Day 40
0 miles I hitched to Red Lodge today, to meet Jukebox and Stargate. I put my thumb out and the second car pulled over-it was Esther, Cody Wyoming’s only psychologist, who picked me up and drove me the 1 hour and 45 minutes to Red Lodge, over spectacular Beartooth Pass, the mountains spreading out in every direction. Esther has soft eyes, a gentle voice, and a musical laugh that is like tinkling bells. I felt incredibly regretful that I could not have her as my own therapist-and yet what a gift to Cody, Wyoming, she is. We talked about everything under the sun-our lives, and Wyoming, and politics, and finally as we were coming down the pass, I shared with her my heartbreak of the past year. I said, “sometime in December I decided I just needed to be an adult and get over it and move on.” I paused. “I’m not so sure that was quite right.” Her gentle musical laugh followed.
“And how did that work out for you? ‘Strange, why do I have these random outbursts of anger and crying?’’’
“I guess it doesn’t really work that way,” I murmured.
“Yes.” She said softly. “Yes, it doesn’t really work that way.”
We arrived in Red Lodge-I felt seen and heard, the empathetic loving care of this chance encounter filling my mind. Stargate and Jukebox arrived soon after and we rested in Red Lodge.
Day 41
0 miles We zeroed in Red Lodge today.
Day 42
11.1 miles
Six weeks on trail. We woke up in the motel, and at 10:00 am Mimi, Jukebox’s massage therapist, picked us up to drive us to the trailhead, which was incredibly gracious of her. It’s a long drive. We got to the trail at noon and walked till about 6:30 pm. The scenery wasn’t too interesting until we got up on the ridge-then it was incredibly beautiful, iconic Montana grasslands and hills. We camped at Frenchie Spring, the last water for awhile-hence the early camp. It was windy, but the wind died down after sunset. At 1 am a large, loud bird decided to sit right above Jukebox’s tent and yell about nothing for awhile-Jukebox started using earplugs recently and didn’t hear the commotion.
Day 43
18.3 miles
Today was hard, cold and beautiful. I woke up at 5:30-there was no wind, and the sun rose, bright red on the horizon, then pale grey behind the clouds. We started hiking at 6:56, on trail at first, then off trail, side hill traversing along the ridge, as the trail had turned off the ridge the wrong direction. Mercifully there was boot track for large parts in the beginning. We climbed over hundreds of fallen trees, which eventually thinned out. We made our way towards Hoodoo Peak. The sky was dark, and a cold wind blew-the first snow flurries flew, then it snowed consistently for most of the rest of the day. We climbed up Hoodoo Peak, then at the saddle between its two prominences, we traversed down towards a trail. We finally saw the trail at 1 pm, wet, black earth against the accumulated snow around it. The trail faded in and out across a wide exposed plateau, wind blowing snow across the dead grass. A large cloud sat on the plateau, making visibility very poor. We finally reached the edge of Yellowstone park, where there was a sign, and the trail improved as it wound its way down, down, down. The snow stopped and we followed Sunlight Creek for a few miles, then turned up a dirt road. We walked this for about an hour till 6:30pm, when Jukebox and Stargate found a little camping spot. I got my tent up, got in my new amazing fleece pants, put on warm socks…and it started to sleet. Good timing.
Day 44
22.9 miles
I got moving early this morning, at 6:27am, because we still have quite a few miles to Shoshone Lodge and I had rented a cabin for us, which we wanted to enjoy. The dirt road led way up to a pass, which was covered in the light blanket of snow, glistening in the morning light. I got to the pass at 0800 and then started down the other side, now on trail. The trail faded in and out, going through a large burn area, and then connecting to Pachaska Sunlight Trail, then another trail, then to road to Shoshone. It was kind of a dull hiking
day, but at least the hiking was easy. I got to Shoshone at 5:15pm. The ladies working there were extremely friendly, wanting to know if we knew “Kevin” (Larry Boy.). The kind folks here had put Larry Boy up for free for the better part of a week after his grizzly bear attack, and were also holding his car for him-it was part of the reason I wanted to patronize the ranch by staying there. We had a delicious dinner in the cozy lodge, then relaxed in our cozy cabin. 10/10 recommend the Shoshone Lodge.
