1. Run through the puddles and make big splashes
2. Run through the mud and get cool mud splatters on your legs
3. Wear traction devices when things are icy/snowy
4. If it’s really muddy, head somewhere else

• Remember to maintain appropriate social distancing – maintain at least 6-foot separation at all times
• No hugs, handshakes, high fives or elbow bumps
• Wash your hands, or use hand sanitizer, before and after your run
• Sneeze or cough into a tissue or the inside of your elbow
• If your feel any sign of sickness or illness, stay home

• Maintain proper social distancing 
• Yield to uphill users 
• Allow others to pass by stepping of trail (6’) and staying in place – don’t DOOM THE BLOOM! 
• Do not run or ride parallel to the trail 
• Run through the mud 
• Follow directional trails where indicated to improve social distancing 
• See the attached maps for one way trails for North Hills, Tower Street and Barmeyer 
• If a trailhead is busy – go somewhere else 
• Choose less busy times to recreate if you can 
• Best times seem to be early in the morning and before noon 
• Busiest times are after 3:00 PM 
• Pack It In, Pack It Out 
• Smile, say hi and be pleasant

By Kristina Pattison, DPT, OCS, CSCS 

Maddie Small, Alpine South physical therapist and runner. 

“My legs are not moving. I must need maintenance.” -- Battle droid with the body of a C-3PO.

“I got a baaaad feeling about this.” -- Han Solo or anyone in every Star Wars movie ever.

“Uhghghghghghghghghghghgh!” -- Chewbacca  

“Do or do not. There is no try. “ -- Yoda

 A Tale of Two Disciplines: Trail Runner Edition

By Jesse Carnes

Photos by Monte Cole

---

Looking up, I could see a lanky silhouette against the morning sky, loping up the all-too-familiar last pitch that leads to a small rock outcropping marking the summit of Mount Sentinel. Making a conscious effort not to be demoralized by the chasm of time between Adam’s arrival at the summit and my own, I trudged onward and upward. I figured I had four, maybe five more minutes until I would be at that joyous spot, the end of so many soul-crushing efforts. On this particular morning, though, it would only be the first finish line.

Adam had latched onto this workout as part of his preparation of the Moab Trail Marathon, which serves as the trail marathon national championship race. As the 2019 champion and course record holder, he was looking to repeat this year. Spoiler: he did. He was able to talk two of us into joining him for the morning’s conquest: the other was Larry, his father. Larry would only be joining for the climb, and stressed that he *might* make it down in time to see us finish the flat portion of the workout.

We met at 8:00 in the morning, during that period of time where the sun has technically risen, but because we live in the mountains we won’t see it for another half hour. It was cold, windy, and just kind of generally unpleasant weather-wise, but it would only get better. Adam and Larry each donned a pair of microspikes, while I opted for more minimal traction, pulling on a pair of Due North multipurpose traction aids (known in layman’s terms as “the ones with the little blue circles and pins”). My thought was that the rocks on the dry sections of the ridge might make microspikes unpleasant. About 3 minutes later, I would come to regret my choice.

Despite some slippage, I found a decent rhythm on much of the climb. It became clear early on I would be nowhere near my best time, but I had intentionally avoided setting any kind of goal time. I would be putting in whatever kind of effort was “hard” on that particular day. Not long after watching Adam’s silhouette crest the summit in just a hair under 19 minutes - and anyone who has ever climbed Sentinel ridge can appreciate just how fast that is - I hit what I generally consider to be my “4 minutes from the top” spot. Given that I had one more solid ice patch to navigate, I set my first goal of the day at that point - make it to the top in under 24 minutes. I cut it pretty close, pushing the pace a bit in the last 50 meters to reach the rock outcropping in 23:57.

Halfway done!

So, with our climbing times in the bank, we had built-in goal times for the four-mile road effort. Conveniently, the math on mine was pretty easy. 24 minutes = 6 minutes per mile. Oof. Meanwhile, Adam’s climb time was fast enough that matching it on the road would likely be unrealistic. He set a goal of running a nice, even 20 minutes, or 5 minutes per mile. Double oof. We slowly jogged down the mountain, trying not to dwell on the effort awaiting us at the bottom.

I spent quite a few years racing triathlons, and there’s a common type of workout referred to as a “brick” workout. This involves switching quickly from one discipline to another (most commonly bike to run) in order to condition one’s muscles to the transition between the two. Anyone who has ever gotten off a bike after a hard ride and tried to immediately take off running knows this is not an easy task. However, with practice, that rubbery feeling in your legs starts to fade, and you learn to run with a fairly efficient stride even after a very hard ride. Similarly, as trail runners, if we practice the transitions between uphill, downhill, and flat running, in every combination, it starts to become easier to move seamlessly through a variety of terrain.

