It makes absolutely no sense, but I am sleeping well on this ridiculous mat. Maybe because I can sprawl more than on a blow up mattress. I also should mention Sea to Summit sent me their ultralight blow up pillow with a soft cover (see my AZT gear list ) This pillow is a wonder! Just the right height and cushion. Coupled with my quilt, I’m cozy and warm, even if my tent is sopping wet. Dew?
I shake it out but pack it wet and will lay it in the sun during a break today. It’s chilly, but not cold and I hate to faff about with breakfast so stuff in a bar, pack and go. Funny, my dreams were all about walking. I guess I’ve hit my stride.
The river is loud rushing over falls. l follow it in dense forest up the canyon to eventually find the way up to the rim. Joey told me it’s steep and hard on giant rock. Right now it’s a gentle incline as I cross the second beautifully built bridge.
The trail joins a dirt road under electrical wires. Who do they power, I wonder. Water shoots down from the sides too meeting the river, but thankfully no mud. A sign leads to a railroad tunnel, another surprise, as I enter the rocky canyon, snow fingers filling crevices in shadow.
And then I turn up the steep bit. Funny that to my left the dirt road appears to at least try to make it up this pitch. But the official trail is well built, yes, on big rocks and yes, very steep, but about the same as all the hard bits on this trail except far shorter.
I stay in granny gear and rise one step at a time, finally exiting at a road right on the rim. I fear the entire place will be covered in snow, but mostly it’s patches with lots of wet run off.
I follow the road and see one car parked up here (empty) otherwise, it’s quiet and deserted. I pass General Springs and the historic cabin which forbids use. Too bad for anyone caught up here the other day in the storm.
The trail begins here on crusty snow, still frozen this early in the morning. I place my feet in the deep footprints and follow them to patches of dry, then runoff as trail. Everything is wet. Pools form on flat areas and when there’s an angle, race down to meet a stream.
Mostly, it’s easy enough walking placing my feet in the footprints, but it makes me a little nervous about what’s ahead and just how deep these drifts will get.
I realize a few things. For one, this is not new snow. Whatever happened here the other night, the snow that fell melted into the run off These are drifts leftover from the winter, also melting and with clear enough paths
I also realize I am not the first through here and whomever went before, has made it through. It may be awkward and hard walking, but I will manage.
I’m in a deep canyon of very tall ponderosa. Sun filters in with a bit of warmth. The aroma is delicious, like the Sierra. Thank the goddess for footsteps to follow as I descend to a stream on a curving trail. The stream is swollen, I can’t find a good crossing point, so plunge in the icy water cleaning the mud off my shoes.
When I leave snow briefly, it’s sand I walk on with no mud even with running water. Up and down I go, carefully placing each foot in an icy chopped out space, crossing swollen streams, sometimes over and over. It’s absolutely beautiful in here.
I wonder if this is how things will go all day, or even all of the remaining days to Mormon Lake, my next stop. The trail sign send me across a fairly deep section then right back after I lose the trail momentarily. I then hit a junction that will take me steeply up and out of the canyon.
The sun is bright and I’m in an open area so decide to take a break and dry my tent and sleeping bag. We call it a ‘garage sale’ when a hiker takes everything out of their pack to sort on the ground.
The wind is whispering through pine needles and I place a rock on the alicoop to keep her in place. I’m loving this place and my solitude – birds, the loud creek, wind and me. It’s only a matter of minutes in that baking sun and both are dry to pack away.
It’s a good steep climb up the hill on switchbacks. I hear a clicking below and see it’s Joey! I yell down but it takes time for him to hear me because he hikes with headphones. I have never understood that, but I guess it helps keep people going.
I tell him I was thinking of him on the difficult ascent to the rim. He responds that last year he went straight from the couch to that so it seemed much harder than this time around. He hopes he wasn’t a fear monger. Not at all!
