Category Archives: Posts from the Trail

Week 4 (part 1): Sandy Meadow, CA to Miller Lake, CA

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Week 4 Mileage: 170

“How Good Am I?”

As I approached Forester Pass, I felt excited—not just to climb it, but also because the patchy snowpack on the approach made me hopeful that the Sierra would be low this year. I topped out on Forester at 8 PM, and as I looked down into the valley, all I could see was snow. So much for that pipe dream.

I put on my spikes and headed down the back. It took me two hours to negotiate the slope—postholing, falling, and tripping. I tore my jacket, and by 10 PM, I had reached my campsite. Someone was already there, so I continued on. Because of all the snow, I needed to find a flat spot protected by a tree. I found one—just enough space to tuck my tent into.

The next morning, I was nine miles from Glen Pass, and it took almost five hours to reach the top. Once again, the snow on the approach was spotty, but the descent was entirely covered. It was a bit sketchy—there was a thousand-foot runout to the left, so I took it slow to get down. After four more miles of postholing and route finding, I finally made it to open trail. Exhausting work.

At this point, I knew where the snowpack level was—roughly 9,500 feet. Anything above that meant snow. Most of this section to Mammoth hovered around 10,000 feet. By 6 PM, I started my approach to Pinchot Pass. I liked the look of the clouds, but within fifteen minutes, the pass closed off, and it started snowing. Too dangerous, I thought. Honestly, I was relieved to have an excuse to stop early.

After pitching my tent and settling in, I started questioning my decision—this was too early to stop. I looked out of my tent to see the sky clearing, with sunlight poking through. A defining moment: should I stay or go? It was nearly 7 PM, and I had three miles to the top.

Screw it. I packed up and continued on.

It was rough, tough, and slow. So many times, I wanted to quit and pitch my tent. Those three miles took me two hours.

At 9 PM, I reached the top of the pass, adrenaline pumping as I bounced down the back side and found a flat spot a mile below. I was glad I had pushed through. I felt excited again to attack the rest of this section in the morning.

I kept my positive attitude the next day. Yeah, the snow was painful, but it would eventually end for good. This was the hardest section of my 7,500-mile hike. This is why people don’t hike the CYTC straight through—they can’t handle the difficult, exhausting, slow-going terrain. I can.

This is what I have to do to be world-class. Nothing less. So go, go, GO!

I topped out on Mather at 11:30 AM. I bouldered my way up the face (yeah, I can rock climb too) and stood on top—completely naked. I took a photo of myself standing on Mather’s peak with just my pack on and a Smartwater bottle covering my twig and berries. It took a few tries to get the coverage just right.

From there, I had a three-mile descent to open trail, followed by thirteen miles of fun, cruising terrain before the ascent to Muir Pass. I reached the top at 9:30 PM. I considered staying in the hut, but someone was inside, and after 31 miles of difficult hiking, I didn’t feel like making small talk.

That night, I froze in my tent. The next morning, my shoulders were rock-hard—I had to crimp, twist, and bang them just to soften up enough to fit my feet inside. Forget my socks—they looked like crinkled-up Christmas stockings. My tent stakes were frozen into the snow, so I used my ice axe to chip them out (the only time I used the axe) and hit the trail by 6 AM.

It had been so cold that I could walk on top of the snowpack without any problems for a couple of hours. By the time it warmed up, I had descended far enough that snow was no longer a concern.

I met the guy who had stayed in the hut the night before—“Fed Belly.” We hiked and talked for a while. He had the wildest setup I had ever seen—an 80-liter pack with a duffel bag attached by climbing rope. No trekking poles. Just wandering the Sierra for a couple of weeks, messing around. His kit must have weighed 100 pounds. He was doing five-mile days, and I believed it.

After crossing Evolution Creek and watching Fed Belly navigate it with two tree branches and his monstrosity of a pack, we parted ways. I had big miles to cover—Mammoth was calling, and it was 55 miles away.

I pushed hard through the next section. Plenty of climbs, but until the last two passes, I would be moving through limited snowpack.

Seldon Pass was next—sixteen miles ahead. Snow-packed and slow-going, I topped out at 6 PM and made my way down into the valley. At the bottom, I had a good river crossing to tackle. The all-day sun had melted so much snow that the crossing was a bit sketchy, but I managed it.

With my endorphins surging and my pack light, I found myself jogging down the trail—not bad after a marathon day.

I wanted to make it to the VVR (Vermilion Valley Resort) trail junction—not to go in, but as a good spot to set up for reaching Mammoth the following day.