And so, to make ourselves better trail runners (or maybe just for fun - it’s hard to tell sometimes), there we were, embarking on a flat, paved, four-mile time trial with tired legs and even more tired lungs. I watched Adam pull away with the standard thought of “It doesn’t look like he’s running that fast; maybe if I just run a little harder I can keep in contact.” Fortunately, I know that feeling well. I also know what can happen if you listen to that voice.

I settled in and ticked off the first mile in 5:56. Perfect. Hit the 2-mile turnaround in 11:57. Wished I hadn’t slowed down those 4 seconds, but it would do. Turned around and headed back. Slowed down a little more and came through three miles in 18:12. I could taste every foot of the ridgeline trail in the back of my throat.

“It’s okay, I’ll claw it back in the last mile.” These types of thoughts rarely seem to pan out.

Then we hit the headwind. It turned out there was a reason that first mile had felt easier than I thought it should, and the exact same reason was now making the last mile quite a lot harder. Running through proverbial molasses for the last few minutes, I closed my four-mile effort at approximately marathon race pace, missing my Sentinel ridge time by 40 seconds. Adam had missed his 20-minute goal time by a mere 12 seconds.

Just as I reached the crosswalk that served as our start/finish line, Larry ambled off the M trail, grinning from ear to ear. Another great morning on the mountain.

Defending my USATF Trail Marathon Title

By Adam Peterman 

Photo courtesy of ATRA

Erin and I had travelled to Moab, Utah to race the Moab Trail Marathon, which doubles as the USATF Trail Marathon National Championships.  I won the race last year, but because of so many race cancellations due to the COVID pandemic and a case of overtraining this summer, I hadn’t really run many races since.  

A week before the race, Jesse Carnes, my dad, and I partook in a brutal workout--the Sentinel/4 mile.  In this Missoula-specific workout, you run up Mount Sentinel via the ridge trail as fast as you can, jog down to the base, and then run a flat 4 mile as fast as you can.  You can read more about that in Jesse’s excellent write up.  The workout went well given the icy conditions: 19 minutes up Sentinel, 20:11 for the flat 4 mile.  After that workout I felt pretty confident going into the Trail Champs, but I try to not put too much stock into workouts and how things feel until the gun goes off.

Flash forward to the evening before the race.  Erin and I were enjoying a nice evening at our campground near the race start.  The wind was beginning to get gusty, but I didn’t think much of it.  Right before we planned on going to our tent to sleep, the wind really picked up and blasting sand down the canyon.  This didn’t seem like an issue until I observed sand flying beneath the rain fly of our tent, through the screen, and into the tent.  Time for plan B.  

Photo courtesy of Adam Peterman

We pointed my Subaru nose to the wind, opened up the hatchback door so my feet could hang out the back, and crawled into our bags. This worked for most of the night, until the wind grew so strong that it seemed to be traveling around the car and shooting sand back up through the open hatchback. The night passed in a blur of tossing and turning; get up to shut the door, get up to crack a window, getting up to open the door again…you get the picture. We finally woke up around 5:30, disgruntled with our restless night, but urged onward by the scent of coffee and the onset of some pre race nerves. 

...

Although the night before the race wasn’t ideal, I feel like it doesn’t really matter how you sleep the day before the race as long as you’ve slept well the rest of the week.  Erin and I both laughed off last night’s sandstorm and focused on the task ahead.  

There were about 20 men in the elite heat all wearing masks and social distancing at the start line.  The starting line feels different during the COVID times: less jostling, less joking around, more awkward, but I think everyone just felt so grateful to be at a race again.  

The gun went off and I found myself at the front with former University of Colorado runner, Andy Wacker.  Andy is notorious for taking races out hot from the gun, but I was happy to be running with an old friend from Boulder.  

This went on for a few miles, until at mile 8 I just knew I was running over my head.  I dropped back and ran at a pace that felt sustainable to me given the hills and technical running ahead.  I chilled out on the first big descent and immediately got passed by David Sinclair, winner of the 2018 Rut 28k.  

Once I was in 3rd, doubts started to creep into my head.  I chose to ignore the negativity and focus on what I could control.  I started taking a gel every 20 minutes and continued to keep my effort consistent.  

