Updates

A new update will be posted on this page about every other week by my mom, Karen. They will not contain the depth that will be available in the Podcasts, but they will provide enough information to keep you generally up to date.

You can sign up to receive these updates by email if you would like.

November 21, 2007 -- Seekonk, MA

Last week my parents and I went down to Washington DC for an evening at the National Geographic Society headquarters, where I was named National Geographic Adventure magazine's Adventurer of the Year. This is a HUGE honor, and I'm frankly humbled by the flattering 5-page article (in the Dec/Jan issue, now available at newstands) and by the elite group of explorers that have received this distinction before, including Ed Viesturs (the first American to summit all 14 8,000-meter peaks, all without oxygen) and Colin Angus (the first person to circumnavigate the world using only self-propelled means of travel). Rebel billionaire Sir Richard Branson and legendary polar explorer Will Steger were recognized with Lifetime Achievement awards at the event as well. So, pretty good company...

On Friday morning I had a meeting with Interior Secretary Dirk Kempthorne, a born-and-raised Idahoan who is very personable and passionate about the outdoors. During the 30-minute meeting we talked about our favorite outdoor experiences and activities; our shared concern about Americans (especially youth) being increasingly detached from the environment, and the implications of that on future wildland protections and the global environment's health; his policy agenda for his last 15 months in office (including the very admirable $1 billion 10-year funding increase for the National Parks in preparation for the agency's centennial in 2016); and how global warming is threatening iconic features and the overall health of our natural areas. In regard to this last issue, the Secretary stated that it was not the Interior's responsibility to determine why it's happening -- it is, he agrees -- but instead to determine how to best react to it.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007-- Seekonk, MA

Andy here. Arrived back in Seekonk late last night after a long day on planes and in airports. Finished up on Saturday as planned, around 3:45 PM, just as the soft evening light was kicking in and as the shadows were starting to grow across the North's side canyons. Very satisfying to have reached Grandview Point, but also extremely bittersweet -- if you've been following the trip, I think it's been very obvious that this was an amazing trip and that I was having the time-of-my-life out there. As you can imaginge I have a healthy list of re-entry tasks to do, starting with getting a haircut and cleaning up my parent's basement; I am hoping to have all written updates, photos, and video clips on the website in the next two weeks, which may be an ambitious goal given a busy post-trip travel schedule (Boston tomorrow, NYC on Thursday, DC next week, Denver by the 20th, etc.). For now, here's a photo from the finish from photographer James Q Martin:

Thursday, October 25, 2007 -- Pine, AZ

Day 199, Mile 6,652

Conditions in the Mazatzal Wilderness -- specifically a burned out, overgrown, ill-defined, and washed-out Arizona Trail -- prompted me to detour around that section, resulting in an earlier-than-expected arrival here in Pine, a town that I have been anxious to reach for several weeks now. Pine marks a significant environmental transition: within a half day out of town I will climb permanently out of the Sonoran Desert -- and away from its unfriendly vegetation -- to atop the Mogollon Rim (the south end of the Colorado Plateau) where shady Ponderosa pines, cooler temperatures, and needle-covered trails await me. Or at least that is how I had been envisioning it, as a way to keep my cut-up and bloodies legs moving forward. My hope is that the improved conditions will assist the return of a more positive attitude and will re-inject some of the "outdoor magic" that has dominated so much of this hike but that has faded in recent weeks.

My last update was from Safford. Let me try to recap the miles since then:

Safford to Mammoth. ~100 miles through the Pinaleno Mountains (aka "The Grahams"), the historical (ghost) town of Klondyke, and Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, to the San Pedro River.

This section started roughly: a 6,000-foot climb to the Pinaleno Crest via Frye Canyon, which was severely burned in 2004 and has not seen 10 minutes of trail work since: the Forest Service has not yet flagged the trail through the 5-foot-tall fireweed, across the washed-out creek crossings, or around the numerous blowdowns; it has not removed one downed tree, brushed a foot of the thorny regen, or reconstructed any of the switchbacks up the steep canyon. (The Forest Service has instead apparently used their resources to start correcting a century of mismanagement -- specifically, suppression of all fires -- by doing some fuel reduction projects atop the crest, which is occupied by beautiful old growth firs, aspens, and spruces.) Progress was obviously slow (about 1.5 MPH for 5 miles) and frustrating. But being covered in soot, dirt, and blood was not nearly as devastating as breaking a trekking pole, which I had developed quite a connection with after carrying it in my hand for about 5,700 miles.

I descended out of the Pinaleno's -- thankfully on a Forest Service road -- and walked across some low Sonoran Desert towards Klondyke (a former hub of commerce for surrounding mining towns (now all ghost towns) that itself is on the brink of disappearing with a dwindling and aged population of 5 and the recent closure of the historic Klondyke Store) and Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, a 12-mile-long gem managed by the Bureau of Land Management, which limits entry to just 30 people per day. The canon has no trail system -- there are some short use trails in places, but generally the path of least resistance is either in the creek or just next to it. Expect to have wet feet from start to finish.

A description of the canyon... The eastern third features conglomerate canyon walls, a lush riparian corridor (that is, thick willows and big cottonwoods), abundant wildlife (I saw blue herons, deer, wild turkeys, and a dozen ringtail, the last of which I had never seen before), and a wide and fairly flat hard-packed gravel-sand creek bed that makes for easy and fast cruising. The middle of the canyon is the most scenic: the canyon narrows to as little as 30 feet across and the walls rise upwards of 1,000 feet. The riparian vegetation disappears (because even moderate flooding will fill the entire canyon bottom and wash everything out) but the rocks make up for it: deep red volcanic schist occupies the lower canyon while orange/tan sandstone cliffs tower above; car-sized boulders, which occasionally break off the canyon walls, create obstacles for hikers and flood debris alike. The canyon opens back up in the western third and the desert environment again becomes dominant: it's a neat sight to see Saguaro and prickly pear cacti located just 10 feet up the canyon wall from a big cottonwood.

Mammoth to Pine. ~200 miles through the Tortilla Mountains, White Canyon Wilderness, Superstition Wilderness, Four Peaks Wilderness, and the Tonto Creek Valley (instead of the Mazatzal Wilderness).

This section was not easy either. It started with a pleasant stretch through classic Low Sonoran Desert in the gentle Tortilla Mountains -- I was surrounded by Saguaro, cholla, and barrel cacti as well as mesquite. Thankfully it is so hot and dry there that the vegetation is fairly open, and the trail was built wide too. After fording the Gila River I entered a more mountainous and rugged landscape, highlighted by the White Canyon Wilderness. Like many other places in Arizona the geology there is a mixture of stratified sandstone -- including some awesome escarpments and cliff faces that glowed in the evening light -- and more recent volcanic activity, exemplified by the dark red volcanic plugs, granite domes, and cobbly basalt rocks.

Next up was the Superstition Wilderness, similar to the terrain I had just been through but higher in elevation, thus home to thicker and brushier vegetation until eventually giving way to Ponderosa pines and scrub oak. The trails in the Superstitions are indicative of backcountry use patterns in the desert areas of Arizona: heavy traffic between popular trailheads and reliable water sources, up to ~10 miles away, but otherwise light or no traffic. This makes sense: most backpackers hike in on a Saturday to a watered camp and hike out the next day; trails that do not have reliable and frequent water sources (like the Arizona Trail north of Reavis Ranch) or that require more than a 2-day effort are generally avoided. And trails that are avoided are usually living nightmares: overgrown with thorny plants and coved by loose basalt rocks that range in size from golf balls to volley balls. I feel fortunate to have had only one serious run-in with a cactus: I kicked a prickly pear that put a needle about halfway through my third toe (through my shoe and sock). It should go without saying that my legs and arms are very scratched up, occasionally to the point of being bloodied.

At Roosevelt Lake I picked up a supply package and learned that the next 100 miles through the Mazatzals would make the Superstitions look like the Appalachian Trail: a 2004 fire burned out much of the trail and the Forest Service has not yet gone in to clean things up. (See a pattern here? Backcountry areas managed by Tonto National Forest seem to be completely ignored.) As a result the trail is horribly overgrown, often impossible to find (never mind to follow), and sometimes entirely washed out. Several first-hand reports confirmed those conditions and so I opted to detour around the area, disappointed that the Great Western Loop will be Mazatzal-less but encouraged that conditions supposedly improve north of the Rim and that I will have even more extra time to spend back inside the Grand Canyon before finishing up in another 1.5 weeks.

Sunday, October 14, 2007 -- Safford, AZ

Day 188,Mile 6,324

The last update was from Alma, a mere 100 miles back, but I'm waiting for a package at the post office, which will open again in the morning, and I still have some free time after watching "Michael Clayton" at the local theater. (That was a real treat-- my first movie theater experience at least since I began walking 6.5 months ago.) In the last 100 miles I passed through Apache National Forest, the Gila Box Riparian National Preserve, the mining town of Morenci and a lot of land managed by the BLM, which has done a superb job of reconstructing the historic Safford-Morenci trail, which I followed for its entire ~ 20 mile length.

Over the last three days I have been trying -- and almost failing -- to refocus on the miles still ahead and to accept that they likely will be among the most challenging. I have come so far and have exhausted myself so many times already, but it's clear I will have to tighten my waist belt a few more times if I wish to follow the Grand Enchantment Trail and the Arizona Trial back to the Grand Canyon. (The "Victory Lap" option would be to follow more walker friendly roads.) In addition to the GET being an unfamiliar trail with a different mapset, guidebook and personality, it also (so far) is a tough trail: it follows lightly (or never) used trails and does not hesitate to cut cross-country through rocky washes and brushy slopes. There is little signage and no blazing; and it always takes the route of maximum aesthetic/scenic/primitive experience, effort to do it be damned. (The trail's chief developer Brett Tucker, should be commended for his work, but also reminded that most people's tolerance for masochism imposed on them is lower then that for self-inflicted masochism.

Ten miles from Alma I crossed into Arizona, the last (and first) state along this Great Western Loop. Things changed almost immediately. First, dirt seemed to become nonexistent, replaced by rocks -- and rocks and rocks. In fact, the last 100 miles were the rockiest of any other 160 mile stretch; it's a combination of sedimentary and volcanic rock, in varying states of breaking apart/off and eroding. The second change has been that the elevations are notably lower -- 5000 to 8000, no longer 8,000 to 11,000 -- so now I'm in a lower desert environment, with cactus, mesquite, alligator juniper, and scrub oaks (in general a lot of low-hanging, and/or thorny plants and trees) now being the dominant vegetation.

There were two highlights in the last section, one natural and one man-made. I'm reluctant to classify the Morenci Mine as a "highlight" -- the environment degradation is catastrophic -- but it was amazing to me that man has been able to dig such a big hole. The mine is even bigger than the one in Bagdad, that I passed back in April. It's about four miles long, about two miles across, and about 1,500 feet deep. Since 1937, workers have managed to scoop out entire mountains, and then build new ones with the tailings.

The more uplifting highlight was the slot canyons of Gold Gulch, Midnight Canyon and Johnny Canyon, all on the historic Safford-Morenci trail, a rugged trading trail built through the mountains between the two towns, and now reconstructed for use by hikers and horsemen. Slot canyons are a unique experience -- they are just a few feet wide, feature vertical un-climbable walls on both sides, and frequently require basic rock climbing skills to navigate up/down pour-offs. The experience could understandably be compared to that of a pin ball.

So close, yet so far. Many miles still to do...

Message from Karen: This will be the final email update from me. Next week, Bob and our other children, will be heading to the Grand Canyon to meet Andy and to celebrate his accomplishment. We are all wondering, "What will be the next chapter?" Thank you all for sharing this experience and for all of the positive emails I have received along the way. I am sure that Andy will write the final chapter once he is back.

Thursday, October 11, 2007 -- Alma, NM

Day 185, Mile 6.217

My last update I thought was slightly disappointing -- it covered an enormous amount of terrain and I was just not able to write about it completely. To prevent the last 600 miles from being glossed over as well, I will try to write more frequently for the next few weeks.

The last 175 miles, through the Tularosa Mountains and Gila Wilderness was a very pleasant stretch, with good town stops in Pie town and Alma, lush old growth forests, some nice sections of trail, and a few exciting wildlife encounters being the highlights. The section started where the last one left off --- with road walking --- but it was punctuated by the sighting of two dozen elk (including several noisy bulls ) as well as the gradual climbing into cooler and more heavily forested elevations. It was especially cool on Sunday morning -- 23 degrees-- after the cold front that had been causing stiff headwinds for 2 days finally arrived and settled in. (While it sounds cold, this leads to perfect hiking conditions -- near freezing mornings, mid-60's for highs, and crisp evenings -- I don't need much water and I hardly ever sweat, though I definitely still have a noticeable odor).

