Everything's Gonna Be OK

:NINE FORTY SEVEN ANTE MERIDIEM:

:sometimes you’ve got to go north to get south:

at nine forty seven in the morning, my bearings are off.  i’m hiking downhill.  i’m hiking in a southerly direction.  i’m hiking down a river drainage.  those fit and seemed to be the good news.  as i looked back from my map, to my surroundings, to my compass, to my map, the mountains were all wrong.  i had jagged peaks on my left and nice sloping hills on my right.  i decided to jot it down as a hunch.  “9:47 -> S ?”  i wrote this down on the left margin of my map. if you are ever going to get lost, i’d recommend getting lost in the middle of the map.  trying to figure out where you are is much harder when you’ve wandered off the map you’re supposed to be following.

nine forty seven may seem pretty early to be lost, but i’d been on trail some of the morning.  we’d set our alarm to wake up at 5:00 that morning.  we woke up to the buzz and a pitch black sky.  we decided by yelling back and forth from our tents that we’d wait until a little bit of dawn was peeking above the mountains.  so when 5:45 rolled around so did some light in the sky and so did we roll out of our sleeping bags.  the reason we woke up so early is because we woke up with empty stomachs and nearly empty food bags.  on our way through the wind river range, adam and i took every side trip and high route.  we boulder hopped for miles and walked above treeline without trail for two solid days.  it was eight of the most amazing days of backpacking i’ve ever done, but the problem was we’d only packed food for seven.  on that last morning, we woke up with a little lunch, a few snacks, and thirty miles to hike before we could pick up our resupply box in south pass city.  and if that weren’t enough, the welcome center in south pass closes at 6:00pm, so we had thirty miles to hike before the doors were locked on our only chance for food.

i sat down at little sandy creek.  we’d been hiking for two hours and i decided to fill up with water before walking out of the mountains into the desert.  from there, i began climbing up to the divide by myself.  the continental divide trail is a national scenic trail but probably not much like what you’re expecting.  i left the creek to follow pink ribbons for half a mile.  after guessing from ribbon to ribbon, i began following cairns up a hillside.  there are places where the trail is well marked and obvious, but most days are guesswork and feeling.  lots of map checking, compass referencing, guessing, wandering, and gps confirming.  i came to the top of the hill and saw signs headed east.  the trail seemed nice and i got suspicious.  a little too nice.  after two months of walking this trail, i’m weary of when walking is too easy.  not to mention, this too nice trail was headed north and climbing.  i looked at my map and saw i needed to be headed south and downhill.  i decided i had missed it.  i figured i’d gotten caught up in the too nice trail.  i imagined i must have missed my trail to dinner along the way.  so i headed back down, back down to the river drainage.  down.  south.

you can make your maps read just about anything you want.  you can also make just about everything look like a trail.  maybe i’ve been walking on over-grown, zig-zagging trail for too long.  animal trails and rotting logs, dry creek beds and old logging roads, you’d be amazed.  after awhile of hiking down and over patchy guesswork trail, i finally stopped to think about where i was.

*it was nine forty seven in the morning, and i had a sneaking suspicion i was lost.  it wasn’t until ten thirty that i knew i was screwed.*

i climbed up to top the ridge on my left side.  i was rock scrambling before ten but i finally found a vantage point.  and at ten thirty i marked my map again.  i had wandered back onto the upper left hand corner of my map.  i had come off the ridge one river drainage too soon.  being off by one doesn’t sound so critical, but as i looked off the rocky top of the ridge, i found myself three miles west of the trail.  thirty miles was already pushing a long day and i was working on making a long day much longer.

at this point, i knew my location.  i had climbed two miles down a river drainage.  and looking back at this minute, as i stood on a craggy peak of a drooping ridge, i could have walked back.  i could have retraced my steps through the brush and clutter.  i could have clambered two miles back up the river drainage to that too nice trail.  i probably could have fixed my mistake in an hour.  i could have climbed up a little.  i probably would have hiked north to head around a knoll and then it would have been smooth sailing.  come to find, that too nice trail continued all the way to south pass city.  i would have been an hour late, but i would have been on trail.  i didn’t look back.  i looked forward.  i saw where the trees ended.  i saw the beginning of the desert.  i set a rough bearing.  i’d mirror the trail through my river drainage.  instead of heading backwards, instead of walking north, i’d just make my own short cut.  i’d ramble on.  south and east.

as i barged through the lodge pole pine forest, i thought about food.  i ate my last granola bar standing on that outlook at ten thirty.  i’d wanted my wits about me and my blood-sugar level high.  i still had a fraction of lunch left, and i thought about the last of the peanut butter and crackers.  it started to rain and the boulders that i’d been hopping down became slippery.  the surface of the downed trees was even trickier.  instead of being lost and hungry, now i was lost, hungry and frustrated.  i misjudged the angle of the down tree and how slippery it’s bark would be.  i crashed but got back up to walk it off quickly.  i didn’t think much of it until i felt my sock line sticking when my foot flexed.  i’d split my shin open.  there was no point in band aids as nothing would stick.  i clambered through marshy wetlands.  my feet, shoes, socks were completely soaked and my shins were a mess of blood, dirt, and hitch-hikers.  i could see the outline of were elk had laid down for a nights sleep.  i spooked a large herd of elk that scattered out of my way.  i also played hide and go seek with a bull elk who peered at me from behind trees, his antlers his dead give away.