I moved back into 2nd place on a flat road section, continued to keep my effort controlled but hard, and finally caught back up to Andy at the top of Hurrah Pass, a 1.5 mile, 1000 foot climb onto the slickrock plateau overlooking the Colorado River.  

We ran together for another few miles before I offered to take a pull into the wind.  I felt pretty good after taking in a bunch of calories and was excited to finally lead for a bit.  To my surprise, once I started leading, my lead grew.  Now I was fired up to be feeling good this late in the race, so I picked up the pace and made sure to keep eating and drinking.  

The course has a long descent from mile 20 - 23, where you pass by the finish line and complete a 5k “adventure run” section that takes you up a ladder, a steep slickrock part that requires a rope, and a small cave. During last year’s trail marathon I blew up terribly during the last 10 minutes of the race and could hardly stand up after finishing.  

Photo courtesy of Peter Maksimow

This year, I made sure that didn’t happen. Because I’d taken so much GU and water, I came through mile 23 feeling pretty good and was able to cruise through the final 5k without bonking and was even able to really enjoy the final mile.  

The pandemic has had devastating effects on so many people and their families, so it feels wrong to complain about how COVID has affected my life through cancelled races that I cared about. But I will say this: 2020 was the first year since college where I went all in on running again.  I work for RE Events, I coach cross country at Hellgate High School, and I train for races.  When COVID wiped 2020 races off the calendar, I felt like I’d made a mistake in caring so much about something that didn’t exist anymore and something so selfish.  Running this race, seeing old college teammates, and crossing the finish line was a wonderful feeling after a year of uncertainty.  Let’s hope that 2021 holds a little more normalcy! 

MTC Note: Missoula runner Tim Mosbacher loves a challenge. After completing his quest to finish marathons in all 50 states, he found himself dreaming up something new. The following report is the first installment of a multi-part series recapping Tim's journey on the Montana section of the CDT with his running buddy Ken Ellis. Check back in the coming weeks to follow the adventure unfold.

Summer on the CDT Part I: Yellowstone

by Tim Mosbacher

In the summer of 2018, Ken Ellis and I started a journey of hiking Montana’s 1000-mile section of the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). This is our story. We would be remiss if we did not acknowledge the difference between our hiking just Montana and those who have thru hiked the entire trail from the Mexican border of New Mexico to the border of Canada. Those of our friends, as well as those we do not know, who have completed the entire trail (as well as the Appalachian and Pacific Crest Trails), are truly physical and mental giants. I always kept in mind on the trail something thru hiker J Reilly told me: “Do not think you are anything special when you get into town. All you have done is gone for a walk.” 

Our story has two possible beginnings. I believe it started on a run up Mount Sentinel with a couple of running buddies, one who was Ken Ellis. Ken stated that he would love to hike the Montana section of the CDT trail. He explained he wasn’t getting any younger and he needed to try it soon. I, as someone who was retiring that year and being a giving person, told him I would love to help him out. I am a man of my word, and I would not let him down by backing out. Soon after, my wife bought me a tarp and jacket to go on the jaunt. I was in. 

Ken believes the story started on that same run, but with me saying I wanted to hike the trail as a retirement celebration. He maintains that he joined the trip as a way to help me with my retirement. This debate about our journey’s inception would sustain us about four hours a day once we began. 

It begins with a handshake

Neither of us had backpacked more than three or four days. Both of us started buying gear and food, talking to others who had thru hiked, and making an itinerary. We heavily relied on Forrest and Sara Boughner, J Reilly, and Tod Bachman, and had them review our itinerary and supplies. Monday, June 18 was set as D Day with a start at Old Faithful in Wyoming. 

To be honest I was nervous and afraid, but nonetheless we arrived in Yellowstone National Park and registered for our one night of in-park camping. The rangers were excited for us, as we were the first thru hikers registering for 2018. They informed us that they had no idea of the trail conditions ahead of us and that we would be the only ones heading that direction. Boy were they right. 

We started around 1:00pm, with only eleven miles to hike that day. We were going to ease into it. It wasn’t much of an ease in. We started with it sprinkling, then a downpour. I immediately had to put on all of my clothing just to stay warm. We were surrounded by tourists, but the trail was not marked, and we immediately had to consult our maps. It was so beautiful, but cold and wet and we had 1000 miles ahead of us. We said goodbye to our “Beckys” after two miles. It was tough to see them go the other direction, toward a warm car. 