I hiked late, stubbornly refusing to put my headlamp on. Missed a turn. Had to backtrack.

Ended up about three miles short of where I had wanted to finish.

Oh well.

 

Week 3: Angeles National Forest, CA to Sandy Meadow, CA

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Week 3 Mileage: 265.6

“Big miles, big resupply”

Imagine a place like Hiker Town, and that’s pretty much it—a fenced-off area in the middle of the low desert, scattered with trailers and small buildings. That’s where I was headed, needing to grab my box of prepackaged, over-processed food and get back on the trail.

I arrived at 6:20, having already covered 37.4 miles that day. Picked up my box, took a shower, and even did laundry in the shower—classic hiker trash behavior at Hiker Town! A fellow thru-hiker named Trash Panda gave me some extra food, and I quickly realized I hadn’t sent enough for the upcoming 186-mile stretch. I scarfed down a burrito and a Double-Double from In-N-Out, then charged my gear as much as possible before hitting the California aqueduct. I camped 3.7 miles out of town.

The next morning, I trekked across an exposed desert floor through a wind farm. The heat was brutal, and the wind was relentless. With every step, I fought against gusts that drained my energy.

That day, I met two German hikers, Lenny and Yanny, who had an unusual story from the night before. They heard whimpering near the trail and discovered an abandoned puppy. They could see two glowing eyes—probably coyotes—stalking the little guy, so they rescued him and planned to take him to Tehachapi. They named him Skippy.

By 9 p.m., I had knocked out 38 miles and was closing in on Tehachapi. The next day meant a big climb out—finally past all that relentless wind, nearly 40 miles of it. Now, I was approaching the high desert and Kennedy Meadows—my big stop.

Waiting for me there: my ice axe, microspikes, bear canister, and six days of food. My friends from back home, Captain Planet and Birdo, were on the trail just ahead. I kept seeing their names in logbooks—planning to reach Kennedy Meadows by 5/21. That meant big mileage days for me. After a 38-mile push, I camped in the low desert, then pushed for a 43.5.

It might sound extreme, but I was cruising through the desert, trying to keep my miles-per-day average high before hitting the Sierra.

That morning, I had 22.5 miles left and was on the trail by 4:45 a.m. About 30 minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me—it was Birdo, grinning.

We hiked to the next water source, where Captain Planet and his trail family caught up. Five hikers in total, with one I hadn’t met yet—Nick (can’t remember his trail name) and one named Gerbal. No reference to Richard Gere.

We hiked the rest of the way to Kennedy Meadows together. On these long hikes, especially when chasing records, isolation starts to wear on people. Mental toughness is everything. After four out of five seasons chasing the big hikes and covering 15,000 trail miles, I’m used to it. I can handle four, five, or even six days solo, but having a little human conversation now and then definitely helps.

Kennedy Meadows was packed—more hikers than I had ever seen there, around 30. As I approached, the familiar bell rang, followed by applause from the deck, marking another hiker’s completion of the desert stretch.

It was my fifth time arriving here, and it never gets old. I recognized someone coming down the steps toward me—Phish, a buddy from my first attempt back in ’21.

After catching up, I got to work. I wanted to leave by 5 p.m. I had averaged 37.2 miles per day through the desert and wanted to keep up the momentum.

I ate a ton, resupplied, took a cold shower, did laundry, snapped a few pictures, and sent a postcard to Grandma. Then, at 6 p.m., I hit the trail again—carrying the heaviest pack of the hike.

This was it—entering the hardest section of the hike. My goal was to cover the 201 miles through the toughest part of the Sierra in six days.

I’d done it faster, and I’d done it slower. Phish told me the snowpack was like it was for us in ’21—really low. But I was skeptical. I had a feeling it would be more like last year—five-plus miles of snow before and after each pass.

Most PCT hikers take time to rest and resupply in towns. For me, that takes too much time and extra effort. I prefer the challenge—keeping a 30-miles-per-day average through the hardest section of my entire 7,500-mile journey. No cherry-picking sections to avoid snow—I’m heading straight into it, for the fourth time in early season. Bring it on.

 

Week 1: Southern Terminus PCT, CA to Outside of Big Bear, CA

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Week 1 Mileage: 249.3

“No TP”

Back for another fun-filled year of hiking, where my weekly posts provide good toilet reading and bar talk. This week’s topic: *”Let’s see how far Chezwick goes before he messes himself up again!”*

Let me clear the air on my shoulder injury from last year, since I’m always asked about it. I tore one of the skin grafts that had been repaired five years ago. That tendon held down my clavicle, which then popped out, resulting in my shoulder being separated—painful enough to warrant a quick helicopter ride out of the woods.