Just before I entered the middle fork of the Gila River, I met Nimblewill Nomad, and infamous character within hiking circles for his admirable long white beard, thick Ozark accent , and age defying infatiguable hiking legs --He has walked across the country about a half dozen times, both across and up/down. He turns 69 next month but appeared to be well on his way to reaching the Mexico border from Silverthorne, CO. He reminded me, in different ways, of my grandfather, a wise sage from a Greek myth, Santa Claus, and an old man who tells stories from a rocking chair on the porch of a country store in deep hill country.

In the Gilda wilderness, I traveled through three canyons -- the middle fork and west fork of the Gilda River, and Whitewater Creek. The canyons have their differences but in general they feature a slow-moving creek that is usually 10-15 feet wide and up to 12" deep, lined with willows and surrounded by a rocky and sandy flood plain that indicate these canyons are not a place to be during flash floods. The canyon walls are sometimes gentle and forested (usually with ponderosa or oaks and willows lower down) and other times vertical cliffs of volcanic rock. The trails through these canyons are forced to make numerous fords--sometimes at often as every 50 yards -- as they move down the narrow meandering canyons; when possible the trail may stay higher on the slopes along nicely benched tread. Campsites -- excellent ones -- abound.

After being told that hiking 6,150 miles to get there was not enough of a sob story for them to keep Gila Cliff dwellings national Monument open for another 30 minutes, I climbed up towards the Muocollon Mountains crest, where I found lush old growth forests of aspen, douglas fir, sub-alpine fir, and spruce--- they were the biggest trees I had seen since Washington, apparently saved from both natural fires and loggers. And I could not have picked a better time to be up there---the aspens were glowing yellow.

I am now on the Grand Enchantment Trail, having left the CDT at the national monument. Even though I have just 600 miles to go I expect this trail -- and the Arizona trail, which I will pick up in another 150 miles -- to keep me on my toes constantly.

Saturday, October 6, 2007 Pie Town, NM

Day 150, Mile 6.042

My original plan was to catch up on these updates when I was in Cuba, NM on Monday, but there I realized that to make the Saturday post office hours here in Pie Town, I needed to do 194 miles in about 4.7 days. The resulting long days were not exactly ideal, but it's worked out okay: I made the PO hours and now I'm writing these updates with a yummy slice of "harvest apple" pie from the Pie-O-Neer Café in my belly. (How can you come to a town by the name of "Pie Town" and not treat yourself to the local fare?)

The last update was from Salida, CO. Since then I made it through the San Juans and entered New Mexico, and I am about to leave the Continental Divide Trail for the Grand Enchantment trail, that will take me west into Arizona (!). There is a lot to write.

Salida to Cumbres Pass South of US50 the Continental Divide Trail experience changes dramatically,, as this region is mostly outside of the influence of Colorado's front range cities (ski resorts, 14-er peaks, weekend warriors, mountain towns within commuting distance, air traffic etc.). It's much more like the rural parts of Montana and Wyoming that I hiked through earlier, with very little development and with much greater sense of wilderness and remoteness in part due to three large wilderness areas. La Garita, Comanche, and south SanJuan.)

After getting through the Cochetopa Hills (a reforested mountain range at 10-11,000 feet that lies along the divide between the Sawatch and San Juan Mountains), the excitement begins starting at the Eddiesville Trailhead and continuing for the next ~300 miles or so, essentially to Cumbres Pass. This is one of the finest stretches of backcountry in the lower 48-on par with, and in many ways better than, the John Muir Trail--- and I feel that it needs a distinctive name (e.g. The San Juan Trail") to separate it from the rest of Colorado. In this section you will see very few other hikers and cross very few roads, but you'll encounter lots of big game (elk, moose, bear) and you'll walk for miles and miles (and miles) along grassy alpine tundra and average cruising altitudes of 11-12,000 feet. This region is primarily volcanic in its geological origins, as evidenced by the basalt, conglomerates, and cinder cones. The divide itself is usually fairly gentle and walkable, though frequently it becomes rugged and craggy and forces the trail down to lower elevations where you'll find willows, some small alpine lakes, and sometimes even sub-alpine trees (stunted firs and spruces). The trial system is generally very primitive (especially once it leaves the Colorado trail) with little maintenance or trail construction, adding to the remote feel.

From Eddiesville trailhead the trail ascends to a saddle just below San Luis peak (a 14-er), before contouring around several alpine bowls and traversing a high ridge above snow mesa, which at 12,500 feet and 4 miles in length is probably the worst place in Colorado to get stuck in bad weather -- there is just no natural protection up there. You cross a low-traffic highway at Spring Creek pass before 15 miles of easy alpine walking above the San Cristobal Lake Valley.. More alpine tundra through Lost Creek and Pole Creek and then more to Canby Mountain and Stony pass , then more alpine to Hunchback and Nebo Passes. Enter woods briefly before reaching Weminuche pass before climbing back into tundra (surprised ?) nearly all the way toWolf creek pass, about 80 miles away. There is a 2 mile lull, in woods, before climbing again for another ~100 miles through grassy alpine country, this time in the south San Wilderness, famous for its alpine pond-potted plateaus. By the time you drop down in dramatic fashion, on a spit of land out of the high country- to Cumbres Pass, you'll be extraordinarily thankful to be surrounded by wind-blocking shade-offering campsite-creating, good trail tread-permitting timber.

Before this trip,I had spent a lot of time hiking in Colorado. But never during the fall, when the aspens turn, the temperatures cool down and the elk begin their annual rut. This last feature of the fall was particularly enjoyable - every morning I would wake up to the bull's bugling calls, and every evening I would be the target of those calls as I continued hiking into the darkness by headlamp. ( The bull elks are like horny teenagers, a hunter told me' if it moves and has legs they'll put out a call to see if there's interest.) Almost daily I would come up on a bull elk that had successfully corralled up to a dozen cow elk-think of him as the star football player, and just as often I would see a lone bull bugling like mad in a grassy meadow, trying (but clearly failing) to steal away one of the football player's girlfriends -- think of this guy as the scrawny cross-country runner. It's like a high school dating scene, elk style.

The weather through this section was generally good. As to be expected there were thunderstorms to contend with (probably every other day) and night-time lows were creeping into the mid-20's. however, I did get a 24 hour stretch of some of the worst hiking weather I've ever experienced -- 2 inches of rain, 30 mph winds, 35 degree temperatures.--- that led to an epic of sorts, as told about in a Podcast from Pagosa Springs.

Chama to Pie Town The trail experience changes dramatically again south of Cumbres pass, which is just four miles from New Mexico. Instead of a well developed trail system, the CDT employs an erratic net work of forest reads, 2-tracks, unofficial trails, cow-paths, and cross-country segments. It's as much a scavenger hunt as it is a long-distant hike. The landscape is very different to -- from the alpine ridges of Colorado I've transitioned first into mountainous spruce- fir-aspen forests and the into high desert pinion-juniper-sagebrush mesas and canyons. The trail sometimes transitions back and forth as it changes elevations or terrain as it does in San Pedro Parks wilderness and Mt. Taylor. Water, available every few minutes in the San Juan's, is now extracted from scarce springs windmills, stock ponds and small intermittent streams. And it never tastes good.

My new environment is not as grand as what I left a week ago, but it's novelty is pulling me through . The stratified cliffs, canyons, lava flows (in El Malpais National Monument, ) tarantulas, and open ponderosa groves are awesome and fascinating especially since this is mostly all new to me.

This has been a lengthly update but I know that I have left out a lot of details and specifics. If you have not listened to them already, I'd encourage you to check out the podcasts if you want the full experience.

Four weeks to go !!!!!

October 7, 2007 Pie Town, NM Mile: 6,042

Update written by Karen Skurka.

It has been awhile since Andy has written an update. He has been calling in Podcasts. Listen by following this link:

http://www.backpackinglight.com/cgi-bin/backpackinglight/andrew_skurkas_great_western_loop.html?id=sjGX5moE:76.19.184.253

or go to iTunes and type in "Andrew Skurka".

It is with full understanding that my update loses some of the specifics of Andy's own words. That being said, I will fill in some of the story from my "support person" perspective.

Salida, CO to Pagosa Springs, CO

Andy had been concerned about CO since starting the hike. He was aware of how an early fall storm could hit the mountains. On Sunday, Sept 24th, Bob and I arrived home to discover a message from Andy on the home answering machine. Since we had our cell phones with us; it meant that Andy needed to give us a message but did not want to speak with us directly. This was one of the last days that Andy had his cell phone with him. The cell phone battery was nearly dead and Andy was not sure it was working. In the background we can hear the wind howling and the message began like this: "Mom and Dad, this is somewhat of an emergency. I bailed off the trail because of the horrendous weather. I am following the East fork of the Piedra creek. I am cliffed out and cannot get down. I will need to hike back up to the divide. …" the message continued to say that he would call by Tues. , Sept. 26th. Bob and I could hear the anxiety in Andy's voice. We had no doubt that Andy had the ability to get through this storm but an undercurrent of concern filled the next few days. Andy called on Monday, Sept. 25th at about midnight. He woke us from sleep but it was so good to hear from him.

Andy described the storm as being similar to a typical northeaster in Massachusetts. These storms last for a good 24 hours. The rain comes down in sheets with very high wind gusts. The temperature was about 33 degrees, which is hypothermia weather. Andy's tarp tent did ok but he could not spend the day in his tent. Andy was walking on the Continental Divide Trail, so he was above treeline and there was no protection. He decided to bail out, or get off the mountain, by following a road that he could see on his map. Once he made the decision and was out of his tarp, he had to run to get warm. Andy had to ford a river that was swollen from the rain. He got caught and was dragged down 30 yards. There was a point where Andy said he could see the road but could not find a way down the 500-700 foot cliffs to get there (cliffed out). It was here, he told us, that he wished for a way to call in the helicopters. He called home instead.

It was a tired and relieved Andy who called us at midnight from Pagosa Springs. He was relieved to be off the mountain and anxious to relieve our fears for his safety. All told, it was an experience that will be long remembered.

Pagosa Springs, CO to Pie Town, NM The stretch from Pagosa Springs to Pie Town has been a change of climate. Andy is hiking from the Colorado Mountains to the high desert of New Mexico. He talks about the environment in his Podcasts. Check them out. I am also anxious to see the pictures, but that will have to wait a bit.

Andy has now crossed the 6,000 mile mark so the end is less than 1,000 miles away. This is still very far, but he has made it so far already. The ending is set for Grandview Point in the Grand Canyon on Saturday, November 3rd. Andy is concerned that the finish will appear orchestrated. It is…. because Bob and I and Kerri, Ryan and Christine want to meet Andy at the end of his long hike. We are hoping that some friends and well wishers will join us as well. Andy plans to finish in the afternoon. I have not made plans but I am sure we will have some kind of low key celebration. If you would like to join us, just send an email so I will have an idea of who wants to join us.

Again, thanks for all of the support and interest in Andy and in his hike.

Karen

Andy written update: Tuesday, September 18,2007.... Salida, CO

Day 162, Mile 5,438

Due to a late supply package and to a photo shoot I took yesterday off, making it the first day in 1,300 miles (since Helena, MT) that my feet go a rest. It was a good day to take off -- the weather on the Divide was wet and cold (it even snowed lightly on some of the highest peaks ) But it is perfect weather today.

It's been awhile since my last written update -- Rawlins, WY, I think, which seems like years ago -- so I'm glad I have the opportunity to do one this morning.

Rawlins to Grand Lake

When I left Rawlins, I was foolishly expecting to immediately re-enter timber, which I'd left 150 miles earlier after getting through the Wind River Range. Instead, it was another 50 miles or waterless and shade less high desert through terrain that was once an ocean bottom, as evidenced by its thick layer of sandstone and mudstone. The terrain became increasingly lush and wooded as I approached Medicine Bow National Forest, the Sierra Madre Mountains and the Colorado border. Wyoming did not let me leave nicely though -- I got whacked with blustery rain storms an thunderstorms for a full 24 hours, with an evening front that was severe enough to have me take shelter for the night in a pit toilet at the historic battle town site. (The restroom had been very recently cleaned and restored and it even had an air freshener. More importantly, it was dry ad a better shelter than any nylon tent or tarp.)