It was pouring rain as we crossed Highway 89 and entered the Biscuit Basin. There were a lot of people scurrying around in the rain, but we kept going and passed them and the geysers. We hit our first trail junction soon after. Our trail veered to the left, with Mystic Falls to the right. Ken went to the right. I stopped him and we had an interesting discussion about trail arrows. In his defense, trail markings are oftentimes confusing. We immediately dropped into a depression and had to wade over, under, and through the Firehole River. We had gone 3.5 miles and I was miserable. My mental strength was under attack and there were only 996.5 miles to go. 

Snow for days

After a while the rain stopped, and our speed and spirits picked up. It was short lived. We had now hit waist deep snow, with a difficult-to-follow trail. Many people imagine the CDT as this clearly marked trail with nice signs. For starters, the national park does not allow CDT markers, so the trail was indicated by orange markers. The hunt was on in the snow. Luckily the snow only lasted for about two miles and we arrived at our camp spot at Summit Lake around 6pm. Not enough time to dry out our gear, but just enough time to eat and to get ready for the next day. 

Fist night. Typical setup.

Day 2 we awoke to a sprinkle and wet clothes. No matter, as the day started with a one-mile slog through a marshy swamp. This thru hiking was starting to lose its appeal. Once we left the marsh, our spirits rose for a few minutes until we struck more snow. We had hit a cool geyser area, but at 8600 feet, it was covered in snow. More waist deep snow. We struggled through the snow for around four miles and then we hit the Montana border! 

Fortunately we were now on an old road and could make some time. Ken is a fast walker, and I just tried to keep up. On trails he was always polite and let me lead so I could control the pace. The roads were crazy. They were mostly closed to cars but used by snowmobilers. There were so many snowmobile parts strewn across the miles of road, we predicted that if we could gather the parts, we could build a complete snowmobile. 

First CDT sign in Montana

Sometime around that day’s 22nd mile, a storm hit. We cowered under a tree as it poured. Somehow we were able to get cell reception and we called our Beckys. This was one of the lowest points for me. I was cold, tired, and wanted to quit. I might have even cried a little. After the storm passed we went another two miles. We realized we had lucked out, as huge hail was strewn everywhere on the road. It was a sleepless night as my pad got a hole and Ken slept so well he snored the entire night. The drawback of sleeping under the same tarp. 

Going up

The third day we started to get our groove. It was sprinkling when we awoke, but we were getting the hang of our routine, so tearing down camp went quickly. We would wake around 5:45 am, take around five minutes to get out of our bivy sacks and eat dry food (pop tarts) while tearing down the tarp and packing our packs . We would be on the move by 6:15. We usually did not talk much during this time. 

Artifact on the trail

We had five easy miles of road to start the day, then would be heading north to the Two Top Divide, a popular winter snowmobiling destination. A few miles before Two Top, we found a snowmobile left behind in the woods after a tree accident. Soon after we had a unique experience. Ken had no sooner said that this looked like great elk habitat when we were startled by the sound of something crashing through the woods. It was a huge bull elk which was no more than 20 yards from us. The elk stopped, startled by our appearance, and then proceeded on. He was quickly followed by four more bull elk, each stopping and proceeding in turn. 

On this day, like all the proceeding days, we would stop to eat around 11:00am. By then we would have covered usually 11 to 16 miles and would be hungry after eating such a small breakfast. We would usually stop if the sun was out so we could dry our gear while eating (Mountain House meal for me, while Ken had his first coffee and usually oatmeal). Due to the amount of work to take out and hang up gear along with eating, this stop would last around 45 minutes to an hour. On this day, we stopped right below Two Top in the grass, next to a stream, in the sun. It was like the picture you see on a Mountain House meal, except we were more tired and dirty. 

Terraces on the mountains

Eight miles after lunch we crossed Highway 20 that leads to West Yellowstone. We stopped on the other side of the road and while eating our early dinner (for me a flour tortilla and some beef sticks) and watched people take their pictures at the “entering Montana” sign. I was jealous. They were comfortable, smiling, drinking soda, etc. We put our packs back on; we had more miles to go. We hiked through a valley that had ant hills as far as you could see. I have never seen so many in one location. Then while taking a break and talking to our Beckys on our phones, the strangest thing happened. A runner came up the trail. He would be the first and only person we saw on the trail for the entire 76-mile section. 

After another mile, around 7:00pm, we set up camp on a ledge. As the daylight faded, West Yellowstone appeared in lights in the distance. It was incredible. 