Moving forward: no surgery. I figured, *Well, it’s already popped out, it’s already torn—load me up with a cortisone shot and let’s get this hike done!* So that’s what we did. Dr. Chen shot me up a day before I left, and we’ll see how long it lasts. Yes, it’s uncomfortable.

The first day went fairly smoothly. I forgot my credit card at the post office, never sent my charging block to power my stuff in towns, and—worst of all—forgot toilet paper! The first two things? Stupid. The last? Unforgivable. Luckily, I had a brand-new China-made handkerchief, so I was able to sacrifice that.

The first three nights were windy and slightly rainy, each day requiring an extended break to dry out my tent. The water carries through this section are interesting. As you approach Mt. San Jacinto, your only water options are springs a mile off-trail, down a ravine. Not wanting to waste that time, I carried 37 miles’ worth of water to the first fresh, flowing mountain river—cold and delicious (no filter needed).

My right Achilles is inflamed and painful. My ankle swelled up, so I stuffed some snow from the high mountain into a ziplock and did the ICE treatment at about 9,000 feet the other night. Off San Jacinto, halfway through day five, I hit the low desert in the afternoon and was completely cooked by the exposed trail and afternoon sun. I pulled a 41-mile day to put myself in a good position for the next day’s trek: Mission Creek.

A massive flood washed this section of trail out three years ago. It’s essentially 14 miles of walking on a rocky beach, crisscrossing a small river in the middle. Precarious and annoying, it took a while. I started the day at 4:30 a.m. and was out of that canyon by 11. From there, cruising.

The first week shows an average of over 35 miles per day—more than I usually want to do in my first week, but that credit card I left at the post office is waiting for me in Big Bear.

✌️🥾🥾

 

 

Week 29: Wickenburg, AZ to Nothing, AZ

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After passing out on the side of the road after a 48-mile day, you would think that I would be excited about reaching the end. Taco Comfort Solutions (a main sponsor besides Ransome Multimedia) was sending a dude to meet me with a bottle of Dom, take me out for dinner, and give me a ride back to Vegas where they had booked me a room at the Rio. Very exciting stuff, I know. I should have been elated by this incredible end, but at the time it did not feel that way.

I told them I would shoot to be at the finish line on Wednesday at 6 pm, and I still had around 70 miles to go. I was tired. I could brush it off and not mention it, sound like I was ‘Tommy Tuff Nuts’ but, truly, I was beat. The pace, my body and the same types of food had worn me down. I was close and I knew it, but there just wasn’t much left in the tank.

Roadwalking is fine, I’ve done a lot of it, but it can be boring. Maybe that’s why so many thru-hikers skip them. It’s easy to know your distance and pace but, after 6,800+ miles, it seemed to have a crazy way of exposing the parts of your body that have just been barely holding on. In my case, feet, shoulder, back and knees. Did I say knees? Yeah, knees.

There’s wasn’t anything I could do about the pain, so I ran. My pack was light. I was out of water, low on food and ready to end this thing. It was going to hurt anyway, so I figured running most of the last 5 miles wouldn’t matter.

As I crested the hill, I saw the “Nothing” billboard, and a rental car pull into the parking lot, then the trunk popped, and a bottle of Dom came out of it; it hit me. Not in the way that you think. Not in the way thru-hikers are moved to cry at a monument or dance or whatever. It was more… I don’t know, relief. Rescued from it in a weird way. I realized I didn’t have to worry anymore. Not about time, pace, food, water, weather, or terrain.

I knew that by tagging that sign and hopping into the air-conditioned car I was headed back to the safety of the regular world and its guarantees: get food when I’m hungry, grab an extra jacket when I’m cold, go inside when the weather isn’t good. Predictability, routine, and schedules; the struggle was over.

I did it my way. It wasn’t always perfect, but I got it done. The Great Western Loop in under 200 days. Someone once told me it was my dream. I corrected them and said it was the ultimate challenge.

A special thanks to Dallas and Mayra, from Ransome Multimedia; they are my backbone. Always there. Always helping and always supporting me. My friends and family and my incredible sponsors. Todd Facey, from Taco Comfort Solutions, spearheaded the financial support. Taco doesn’t usually sponsor thru-hikers (not many companies do financially) but this man believed in me, in the message I was trying to convey, and made things happen. I was so lucky for having had their support, and for Todd. Thank you!!!