The Sierra Madre Mountains were pleasant but relatively unspectacular compared to what I have seen since starting with the Park Range, which was holding the most snow I've seen since Washington. (Not much, but more that Glacier and the Wind, which oddly seemed to have hardly any permanent snowfields.) The Park Range featured a few 11,000 foot peaks and miles above tree line, from where I had smoke obstructed views or Northern Colorado. That might have been a good thing -- the lodge-pole forests all through the park, Rabbit Ears front and Gore and Vasquez ranges (basically from Interstate 70 north) have been devastated by the mountain pine beetle, which has spread prolifically in recent years due to warm winters and to smokey the bear wildfire policies. "Devastated" as in up to 90 percent kill rates -- the speed and scale of this infestation is both unprecedented and unimaginable.

In the Never Summer wilderness I had the first of many exciting night hikes, this one a 6 mile alpine section along a cairn-marked knife-edge ridge with 40 mph winds and driving rain showers. Realizing that if I did not start running I would probably not be able to follow the cairns after dusk, I finished the section in 80 minutes by busting out my 4:21 mile speed. Lots of excitement but I should have taken the low country alternate.

Grand Lake to Silverthorne / I-70

If I had to identify one "backcountry backyard, " this section would be it. I have spent countless weekends in the Indian Peaks Wilderness and in Summit County; I know the peaks and trails here better than any place in my home state of MA or in the state I have logged the most miles, California. What made this time so neat was that it became part of this magnificent trip. ("The whole is greater than the sum of its parts") and that I've never been here in the fall (just spring, summer and winter). I also brought a more informed perspective: I was not just seeing the same rocks (they were granite) or the same trees (mostly firs and spruces, no lodge poles) or the same trails (heavily used) or the same boundary lines (the front range is heavily fractured and parceled by mining an logging roads, old toll roads and railroad lines, and private claims).

Being so close to Boulder/Denver, I've been joined or visited by many friends and co-workers: the owners, founders, and CEO and President of Golite, Kim and Demetri Coupounas; Golite Events and promotions manager Colin , former housemate Kristen and good buddy Beth. In addition to great company I've also been treated with dobra burritos, peanut butter fudge and chocolate-butterscotch brownies.

To make matters even better I had a great stretch of weather while hiking along the front range -- sunny, cool, slightly breezy -- which includes about 40 miles continuous alpine walking from Devils Thumb Pass to Jones Pass, all between 10,500 feet and 13,400 feet. Needless to say, I was "wahooing !!!" so often and so loud that they could probably hear me down along the foothills.

Silverthorne to Monarch Pass

The highlight of this section was the Sawatch Range south of Twin Lakes. The trail from Silverthorne had some fine walking (notable in Eagles Nest Wilderness and around Searle and Kokomo Passes) but it lacked the colors, grandeur, and novelty of the southern 70 miles. The aspens right now are glowing gold, resulting in swatches of colors across the mountainsides. The Sawatch Range is home to Behemoth Peaks -- many 14-ers and 13--ers and 12,000 foot passes -- that have huge scree fields and huge elevation range profiles (up to ~5,500 feet from base to summit ). And I've never been back into the Sawatch Range. -- the Colorado trial contours the east side on a non-motorized viewless route where as the Continental Divide trail penetrates the interior, unfortunately often having to follow dirt bike and jeep roads to do it. (I still prefer the scenery. )

Late-night excitement continued with a 9-mile headlamp-lit trek from Bald Mountain to Monarch Crest/US 50. The tread was poorly defined across the alpine tundra; there were "lightening strikes" approaching from the west; and the chilly and damp wind had me wearing nearly every piece of gear in my pack. I should have thought to bottle up some of that daylight from Oregon and Washington back in June and July -- these 13 hour days sure make it tough to keep rolling out the 35 and 40 mile days.

More great stuff ahead.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007 Rawlins, Wyoming

Day 148 Mile 4,978

Today was the earliest start of the entire trip -- at 1AM this morning I found myself packing my things, to restless to sleep anymore. Maybe it was the thought of an omelet breakfast, or maybe I'm really excited about entering Colorado tomorrow, or maybe hiking the last 10 miles into town on US Hwy. 287 at night and by moonlight seemed more appealing than doing it with traffic this morning, or maybe I was hoping to catch my mom before she headed back for her first day of the new school year…..

While I wait for the post office window to open I'll try to catch you up on the last 10 days.

Macks Inn, Idaho to Brooks Lake Lodge

Leaving Macks Inn I was wired -- achy, tired, and congested (from a small flu that I'd made myself vulnerable to, no doubt) -- and I actually broke down in tears and laughter as the magnitude of what I had just done -- hike 380 miles without a re-supply, only to rush off as soon as it was over in order to make the hours of the Old Faithful post office, 40 miles away -- began to sink in. It's not often that we get "on the edge" as I was, and there is something remarkable about knowing that we pushed ourselves that hard yet carry on.

At Old Faithful Village I took mom's advice and decided to take it easy for the afternoon and evening, hoping that my head and body would start to bounce back. I hung out around the geyser basin, writing postcards, scripting Podcasts, talking with tourists, getting in a shave, of course eating, and walking around the walkways to see the sights -- Morning Glory, Opal Pool, Giant and Castle Geysers, and many more. A stop at Old Faithful Village would not be complete without watching the main draw -- I caught Old Faithful's 8:04 PM "show" before taking off for my campsite by headlamp.

The Continental Divide trail visits a few other thermal wonders in the park as it heads south towards the wilderness-- Lone Star Geyser, Shoshone Lake Geyser Basin and Witch Creek Hot Springs. All of these thermal features are a result of "hot spots" or places where Yellowstone's massive active underground magma chamber gets close to the surface.

The Teton wilderness is part of the "greater Yellowstone ecosystem, which is a mass of wild lands (many protected and in public hands) in northeastern Wyoming and south central Montana. In addition to the park and the Teton wilderness, there is also the Washakie Wilderness, Absaroka Wilderness, and Spanish Peaks Wilderness; the Beartooths, Wind Rivers and Tetons are just outside of them. The Continental Divide Trail recognizes that nature ignores political boundaries (like state borders) and that to maximize the health of entire ecosystems large tracts of connected land are needed. Top-of-the-food-chain animals like grizzlies and wolves cannot be pigeon-holed into small disconnected land units; and all species need freedom of movement and genetic diversity in order to continue to exist, especially when their environment is rapidly changing, as it is now, partly due to global warming.

The neatest feature of the Teton wilderness was "Parting of the Waters" creek, which splits into two channels, one of which flows into the Missouri River/ Atlantic Ocean watershed and the other into the Columbia River/Pacific Ocean drainage. The wilderness also had some beautiful cliff faces and cliff bands composed of ancient lave flows, reminiscent of the "dribble castles" my grandfather taught us to make at the beach when my sisters and I were younger.

Brooks Lake Lodge to South Pass City >P> The Continental Divide Trail follows a helter-skelter network of jeep trails, old stock trails, and cross country routes to transition from the Teton wilderness to the Wind River Range/Bridge Wilderness, one of the jewels of the entire trail -- and of the entire Great Western Loop. The Winds, like the High Sierra and Anaconda Pintlers, are composed of igneous granite -- a magma chamber hardened underground, and it was then uplifted and exposed through erosion. The resulting landscape is one of granite slabs, granite peaks, granite domes, and granite walls. With the highest peaks in the Winds over 13,000 feet and with a good portion of the range above 10,000 feet, the Winds were also heavily glaciated -- so the Winds also have many alpine lakes, terminal moraines full of car-sized boulders, and deeply carved gorges and cirques. The Winds are one of the most spectacular backcountry areas I have ever been in, and it ranks very high -- one of two probably-- on my list of "places to come back to." The opportunities for exciting off-trail travel appear to be almost infinite and, I saw far more superb campsite locations that I could knock off in a full summer, or five full summers for the matter.

Two depressing notes about the Winds -- first is the extensive kill zones due to the mountain pine beetle, both immediately north and south of the range -- the colder temperatures at the higher elevations have so far, mostly kept the beetle away, but I fear for not much longer. The beetle could be devastating to the sub-alpine forest. Second, the glaciers in the Winds, like those in Glacier National Park, are rapidly shrinking and won't be around much longer. I was shocked at the difference in how my maps depicted glaciers versus what they are today, just 20 or 30 years after the map was made. I met several NOLS instructors from the late 60's / early 70's who had seen this melting occur over the years -- it is very strange to have witnessed, in human time, a process that is normally talked about in "eons" or "periods".

South Pass City to Rawlins, Wyoming

At the southeastern edge of the Wind Rivers the Continental Divide trail finds itself with no mountains to continue traversing -- the Rockies disappear for awhile, re-emerging south of town here as the Sierra Madre Range. It therefore must drop out of the beloved alpine heights in order to cross the sagebrush-covered expanse known as the Great Divide Basin. This landscape is vastly different than anything I have seen since the Colorado Desert in western Arizona/eastern California. Gently rolling to flat, extremely hot and dry (the grass takes "shade" under the sagebrush, and ranchers must distribute their livestock generously, like one cow per 100 acres, to ensure they can forage enough food ) totally uninhabited (it's owned by the BLM) and waterless outside of a few key springs and solar powered well. Surprisingly, there is fair amount of wildlife -- I saw an antelope, elk, mule deer, fox, coyote tracks, and even wild horses.

I have a lot to look forward to in the next three weeks -- the 5,000 mile mark, Colorado's magnificent ridges and peaks and Colorado-based friends who will hopefully got out of their day jobs (who needs to work anyway?) to visit me on the trail. The last 1,900 miles of this superlative-after-superlative trip are going to wrap up quickly, which is a bittersweet reality.

Old Faithful Village, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Note from Karen: There is a funny story connected to this update. Andy hand wrote this out while at Old Faithful. He then packaged it up and dropped it in the mailbox outside the post office after it had closed. As soon as he let it go into the can, he realized that he had failed to put the address on the outside of the envelope. He also realized that he would not be there when the post office opened in the morning. So, he took when of his largest candy bars and wrote a nice note to whoever opened the box, explaining what had happened and asking them to put the address on the envelope. It arrived. Here is the update.

Yesterday I finished what certainly will end up being one of the most challenging (but rewarding) segments of this mega-hike: walking 380 miles from Anaconda, MT to Macks Inn, Idaho, mostly along the remote and rugged Idaho-Montana border atop the continental Divide, without a re-supply, and in 9.5 days. An effort on that scale would seem to deserve a day off (or at least a partial one) but instead I had to sprint another 40 miles to Old Faithful in order to make the post office's Friday hours (closed Saturday and Sunday). Having picked up my packages and a Backcountry Permit it's now time to relax for a little while.

I spent the last few days trying to get my head around the experience I've just had -- 380 miles is a lot of terrain, and I was going through more, just because of the intense nature of what I was doing. In this web update I am only going to give an event/scenery recap. For broader observations and themes please listen to the Pod cast from Old Faithful Part II. It's now 7:30 PM here and I need to hike a few miles still, and the Pod casts are easier for me to do. Thanks for your understanding.

Leaving Anaconda, I was definitely experiencing some anxiety -- I had never stepped foot in the regions that I was about to pass through; my longest re-supply-less stretch, up to that point, had "only" been 240 miles; and I was planning on no contingencies; taking only 9 dinners and 10 full days of snacks (so in order to not starve, I would need to average 38 miles per day).

For the first two days I was in the Anaconda-Pintler wilderness, a relatively heavily traveled place (for Montana), that was devoid of other people because of the thick smoke from nearby fires that was obscuring all the views and making breathing sometimes more difficult. Despite the smoke, the Pintlers were still impressive: the 9 and 10+ thousand foot peaks and ridge lines were heavily glaciated in the past, leaving super alpine lakes, grassy meadows and large alpine areas for visitors to enjoy today. The trail stays mostly in sub-alpine forests (white bark pines, sub alpine firs and larches) but it occasionally crosses the divide where awesome views must exist.

The west end of the Pintlers is much mellower and it was a pleasant walk atop the divide to Chief Joseph Pass, which I arrived at early in the morning after getting smoked out of my campsite at 4:30 AM by a fire on an adjacent ridge.