We awoke early to a beautiful morning. We had camped at around 8700 feet and were above an inversion over West Yellowstone. Vacationers were probably grumbling about the weather while we basked in sunlight. We set off on an aggressive pace as we would be being resupplied today at Raynold’s Pass. The day ended up being one of the most beautiful of the trip as we hiked along a ridge above Targhee Creek. At one point the entire mountain side was terraced for some reason. We saw elk and mountain goats, and followed grizzly prints down switchbacks. After about nine miles we lost the trail in deep snow. 

We were above 9500 feet and just north of Targhee Peak. We found some faint footprints and tried to follow our cryptic map the best we could. Eventually at around 10,000 feet we came upon a huge boulder field that we had to navigate. This ended up being easier than what was to come. We hit a snowfield on a pretty extreme slope. It would be a long way down if you made a mistake. Fortunately we made it up and over the pass in time for some lunch. 

The water supply

Amazingly we had cell service and we called my wife and asked her to bring us a pizza and some sodas. Our plan was to meet her at Raynold’s Pass at 3:00, resupply and keep on our way. We had extra spirit in our legs. The sun was shining and I was excited to see my wife and get our first resupply. As we neared the pass, dark clouds appeared in the west. We continued our rapid pace and got to the pass about half an hour early, just before the clouds opened up with a wind storm, hail, and a pounding rain. We huddled under the historical sign at the pass and watched people drive by in warm cars. Some would stop, including a woman who sat in her pickup smoking as we got drenched. 

At 3:00, Becky showed up. We were defeated and asked her to take us into Ennis so we could dry off in a hotel room and get a meal. No sooner than ten miles driving down the road, the sun came out. We ate the pizza she picked up, got a room, dried our gear, and ate another dinner in town. Being in town was refreshing!

Pizza couldn't come soon enough

Climbing up in the Centennial Mountains following Hell Roaring Creek

Summer on the CDT Part 2: Raynolds Pass to Lima
by Tim Mosbacher

After a night’s rest in Ennis, we got up early and drove back to where we had left off and where it was raining just as hard as the day before, at Raynolds Pass.  I hugged my wife goodbye, and we were off.  After about fifty yards, I decided I wanted to switch out of the new shoes I had put on that morning, but upon turning around, I realized my wife was already gone.  This would haunt me in the days ahead.

We struck out in the tall grass through the hills of the southern tip of the Gravelly Mountain Range.  It was easy going, and after a couple of miles we hit an eight-mile road section.  We loved road sections because we could make up for lost time.  For me, they were great but painful because it was hard to keep up with Ken’s long stride.  He was especially motivated since we were about to hike much of the length of the Centennial Mountains. 

Hiking in the Centennials looking South into Idaho - looking for rock cairns to tell you the way

We crossed the eastern edge of the Centennial Valley and entered the Centennial Mountains.  It was rather funny because the trail was marked by a CDT sign about every 100 meters, which had not been the norm.  We soon were climbing high above the valley and had a spectacular view looking down upon the Red Rock Lakes National Wildlife Refuge. 

Red Rock Lakes National Wildlife Refuge below the Centennial Mountains

As the day wore on, the back of my right foot started to chafe.  Nothing I could do would alleviate it (in hindsight, not sure why I did not try a runner’s knot).  We gradually climbed from around 7000 to over 9000 feet.  The views of northern Idaho and the Tetons were spectacular.  We could see for hundreds of miles.  The trail was rough with hardened vole trails everywhere, making it painful to walk.  My foot started to really hurt. After 24 miles we called it a day and set up camp on the mountainside. 

Campspot and making a call home when you can

We could tell it might rain, but did not expect the storm that hit us.  Lightening was all around us and the wind was howling.  Getting out of a bivy is difficult at our age, but naked and in a storm made it even crazier.  We ran around in the dark trying to find rocks to weight down the stakes holding down the tarp.  We were successful, but somehow during the night my sleeping bag angled out from under the tarp and by morning I was drenched.  Two people under one tarp was not working out.

If you have never slept in a bivy, you need to try it.  Each night one of us would say we were “getting into the cockpit,” i.e., bivy.  It is like climbing into a cocoon.  You cannot bend or move, and your face is about a half inch from the mosquito netting cover.  Many people would be claustrophobic in one.  Getting out of it, especially if you are not flexible, is an achievement.  Deciding to use the restroom at night became a huge mental tug of war of whether it was worth the effort.

Drying the sleeping bag while hiking (notice the lack of trail)

The next morning was sunny so we hiked with our bags hanging out of our packs to dry.  Once again the views were mind-blowing as we hiked along old trails and roads that had once been used for mining.  We entered an old growth forest that was incredible, and then a strange occurrence happened.  We saw people on the trail.  We were now over 115 miles from Old Faithful and had only seen the one runner above West Yellowstone days earlier, but all of a sudden the trail had people on it.  Numerous people were hiking into Aldous Lake, located on the Idaho side of the Centennial Mountains.  We quickly hiked through this area and were soon faced with another concern.