Eastern Mountain Sports (EMS) took great care of me. They heard me on the SLASR podcast, understood I’m not a huge social media person, but knew that I work with my feet and not with my thumbs. All the miscellaneous gear I needed, they got me. Things while I was hiking, they were there.  Incredible!!!

Levi “Bed Head” and Grant “Gusha”, from Nashville Pack, are solid dudes. That is the one piece of gear that becomes a part of you, and they are making the best! Keep crushing it guys!!!

Darn Tough socks hooked me up with 17 pairs of their lightweight gems. It’s the go-to sock, and anyone that hikes knows that. Thank you!!!

In the end, they were right, completing the Great Western Loop was a dream and, amazingly enough, it came true.

34.8 miles per day was my average. Wrapping my head around that will definitely take some time.

 

Great Western Loop

Nothing, Arizona – Nothing, Az

6,875.5 miles

197 days 11 hours 12 minutes 17 seconds.

34.8 mpd

 

This Hiker Just Completed the 6,800-Mile Great Western Loop in Less than 200 Days

 

 

 

Week 28: Hermit Basin, Grand Canyon, AZ to Wickenburg, AZ

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Total Mileage:  266.9

 

The Tonto Trail inside the Grand Canyon is rugged. Looking at the map, it reminds me of an earthquake needle. Back and forth, zigzagging alongside canyons that jut off from the Colorado River. As the crow flies, it would be about 25 miles, but it’s over 40. There is no signage; the only indications of the trail are small rock cairns.

I had to be careful while walking because the trail is right along the cliff walls at times, and because I didn’t download the right maps, it was hard to tell the exact location. Night hiking through this terrain, trying to navigate using only little rock piles, was tough.

It was warm in the canyon, but the views were spectacular! Slow going and tough. I scooped water out of puddles pooled up in the canyons. I would hike for a mile or 2 along the Colorado River, then hike 2 or 3 miles away from it, cross the canyon at a shallow spot and head back 2-3 miles toward the Colorado again. This is how it went for a day and a half.

I made it to the South Bass Trail, and it led me out of the canyons up steep terrain. By 3 pm I was out. 300 miles of various types of roads is the only thing separating me from the end of this thing!

I plotted a course using various jeep and dirt roads of approximately 100 miles to get to Seligman, AZ. The only water in this section was out of cattle ponds. Brown and sketchy, but my only option.

After a 47.7-mile day I arrived in Seligman. Exhausted, and with everything closed in this small town, the owner of the Route 66 motel, Wendy, gave me a Rubbermaid of fresh chicken stew she had just made. I ate the hell out of that, showered and died.

I had a late start the next day, with a huge breakfast at the local greasy spoon. Dallas and I plotted a course, and I was heading south. It was only 70 or so miles back to Nothing, AZ, but I needed the total miles of 6,875 to consider this loop complete. So, the route will go south, to west, to northeast to north, coming back up to where I started over 6 months ago.

 

Week 27: Broody Seep Trail Junction, AZ to Hermit Basin, Grand Canyon, AZ

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Total Mileage:  269.5

 

I woke up at 4 am with a fire under my ass. Not actually, but it was cold, and I probably wouldn’t have minded it.

On the move by 5 am, I needed a big week. I was just shy of 43 miles to Pine, AZ and I needed to get there by the end of the day. I had very little battery life left, and I wanted to charge my stuff overnight instead of taking 3 hours the next day to do it. Two birds with one stone was the name of the game.

The hiking was tough, a lot of uphills. I met an older guy named “Cheese it” on the trail who said it was mostly downhill for me from there. Not sure what “Cheese it” was putting in his juice that the morning, but the trail was anything but downhill.

I kept pushing; 20 miles, 30, 35, 40. I arrived at the highway to Pine at midnight. I then walked 2 miles into town. I found an outlet outside of a laundromat and plugged my stuff in, laid my pad and sleeping bag out, and fell asleep on the side of the road, hidden by some bushes.

The next morning, I resupplied, had a big breakfast, and was back at the trail by 9 am. Knocked out a 34.2-mile day. The following day a 40.3 to make it to the Saloon at Mormon Lake, get my resupply box with my 13th and final pair of shoes, and have a Ribeye steak dinner, courtesy of another fellow Looper named “Phish”, who was there to meet me. We hung out for a bit; he gave me some intel on the section coming up, and I pitched my tent close by, next to a jeep road.

I had 37 miles to do today to make it to the REI in Flagstaff before they closed at 8 pm. I desperately needed new shorts. I was tired of the whole western United States catching a glimpse of my left ass cheek flapping in the breeze. I made it. Barely. I had no desire to deal with laundry, so I just bought a new pair of socks instead.