From Chief Joseph to Big Hole Pass, I got my first taste for the Divide's "whoops" -- steep, seemingly endless, and continuous knobs over which the trail goes up-and-down and up-and-down. From this section I could see at least three fires on nearby ridges and there was smoke billowing from both Montana and Idaho on the horizon -- no wonder the air was so smoky.

I entered the Bitterroots next, which again is normally a popular destination. Rightfully so: the 10,000 peaks of Limestone have huge talus fields and jumbles of terminal moraines; the rock lights up if the morning or evening light is good. Medium sized Alpine lakes offer excellent camping -- and places for miners and herders to build their now-dilapidated cabins. Because the divide is so rugged, the trail parallels it instead of being on it, except for an occasional lateral pass.

The smoke finally began to recede by the time I reached Lemiti Pass, where Lewis and Clark first crossed the divide, mostly due to an incoming weather front. The landscape underwent a significant transformation around this area: it became much drier (due to its lower elevation -- more heat, less snow), with slopes now covered in pasture grass and sage brush and trees mostly only found in areas that hold their moisture the longest. (like canyons and on the tallest mountains). My entry into this new landscape was not an easy one -- I got knocked around all day by gusts up to ~60 mph while trying to get through Bannock Pass and over 10,200 foot Elk Mountain.

The next day was better -- the wind had tempered down (but not before it delivered the first sub-night time freezing temperatures of the season) and the morning began with a 5 mile alpine cross-country section in the Calf Mountain area. I had near endless views of the numerous mountain ranges in Idaho and the house-less vast valleys in Montana.

This day atop the divide was probably the best day of them all. Big puffy friendly white clouds filled the sky, migrating birds honked overhead and endless views into Idaho and Montana occupied my attention; and a cool breeze kept me comfortable.

After avoiding the temptation to stick out my thumb and hitch-hike into Lima via I-15, I entered the last stretch, the Centennial Mountains. Probably due to their proximity to Yellowstone, a super volcano, I started to see basalt and notice more ash in the soil. It also got lush again, firs, pines, huckleberry bushes and grizzly grass returned. There were two highlights of this stretch: the summit of 9,700 foot Taylor Mountain from where I could see the park, Spanish Peaks and even the Tetons !!. On the descent I received "trail magic" from David Thueson and Gordon Allen, who had ridden 20 miles horseback that day. Their gift of 1,000 calories of granola bars helped my now-ravaged body immensely it seemed. (Or maybe it was just the mental boost.)

Andy

This message was sent by Andy via snail mail.

Monday, August 13, 2007 Anaconda, Montana

Mile 4, 183 - Day 125

The last 75 miles from MacDonald Pass were a nice re-introduction after taking five full days off to attend my grandmother's funeral. It gets serious again, once I leave town: its 380 miles to my next resupply point, Mack's Inn, Idaho. This stretch includes some of the most remote terrain in Montana, which itself is pretty remote by most people's standards. Long breaks from the trail are undesirable, as they allow the body to stiffen up and they create a temporary mental disconnect between pre and post break miles, but I think by the time I reach Mack's Inn, I will be a lean, mean hiking machine again.

The terrain since Lincoln….. 13 miles back …… has been a mix of lodgepole pine forests, grassy alpine meadows, and open pasture (ranchland). It's been pleasant but I'm ready for something to take my breath away …… I hear the Anaconda-Pintler wilderness will probably do that. The route has been following legitimate hiking trails as well as lightly traveled ATV-Jeep roads. Visibility has been awful due to the numerous fires in Western Montana … today it's been as bad as about one mile.

If it has not already arrived in your mailbox, I would encourage you to pick up the most recent issue of Backpacker, "the global warming issue." (Normally I'd recommend that you save paper by reading it at the library, but this issue is a keeper.) It's the most comprehensive literature on how global warming is, and is going to, unless we take action, affect our most prized and precious wild lands. I applaud the editors at Backpacker for taking on this issue so non-wishy-washy. The outdoor crowd needs to understand exactly how global warming will adversely affect -- if not destroy altogether -- nearly every adored feature and element of today's outdoor experience. They decided not to … and justly so, based on the overwhelming body of evidence about global warming -- appease the "global warming is a hoax" crowd. In my Podcast from Anaconda -- available at www.backpackinglight.com -- I have offered some additional commentary on this issue if you would care to hear it.

To Mack's Inn. Andy

Saturday, August 11 -- Seekonk, MA

This trip's itinerary never included a detour to my hometown of Seekonk, but I unfortunately had to return last Tuesday after my grandmother quickly and somewhat unexpectedly passed away last weekend at the age of 86 due to a perforated ulcer. I received the news in Lincoln and then had to drag myself 60 irrelevant miles to MacDonald Pass in order to fly from Helena. (I fly back later today.)

Throughout this trip I have continually encountered trying times and conditions -- the heat and aridity in the Southwest, the snow in the High Sierra and Cascades, the ravenous mosquitoes in Oregon, and recently the wildfires in Montana. But, when I finish this hike in another three months, I think its most painful and difficult days will end up being those that I have spent here. My grandmother was an amazing lady and my family and I have been fortunate to have had her around for so long. She was full of life and always good company -- I personally will always remember getting out-danced by her at my older sister's wedding, laughing at her wine-assisted jokes and stories told over family dinners, and spending many summer days with her at Rhode Island's Second Beach. She will surely be missed, though she'll now be with us in Spirit.

Sunday, August 5 -- Lincoln, MT

Day 118, Mile 4,047

From East Glacier Park the official Continental Divide Trail goes about 180 miles (including 150 miles without a road crossing) through the 1-million acre Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex, closely following the Divide. Due to several large and uncontained wildfires currently in the Bob -- including the 30,000-acre Skyland Fire, the 30,000-acre Fools Creek Fire, the 45,000-acre Fools Creek Fire, and a handful of smaller fires -- I did not walk a step on the official CDT south of Marais Pass, instead staying to the west. It is not uncommon to have wildfires in western Montana, but this is shaping up to be one of the toughest fire seasons in history: conditions are hotter and drier than they have ever been; assistance from Mother Nature in putting out the fires cannot be expected for another two months; and budget cuts on state and federal levels have put an additional strain on resources.

To me, "The Bob" is quintessential Montana wilderness -- it may not quite rival the grandeur of Glacier National Park to the north, but in many respects it is better: there are no roads, crowds of tourists, or backcountry chalets; the wildlife (including grizzly and black bears, elk, mule deer, and mountain goats) still naturally fear humans; the abundant huckleberry and thimbleberry patches are rarely picked over; its ecological patterns (e.g. floral diversity) are unaffected by logging, fire suppression, or other manmade influences; and its gently-moving rock-lined creeks offer some of the best-tasting water in the Lower 48.

For those not from Big Sky country, it may be hard to imagine how much wilderness is contained within and around The Bob -- How big is 1 million acres? Well, first, even though I was kicked off the official CDT, I still had my option of 2-3 alternate routes, each also featuring about 150 roadless miles. In comparison, the longest roadless section on the Appalachian Trail is just 35 miles. Perhaps this statistic is more telling, however: The Bob is 25 percent bigger than the entire state of Rhode Island.

The first half of my alternate route was terrific, featuring lightly traveled trails, two alpine passes, and some awesome limestone cliff faces. The second half was sub-par: I dropped down into the South Fork of the Flathead River and eventually exited at Montour Trailhead. This area is used extremely heavily by outfitters (and their trains of stock) and the trails had been pulverized and crapped all over. I tried to ignore this abuse and exploitation, but it was too much: the Forest Service needs to develop a policy that preserves the historical role of outfitting in The Bob while allowing other visitors to find the solitude and natural conditions they seek.

Since I dropped out of the Cascades and into Oroville, a dominant theme of this hike has been wildfires. I would like to offer some commentary about this subject after asking questions of nearly everyone I have met about it -- firefighters, locals, tourists, other backcountry users, etc. Fire has a natural role in the mountain West and I have been intrigued by why so many resources are used to suppress it -- Americans pay many millions of dollars in federal and state taxes for this "service." Regular fires are nature's way of house-cleaning: they thin forest canopies, restore soil nutrients, provide new growth for wildlife, help certain tree species (e.g. including the Ponderosa pine and the Sequoia), limit the spread of devastating tree beetles and diseases, and reduce the likelihood of catastrophic hard-to-contain "crown fires." The conventional reasons I was given for fighting fires were the protection of property, both public (e.g. Park Service facilities, timber on Forest Service land) and private (e.g. cabins and second homes, livestock), and of life (e.g. people who refuse to obey evacuation orders). In reality, the reasons we fight wildfires are much more political-based: a number of interest groups -- including seasonal firefighters and fire-focused Forest Service personnel, manufacturers of firefighting equipment and supplies, homeowners in fire-prone areas, and businesses that rely on profitable tourist seasons (e.g. lodges, outfitters, restaurants, etc.) -- all have a strong interest in continuing to suppress wildfires, the long-term health of the forests be damned. It has not helped that the Forest Service and the media have demonized wildfires as only being destructive (think Smokey the Bear), not at all helpful or necessary. There are some signs of change, however: increasingly the Forest Service is using fire as a land management tool, in recognition of its natural role, though this policy is oftentimes difficult to stick with since a century of mismanagement has made many forests a tinderbox that can quickly threaten property and life of considerable value.

Tuesday, July 31 -- East Glacier Park, MT

Day 113, Mile 3,865

From Polebridge I have walked about 125 miles through Glacier National Park, which is perhaps my very favorite national park. To my delight I managed to get a backcountry permit for my planned route (up Bowman to Brown Pass, down to Waterton, south to Many Glacier via the Highline, and south again through St Mary's and Two Medicine) without taking detours or changing my pace.

If you have never been to, or hiked in, Glacier, I will try to describe what it is like. The forests vary by elevation: you will find lodgepole pines and spruces at the lower elevations, subalpine firs and whitebark pines at higher elevations, and hardy krumholtz trees hanging on sometimes above treeline. The forest floors are often thickly vegetated: drier areas feature pasture-type grasses and grizzly grass, and wetter areas have lots of ferns, mosses, maple vine, and thimbleberry and huckleberry bushes. The trails are heavily used and superbly maintained, though occasionally you might be inclined to trade in your trekking poles for a machete in order to fight the prolific brush. Most of the trails are pass-and-valley trails: they start at enormous glacier-scoured lakes, climb up enormous U-shaped glacier-scoured river valleys that are surrounded by dizzying amounts of vertical relief, pass by beautiful glacier-scoured alpine lakes and cirques, hit a pass, and then drop back down. Since Glacier was formerly at the bottom of a giant inland sea, exposed rocks are almost entirely sedimentary -- its cliff walls feature millions of years of layered history, though in places these rocks have been so deformed (faulted, inverted, and metamorphisized) that this history may be difficult to read. Tucked into the shadiest cirques and the highest north-facing headwalls you may find the fast-melting remnants of the glaciers that are responsible for this breathtakingly beautiful landscape -- if you see one, you better take a photo, since after 2030 they are all projected to have disappeared.

As always this trip through Glacier was very enjoyable, with a few Wahoo moments at Brown Pass, Piegan Pass, and Scenic Point. Unfortunately many of my views were obscured by fire-induced haze; there are reportedly some fires to the south of the park. The last time I was in Glacier was two years ago, so it was interesting to see some of the changes, notably the flood damage due to a major storm last winter and the St Mary fire that scorched the Red Eagle valley.

In Glacier's backcountry I encountered more people than I have seen since leaving the Grand Canyon, and I thought it was a good opportunity to assess whether the mass-market has gotten smarter and transitioned to lighter weight loads. Sadly, the overwhelming majority of people (by my count, 21 out of 23) are still making their backcountry experiences less enjoyable and more difficult than they could be by carrying excessive amounts of heavy and unnecessary conventional gear. In my discussions with some of them, I'm convinced that this is due to a lack of education: even if they are aware of the main benefits of carrying lighter loads, they are completely unaware of how to do it and oftentimes not sure if they want to do it -- many still think that lightweight gear is flimsy, expensive, and uncomfortable; and all of the false ads and editorial coverage about "lightweight" gear has confused them about what is truly lightweight versus what is just being touted as such. My message to manufacturers of lightweight gear and converts to lightweight travel is this: Get out of your bubble (the one in which everyone is already traveling light) and go back to the basic messages and concepts that have all but disappeared since this revolution began 10 years ago.