i was constantly checking my compass and my map but i was stuck in a maze of pine trees.  i had no idea of the bigger picture.  i hadn’t been on the continental divide trail since around 9:00am and hadn’t seen another hiker since 8:00am.  then, at 12:57pm, i stumbled onto a snowmobile track.  i was elated.  sure this wasn’t the right trail.  it was water-logged from all of the melted snow pack.  the mud almost swallowed my left shoe, but the orange diamond marker was proof that i was somewhere.  i would have to come out somewhere.  i came out of the trees at 1:05pm.  my shoes were still sopping, but i was standing in desert.  i sat down to change my socks and ate half of my already skimpy lunch.  for the fourth time that day, i wrote the time and a question mark on my map where i thought i might be.

before i started this hike, the mental images i attached to the word desert were sand dunes and camels.  the desert i was standing in was a maze of wyoming sage brush.  the scrubby brush is just as bleak as miles of sand.  the limbs thrash your legs and hide cactuses.  i bushwhacked my way over to a fence line.  the ground was lumpy, but the sage brush next to the fence line is always the shortest.  i soon realized that this fence line was headed straight south toward blucher creek so i hopped my first fence at 1:54pm.  i finally stumbled onto a four-wheeler track and followed it south-east.  i would watch herds of pronghorn antelope bound away for open pastures from time to time.  each pack was a distraction from the sage brush horizon and i considered their white bellies a good omen.

i held out until just after 4 o’clock, but i finally sat down to finish my lunch.  i had a wasa cracker and i cleaned my peanut butter jar scratching for every last bit. i started to day-dream of the sandwiches rumored to be at the general store in south pass city. i’d given adam money and an order for three sandwiches.  i got up to continue walking but that day-dream played on in my mind.  i thought i might miraculously get picked up hitchhiking on a dirt road.  i hadn’t seen a vehicle since togwotee pass 9 days prior, but this is the story that came to my mind.  a guy would pick me up.  he would be on his way back from Lander, WY. as we rode toward south pass city, he’d tell me about how he’d been sent to the big city for extra lunch meat and cheese.  he’d tell me about a crazy hiker who had come into the general store his wife ran to order six sandwiches.  i’d then tell him that three of those sandwiches were for me.  we’d laugh and ask “what are the chances?”  but that ride never came.  and the antelope were graceful, but they weren’t good omens.

i crossed sweetwater river shortly thereafter.  i threw rocks into the river for a make-shift bridge to cross.  i hopped another fence and i quit counting or keeping track of time.  i just walked east.  i was frying in the late afternoon sun and there wasn’t a tree for miles.  only sage brush, and more sage brush.  as i walked, i began to smell something dead, cooking in the sun, rotting and wafting toward me.  the next fence i came to had caught an antelope.  most of the body had been scavenged, but the remains told the story.  the antelope had gotten its back leg caught between the top two strings of barbwire.  its leg still hung from the fence and the bones and rotting remains laid strewn out toward me.  i took it as a sign and crawled under this fence.

the next river had a sandy shore so my plans for a bridge were dashed.  i took off my shoes and waded through cow shit muddied water.  i tried not to think about my bloody leg.  the sun was quickly dipping and i knew that daylight was my only chance to identify any landmarks.  i sat down to put my shoes back on and saw i wasn’t only racing time.  the second storm of the day was gathering speed and the dark clouds spanned the entire sky.  when there are no trees, you can see storms for miles.  and when there is nothing to absorb the sound, thunder rolls and reverberates forever.  i always want to outrun storms, but i always know i’ll never make it.  i see a group of cows run in front of me.  i figure they know best, and i consider running south with them to dodge and light show behind me.  but i can’t.  i know that i’ve strayed too far south and that my road to food lies due east.

i can’t help thinking this is not how i wanted to go out.  struck by lightening in the middle of no-where cow field sage brush desert wyoming.  at some point i tighten down the shoulder straps of my backpack and start to run.  maybe inspired by the cows.  maybe trying to out run the storm.  maybe trying to get found before darkness sets in for good.  maybe i was just trying to distract myself from the chances of getting struck by lightening.  but i bounce cross-country with my forty pound pack glued to my back.  then i hit a sage brush bush wrong and my next foot plants askew.  i stop.  i breath deep.  my ankle is fine but i realize this is stupid.  the storm closes in and i see lightening strike all-around, but a twisted ankle will help nothing.  so i continue on, east.  ever east.