My good friend Levi’s dad, Steve, lives in Flagstaff; he picked me up and took me to a killer Mexican restaurant. He then dropped me off at my motel and brought me back to the trail in the morning.

It was a cruiser section from here and I was able to get 41.5 for the day. I was in a large open meadow, and the next morning the wind was whipping and it began to snow. I was one layer short of being reasonably comfortable but, as it stood, I had to continue to push hard and stay warm. I got 41.7 in for the day.

After 20 miles the next day, I made it to Tusayan, AZ. I resupplied at the general store and the prices they charged for things were borderline criminal: $9.49 for a thing of Oreos! Cigarettes were cheap, though.

I had 6 miles to make it to Grand Canyon Village and the ranger station to get my permit for the park. It was 2 pm and the ranger station closes at 5. As I was applying mustard to my microwaved “Big AZ” chicken sandwich, a woman walking by asked if I was doing the Arizona Trail. I said yes, but no, and briefly explained the loop. Her name was Jen Hogen, and she’s a ranger in the park. She was able to get me a permit over the phone and help me figure out logistics through the Park, the Tonto Trail, and the South Bass Trail.  She saved me a bunch of time, gave me a map, and pointed me in the right direction where I didn’t have to walk the 8 (not 6) miles to the Grand Canyon Village. Thank you, Jen!!!

After doing everything I needed to do, I crammed in another 11 miles for the day, getting down into the Canyon, which was significantly warmer than up above. Ending the day with a 32.9. this week was hard, but I got the weather window I needed and an easy trail.

I may just pull this crazy thing off after all…

 

Week 26: Indian Spring Canyon, AZ to Broody Seep Trail Junction, AZ

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Total Mileage:  240.8

 

I needed to have a solid week, something close to my average of 245. First, I had to finish the G.E.T. I knew a 30-mile day would be tough in this terrain. All I could do was my best.

On the trail at 5:30 am, I followed jeep roads for a bit and then I was on it. More bushwhacking, scrapes, and cuts. BRAMBLES! Eventually I made it to a canyon, which I followed for quite a while. It had a river flowing through it, so I didn’t have to worry about water. At one point I stepped off a rock and my entire leg sunk into the sand all the way up to my hip. My foot was straight down, and if I pulled too hard, I would have lost my shoe. It took 5 minutes of working my leg back and forth as the water flowed passed me to get my leg out. After that episode, I walked.

A few minutes later, I wondered how much longer I had in this canyon. Turns out I had missed a turn .3 miles back and I wasn’t even supposed to be there. Walking in quicksand, I backtracked. Found the route, lost it, found it, lost it. I tried to cut across and bushwack to get back, but it seemed I just kept making it harder for myself. I had to stop and re-evaluate my situation.

First off, 35-mile days were out, I knew that. The harder I pushed to try and make up what I felt I had lost, the harder the trail pushed back. I had to change my game plan. If I missed a turn, I would backtrack to where I missed it, no more cutting-up-and-over shenanigans. I would keep my phone out and follow the line as I went, instead of assuming I was on the right path. And I would also slow down and just go at a consistent pace without getting frustrated at losing time. It’s hard to swallow your pride a lot of the time, especially after 6,000 miles, but when you have to change, you have to change.

Surely enough, the G.E.T. became more enjoyable after this, and I started to embrace the “choose-your-own-adventure” aspect of hiking a route over a trail. By 10 pm I had made it to a jeep road and cowboy camped off to the side. My shoes and socks were completely soaked and covered with so many thorns and bits of prairie grass that the itching and pricking were unbearable.

I had 8 miles of road walk the next day, then 20 miles of river canyon hiking in the Aravaipa Canyon. It was fun and the water wasn’t deep. I saw a lot of weekend hikers in this section and at 2:30 pm I made it to the trailhead. Now I had 12 miles of dirt road and 11 miles of paved road to make it to Winkelman, AZ. I was out of food. Well, food that didn’t need water added to it. Ramen, oatmeal, and instant mashed potatoes were all I had left, and I couldn’t use my water for that. I felt like the G.E.T was a draw; yeah, I made it through, but barely. It tested me more than anything up to this point and I was so happy to be out of it and on my way to the AZT!

I arrived at the Speedway Gas station at 10:45 pm and, like always, went straight for the hotdog roller. I grabbed the last taquito, two hotdogs, two green chili cheeseburgers, a bag of Doritos and a pint of chocolate milk. I sat out on the curb and stuffed my face. The green chili cheeseburgers might be the best I’ve had in the trail, or I was so hungry it just seemed like they were.