Saturday, July 28 -- Polebridge, MT

Day 110, Mile 3,741

My apologies for not writing an update since Stehekin. I have been keeping up-to-date with the audio Podcasts, but these written updates are more difficult for me to do -- they require access to a computer, which I rarely have, or writing one by hand (a very tedious process) and mailing it to mom so she can type it up and post it. Due to time constraints I'm going to pick back up the written updates starting from my last resupply town, Eureka; if you would like, you can listen to the Podcasts from Northport and Bonners Ferry to hear about those sections.

It was only an 88-mile stretch between Eureka and Polebridge, through the Kootenai and Flathead National Forests. For the first 12 miles out of town I was joined by Ashley and Jonathan Wallace, friends from Boulder who are traveling cross-country this summer before leaving for Taiwan to do missionary work for the next two years. I was delighted that they were treated to a characteristic section of the Pacific Northwest Trail: we first had to find an abandoned old trail, then bushwhack for ~1.5 miles, and then climb relentlessly into the Ten Lakes Scenic Area.

Ten Lakes was the first time I felt like I was "home," truly back in the Rockies, which seem to be a common destination in my nomadic travels. Ten Lakes has many of the northern Rockies-ish features and characteristics, including sedimentary limestone cliff bands, colorful wildflowers, lush meadows full of bear grass, small glacial lakes, and grizzly scat-dotted trails -- though all on a smaller scale compared to nearby Glacier National Park and The Bob.

Mid-morning the next day I climbed up onto the Whitefish Divide, a narrow up-and-down ridgeline hovering at 7,000 feet that separates the Flathead and Kootenai watersheds as well as some political boundaries. This spectacular alpine/sub-alpine ridgewalk is not included in the guidebook, which instead chooses a more northerly route, and it was a bit of an adventure: it started with a steep bushwhack with 1,500 feet of vertical gain, followed with about 5 miles of trail-less cross-country travel along the spine, continued with a 3-mile cairn-marked route and then by a 15-mile trail that sees hardly any non-wildlife traffic, and ended when I decided that I absolutely had to drop off the ridge to get water -- I had gone 8 hours with just 2 liters despite 90-degree temperatures and relentless sunshine.

Tuesday, July 31 -- East Glacier Park, MT

Mile: 3,865

I must first explain that it has been difficult for Andy to write his own updates. He has been faithful about calling in Pod casts, so I would encourage you to tune in on iTunes or through the web site: www.backpackinglight.com. I will attempt to share some of Andy's experiences in these updates but there is no substitute for hearing from the hiker himself.

In Andy's words the Pacific Northwest Trail "kicked his butt". He has been traveling west to east and the mountains tend to go north to south. The result is that he climbs to a pass and then down to a valley and again up to a pass etc. The trail is not as heavily used as other trails and there are not switchbacks that ease the climbs and descents. In addition, the storm that hit Seattle, WA last year continued into the mountains and caused blow-downs from Seattle to Glacier. In Massachusetts we occasionally lose trees to severe storms. I have tried to maneuver through a yard in which a tree had fallen. I can only imagine trying to pass through a forest that has had a blow-down. Andy encountered this situation every few miles while hiking in certain sections of the PNWT. The weather in the west has also been a hot 80 to 90 degrees. Andy is a day behind his schedule at this time. I tried to tell him that the schedule was made by him but he reminds me that he needs to get through Colorado before the first blizzard of the season.

From Stehekin, WA, Andy hiked to Oroville, WA. This is a small town just south of the Canadian border. Ellie, a local trail angel had met Andy two years ago while he was hiking the C2C trail. She had been in touch with me and was waiting for his arrival. The warm hospitality and good food boosted Andy's spirits. A few days later, Andy hiked through the farm of another trail angel family and was again treated to family hospitality. He entered Glacier National Park in a very positive mind set.

Glacier has always been one of Andy's favorite parks and this time was no exception. He called in a Pod casts of all his "yahoo" moments. He has been speaking of the fires that are between Glacier and his next mail drop. It appears that he has had to re-route his plans and hike in areas that are not mapped out. Benchmark, the location of his next mail drop has been evacuated. I was able to reroute the package to (hopefully) meet up with him in Lincoln, MT. The last call from Andy was yesterday. He was crossing Maria's Pass and said that he felt pretty confident that he could travel to the west of the fires and get to Lincoln. His next phone call will be on Sunday. I will be looking forward to it.

Karen

July 25, 2007 Eureka, MT. Mile 3653

Andy called last night from Eureka, MT. This is mile 3653 which means that he has reached the half way point of his trip. This also calls for the "half gallon challenge". This is the first time Andy has actually had difficulty putting down a half gallon of ice cream.

The hiking has been difficult and the weather has been extremely hot. He has been unable to write an update himself but is still calling in Podcasts from every town. Podcasts postings have been delayed because of vacation schedules but will be up soon. Keep checking www.backpackinglight.com and www.golite.com.

Andy said that he will put together a written update at the first opportunity. He is still doing fine and is loving every moment of the adventure. Karen

July 8 -- Stehekin, WA

It's tempting to write "You'll have to read the book," instead of writing this update, but I find myself unexpectedly taking a rest day here with not much else to do, so here goes…

Cascade Locks to White Pass

While I was in northern Oregon the weather had been pretty miserable -- wet, cold, and blustery -- so Cascade Locks was a good opportunity for me to "reset" by drying things out, shifting my focus towards Washington, and removing myself from the trail for a night by calling some friends, watching some TV, and sleeping on a real bed. After hitting up the continental breakfast and finishing up some business, I headed across the wide and magnificent Columbia River via the Bridge of the Gods and entered Washington.

The first 30 miles were comparable to the last few in Oregon, with a semi-rainforest environment (big trees, dense canopy, lush undergrowth, banana slugs and land snails, and a fir needle-covered trail) punctuated by parcels of logged land. The section also featured peek-a-boo views of Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helen's, and Mt. Adams, all of which I could see now due to the improved weather.

On my second day out I was joined by Paul Willerton, a co-owner of and my primary contact at DeFeet, for about 4 hours. DeFeet has supported me since 2004 but Paul and I have never connected outside of tradeshows and business-oriented emails, so this was a great opportunity. During the mellow 2,000-foot climb out of the Wind River Valley we lost ourselves in conversation -- on DeFeet's blog Paul wrote a very flattering piece in which he says he would have liked to join me for another 100 miles; those feelings were definitely mutual, as it was clear that I could learn a lot more from him too.

The PCT climbs into Indian Heaven Wilderness, which seemed to be remarkable not for its scenic value (it's just "okay") but for its extensive huckleberry patches. It is still too early in the season for huckleberries (especially there, where I encountered some snow patches at a new record of 4,100 feet) but my guidebooks made it sound as if Indian Heaven is swarming with people (thru-hikers, weekend warriors, and natives from the adjacent Yakima Indian Reservation) later in the summer. After crossing a lightly traveled dirt road I crossed over into Mt. Adams Wilderness, where the PCT does a nice contour at the 6,000-foot level, still almost entirely snowbound at this time of year. Like Jefferson and Hood, I got clouded out this day and never saw much of Mt Adams close-up.

After descending into a mosquito-filled lowland north of Mt Adams I crossed another road before climbing back up into Goat Rocks Wilderness, which features arguably the PCT's best ridge-walking. This is superb country: 8,000-foot peaks, glacier-covered slopes, amazing colors (black and red rocks, white snow, blue alpine lakes, green sub-alpine grasses and firs, and brightly-colored wildflowers). It's also country with nasty weather, which I suppose is part of the reason why glaciers exist there down to 6,000 feet. Cold, damp, cloudy, rainy, and windy (especially along the Knife's Edge-like section, where I was forced to my knees a few times by the wind that was ripping over the sharp ridgeline). I have not seen many other tracks in OR or WA, but I was very thankful that two hikers had done part of this section recently because I was able to more easily find my way through some of the difficult sections (like the crossing of the Packwood Glacier) despite visibility being about 30 feet. This day finished with a mile-long contour along a steep snowbound slope at 5,500-feet in a total whiteout, with nothing but my tools (map, compass, altimeter) and a set of elk tracks to go by.

White Pass to Snoqualmie Pass at Interstate 90

The weather broke after Goat Rocks, just in time for some good sections in the Central Cascades, including William O'Douglas Wilderness, Rainier National Park, and Norse Peak Wilderness. For the first 12 miles out of White Pass I was joined by Adam Gaston, a Bellevue-based ultra-runner with whom I had some great conversations about running (of course), Forest Service and public land policies, Northwest weather, and attitudes on life. Like the company of Paul, I enjoyed Adam's immensely too -- I spend plenty of time alone (you think?) and by hiking with other people I get an influx of new thoughts and some challenges to my hardening convictions.

Unfortunately Adam joined me for the less scenic section of the William O'Douglas Wilderness (the first half was flat, marshy and wooded, and mosquito-filled). During the second half the PCT climbs to the Cascade Crest, which at that point is immediately east of Mt. Rainier, which I think is the most impressive volcano that I have seen -- it's not the biggest (Shasta has more volume) but it is the tallest (14,400+ feet) and it has the most extensive glacier coverage (it's covered). In the days after this section, I came to appreciate Rainier even more, as the further away and the higher you get, the bigger it gets, because you can put it in the context of everything it dwarfs around it. North of Chinhook Pass the PCT enters Norse Peak Wilderness, where it contours at or on the Crest through alpine and sub-alpine environments. Being in the rain shadow of Rainier, and not being heavily forested, this section was mostly melted out and I enjoyed some pleasant cruising on a sunny Sunday morning, occasionally spooking mother elks and their calves.

Between Norse Peak Wilderness and Snoqualmie Pass, the PCT passes through the most extensively logged area on the entire trail. Many mountainsides have been thoroughly clearcut, resulting in a total destruction of habitat, the loss of natural corridors for wildlife to move (and, at a much slower pace, vegetation), erosion-prone slopes, and an aesthetic eyesore. True, we need timber to build homes and other things; and, true, much of this land is privately owned -- But it seems unlikely that this is the best way (in a utilitarian sense) to utilize this renewable resource. Can a man who causes or allows, directly or indirectly, such destruction to part of our planet, to our home, live without a sense of guilt? Do you? I can't.

Snoqualmie Pass to Stehekin

This was when the, "You'll have to read the book" temptation becomes relevant.

The PCT wasted no time from Snoqualmie Pass, nicely climbing 2,500 feet right up to the Crest in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, where I first began to notice my transition into the North Cascades. If you have never been up to this part of the country, let me try to describe it for you… Descending from the Crest and other high ridgelines are enormous U-shaped valleys formed millions of years ago during the last super-big ice age (the same one, I think, during which ice caps extended all the way down to Cape Cod and scraped out the Great Lakes for the first time). Flowing swiftly at the bottom of these valleys are teal-colored rivers that are born from snow- and glacier-melt; they carry a tremendous amount of sediment (and even whole boulders sometimes!) that often collects on its way downstream and changes the river's course, resulting in wide, sandy, and rocky river beds. The mountainsides feature thick, deep green fir forests that are interrupted vertically by stripes of lighter green -- paths of regularly occurring avalanches where only small and/or seasonal vegetation can grow. The top one-third of the ridges are snow- and glacier-bound; the snowmelt funnels into near-vertical chutes and gullies that create numerous cascading waterfalls. The roar of rushing water is everywhere.

Once I reached the Crest in Alpine Lakes Wilderness, I was faced with about 15 of the most treacherous miles I have ever done. The trail here is often just a narrow ledge contouring across steep alpine slopes, thus offering tremendous views but also tremendous hazards when still snowbound, as it still is right now. It was a nerve-wracking evening and morning, as I encountered dozens of snowbound gullies and lingering snowpatches (some angled at 50-55 degrees) where kicking solid steps across was critical if I was to avoid serious injury or even death -- a slip would have resulted in the sled-ride-of-a-lifetime trip before running out on sharp-edged scree and boulders several hundred feet below.

With that section thankfully over, I continued northwards to Highway 2/Stevens Pass via the Crest, which became very snowbound, especially north of Pieper Pass. In the High Sierra, the Crest is above treeeline, the forests are open, and the trail goes from pass to valley to pass; here in the Cascades, though, the Crest is often forested, the forests are thick, and the trail stays along the Crest. The result is that these miles become incredibly arduous -- it's necessary to follow the trail because it's easier than traveling cross-country, but the trail often features sloping snowpatches (due to the snow burying the benched trail, taking on the same slope as the mountain) and irregularly melted snowpack (due to irregular tree cover). By the time I reached Stevens Pass, I had had my fill (cumulatively now, given that I had been walking in snow almost daily since southern Oregon) and decided to take an unplanned hitch into Skykomish to just get away from the trail for 2 hours.