About five miles after Aldous Lake we took shelter from a passing storm.  When we started to hike again, there was no trail.  We looked for the trail, we backtracked, Ken used his phone to try to locate us, but we could not find the trail.  We had a good handle on where we thought we were, so we just started hiking through a burn area.  After about an hour, we finally stumbled across the trail that a prior fire had wiped out.  It cost us quite a bit of time and rattled us a bit since it was our first time getting lost.  We shut her down a little early, but we had hiked 24 miles and needed a rest.

Always good to find a CDT sign, especially when you are close to a resupply

In the morning we started fast, as later that day we were going to be resupplied in Lima by the Beckys.  We had 24 miles to go by 3:00, with no water for the last 16 miles, but we ended with seven miles of road hiking.  I had read from other thruhikers that the Lima bar had the best steaks that you self-grill in the middle of the bar.  It was all I could think about as we plowed through the miles.  It got hotter and hotter, and we had little water, but sure enough at 3:00 we got picked up at our designated spot and rode into Lima. 

Resupply was always a highlight, and it was what we dreamed about the entire time hiking.  In Lima, we ate one of the best meals I’ve had in my life at the Peat Steakhouse and then proceeded to sit outside and repack our packs.  Our lodging was devised from a single-wide mobile home converted into two hotel rooms on the same lot as Peat’s.  The next section was going to be four days, 103 miles, and would end up being one of the toughest sections.

Ken Ellis cooking up a steak at the Peat Steakhouse in Lima

 Summer on the CDT Part 3: Lima to Bannock

by Tim Mosbacher

Missoula runner Ken Ellis on the CDT

Getting up to leave Lima was difficult.  Resupply was always so relaxing, but rushed at the same time.  With limited time to eat as well as repacking the packs and cleaning up, time just seemed to fly.  We drove back to our previous day’s pick up spot with the notion of having an easy day ahead of us.  When driving over Monida Pass, we thought the hills looked so friendly.  How wrong we were. 

Crazy hills southwest of Lima

We started off with the plan of running the first eight miles of road.  Becky Riley would run with us, while my wife would meet us where the trail exited the road.  The run was relaxing, and we thought we would get a big jump on the miles and have a huge day.  Immediately after putting on our packs, we started hiking straight up.  I had not looked at the elevation gain on the map.  The trail wasn’t a trail, but a 1.5-mile fence line heading up a 1500ft ridge.  I just put my head down and challenged myself to make it to the next sage brush, then repeat, and repeat again.  Luckily for us, despite having no shade, there was a cooling 30 mph breeze.   

We quickly realized our hopes for having a big day were not to be fulfilled.  The “trail” followed a ridge for only eleven miles, but that ridgeline gained and lost 300 ft about every quarter mile.  By the time we headed down to a stream, we were out of water and at 8900 ft of elevation.  At the end of the day, we had only gone 25 miles with basically an eight-mile head start.  We joked that after eight days and 176 miles, we still had not reached the 200+ mileage that Todd Bachman runs for fun on a weekend.

Camping the first night of this section posed a dilemma we had not faced before.  Is it better to cross a big stream before you camp and have to get into wet shoes in the morning, or camp before the stream and have a crossing immediately in the morning?  We opted to camp before the stream in a nice spot, but crossed the stream anyway in an attempt to get cell service.  I had bandaged my heel before this crossing and thus the bandage did not stay on.

In the morning we awoke surprisingly rested and without soreness from the previous day.  The morning started with a three-mile 1600ft climb topping out over 9000ft. The Beaverhead Mountains were kicking our butts.  We soon lost 1200 ft, then gained 800 ft. You get the idea.  We got lost for a short time on a hillside covered in flowers and with no visible trail.  It was beautiful but hard work.  We would try to spot a cairn in the distance and then make our way through the flowers.

Miles of Flowers

In the middle of nowhere we encountered a guy on a bike, our first person in 70 miles.  We talked with him a bit and later came across his camper parked at Bannock Pass.  This “Bannock Pass” became our biggest issue of the entire thruhike.  Our next resupply was supposed to be at Bannock Pass.  I was really troubled about how I could have made the mistake of saying that the resupply would be at Bannock Pass, and here we were at Bannock Pass after just one day.  In our confusion, I just needed to read the map correctly and it would have told us there were two passes named Bannock.  Instead we called Becky Riley and said it might be Lemhi Pass, rather than Bannock Pass.

