to give the lowlands a nice dump of rain. Continental Drifter passed me after road walking around trails closed by burns, one of the last SOBOs to start that year but now passing many.