In a better mental state I returned to the trail and headed into the Henry M. Jackson Wilderness and the Glacier Peak Wilderness areas. A few miles in I encountered two southbound thru-hikers who warned me of the extensive snow coverage between Wenachee and Indian Passes (about 20 miles) and the "worst blowdowns you've ever seen" just south of Stehekin. Great. Normally I would discount warnings like that, but I had already expected the snow (the section stays above 5,500 feet, and I'd been hitting snow as low as 4,000 feet) and I was not surprised by the blowdowns (the area had a nasty storm last fall with 100 MPH winds recorded here in Stehekin).

To make matters more interesting, I discovered later that night that I did not have the right maps for the 50-mile Glacier Peak Detour, which is necessary in order to avoid a suicidal ford of the Suiattle River. (I did have the maps for the official PCT.) As a poor substitute, I had a 1:1,000,000 overview map plus a short-on-details Detour Description, which instructed me to "Take Trail 789 over Little Giant Pass," but not "when you reach the pass, the trail cuts southwest under a semi-permanent snowfield before entering the trees at 4,700 feet.

Not having the right maps was mostly just nerve-wracking -- Am I on the right trail? -- though it did result in 2 hours of lost time one afternoon when I lost the trail over a snowbound pass and bushwhacked through alder, manzanita, and devils club (my legs are a mess now) before following a raging creek of snowmelt downstream (using overhanging alder as monkey bars to prevent myself from slipping on the moss-covered boulders and logjams) and eventually contouring/bushwhacking halfway around the valley to find the trail.

An unexpected challenge of the Reroute was the fords of the Napeequa and Chiwawa Rivers, the former of which is described by the Forest Service as [to paraphrase] "impassable in early-season, particularly on warm days due to upstream glaciers" and the latter of which is apparently "impassable until early- or mid-August." I managed to get across both, and both of them now rank as among the scariest fords I have done, with the smaller Napeequa being the scarier of the two because there is so much sediment in it that you can't see anything deeper than 1.5 feet ("How deep is the middle?" I wondered before I stepped out into the raging torrent. "I suppose I will find out. It's a good thing I know how to swim…") The Northwest is currently in a heat wave and the snow has been melting out very fast, further worsening the situation.

To finish this long-winded update, I made it through the blowdown section, which was indeed the worst I have ever seen (and Scott Williamson, who I saw in the middle of it with his new bride, Michelle, gave it a similar superlative). And between those blowdowns, plus all of the other challenging circumstances, I missed the Post Office's Saturday hours by 4 hours and now need to wait until tomorrow morning to pick up my packages. I'm not one for fate, but somehow I think this forced rest day was planned -- my head and my body clearly needed to refresh.

Ahead of me is the Pasayten Wilderness, where I expect to encounter less snow due to its location east of the main Cascade Crest. Just before I reach the Canadian border, I will peel off to the east via the Pacific Northwest Trail, which I will take about 600 miles to Glacier National Park(!). Given all the awesome places that await me, I think I will be right back into this experience in no time.

June 26, 2007 Cascade Locks, Oregon

It had been 2,340 miles since I last rented a motel room so yesterday afternoon I decided that breaking this streak would be a fine way to mark my successful completion of the Oregon section of this hike. In a few hours I will head across the Columbia River via the Bridge of the Gods and enter state number 4: Washington. Before I do that, however, I will try to recap the Oregon experience for you.

Until two weeks ago, Oregon had mostly managed to elude my various travels…. in fact, when I arrived here last April to give a few slideshows around Portland it became the 48th state that I have visited (with the last two being Hawaii and … Alaska). As a result, I was not very sure about what I could expect of this stretch -- I had seen some pictures of same amazing volcanoes, and I had been warned about the long-lingering snow-pack and the mosquito-filled month of June. But first-hand reports are still secondary to the real thing.

When I began this trip I knew of at least three major challenges: crossing the desert southwest, getting through the High Sierra in late May and exiting the Colorado's high country by mid or late September. Getting through Oregon in June did not make the top 3 or probably even the top 10 -- but it should have. I definitely underestimated Oregon -- namely the volume of snow they receive and the time it takes to melt off. As well as the difficulty of traveling across snow covered trails that are not designed for early season use. (I did more miles of side-hilling across snowfields and snow patches in Oregon that in all of my other travels combined) and that access backcountry areas with layouts that have been randomized and mish-mashed by alternating periods of volcanic activity (explosions, lava flows, mud flows, etc) and glaciations. Throw in a fresh crop of blood-thirsty mosquitoes that breed prolifically in Oregon's many lakes and seasonal lake-lets for added fun. Despite the challenges, I really enjoyed the state - the scenery was awesome, helping my mind and body to stay strong and stay excited about the experience that I was having.

I will dive into greater detail now:

Seiad Valley to Crater Lake For the first 75 miles or so the PCT heads almost due east in order to rejoin the Cascade Range, which it left for the Klamath Mountains (Trinity Alps, Marbles etc.) near Burney Falls State Park. The trail stays high across this land bridge, known as the Siskiyou Range, and offers pleasant walking through alternating fir forests, meadows and windswept ridge-tops; views of Mt. Shasta and Mt. McGloughlin, and the Rogue and Klamath River valleys abound. East of Interstate 5 the trail enters Greensprings, a unique area along the PCT due to its low elevation (~4,000 feet), location (at the boundary of the Cascades, Klamaths and Great Basin), and multiple uses (logging, grazing, water storage). The trail crosses HWY 140 and enters Sky Lakes Wilderness, home to Mt. McLoughlin (Oregon's southernmost volcano), some 7,000 foot ridges, and a hungry batch of mosquitoes that was clearly very excited about this season's first PCT thru-hiker. In Sky Lakes I hit the most snow I had seen since Sierra City -- a sign of things to come. When I reached Crater Lake's Mazama Village there was still three feet of snow in the campground (at 6,000 feet).

Crater Lake to Willamette Pass From Mazama Village I climbed up to the rim, along which the PCT hikes for a spectacular ~5 miles. Crater Lake is as blue as the postcards suggest -- no one went crazy in Photoshop. The deep blue seems to also bring out the greens of the fir trees, juxtaposed with the glimmering patches of white snow -- I'm sure some of the pictures I took that day will be among my favorites. From Crater Lake I descended down across Pumice Desert which was created during the massive eruption of once 12,000 foot Mt. Mazama about 5700 BC (after this eruption the volcano collapsed on itself, making a huge caldera that was sealed by subsequent lave flows, paving the way for Crater Lake). The pumice is so porous that it absorbs nearly all the snowmelt. Only a few seasonal creeks exist despite Crater Lake's 48 feet of annual snowfall. I actually had to build a cookfire one night in order to melt snow for water since the only seasonal creek along a 40 mile waterless stretch was not flowing. Also in this section the trail passes Mt. Thielsen, a metamorphisized and tortured plug of an old volcano that has been exposed by the erosion of its slopes, and Diamond Peak, which I contoured below at the 7,000 foot level for ~7 miles on top of 3'10'' of snow. In between the high elevation areas (i.e. where the snow has already melted out) I was always being chased by a pack of mosquitoes. Pick your poison I suppose -- snow or bug bites.

Three Sisters This section starts with about 60 miles of woods walking through view-less and mosquito-filled fir forests before the trail finally climbs to timberline for one of the most superb stretches of hiking I have ever done. The Three Sisters are all independently magnificent -- 10,000 feet each, glacier studded, and perfect cones -- but collectively they are tough to match, on par with Colorado's Maroon Bells, I'd say. There were no other footprints up there; for about 20 miles I was using map and compass and patches of trail to find my way. As I noted in my evening audio entry, it was the kind of day that makes me willing to put up with the mosquitoes, the wet feet, the mashed potato snow. If everyone in the world could have tapped into my excitement about and enthusiasm for life and my surroundings I think we might have a very different world -- for example, I bet the massive glacier atop South Sister in the guidebook photo on page 145- taken circa 1980- would actually still be there.

Mt Jefferson and Mt. Hood After great weather for two-thirds of Oregon I was stormed out of the last third, which means that I will have to come back someday because I could easily see this stretch's potential. I did get great views of Mt Washington and Three Fingered Jack, both erosion-resistant plugs of old volcanoes (like Mt. Thielsen), and I did see Jefferson and Hood from a day's hike away-- but the PCT appears to offer some in-your-face- views that were obscured by clouds for me. On Jefferson the conditions were cold, windy, damp and foggy/cloudy; the whiteout conditions made for some intense navigating. On Hood the conditions started similarly, but then it began to snow, then rain, then hail and then rain again. Thankfully the weather broke yesterday afternoon for my descent down into the Columbia River Gorge, via the Eagle Creek drainage, which was more rainforest-like than anything I have seen to date (lots of moss and leafy undergrowth, big old growth, fir needle-covered trail, banana slugs, and wild berries). It also featured some awesome waterfalls, including tunnel falls, where the trail was actually built into the fall's cathedral-like walls and behind the waterfall itself. An easy day-hike idea for next time you are in Portland--

To Washington!

Andy

June 12, 2007, Day 65… Seiad Valley, CA

Since my last written update from Old Station, CA, I have hiked some 275 miles, mostly through Shasta-Trinity and Klamath National Forests, way up in Northern CA, sometime (half) jokingly referred to as "the state of Jefferson" due to this region having so little in common (both culturally and politically) with other parts of the state and the resulting secessionist attempts.

Old Station to Castella

Leaving Old Station the trail follows the hot and burned-out Hat Creek Rim, from which one can see the extensive lava fields that have been deposited by past eruptions of Mt. Lassen, the last being in 1914. The lava fields have some neat features, including lava tubes (as flowing lava boils, the outside of the flow hardens first and the warmer center keeps flowing sometimes leaving a hollow tube that can be big enough for a school bus to drive through) and underground rivers, like those that give birth to Rising River and to Burney Creek. The latter of which goes from a nothing special stream to the largest (in terms of water volume) waterfall in California in less than a mile.

From Hat Creek and the lave fields the PCT climbs back up to a 6,000 foot ridge that features ugly clear cuts but also great views of Mt. Shasta, the behemoth 14,000 foot volcano that a PCT hiker can see for over 300 miles of trail! Then the trail descends to the McCloud River through lush heavily forested tributaries that feel more northwestern than any section so far… the banana slugs can't be too far away now !

In this section I finally had my 54-day precipitation-less stretch come to an end. Along the Hat Creek Rim, I felt a few raindrops, but mostly I was just treated to spectacular views of Mt. Lassen, which was alternately being hit with storm clouds and evening sunlight. The next morning, though, I actually had to put on a rain-jacket, and to keep it on virtually all day, as things got wet and cold, particularly at the higher evaluations, where the rain froze up and some fell as snow. Laughingly, it just so happened that I was inside the Burney Fall State Park General Store during the 10 minutes of most intense rain. That's okay…. I am sure I will catch my fair share of rain in the remaining 4,800 miles of hiking.

Castela to Seiad Valley

This was the best section of trail since the Tahoe area. The inspiring terrain (and the passage of time) has fully restored my mental and physical energy, which in retrospect hit a low around Sierra City and Belden after the exhausting (and amazing) stretch through the High Sierra. Over the last four days I walked through the Castle Crags State Park and Klamath National forest (including three wilderness areas -- Trinity Alps, Russian, and Marble Mountain).

Even through I am officially in the volcanic cascades, parts of this section were Sierra-esque in the presence of plutonic rock, Castle Crags is a spire topped mass of granite, visible from Interstate 5 and in total contrast to Mt. Shasta, literally just across the Sacramento River Valley. Rocks in the Trinity Alps have slightly more iron and manganese, leading to more colorful slopes due to oxidation (reds, yellows, pinks, oranges, and blues) but similar erosion patterns. The marbles look like the High Sierra's "mini me" -- they feature glaciated bowls, lake bottomed cirques, and barren ridges, but everything is on a smaller scale (lower elevations, smaller lakes, less run-off etc. )

The trail through this section is superb. Most of the time it contours on or just below the high ridges, which are either windswept or lightly forested, allowing for great views and a cool breeze. Travel is made easy by wide trail benching and horse-friendly grading. Unfortunately, from nearly every ridge top of these "wilderness" areas you can see a maze of logging roads and swaths of clear-cuts, which kind of ruin the feeling ….. is it really wilderness ?