Afterwards, I camped under the overpass at a defunct RV park. I laid my stuff on a cement platform and was just about to go to sleep when a couple of tweakers appeared out of nowhere and started asking me what I was doing there. I wasn’t in the mood. After 200 miles of getting my ass kicked, and a 44-mile day, I almost wanted them to try something.

Once they realized I wasn’t the fuzz, they told me to be careful of the rattlesnakes, which was good advice. I’d been so focused on my pace that I didn’t even think about it! Pushing through high grass, at night, and crawling over rocks during the day, if I had been bitten by one of those in the remoteness of where I was it could have been a very bad thing, to say the least.

After losing a breakfast sandwich out of my pocket on the road walk, I made it to Kearny, AZ, the next day and resupplied at the Family Dollar store. The sun was baking me, and I started to be aware of my own smell. I desperately needed to do laundry. Since Steamboat I haven’t done legit laundry, only cleaning my clothes in the shower, and It was time to get it done.

Leaving town was tough. I wasn’t used to the oppressive heat and the hot pavement. Walking west, directly into the sun, was wearing me down. By 4 pm I made it to the Arizona Trail. It’s a single track, well-marked trail, something I hadn’t seen in a while. I reached the lowest point of the AZT, just over 1,600 feet. From there, it was a 3,000-foot climb over 6 miles, and the only water for a while would be the Gila River. Flowing good and brown, I had to shoo a hoofed devil away from the spot from where I wanted to collect water. The heat beat me up and, by the end of the day, I was wiped out.

The next day started hot, of course, and then a thundershower came through and cooled everything off. Two hours later, another thundershower. It’s OK, I thought; two is OK. But I was determined to get a 40-mile day in, and I couldn’t deal with another one. It was 5:30 pm and, as I was ascending a mountain, I heard it and looked behind to see the darkest set of clouds, complete with thunder and lightning, coming my way. I pushed hard and, by 5:45, I was getting downpoured on. There was lightning shooting all around me so, as quick I as I could, I set my tent up in a small grove of trees; but not well, more like a temporary lean-to to protect myself because I really didn’t have time. This storm came over the top of me and I thought this could be it. I had a good run. In my fury to set up my tent, I had kicked a cactus so, as this crazy thing was happening above me, I was pulling thorns out of my foot.

This was certainly a low point for me on the trail. I felt like I just couldn’t catch a break. I needed as close to 40 miles today, and it wasn’t going to happen, AGAIN! Why do I care about my pace and mileage so much? you might be wondering. Why am I not just hiking the way a normal thru-hiker does, with multiple rest days and hiking whatever I can during the day? Well, I’ve only told a few people up to this point, but I might as well say it. I’m trying to become the first person to break 200 days on the Great Western Loop. It has never been done before. The fastest is 208 days. That’s why I’ve pushed so hard, that’s why I’ve talked a lot about my mileage and pace. BUT being stuck on the side of a mountain in a lightning storm, soaking wet in the dark, is not part of the plan.

This is where I had a decision to make. Do I fix my tent, hunker down for the night and ride this storm out, with 25 miles for the day? Do I just forget about this whole sub-200 thing? Or do I pack up my soaking wet gear, in the rain and lightning, and try and eek out another 6 plus miles before calling it a day? Screw that! I had gone 6,100 miles up to that point in 179 days. I wasn’t going to lose it now. I packed up in the storm, flipped off the sky and hiked my ass off. If I was struck, I was struck, but I was done allowing this crazy weather to dictate my hiking pace.

I went up and over mountains as fast as I could, down through canyons and pushing through overgrowth. An additional 7.5 miles in for the day, another cold and wet night. I was still in this.

The next morning, I made it to Roosevelt Lake Marina, dried my stuff, ate some real food, and ran into “Penguin”, a guy I had hung out with in Mammoth back in ’17. Cat at the Marina was nice and said these storms were not normal. I left there at noon, with a big climb out on the Vineyard Trail.

The following day I ran into “Sparkles” and “Circuit”, a great couple I had met on the Colorado Trail a month before. I pushed hard to finish out the week with a 43-mile day, ending near midnight. 240.8 miles for the week, just shy of 245, but after all the shenanigans of the week, I was happy with that numbers.

I needed a big week. I needed a string of good weather days. I needed to get to the Grand Canyon.

 

 

Week 25: Gila River Alternate, NM to Indian Spring Canyon, AZ

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Total Mileage: 193.7

 

I woke up feeling like I was in a skiff slowly taking on water. Every corner of my tent had a puddle and my sleeping bag was soaked completely.