Day 45
18.3 miles
We all slept well in the cabin at Shoshone. We had breakfast in the lodge, packed up our large food carries and cold weather clothes we had had sent to ourselves, and left the ranch at about 10:30. It was a few miles of road walk to a forest service campground, and then onto a trail. I met a small horse train from a nearby ranch, and then only a few minutes later, a black bear wandered onto the trail 10 feet in front of me, looking the opposite direction. I said, “hey, bear,” in a conversational voice, and he looked at me with mild surprise and quickened his pace only slightly into the woods. These bears probably frequent that forest service campground and are used to people, for better or for worse. I hiked on along the Eagle Creek for the rest of the day, pretty, kind of bland scenery-but I was greatly enjoying listening to “Rebecca” by Daphne Du Morier on Audible. I hiked till 7:45 pm and found Jukebox and Stargate camped in a small break in the trees with basically exactly the dimensions of my tent left for space. I had some cereal and milk for dinner-I packed out 34 ounces of Honey Smacks, which it would be great to eat down.
Day 46
22.3 miles
I got moving at 7:35 am. The trail climbed immediately up over Eagle Pass 1600 feet, then down into Yellowstone Park. The rest of the day was flat and pretty boring and hot, following various creeks and rivers. I finished “Rebecca” and listened to about 4 hours of Brené Brown’s Audible series, which was very good. I hiked to Bridger Lake, just outside the park, and heard voices and a big splash-I thought Jukebox and Stargate had thrown something in the lake to scare me, but actually it was a beaver, hitting the water with his tail. I saw his lodge, kind of haphazardly built against some fallen logs, and as I got some water from the lake’s edge, he swam in slow circles, only maybe 15 feet from me. We passed out around 8:30 pm. It’s amazing that I’ll go back to working night shift at the hospital in some weeks-I’ve gotten really used to sleeping 9-10 hours all night.
Day 47
21.9 miles
It was cold in the night. Frost formed on the outside of the tents and I did not sleep well. I started hiking at 7:45am, splitting once again from Jukebox and Stargate. In the mid morning I received some very heavy personal news on my Inreach. I was standing in the trail, tears streaming down my face, and a pack train came along. The cowboy’s dog stopped and looked at me, and he wouldn’t keep going until the cowboys called him. Animals are so incredibly empathetic. The day was bright-a sunny fall day, and the willows are turning golden in the creek beds. Fall is in the air-it whispers in the aspens and the willows-“not much time now, make your plans for winter…” it speaks of the end of things-the end of happy golden days, the end of today, the end of now-the breakingly poignant reminder to savor every moment, and that life goes on, in the endless cycle of the seasons. Nature is indifferent to us-and yet it holds us, as one of its own, when we flee to it. It has held me this summer, held me as I tried to make sense of a great loss and honor our experience so that I may move forward with a whole, intact, unnumbed heart. For that I am immeasurably grateful.
I camped on a small floodplain of the creek, the sounds of the creek gently moving by. An evening bird swooped and gave one last call, and the sun set, once more over the jagged ridge line of the Tetons-I am nearly back to where I started. All grew dark, and I slept.
Day 48
6 miles
It was silent through the night. I woke with the sun-later now than when I started-and started hiking at 7:45. I hiked along a flat field, passing two pack trains. The horses eyed me warily in the second pack train, and I apologized to the cowboy for scaring his horses. “Oh, it’s okay. They’re alright, they’re just not used to seein’ people out here.” I came to the Pacific Creek trailhead and started walking down the dirt road towards the highway-and a Sprinter van pulled over and offered me a ride. It was a couple from Ohio in their 50s who had beautifully built out their van, all with custom woodwork inside. They drove me to Moran junction outside Teton National Park, and I was organizing my gear for about 3 minutes when another car pulled over and offered me a ride towards Dubois. It was an older man who worked in maintenance and facilities at the Park. We talked about the Park, and the wildlife, all the way to Union Pass, where he dropped me off-he was going up to the Pass to look at some land he was thinking about building a cabin on. In 10 minutes I was picked up again by an elderly rancher who delightfully alternated conversation about his mules, and “the idiots in this town who only listen to Fox News.” In Dubois, I had lunch, but it being Memorial Day weekend, there was no place in town to stay-everything was booked. I put my thumb out again and was quickly picked up by an utterly delightful girl, Mary, in her 20s, that said, “you’re my spirit animal!” When she met me. We chatted all the way to Lander, over an hour’s drive.
This is the end of my journey, so far as my feet are concerned. I do not feel calm and yoga-like. I feel instead-the poignancy of the changing season-the wistfulness of the grass, burnt caramel brown by the long summer sun-and the golden leaves. I feel the anxiety of death and change. And yet, the important thing is that I feel. I feel without distractions, without the numbing that comes with a packed schedule, and endless friends, and city clamor, and screens, and substances. This is a worthy place to be. And I will do my best to rest into this place that I find myself-to remain open and soft, rooted to the ground, letting my sacred light shine in all its brilliance-in all its rawness, the wonder and terror, the mundane and the exalted. I will try and stay in this body and mind that I am so infinitely lucky to inhabit, sitting here until the season turns again, and Spring arrives, and my heart is light and alive.
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