After a few days of sunshine I was whacked with another storm. The worst came at night, when I was unwisely camped out about 100 vertical feet below the section's high point -- I was almost convinced that my 9 oz. tarp was going to fly away like a kite in the 30 mph gusts that were broad-siding it, but it held firm !! The storm was followed with a old front that, combined with the rain, has helped to keep the bugs and dust at bay, a major plus.

In Seiad Valley I was tempted to take on the "pancake challenge" to mark the 2,000 mile mark, but smartly decided to have a more palatable meal. Dave, the café owner, says that only 7 of about 500 people have managed to consume the five 1-lb pancakes within the 2-hour time limit over the last 25 years; none have probably succeeded in walking out of town the same day, which I must do. Plus, four pints of Ben & Jerry's await me in Eureka, MT, to mark the halfway point. (The half-gallon challenge.)

Tomorrow I enter Oregon (!) and on Saturday I reach Crater Lake. (!)

June 4 -- Old Station, CA

Since Monday I've hiked through Tahoe, Plumas, and Lassen National Forests, a distance of about 220 miles, and I have officially left the Sierra Nevada and entered the Cascade Range. In fact, from where I sit right now I'm not far from a view of Mount Lassen, the southernmost volcano in the Cascades, which like its counterparts further north (e.g. Shasta, Hood, Rainier, etc.) stands out from its surroundings like a geological freak -- the landscape here is heavily forested and glacier-smoothed, and the volcanoes stand several thousand feet above everything else and have the distinct cone-shape.

A high priority earlier this week was to get back into a routine and to regain my momentums/spunk, both of which had been thrown off by the High Sierra and last weekend's companionship. The High Sierra had worn me thin, with its challenging and unpredictable conditions and the resulting need to always be fully engaged in dealing with them. The company around Truckee was great, but it certainly is easier to hike 35-45 miles per day when I can make all the decisions with no compromises. Rather than think about the exhausting miles and great companionship behind me, I have tried to quickly refocus on the tasks ahead (about 5,000 mile's worth of them) and to boost the energy I will need to successfully complete them.

Unfortunately, my surroundings were not exactly injecting me with excitement. Except for some good Crest walking (e.g. north of Castle Pass, in Bucks Lake Wilderness, and near Butte Mtn), most of the last 220 miles were relatively dull. There has been lots of "woods walking" through woods that have been heavily logged, with accompanying mazes of logging roads and skidder trails, curious patches of Manzanita in the middle of fir forests, and the sad near-complete absence of old growth trees. The highlight of this section, which should be Lassen Volcanic National Park, is a real let-down: trail designers routed the trail far away from the park's best features due to unfounded concerns about the number of thru-hikers and their theoretical impact and due to a foolish preference to preserve the trail's wilderness character (by keeping it away from people and development) rather than showcasing the National Park-deserving areas.

But, hey, if everything were as good as the High Sierra then I suppose nothing would be as good as the High Sierra. Thankfully there is more good stuff coming up, especially after I cross I-5 in 125 miles: Castle Crags, Trinity Alps, Russian Wilderness, and Marble Mountain. And once I get into Oregon it's entirely new terrain for me.

This week has not been devoid of highlights. In particular, from a high ridge on Monday night I was treated with a great sunset that featured the silhouette of the Sierra Buttes, a standout-ish group of volcanic crags just north of Sierra City. Even better, on Friday I saw 5 black bears -- two at 7am, and 3 more (a mom, which ran away, and her 2 cubs, which climbed up a big fir) later in the day!

May 28 -- Truckee, CA

Andy here. It's been about three weeks since I have even seen a computer and I figured I would jump on this opportunity to catch up on how the trip has been going. The last two weeks have been amazing -- though tiresome -- and I think the High Sierra section in particular deserves a first-hand report. I have tried to keep this entry as brief and tight as possible while also wanting to do justice to these 400 miles.

High Sierra: Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows

It occurred to me a few times before this section, though never so clearly as in this section, that I am on "a trip of a lifetime" that itself consists of many "mini trips of a lifetime," with the Bill Williams River and the Joshua Tree National Park stretches probably being the two most notable others so far. Time will tell, but I think other sections of the Great Western Loop will struggle to beat out this most recent "mini trip" for first prize.

In this section the Pacific Crest Trail travels through the High Sierra, regarded by many as the most spectacular backcountry area in the Lower 48 due to its towering 14,000-foot peaks, abundant alpine lakes and meadows, glaciated granite canyons, and snowmelt-filled creeks. This is some beautiful country! And at 240 road-less miles, this is also the longest uninterrupted thread of wilderness among the nation's long-distance trails, thanks to a near-seamless corridor of national parks (Sequoia & Kings Canyon, Yosemite, and Devils Postpile National Monument) and wilderness areas (Southern Sierra, John Muir, and Ansel Adams).

In an average year, heading into the High Sierra in mid-May would inevitably result in massive difficulties, like following the 100% snow-covered trail, fording the bridge-less raging creeks, and reaching the high and steep snowbound passes. I was fortunate in that this winter was exceptionally dry -- about half the average precipitation -- which made the challenge slightly less challenging, though certainly still a heck of one. (If it had been a normal year, I just would have had to deal with it.)

The PCT, which shares the same trail corridor as the John Muir Trail for much of this stretch, is a "pass and valley" trail -- it climbs up a valley to a pass (basically, a low point on a ridge or crest line), descends down a valley to a major ford, and then back up the next valley to the next pass. The passes (8 total, if I recall correctly) range in elevation from 10,900 feet to 13,200 feet; the valley bottoms are between 7,800 feet and 9,000 feet -- cumulatively amounting to a little bit of climbing. On the approaches, the snow usually became patchy starting at 9,000 feet and by 9,750 it was solid; descending the north-facing slopes the snow would begin to break up around 9,000 and usually be snow-free by 8,000 feet. In essence, every pass was surrounded by 5 to 10 miles of snow.

Snow is not necessarily a problem -- sometimes, like in the morning after cold nighttime temperatures have made the surface rock-hard, walking on snow can be easier than walking on a trail; but other times, like in the afternoon after the sun has softened the surface, the snow can cause nightmare-ish conditions in which every step is greeted with "post holing" 1-3 feet down through the snow. Both of these conditions happened everyday, making it critical that I utilize the morning hours as best as I could and that I prep myself mentally for afternoon slog sessions. It's no coincidence that the two most Wahoo!-inspiring moments were while standing atop passes (Pinchot and Muir) at 7AM, while the two most difficult times were while post-holing up and down two other passes (Mather and Donahue) in the late-afternoon.

Even in a light year, the conditions found in late-May are still too much for most folks, so I essentially had the High Sierra to myself for a week. I went 5.5 days and 200 miles without seeing another human being, and at least one-half of the passes and at least one-third of the trail miles showed no signs of human use (e.g. tread marks or ski tracks). In the most populated state in the country, in its most heavily used backcountry area and on one of its most heavily used trails, this is an exceptional experience. Perhaps equally amazing to some is that upon returning to civilization I discovered that there was really not an email, text message, or news headline that could not have waited a few more days for me to see.

Tuolumne Meadows to Truckee

North of Tuolumne, the trail never regains the high elevations found further south -- in fact, after Dicks Pass in Desolation Wilderness the trail never again climbs above 9,000 feet. Nowadays, more often the trail meanders among massive firs (mostly red, white, and silver), lodgepole pines, and Western junipers, the latter two of which can often be found living tortured existences on wind-blasted slopes near treeline.

For the first 1.5 days of this section, the trail showcased the iconic granite domes and slabs of Yosemite National Park. Then, about 10 miles south of Sonora Pass/Hwy 108, the geology beings to change radically: the remnants of ancient lava flows begin to fight for dominance with the giant pluton that extends almost from the Mexican border; sometimes the same ridgeline will feature both granite- and lava-based slopes. These basaltic slopes are more prone to erosion, resulting in smoother mountainsides and less robust vegetation (e.g. some slopes are so loose that sagebrush can barely take root).

Snow continues to hinder my progress, perhaps even more than in the High Sierra. The snowline has dipped as low as 7,000 feet, with snow essentially assured in shaded areas, on north-facing slopes, and in gullies/ravines. The inconsistent snow distribution is extremely tiresome -- I am endlessly climbing up onto and then sliding off of snow patches, kicking steps into steeply angled snowfields across gullies, and trying to navigate through feature-less forests after losing the trail and being unable to find any "clues" (e.g. an obvious trail corridor, cut blow downs, notched trees, signs, etc.). And while I am no longer post-holing, "sun cups" (as deep as 18") now test my balance and core strength. Because the PCT was not designed for winter/spring use, the actual trail is often not the safest, easiest, or fastest route, so some days I bet that at least one-third of my travel has been off-trail -- that's 12 miles in a 36-mile day! I have come to see the trail more as a "means" of travel -- it's just one way to get there -- and the destination points have taken on far more importance. This has not been a section for cruise control or auto-pilot; I have needed to be fully engaged in where I am and where I am going.

The last two weeks have undoubtedly worn on me, both physically and mentally, and recently I have found myself frequently dragging -- my legs lack the spunk and my mind lacks the edge that they normally have. Thankfully, I have been given a nice boost by visits from friends and family. Last Monday my friend Amy drove from near Modesto to join me for a 6-mile segment along the Tuolumne River and a night at Glen Aulin Camp -- the first time anyone had hiked or camped with me since I started 7 weeks ago. Then, n Saturday I was joined by Truckee resident Scott Williamson, famous for his PCT Yo-Yo achievements, for the 60-mile stretch from Echo Lake to Donner Pass. Just before reaching Highway 40 Scott and I were greeted by another stud hiker and Truckee local, Justin Lichter (who last November finished a 10,000-mile hike), as well as my older sister, Kerri, and brother-in-law, Ryan, who drove out from Palo Alto. It has been great to see them all -- their timing was excellent -- and I have greatly appreciated what they brought me, definitely all the food (enchiladas, carrot cake, chocolate chip cookies and brownies, a made-to-my-specifications Chipotle burrito, organic fruits and vegetables, and more!) but, more than that, their company.

By the end of this week I will pull into Old Station, CA, at the southern edge of the Cascades. More from there...

May 20, 2007 Tuolumne Meadows,CA 1392 miles

Andy reached Tuolumne Meadows on Friday, May 19th. He called about midnight to let us know that he had made it through the 280 miles of the high Sierra's. This was the second challenge of the hike. It was a "mini-trip of a life-time" imbedded in a trip of a life-time.

The snow conditions were better than expected. He was walking on top of the snow in the morning and post-holing as the sun warmed and the day progressed. He did not see another person for 5.5 days. Andy said that he passed the miles singing John Denver tunes.

Andy will put a more detailed account of this stretch on his site later. He did call in a Podcast. Check it out at www.backpackinglight.com.

Next stop will be Echo Lake. He should be there on May 26th.

Karen

May 14th Mile 1152 Kennedy Meadows Campground

Podcasts are now online at www.backpackinglight.com

Andy called last night and provided the following information about his hike. He is presently at the Kennedy Meadows Campground which is just south of Yosemite National Park. He is entering the High Sierra's and has a 280 mile stretch without a re-supply and without crossing a road. Andy said that this section was the second biggest challenge of this hike.

Andy left Hiker Heaven, sadly. He got over the initial inertia that all hikers feel and moved on. The first one and a half days he hiked through chaparral covered foothills. Chaparrals are thick bushes about the height of a person. He then crossed the Mohave desert and Antelope Valley. He crossed these areas in the evening, when the weather was cooler. After having seen Palm Springs, Andy said that he realized that Antelope Valley could be another Palm Springs some day if the water infrastructure becomes established. This realization gave Andy an understanding of the importance of water rights.

The next interesting area was the Tehachapi Hill Wind farm. It is situated in the desert, where the desert air mixes with the coastal air. There are thousands of windmills here. Aesthetically, Andy said they are beautiful and man is harvesting natural energy but environmentally, they still scar the area because of the roads and power lines etc.

Andy had his first bear sighting last week. He was in the mountains and spotted a mother and her cub. They did not want to meet Andy any more than he wanted to meet them.

The weather last week was in the low 90's. It was very hot in the dessert sections but the wonderful trail angels have been filling water caches along the trail. Trail Angels are wonderful people and hikers love them. Andy says," thank you ".