I left at 6 am excited to reach Doc Campbell’s Outpost, resupply, and start the next leg of this hike; The Grand Enchantment Trail. It was raining as I started, and I followed the wrong trail through high grass for a while until the rain stopped. I pulled my phone out and realized I was half a mile off trail. Normally not too bad, I had just gone on the wrong side of a huge ravine and I couldn’t descend it.

A couple barbed wire fence jumps and I was back on trail. This was the Gila River Alternate and I could continue on it but with all the rain lately, the river was high and moving pretty good. It wasn’t something I wanted to deal with. So I chose the Gila High Route instead.

There was a 3 mile forest road to follow to begin with and this was a good time to check the beta on Doc Campbell’s. I looked at the comments. Doc’s closed at 4 on weekdays and was completely closed on Wednesdays. It was 10 am on Tuesday and I was 36 miles away. There was no point in going there now so I needed to adjust my game plan.

I had somehow downloaded an alternate route of the Grand Enchantment Trail that started north of Doc’s and that at the time seemed like the right move to make. I would peel off the high route, go up and over Loco Mountain, cross the Gila River. From there get into the Clayton Mesa Trail, which would lead to Turkey Feather Pass, over a few 10,000 footers and arrive on the Holt Apache Trail.  I would then take this to the West Fork River Trail, South Fork River Trail, to the White water Trail and onto Highway 180 and into Alma, AZ. Seemed like it would work, right? I stopped for an hour plus and dried all my stuff and did an inventory of my food. I had enough to make it to Alma and I should be there in 3 days.

NO markings at all, thousands of blow-downs, the trail underneath was burned down to rock so I could make out the trail. So much over growth I had no I idea where the trail was. It was raining hard and it was starting to become the most frustrating and angry hiking situation I’d ever experienced. Over 17,000 trail miles and the Holt Apache Trail was demoralizing me. At a certain point it hailed and I thought it couldn’t get any worse. It was at that point something caught my foot and I fell face first into the mud. There was a barbed wire fence lying across the trail, the only human thing on the entire section.

I eventually made it down to the West Fork River. The trail was flat going along it and easier to follow. I was in a canyon now and when the walls came right to the river the trail would switch to the other side. I must have crossed this water 30 times. By 6 I could see my breath and it was starting to get cold. I was completely soaking wet and I knew sleeping in temps under 40 we’re in hypothermia world.

I noticed a cavern that over hung near the river and dry beach sand underneath. There were some sticks and leaves and I decided at 6:30, with under 18 miles in for the the day, to stop here and start a fire. I never make fires and I’ve never made one out of necessity, but tonight I did. I was able to pitch my tent close enough to dry it and get everything from completely soaking wet to damp wet. The best I could do.

I shivered all night in my bag, only moving when it became too uncomfortable in one position. Waking up early wasn’t going to happen. I just knew no matter what happened the next day, I needed to make it to Alma.

I had 10-ish miles to get to the highway. Tough to pack up so cold and wet, but I was on the trail by 8.

Crisscrossing the South Fork River another two dozen times, the canyon started to open up. I was following orange ribbons that indicated where to cross the river and eventually they stopped. I thought I was on trail as I started ascending higher until I was up on top of a mountain. I figured I could descend off the Western side and get back to where I thought the trail was. No luck. That side was a another huge canyon where the Whitewater River joins the South Fork, with 200 foot rock walls, and I couldn’t go back the way I came up. That, as well, was also too sketchy.

I had no choice but to go off the North side; butt sliding and down-climbing a 500 foot dried out ravine to the White water River, cross it and climb 50 feet up to the White Water Trail.

After that fun-filled hour, I made it to the Gold Rush Trail, switch backed up to the top and saw the fresh pavement of the highway in all its glory. After hopping a barbed wire fence I was there, and I was spent. I had 3 miles or so to Alma. However, that was heading west and after that the trail (route) continued to the west. If it was anything like what I had just been through I wasn’t looking forward to it.

If I headed south, I would go through a “town” called Glenwood. From there it was only 10 miles of road, south to the original G.E.T. route I was going to do. There was also a trading post and stone cottages for rent. I had only done 10 miles at this point, but all I wanted was a dry bed and shitty television. By 5 pm I was in a bed watching the Golden Girls (satellite only had 4 channels).

The owner told me the weather isn’t normally like this in October. This was August monsoon weather. He gave me the handicapped unit which, given my state, was probably the right move. No stairs!