by the time i see the road, i’m soaked.  but i’m saved.  i saw a paved road and power lines, and i knew they led somewhere. and i knew that somewhere had food.  i had to crawl under two more barbedwire fences but finally i came to stand on wyoming highway 28 at 8:33 pm.  i put my thumb out betting on a sympathy hitch.  who could resist a cold, stranded hiker as night time set in?  the answer is, all of wyoming.  i stood there being sprayed by every 18-wheeler and horse trailer that sped past.  the speed limit of 65 mph seemed more of a suggestion.  so after thirty minutes, i started walking north.  i still turned around to put my thumb out for each passing car but no luck.

finally, i saw a sign for north bound traffic.  it read “Lander  37.”  i knew i was close.  i knew that i was looking for a jeep road to my right.  i walked past the first jeep road and as much as i wanted to be on trail, it felt wrong.  i got to the next jeep road at 10:12pm.  the batteries for my headlamp were tired and i searched around.  i crossed Hwy 28 to make sure the jeep road ran on both sides of the road.  and i saw it.  i saw the continental divide trail marker nailed to a fence post. i was standing on the continental divide trail for the first time since 9:00 o’clock that morning.  13 hours later.  a day long of lost.  there had been small victories, but now, standing in my rain jacket with my hood pulled tight.  i could see my breath in my headlamp beams.  i was back on trail.

this trail is much more theory than practice.  there is an official trail, but it often goes cross-country.  there are alternate trails and jeep roads and old logging roads and fence lines that convulute this maze even more.  to navigate all of this, adam and i are carrying a two sets of maps, a guidebook with supplimental inserts, a gps, a compass, and a half-read book called ’staying found.’  the maps have been put together by jonathan ley, who we refer to as ‘johnny baby’, and the guidebook was written by a gentleman named james wolf, known to us as ‘the wolfman’.  the next four miles felt like feeling your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.  my headlamp was low and the moon set early that night.  i followed the wolfman’s notes like a treasure map.  he led me over cattle guards and through dead ox creek (my left foot submerged and i couldn’t help but laugh.  this day wouldn’t have been right without one more soaking wet foot.) and beside a fence line.  (the stars were miraculous and their beauty eased my mind.)

i came to a point when wolfman’s directions became fuzzy.  his notes seemed to direct me right while my compass was pointing me left.  i put my faith in the wolfman and followed his lead.  after ten minutes of confusion, i decided to trust my compass.  i’m sure the wolfman’s directions would have made more daytime sense.  i was almost ready to call it.  i thought i would trust my compass, but i also thought about cowboy camping till morning.  till the sun rose and i could see south pass city by the morning sunshine.  i followed my compass north.  i could see a light off in the distance.  i knew south pass city was the only excuse for buildings.  i knew i’d either stumbled across someone’s desert get-away or i was finally walking toward dinner.

i fixed my course toward my north star.  as i got closer, i noticed the outline of more buildings and more neon lights.  finally, i found another CDT sign.  i followed it across the river.  south pass city is not much of a city at all.  the welcome sign lists the population as “about 7.”  i went straight to my guiding light to find it was a Coke machine standing outside the city public restrooms.

i look around, expecting to find adam camped out in a green, grassy city square.  i find a note that adam had met someone in town and that he’d be sleeping just up the street. i look at my watch as i walk to my final resting place.  its 12:33am.  i begin to whistle.  minutes later, i hear adam call out, “hey valley, that you?” the front lights flip on.  i walk in to meet sam.  exhausted. wet.  cold.  hungry.  half-crazed.  i try to talk.  i try to act presentable.  but all i can do is ask adam for sandwiches. the sandwiches i’ve been dreaming of for hours.  adam shakes his head no.  the general store no longer serves sandwiches. instead, he hands me cookies. and pretzels.  and muffins.  and more cookies.  i sit down.  and adam turns on the voice recorder and i spill the story.  i ramble on for what seems like days worth of adventures and horror stories.  but gradually, i feel better.  i make six packs of oatmeal.  i eat trail mix by the fistful.  i start to laugh as i tell my tale. i am thankful to have a floor to sleep on.  a roof over my head.  i try to thank sam as best i can.  but at way past midnight.  way past my hiker bedtime. i just mumble as i fall asleep.  to finally eat those three sandwiches in my dreams.

…  the best part of this story is to compare my day with adam’s.  he’d gotten to town at 5:00pm.  that too nice trail that i hadn’t trusted had strolled right in to south pass city.  he’d met hunters who’d offered him granola bars along the way.  he’d met four of the seven south pass residents.  sam had made pork chops and served chocolate cake his mom had made.  he’d had cookies and watched a movie.  he wasn’t worried one bit and assumed i’d camped with other hiker friends.  he’d drawn grand arrows along the trail to mark the way to south pass city for me.  too bad that i never saw a one of them.  …

…  this story wouldn’t be complete without thank you’s.  to sam.  but also to cooper’s mom for cookies and jason’s mom for muffins and pretzels.  and thanks to my parents for sending oatmeal packets and extra trail mix.  …

and that is a day in the very lost life of kevin slowboat blackwell.  continental divide trail.  2009.