We asked Andy what the highlights of the week were. He said that the scenery was not spectacular and he had grown tired of the desert heat and was anxious to be out of it. Therefore, he had been hiking 40 miles per day. He begins about 5:45 AM and finds a spot to camp for the night about 8:15 PM. He is happy and anxious to be in the Sierras. He is very early in the season and is not sure what to expect of the snow pack. He is hoping that he will not be post-holing but rather walking on top of the snow. Karen Skurka

May 5 - Agua Dulce, CA

Andy here, again. I am writing from "Hiker Heaven," arguably the best hiker hostel in the world, no joking. The hosts, Jeff and Donna, are incredible, and the hikers who are here for the first time are still pinching themselves to make sure that the showers, lodging, laundry, internet and phone access, hiker cars, hiker bikes, and over-the-top amazing hospitality is actually for real.

For the last week I have been following the Pacific Crest Trail through the San Bernardino and San Gabriel Mountains of Southern California. The well-worn tread, water reports, guidebooks, signage, and presence of other hikers has been a welcome relief from the more stressful - but, in some respects, more rewarding -- hiking that I did from the Grand Canyon to the PCT.

To access both ranges I needed to make major climbs -- about 5,000 and 6,000 vertical feet, respectively -- and then major descents. The higher elevations feature old growth drought-resistant pines (namely ponderosas), flowing water sources, and cool temperatures (high-20's/low-30's at night and 50's/60's during the day), which is quite a difference from the hot and dry Mojave Desert that is visible to the east from the ridgetops. At 9,000 feet there were some lingering patches of snow, which reminded me that even though it's been a very dry winter in California that it is still very early in the season and that the still-cool temperatures will mean lots of snow at higher elevations when I hit the High Sierra next weekend.

One of the highlights of this section was encountering a rattlesnake in Deep Creek Canyon that was in the process of swallowing a rat that it had caught. The rat was about twice the width of the snake (Imagine trying to swallow a basketball!) but the snake had successfully put down about half of it so far, and it probably spent the remainder of the afternoon swallowing the rest. A few more miles downstream this highlight was partially offset by encountering 8 skinny dippers (all in their 60's) at the Deep Creek Hot Springs -- although I appreciated their comfort in expressing themselves, I decided to carry on.

When I joined the PCT last weekend I started a 1,500-mile stretch that I have already hiked (last summer). But so far that has not downgraded the experience: the people, campsites, lighting, and weather have all been different; this time I better understand the geology, vegetation, and weather patterns; and I also don't remember every mile, or even most of the miles. For example, in the San Gabriel's I did not remember, until I had started it, the awesome ridgewalk between Baden-Powell and Mt Throop; I didn't necessarily recall the thick brush, great trail work, or steep mountainsides; and on Thursday I woke up at 8,000 feet looking down at LA and the Mojave, both completely clouded over, whereas last June I think I saw a cloud the entire time, and I took a picture to prove it.

In a week I will be at Kennedy Meadows Campground, the gateway to the High Sierra on the PCT, and things will get difficult again, with route-finding, deep fords, post holing, and long road-less and human-less stretches being the biggest challenges. I won't be able to keep the 35-40 miles/day pace that I have been doing (with cat naps, everyday), but this stretch will no doubt be one of the highlights of the entire trip.

April 28 - Morongo Valley, CA - Andy here. I am staying the night with a PCTA volunteer, Don Line (who last year put in over 400 hours of volunteer time for the trail!), and figured I'd jump on email and write a recap of the last 2 weeks. Unfortunately I will need to leave out some detail -- hopefully the pictures, video, and Podcasts (which start to become available within the next week I hope) will fill in the gaps.

Seligman to Bagdad. For almost 100 miles I followed a network of hiking trails, ATV trails, and primitive jeep roads through the Juniper Mountains and Santa Maria Mountains in the west end of Prescott National Forest. The two highlights were: (1) the primitive Juniper Mesa Trail, which follows a high ridge with great views to the south, and (2) catching a sunset from the fire tower atop Hyde Mountain. The headline of the section, though, was getting attacked by wild javelinas, which are pig-like animals found all over Arizona. Of the six in this group (one of which was a baby), two came after me, which I though rather aggressive since there was ample distance and a row of thick bushes between the group and me. I defended myself by swinging my trekking poles at them; I hit one and the other was smart enough to stay an extra foot or two away. Finding good water, especially good water, continued to be a problem through this section due to the dry winter. Cool temperatures and relatively easy hiking continued to minimize my needs.

Bagdad to Parker. Bagdad is a mining town with about 2,000 people, nearly all of which seem to drive American-made pick-up trucks, and usually the F-350 dualie diesel V10 turbo extended cab and bed types too. The town is in the middle of no where, but its people are genuinely nice and there is a good small town feel to it. Getting around the mine to the west of town took some effort (it's HUGE!) but eventually I did and made my way to Burro Creek, which I followed to the Big Sandy River, which I followed to Alamo Lake and the Bill Williams River. These are trail-less seasonal waterways, and I figured they would serve as a more hiker-friendly route than the hot, dry, and shade-less desert that surrounds them. Burro Creek was lots of fun, with miles of boulder-hopping, sandy shorelines, and rock scrambling; at many points the creek is a narrow canyon with vertical cliffs on both sides. The Big Sandy is aptly named -- it's a ribbon of small interconnected streams about 50' wide and 6" deep flowing through a wide sandy corridor. Travel was fast and fun -- splash, splash, splash, for about 10 miles, just walking straight down the river. The Bill Williams was the most pristine corridor, with effects of the Bagdad mine and cattle operations being filtered out by then. I followed the Bill Williams for the first five miles through the narrow canyon, which features deep pools and clear cool water; then after that it opens up and gets really brushy, since the canyon is no longer regularly flooded (due to the dam that forms Lake Alamo) to wipe out the vegetation. So I left the Bill Williams and road-walked in the last 40 miles to Parker, not encountering a water source or a sign of habitation until town. My last night along the river I stayed with Mexican migrant farmers, which besides being good company gave me a first-hand look at our immigration policies.

Parker to Morongo Valley. Parker is located on the Colorado River and is surrounded by the harshest desert in the Lower 48 -- the Colorado Desert. No desert is hotter or drier, which makes it very conducive to hiking... not! Thankfully there is the Colorado River Aqueduct, which is about the size of a backyard swimming pool and flows at 3.5 mph 24/7/365 to quench the thirst of giant monsters on the other end -- LA, San Diego, and Palm Springs, none of which could subsist at the levels they do without this lifeline (and others like it). The aqueduct is surrounded by a 4-foot high fence plus another 2 feet of barbed wire, and it's illegal to trespass (or to bath -- signs prohibit both, as if the latter weren't implicit in the former) inside the fence, but if you're thirsty... After following the Aqueduct for about 30 miles I used some active and abandoned jeep roads, and some cross-country travel, and got myself through the craggy Palen and Granite Mountains. Those 40 miles were somewhat of a warm-up for the more difficult stretch: 70 miles without water through Joshua Tree National Park, starting in the southeast corner near the ghost town of Eagle Mountain and finishing at Black Rock Canyon. When I began this section, I was carrying 38 lbs of water, 6 lbs of food, and 4 lbs of gear! That's 50 lbs total -- in my little frameless GoLite Jam2 pack no less! I hiked cross-country the first 40 miles through the Pinto Basin, with the first 20 miles in the dark by moonlight. It was a surreal night, starting with getting buzzed by an F-16 fighter jet (they were so close I could see the green glow of their control panels) and then having dreams and realities become one-in-the-same as the onset of fatigue and necessary cat naps set in. I made it to Black Rock Canyon about 40 hours later with no water to spare, and then today took a trail-less route across the Little San Bernardino Mountains to reach Morongo Valley, CA. Tomorrow I have 6 more miles before reaching Mission Creek and the Pacific Crest Trail, and then it should be fairly easy going for about 450 miles until I reach the High Sierra in 2 weeks. I am looking forward to meeting some other thru-hikers and to taking a day off (my first in a month) next weekend at the incomparable Hiker Heaven!

Update: April 16, 2007, Seligman, AZ Andy has hiked 210 miles of his 6875 mile hike.

This is the first update from Andy's hike of the Great Western Loop. He called from Saligman, AZ April 16th and asked that I share this information.

Andy is feeling comfortable but also nervous. This hike is a huge challenge and he has such a long way to go to be successful. In addition, he is hiking in an unfamiliar environment. Andy mentioned that when he reaches the Pacific Crest Trail he might just kiss the ground, thankful that he is on a planned trail. Right now Andy is not following any trail. He is following ranching roads, transmission lines and/or just going cross country to get to where he needs to be. Prior to leaving MA, Andy had gathered maps, etc. and had planned his route. The reality of the terrain is not always the same as the maps, so it is requiring Andy to be flexible in his route. (Those of you who know Andy; the guy that has the next seven months figured out on a spread sheet, understand that flexibility is not one of Andy stronger points.)

What Andy has seen so far. Andy began his hike in the Grand Canyon National Park. He was required to change his planned route because of some permit issues with the park and with the tribes. He was disappointed that he did not do the trans-Canyon trek but will visit the park again at a later time to hike this. Instead he followed the Tonto Trail for 90 to 100 miles. This trail stays at a relatively consistent elevation about one quarter of the way up the canyon. It follows a contour line. The trail is difficult because of the numerous canyons and side canyons that the trail meanders through. The water was awful. Some water Andy found had 1/2 inch worms swimming in it. Other water was full of tadpoles. This actually gave Andy an appreciation for the geological time it took to form the Grand Canyon. The canyon was caused by water erosion and yet there is so little water in the canyon. His coolest campsite was at Bass Camp which is right alongside the Colorado River. At this point the river is calm. Andy reported that the coolest event was the surprise storm that dumped two inches of snow when he was back on the rim. As the storm clouds lifted, the appearance of the canyon was amazing and he got some fabulous pictures.

From the Grand Canyon National Park, Andy hiked along the Coconino Plateau. He described it as being an enormous expanse of range land reminiscent of the northern high prairies. He hiked on this plateau for three days and saw one person and only one house and two ranch camps, which are outposts for cowboys. Water is only available because of the infrastructure set up by ranches to water the cattle. Therefore the water is in stock tanks. He got lucky with his water. Andy stocked up on water prior to leaving the National Park and that took him through day one. On day two he happened to sleep nearest the cleanest stock tank so that was water for day two. The third day he happened upon a cowboy outpost and the lone occupant allowed Andy to fill his water bags with water from the faucet. In addition the weather was cool and breezy so he has not needed tons of water.

Physically, Andy said that he is strong and ready for this hike. The bottoms of his feet need to get toughened. There are no blisters or sore spots but they need toughening. The last few days have been difficult because the terrain required repetitive motion which is wearing on the body. He said that his attitude is relaxed. He is taking his time and is already ahead of schedule and is able to hike the miles without putting in tremendous hours. This allows for postcard writing and afternoon naps.

Andy expects to reach Bagdad, AZ (95 miles from Saligman) on Thursday,April 18th and reach Parker on Sunday night, April 22nd.

Karen Skurka

April 7, 7AM - Just about everything has come together over the last 24 hours and I am feeling confident in my level of logistical preparedness for this trip. My maildrops are about 75 percent packed (all the maps, most of the supplies and food, and some of the gear), my extra gear has been neatly organized in the basement so that it can be sent out quickly and correctly when I need it, the website is pretty much dialed, and the things still on my To Do list are pretty easy. Maybe I can get some sleep now...

April 6, 3AM - Another very late night, as always it seems recently. Tonight I packaged all the maps and guidebooks for my maildrops, which number 43. Also spent some time with the website, working out small functional bugs and inserting bits of content that had been missing, namely the section about global warming's effects on the areas through which the Loop passes.

April 3 – A very late night trying to get the new website uploaded. What do you think? So far it is going pretty smoothly, much thanks to a great web designer, Luke from LPPDesign.com. Please be patient as I finish uploading all the new content relating to the Great Western Loop and restoring older sections of the site.

March 31 - Mom came down with a "nasty cold" and stayed home from work, which was great becuase I needed some help. She's a pro on the sewing machine, so I had her make a few camera bags and wallets, attach patches to my visors and packs, and sew buckle-stops on my pack straps (which I had shortened). Meanwhile, I bagged 50 pounds of deluxe mixed nuts into 3.5-oz snack baggies and dehydrated 12 lbs of Vigo beans & rice. The height of the boxes of food downstairs is really starting to be impressive.