Total Weekly Mileage: 255.9
CDT Mile: 609
Total Miles: 3264.5
“Murder in Anaconda”
After spending three hours in my tent waiting for the lightning storm to pass, I got back on trail at 4:15 and was able to knock out another 18 miles. The following day, my goal was to reach the junction to the Anaconda alternate route. The traditional CDT continues south past Butte and then cuts west into the Pintler Wilderness. I, however, would be going to Anaconda. This alternate was taken by the record holder, and it cuts out 96 miles. I’m trying to mirror his CDT distance, which is 2,665 miles, so there’s no need to add miles.
As I approached the junction, Dallas (the guy that built the awesome website you’re enjoying right now) called to tell me about a quadruple murder that took place in Anaconda the day before—and that the guy had still not been caught. It didn’t matter. I had 26 miles of roadwalk to get there, and by that time I was sure they’d find him up against a tree with a bullet between his eyes.
On the roadwalk, three locals stopped to tell me about the killing and gave me food and drink. Getting into town, I stopped at the Town Pump Mini Mart and grabbed a Slim Jim to hold me over until I made it to the golden arches. There are Town Pumps in the place I live, but they’re not gas stations.
Two more locals told me about the murder and that the crackhead was still at large. I arrived at McD’s and decided to change up my order game. I like Big Macs, but the burger patties (if you want to call them that) are the size of a 50-cent piece—three bites and the thing is gone. So I ordered a Double Quarter Pounder, which is closer to real food, and had all the things that come on the Big Mac go on that. Y’know the song: “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.” Yeah, that—but on a Quarter Pounder. It was great, except the teller put extra ketchup instead of no ketchup. I ate it anyway. Still beats ramen and oatmeal.
I added a Filet-O-Fish, a McChicken, medium fry, and a Hi-C. Resupplied at Albertsons grocery and headed to the “Hiker Hut,” which is a small building in a park on the outside of town. I charged my stuff, ate again, and slept on the floor inside. The next morning, I was able to shower at the community center next door. The water pressure was extreme, and with my sunburned arms, I was wide awake by 7:30.
On my way by 8:30, I was pleased with myself. I always have a hard time getting out of town before 10, so I was excited to attack the Pintler Wilderness. About a mile up the road, I was stopped by police who told me the whole area was shut down. They still hadn’t found the killer, and they knew he was somewhere in the mountains. I turned around.
I called Dallas to figure out a new game plan. I certainly didn’t want to get a ride back 26 miles to the junction and lose all those miles. So, we came up with a plan for me to get a ride back to the other side of town and save myself an hour of roadwalking. From there, take Highway 1 for a mile and then take Highway 569 south, which—after 16 miles—would bring me back to the traditional CDT route and on my way.
By the time the trail angels David and Robin dropped me off, it was close to 11. Onto Highway 569 I went—completely sun-exposed with no shoulder, cars flying by at 70. About six miles in, I took lunch under a tree on the side of the road. Laid out my sleeping pads, took off my shoes and socks (pavement can do a number on your feet, especially with a heavy pack), and chilled for a bit.
As I was enjoying my pepperoni and Easy Cheese wrap, a truck drove by slowly, the woman driving staring at me. It pulled down the next dirt road, and I didn’t think much about it. Ten minutes later, it pulled back out and again went slowly. As I was packing up, a red pickup pulled into the parking lot next to me, and sheriffs got out. They looked like they were straight out of central casting from the show Yellowstone—button-down plaid shirts, cowboy hats, ranger jeans held up with big ol’ belt buckles, Stetsons, and the attire would not be complete without a big-ass revolver sitting on their hips.
They moseyed on over and asked what I was doing. I explained my hike and the reroute because of Rambo. They told me they had gotten a call about a suspicious-looking character.
“Well, I am thru-hiking the CDT. We all kinda look weird.”
They laughed. Apparently, that Karen in the truck had called the cops. Now, I’m not the sharpest tack on the corkboard, but I’m pretty sure if I had just shot and killed four people and was hiding from the cops, I don’t think walking down a highway in the middle of the day and taking a leisurely lunch on the side of the road would be my move. I mean, I’ve heard of hiding in plain sight, but that’s just redonkulous.
They ran my ID, and Barney Fife and company took off. Another first: being mistaken as a quadruple-murdering crackhead.
I wasn’t thinking about water after this, but I should have. Luckily, I stopped into Stockton Outfitter, a snowmobile and hunting guide spot. Jay, the manager, gave me a soda and let me fill my H₂O. I told him what had just happened, and he thought it was hilarious.
Another seven miles, and I was on the red line heading southwest. Met a family camping around some back roads, and we talked for a few minutes. I continued my day, finishing about nine miles or so from where the two trails intersect.
I had four solid passes to get up and over the next day. The weather was good—not crazy hot—but the area in the Pintler Wilderness did remind me a little of Section J on the PCT: big ups and big downs.
Oh, I forgot to mention that morning, half-awake, I got confused as to which direction to go and hiked 2.2 miles back the way I had come the night before. So I added 4.4 miles of useless hiking to start my day. Pushed hard, met a geologist, and we talked for a bit. I’d been trying to outrun storm clouds all day, but they finally caught me at 7 p.m. on my ascent up Pintler Pass. Cold, wet, and tired, I called it at 8 p.m.—a couple hours earlier than I would like, but I was too cold.
The next morning, I pushed hard right out of the gate. Went the right way this time! The trail started to get easier, and the weather was in the 70s with a light breeze and few clouds. Perfect hiking weather. I ended the day with a 42, putting me seven miles from the parking lot and the one-mile roadwalk to the highway into Darby.
I didn’t wait too long. A rancher named Jeremy picked me up, and I was at the RV park by 8. Had a huge, overpriced breakfast across the street, showered, did laundry, resupplied, and charged all my stuff by noon. Picked up a poncho and a pair of pink socks (yes, that’s all they had), and back at the road I put out my thumb.
A dude picked me up but could only bring me eight miles. I took it. He dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, Montana, and I waited 90 minutes before Lisa gave me a ride. The reason it was so hard to get a hitch, we figured, was because the murderer was still on the loose and I was still close to the area.
I finally got to the trail at 2:45, and although it was later than I wanted, I was able to get 19 miles. That night around 8 p.m., a deer came flying down the mountain in front of me and crossed the trail. About 30 feet behind was a black wolf—no doubt going for the kill. He was so determined he didn’t even notice me until he was about 20 feet away. Once he did, he put on the Jake brake and spun around back up the mountain. First wolf sighting!
Water is tough to come by in these parts. Some of the cattle troughs are dry, and the cow flops are many.
What a crazy week! I wanted an adventure, and goddammit, am I getting one!
