Day Two of the Hike

I woke up first to a light sprinkle and couldn't resist the urge to relieve myself, so I started my day. Just like at home, maybe I'm getting old. To my astonishment and relief, my body was hardly sore and my joints felt fine. I was thankful for all the walking I'd be doing. After the "leave no trace" bathroom ritual, I headed to the tree where we'd tied up our food bag. We also employed a bearproof canister for the other half of our food, which I'd stored in the upper limbs of the food spruce. I "cooked" by boiling water and filling a bag of freeze dried something. We broke camp. Everything on our backs and we crossed some wooded hillsides. The mule deer were everywhere. I couldn't spot them first. It didn't matter if I was in front or following up, she always spotted them first. It's a little immature, I know, but that really annoyed me.

I resisted trying to identify most of the plants, partly because I didn't know them and also because I wanted to make this a trip where I could slip out of the anxiety of language and just exist. That may sound a little trippy, but after a while on a trail, you'd definitely relate. Only after Angie spotted our first bear track and called me over did I realize just how long we'd gone without speaking. It was mostly because we walked just within sight of each other; when leading, I dared not get too far ahead. This was the remotest wilderness in the lower 48 after all.

We climbed our second ridge. I always dreaded approaching a climb, but I found that just trudging up, however slowly could be a really nice afternoon in itself. Walking up those switchbacks, I imagined every calorie I was earning. I turned up the juice somehow, maybe by thinking about getting far enough ahead to eat a clif bar. I stopped up at the top and ate and miraculously had phone service. I texted Lauren a simple "I'm okay" or something. She knew not to expect much cell coverage.

I had a chance to go up a peak while Angie took advantage of the spotty signal. I left my pack with her at one of the sparsely spaced trail markers and headed on about a 1/4 mile journey up the top of the ridge's highest point. I was glad I'd taken Angie's advice about the fancy lightweight raincoat and the Vasque boots. They performed phenomenally. I climbed up, feeling eerily alone for the first time. Well, maybe the first time ever. I've been in some remote wilderness in Arkansas but this is something else entirely. I reached the peak where I gathered my nerve and stood on the biggest bolder in what seemed like strong wind. I could see the entire range. I could see the valley we would be walking to get to Yellowstone. I saw things like a topographic map. Then a little vertigo settled me down to a crouch and I realized that a fall here would be death. Angie might not even find the body. We're only a day and a half in, time to get back.

We descended the hill and found a suitable campsite. Cowboys or Montana horse enthusiasts, more properly, had left spruce poles for a teepee and a stone fire ring. It was cold and wet. Grateful, I took off the pack and went through the cooking routine before I allowed myself to rest. I was realizing that the most difficult portions of the trail were my favorites. The more fear I overcame, the more vivid the memory. I was excited and exhausted.