Onward!

We continued on to Deadman’s Lake.  It was wild because we followed for some time the tracks of someone who drove a jeep, through the woods straight up the mountain and then skirted the side of another.  Crazy.  We jumped in the lake but decided since it was not dark to climb out of the valley for another 26-mile day.  We camped in an open field around 8600 feet and just slept under the stars.  The sky was so clear that night without any light interference. 

Ken's view and setup before a night under the stars

The next morning we crossed a beautiful ridge below the highest peaks of the Beaverhead Mountains.  We entered a valley that contained Nicholai Creek.  This creek was stunning.  We passed the Harkness Lakes as we climbed to nearly 10,000 feet.  When we got to the top of the ridge we heard a noise that was definitely not natural, but incredible.  Swooping BELOW us were two F15s from Mountain Home Air Force base in Idaho.  It was incredible to look down on the planes as they whipped through the openings in the mountains.  We were dazed. 

Ken heading down Nicholai Creek Drainage

Not long after, we came across probably the biggest herd of elk yet, about 60 head.  We got pretty close before they trotted off.  Later, as we ate our 5:00 snack, we encountered thick mosquitoes for only the second time on the trip.  We had been lucky as far as bugs went.  That night we set up camp after only a 21-mile day on a ridge at about 9000ft.  As we lay in camp, about 15 elk appeared and headed straight toward us.  They had their heads down eating and just kept walking toward our camp.  We were unsure if we should let them keep going, but when they were about 30 yards away, they turned slightly and disappeared.  Later that night, the moon was so bright that I thought Ken was shining his headlamp into my eyes.

On the fourth day we awoke with very little mental energy.  We were originally going to be resupplied on this day, but since we got behind a little the first day of the section, we had delayed the meetup until the next morning.  We had 31 miles to go until the pass, but wisely determined it would be best to put it off until the next day.  On the bright side, we had now hiked more than Todd Bachman does on a weekend!

We were able to make good time due to much of the trail being on jeep trails or road.  Once again, as we climbed to 1000ft (Horse Prairie Mountain) around noon we heard the distinct sound we had heard the day before.  The F15s this time came through a canyon, and we were about level with the planes.  We waved, but the pilots were probably focusing on turning through the valleys.  We were in awe. At that point, we thought the trail went down the mountain, and so we descended around 1000ft before realizing our mistake.  It was a tough physical and mental grind back up.

We got on a ridgeline featuring its own problems.  As is typical for ridgelines, water sources were farther and farther apart.  Melting snow from snowbanks became a steady source of water.  Thruhiking quickly became the foundation of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: food, water, and shelter. 

On the ridge and heading down toward the water source of snow

We made it 27 miles (not counting our trail error) and set up camp.  We were only six miles from the resupply junction, but our bodies had made it as far as they could go, and it would be easy to hit those six miles in the morning.  Once again, we got rained on all night.

In the morning, we quickly hiked the six miles, dried our gear, and awaited Becky Riley and our resupply.

Drying gear and awaiting resupply at Bannock Pass

Summer on the CDT Part 4: Bannock to Chief Joseph

by Tim Mosbacher

I left off last time where we were drying our gear on top of Bannock Pass, waiting for our resupply.  We waited for around three hours, had no cell service, and our fear had come true.  We had possibly confused Becky Riley about our resupply destination.  We figured we needed to hike to the closest town of Leadore, ID, which was 17 miles away.  Five miles into our hike down the road, we were fortunate to encounter an Idaho biologist who was studying the nearby stream for a beaver reintroduction project. We hopped into the back of his pickup and rode the remaining 12 miles.

Beautiful Trail/Road between Bannock Pass and Lemhi Pass

Ken was able to get hold of Becky.  She was hiking to find us between Bannock and Lemhi Pass, 27 miles from where we had just left.  Ken told her to go back to Lemhi Pass and then got hold of her parents who had dropped her off and had driven to Bannock Pass to see if we were there.  While all of this was going on, I purchased a Mountain Dew and candy bars from the store and we ordered chicken fried steak at the local restaurant.  Just as we finished eating, Becky’s parents drove up.

Wooden Fence between Bannock Pass and Lemhi Pass

We rode to Lemhi Pass and waited for Becky to return.  While waiting, Ken and I quickly resupplied our packs with new clothes and food.  The resupply included a tarp for Ken, so we would not have to sleep under one tarp anymore.  Becky’s parents drove us back to Bannock Pass.  This may not sound super stressful, but it was an ordeal. 