We chit chat as we walk and I find he has a great attitude about things, especially not taking this backpacking thing – or himself – overly seriously. Although he does tell me that several hikers have delayed heading up here, afraid of the snow. I suddenly feel a bit bad ass.
Of course at that very moment we realize we took a wrong turn so need to head back. Another hiker ahead points the way and we’re back on track, splitting up because I am so much slower.
It may be obvious, but there are no views from here. I am in thick forest that rolls on and on looking about the same mile after mile. It rises a bit and drops, but mostly I’m in cruise control.
I pass a large patch of snow and peepers sing from a swamp. A funky gate keeps out vehicles by forcing people to take a sharp U turn. I like being in a ‘hiker sandwich’ – Joey ahead and Frauke and Dennis somewhere behind.
Soon, things change dramatically with a deep canyon leading to East Clear Creek. The trail zigzags and I have to cross over fallen trees. Finally I reach the river, somewhat braided with a gravel island and varying channels.
Snack Pack with a purple top, purple hat and purple backpack is having lunch. She’s a platinum blond from Anchorage and hiking big days. I tell her I’m Blissful and she says she knows me as someone always ahead. “Not for long! I’m slow.”
She explains they never caught me yesterday until the end when they camped near me. I had no idea! We discuss where to head to tonight and I suggest a particular tank (a muddy cow pond) We’ll see.
I don’t linger long since I tend to take more breaks as I go and simply plunge into the knee-deep rapids of icy water and head up the steep climb. The others remove their shoes, but after New Zealand and Scotland, one would never get anywhere if they kept taking off and putting on shoes.
After the climb, the terrain is absolutely flat. The trees open briefly for a view out to more mountains covered in trees under thick, puffy clouds.
Flat’s good, right? I can move fast and not be out of breath. Wrong! With nowhere to run off, the water covers the trail – as well as all that surrounds it. This is no longer just sticky mud, this is mud mud, the kind you sink into, the kind that squishes into your shoe, the kind that’s deep.
I suddenly realize there’s a reason no one’s here but thru-hikers – this is mud season. It’s a flooded, dirty mess. I don’t see any snow, only its liquid remains. Give it a month, and things will be dry and hard packed perfect for biking, horseback riding, hiking. Right this moment, only a masochist would venture forth.
Perhaps it’s my past experience, but my technique is to just push through. I get wet and dirty, but I make progress and find myself laughing at the absurdity of it. Epic mud is followed by 100 feet of joy then plunged right back in, usually a section in far worse condition.
It’s not just the path, but all that surrounds it covered in standing water and sad, leftover footprints from those who went before. I guffaw all by myself at the hellacious situation, “I’ll never have to do that again!”
On and on it goes for miles before the trail heads down to a campground and the mud stops. Wisely, people are kept out until after mud season, but I’m able to tip my garbage in a dumpster. Hikers love dumpsters.
I walk through lovely oaks in dun-colored grass and pass a muddy tank before reaching a parking lot. An RV is just pulling out and I wave my sticks making a drinking gesture.
Hawkeye is from Northern California and is section hiking the AZT with his wife, Pearl. They park motorbikes at the end of the sections to ride back to the mother ship and he’s just waiting for Pearl to return.
He generously fills my liter bottle then offers me food – dehydrated mac ‘n cheese, halleluia! Hawkeye offers camping beta then wishes me luck as I cross the highway. I still end up filtering water from muddy Hay Meadow tank (which comes out surprisingly clear and delicious) enough to soak my dinner as I walk a few more miles as the sun sets.
Joey catches up but hikes further than me. I find a flat spot under a pine, kick several cones aside and set up as the sky turns pink. Birds sing as I lean on the tree and eat my dinner, advertised for two, but just the right amount for one very hungry walker.
I crawl into the sound of wind though the pine needles, as well as Snack’s feet walking by. She detoured to the ranger station for water. I invite her to camp and she’s set and asleep within minutes.
8:00 pm. Hiker midnight.
