Day Six and Seven of the Hike

We were out of food. I had been preparing doubles of some supper and breakfast items unknowingly. The portions seemed small to me but I was doubling them?! It didn't matter, we were ahead of schedule. Angie thought it might even be possible to get over the ridge tonight and camp firmly back in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness instead of Yellowstone Ranger District. No big deal, I had energy. There wasn't any other choice. We shared the last "Kind" bar and headed up in pretty good spirits.

The creek trail up the valley was rarely used and difficult to find. We got lost repeatedly. Every hour backtracking was an hour away from my next meal. Panic is no ally when trying to conserve precious calories for the climb to the mountain pass ahead. Through luck and intuition and "being in the zone", we finally made it to the very source area for the stream nearby. The monotony of refilling my three liter camel back wore on me and I skipped an important creek crossing without filling up. "There'd be another stream. I'm too tired now."

Cold wind blew in and we couldn't find the right trail over the ridge. I intuited that we needed to go north another hill and maybe out of shear pity, the cosmos united us with our trail as night fell. It wasn't the greatest place to camp. It was high and wet and windy, but we were pooped and needed a fresh outlook that maybe morning could give us.

Day Seven

I offered Angie a couple of pieces of trident. Not much of a sugar rush but at five calories a piece, I figured they would be worth the effort. Not long after breaking camp and finding the trail, we saw humans again for the first time since Yellowstone. This time they were in a shockingly loud ranger plane. I wondered if the rangers were out checking on us. Why else would they fly so close? I guess planes travel via mountain pass too. We were so close to the pass, we climbed the ridge and back and forthed over and again looking for some semblance of a trail over the ridge. I was way out in front scanning like a dog on a long leash. Then, freeze. Bears. I watched a mom and her cubs foraging and playing a hundred yards up the ridge. I made it for a group of spruces to snap some photos.

I watched and Angie saw them too and we enjoyed them for only a minute or two before they took turns standing and sniffing. Undoubtedly, our odor was detectable. They hustled with mom in the lead right over a dip in the ridge. In other words, they led us to the pass. I made a joke about the bear going over the mountain to see what he could see. It's funny how I slipped from complete oneness with nature into dad jokes and comic relief. Maybe it was just relief. The most difficult part of the entire hike was next. The bears had indeed led us to Sheep Creek Trail. According to our map this was the shortest route back to the car. This trail is just a slippery ridge line way up high in the mountains with deadly shear dropoffs on either side.

"This can't be our trail." I was screaming it to myself but trying hard not to look scared. After a half mile of ridge walking, feeling like a tightrope walker, there was a gap. Way up on this mountain, there was a gap in the ridge, we had to jump two feet, from ledge to ledge. And we just did it. No other option in sight, not enough food to turn around, no choice. Neither of us hesitated. Neither of us mentioned it for a half hour.

It was literally all downhill from there. We found a trail marker signifying that we were on the correct trail after all. Sheep Creek Trail descended down to the valley and I was continually astonished to see evidence of cowboys riding this path and apparently jumping from ledge to ledge on horseback on top of America.

We did make it back to the car before dark. That extra three miles sure felt like a mistake now that it was on the end of our trip. If I took away anything it was a small glimpse of what it's like to be in the moment, to lose oneself and take a bigger perspective. It's a way to feel tiny and enormous all at once. I felt, and can still feel, a gratitude deeper than before. Maybe it was the bag of peanuts and dried tangerines with Mountain Dew in Angie's car. Maybe it was fear. On top of a mountain pass, I feel amazed and fortunate. I feel lucky and grateful for all the events that led to that moment. Maybe in that realization of my dependence on so many events in the past, I could feel free. I could look down at Jacob from a new higher consciousness and say, "Good work. Keep going."