Once we left Becky and her parents, we hiked in about two miles and stopped.  We needed to decompress from the day.  Even though we hadn’t hiked very far, the day’s constant worry was almost worse than hiking a huge day.  The next day we started strong. The trail here was awesome and is the beginning of the Beaverhead 100k course.  We saw more elk, and as was typical of the hike, it was nearly always five bull elk.  The trail was the best we had encountered so far and had many unique features.  For a while there was even a wooden fence like you would find back East.

Ridgeline section of the Beaverhead 100K course

Nearly every day we were able to get cell service at some time.  As we were hiking along a ridge at 9400 feet, Ken was able to get cell service to verify his bank account had received his first social security check.  Not a bad deal. J  The trail had gone dry and fortunately we were able to melt snow for water.  Not sure how people who do the CDT trail later in the summer handle some of these sections.  We put in 27 miles on this daily section and set up camp at Lemhi Pass.  We had just been there resupplying the day before.  This spot is where the start of the Beaverhead 50k is located.  Cannot imagine camping and having the race being there at the same time.  It was dry during the night but started to rain as we tore down camp.

A cold July trail

We had hiked for about four miles, once again on great trails. We were discussing how we had not seen a soul on the trail and how isolated we were since seeing a bicyclist 95 miles earlier.  Within two minutes of saying this, two runners passed us, then two more, and then we caught up with some walkers.  They, as a group, were running part of the race course.  So much for isolation.

Ken in his element

We veered off the Beaverhead race course a few miles before the 51.5 mile Jahnke Lake aid station.  We dropped down from the 9800-foot ridge, traversed across a different ridge, and then had a harrowing climb up to a saddle.  Despite the difficulty with water, snow, and ice, it was nothing compared to what lay ahead.  We got to the saddle and looked down.  There was a 700-foot snow-covered drop off.  We discussed our options, with one of them being to turn around and drop down into Salmon, ID.  After a lengthy discussion, Ken felt we could get to a rock about 50 yards down.  After that who knew.  The snow was really slick, and a wrong move or slip would have meant disaster.  We made it to the rock and planned our next move.

Bottom of the snow chute

This course of action continued for about half an hour before we could finally start to pick our way easier down the slope.  The trail was marked by spray painted rocks sticking out of the snow.  We camped that night on a ledge right below Jahnke Lake.  It got below 32 degrees that night, which made it tough sleeping under a tarp.  A tent would have held in some warmth.  In the morning, the trail was covered in ice.  In the first hour of hiking we had to cross a stream, and I slipped on the ice-covered rocks and fell in.  It made for a cold morning.

Streams can be tough in the spring

The trail got a little easier and we started to move pretty well, except we were not seeing any CDT markers.  We were not worried because it seemed everything was lining up with our maps.  We then spotted an old CDT marker and felt relieved.  Suddenly, though, about one minute later we were in a swamp clearing with no path.  We entered the woods on the edge of the clearing, thinking the trail maybe was there.  Nope.  Ken turned on his blue dot app which said the trail was about 3/4 of a mile ahead of us.  Much to our chagrin, it took us probably an hour to cover that short distance due to downfall everywhere.  Getting lost was not fun.

We ended up getting lost the next day also.  All of a sudden the trail disappeared and Ken once again used the blue dot app.  We somehow figured it was easier to go straight up this ridge and over to meet up with the trail.  Tough work. 

Interesting bridge idea

The days were harsh, with lots of ups and downs on steep ridges.   Our last morning before a resupply at Chief Joseph Pass had us scheduled to do only 22 miles. We had pushed hard the preceding days to make it easier the last day.  It was not to be.  The morning started off very cold, and the first few miles of trail was a stream.  There was nowhere to hike but up the shallow water.  That was some cold hiking. So we hit what we thought would be relief.  On our map it showed a road, but ended up being motorcycle trails.  These trails went straight up to every mountain top in the area.  Straight down, straight up.

We hit the parking lot of the Chief Joseph X-country ski trails and were excited we had made it.  I called my wife and said we were there.  She said she was there.  Ugh, I had put in our car the wrong parking lot and had no idea where she was.  Luckily Ken’s son showed up and they drove a little ways down the hill and there she was.  I was a half mile off, but without knowing that, it felt the same as 100 miles.

We stayed at the Lost Trail Hot Springs Lodge.  It was comfortable and had a shower.  Time once again went fast.  It was the Fourth of July and there were no fireworks and a clear sky.  It was heaven.