I laid everything out on the ramp out front and just dumped my pack upside down. I Hung my bag, which had clumps of feathers on each corner of it, and laid out my tent and everything else. I Ate 2 Hot Pockets, 2 burritos, a Big AZ chicken sandwich and took a hot MF shower. Watched some more Golden Girls and passed out.

I had a 100 mile road walk ahead of me, which would go into Arizona. I couldn’t believe I was walking into the state I started in less than 5 months ago. The following day I arrived in Safford, AZ after doing a 45 mile day. I wanted to pull a 50 but I needed to resupply and charge my stuff. Also, I thought maybe I could use the rest before making my way to the Arizona Trail.

Yet again, I had no idea what I was in for…

Out of Safford, I had 12 miles of desert road walk. From there, I peeled into the Pinaleno Mountains. The route brought me up through Ash Creek, which was a 7 mile uphill canyon. It was hard. No real trail to follow, just the occasional rock Cairns, but other than that, nothing. It was slow.

Sometimes it was not possible to continue through the canyon, so I would have to hike out and around a section. At one point, it began to rain and hail and not wanting to pull out my phone so it wouldn’t get wet, I followed what I thought was the trail. It wasn’t. By the time the hail stopped and I looked at my location I was up on top of a rock ridge that continued to get more narrow and more sketchy. I was bouldering at this point and the rocks were slippery. I was hoping to get to the top of this and cut over to the route. I realized that this was not good. To fall now would be the end. On either side. I had to carefully butt slide down, stretch my legs out to the next ledge, but not to jump down, too afraid I would accidentally knock myself down the mountain.

I eventually made it to a flat spot, removed rocks, and had just enough space to pitch my tent. 7 miles in 7 hours. It was dark and I was cold and wet. At this point I would be happy to be out of this section in 3 days at 20 miles a day. I wasn’t sure of the distance, it seemed somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 miles.

The next morning I found the route and made my way out of the canyon by 10am. A 4-mile road walk was a nice change.

On to Clark Peak Trail. Yes, actually a trail… with rain and hail. This lead to an open area of route creation. Sharp brambles, cactus, and high grass left me cut and scratched all over my hands and legs. It was too hot now to wear pants and the brambles poke through them anyway. The high grass made the hiking sketchy because underneath were sharp rocks and a lot of them. By 9:30 I was spent and had done 30 miles.

193.7 to end the week. The first week not over 200 miles. It was so hard. A dry river bed near Indian spring was where I cowboy camped.
 

Week 24: Chama, NM to Gila River Alternate, NM

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Total Mileage: 264.4

 

Disclaimer – Just so you know, I usually write these posts on road walk sections. Forgive my grammatical errors, English majors. cars are whipping by at 65 mph and it’s a little distracting. To write these at the end of a day is too much and obviously on trails is too slow.

To get me out of the “Hiker wall” funk, a large road walk section was exactly what I needed. Making up a full day in one week wasn’t going to happen but I could chip away at it. Water would be my issue through this section. I chose the Mt. Taylor alternate route which has some water and better views than the CDT proper. Up and over Mt. Taylor 10,000 plus feet and making good time into Grants, NM.

A quick resupply of 4 days worth of food (The bag girl couldn’t believe I could get all my processed sugar and empty carbs into my pack 😆). A quick 4 tacos and a quesadilla at Taco Village and I was on my way. It all took 90 minutes and that makes me happy.

A lot of highway from there and instead of staying on it, (which is a straight shot to Pie Town, NM), I decided to follow the CDT which makes sort of a horseshoe shape out to the west into the El Melpais National Monument Wilderness. This would add roughly 40 miles to my overall distance. I DID NOT want to beat my UPS box to Pie Town and it was looking that way, so the decision was made to do the extended miles.

Initially a great change hiking through volcanic rock and lava fields. It soon became a grind, following rock Cairns and pushing through thorny, straw type prairie grass. It stuck constantly to my socks and drove me crazy. After stopping a half dozen times to pull the prickles out I had to just deal with it.

I made it to Pie Town at 3:15pm on Saturday. Grabbed my box, took a shower and talked with bike packing foreigners while I waited for my stuff to charge. I was the only Hiker and only American. I left at 7 and banged out 8.5 more miles before calling it.

The following day I chose the Gila River Alternate for it’s water and the fact that I would be leaving the CDT soon with enough miles on it.

Basically 2,400 plus miles in 68 days. I finished the week next to a man-made cow pond in high grass and thorn covered socks. Happy with the distance I covered over the week and excited to make it to Doc Campbell’s Outpost and into the next leg, the Grand Enchantment Trail.

I had no idea what I was in for…