08.05.24

Another monsoon on the way. The faintest hints of autumn in the air. A long walk with Bjørn through the forest, saying hello to some of his friends for the daily zoom. Another thru hike and a reason to write about something that stirs the heart. Boxes labelled for for various resupply points. Communication with relevant parties. The whole organism begins to move in the summer. The trail towns, the forums, the weather stats, the general network comes online as hikers start passing through. We decided back around Christmas that it would be the Colorado Trail. 2018, 2021, 2024. The energy creeps up on you. It's a process of allowing minutia and broader strategies find a home together. Then it's two weeks out. You've replaced any worn gear and broken in the new shoes on some local hikes and decided whether it's the Collegiate East or West (and it's east because we want at zero at Mt Princeton Hot Springs) and it's thru-hiker miles vs thru-hiker-with-a-little-dog-miles and how to mitigate all those lingering unknowns. We're going for 16/day vs the usual 20+ and want to make sure our friend is comfortable on his journey. No doubt, an Aussie Shepard can make the miles, but it's elevation, sun exposure, rain, rocky sections, and all the 101 things that are consistently "different" on a thru than day hikes and overnighters. It's been over six years since we stepped on single track dirt outside Campo with all the ensuing learning curves over those months, followed by endless miles of the Wanderweg in Switzerland and epic climbs of the Alps in 2019. The breathtaking nights where I'd set my alarm for 3:30 am no matter how wrecked I felt from the day's hike, knowing I'd have one chance at one picture of the Milky Way curving above the Matterhorn while the headlamps of the first ascents punctuated its silhouette in the absolute stillness of Stellisee. And then we came back over to the US and realized that our home was just next to the AZT and so it was another adventure of totally different proportions. From alpine grandeur to the stark beauty of the southwest (and many not-so-beautiful sections of tattered farmland) up and down grades and conditions that felt overall, more unforgiving than the PCT. At the Utah border, 800 miles felt like enough when it was finished and we retired to our home to rest and recuperate for a month before peeking back out into the world again. The two years after that saw a level of domesticity that felt almost foreign to both of us. I worked on the mountain through the second heaviest winter on record just for the whole experience of it; driving through whiteouts at 5am and feeling the wrath of sub-zero temps on a routine basis...the reality of the mountain that existed with or without throngs of tourists and then, in springtime, watching everything explode back into color. Along the way, Bjørn appeared from a farm in Ask Fork. He was this smelly little ball of wonderful and I remember promising him in the truck on the way home that I'd "protect him forever no matter what." He summited Humphreys when he was less than half a year old, went high into the 13k regions of Colorado, and has grown up in fresh air and sunshine. He's always smiling, always curious, always ready for another snuggle. Last week we went out for a 19.5 m training hike with the packs on and learned more specifically what works and what doesn't. I'd always had an Asics foot since desperately hobbling into the Big 5 in Tehachapi back on the PCT. The Kahanas worked. I swore by the them even after they were discontinued. So, I ended up with something similar for the CT but it was too much of the squishy trail-running feel and I wound up with two sizeable blood blisters at the end of the hike, which are technically still healing. We all made it, but we all had little issues to address. It's the "pre-hike"; this mental thing that goes on while you weigh your approach. Yesterday we went out again and got caught in a fierce lightning storm on the backside of Kendrick. Huddling in a grove of aspen saplings Hanne and I looked at each other and just raised our eyebrows. It was more of that general knowing that comes after thousands of miles together. Like "Yes, there's going to be more moments like this in Colorado." At least we had a tangible reminder. The late summer monsoons dwindle in frequency, not ferocity. Being exposed on a high pass when they roll through is not good, obviously. Weather apps, trail apps, spotty service, the unpredictability of nature, lunch breaks, morning routines. Timing. Everything is about timing. Another reason why we gave ourselves a wider daily window to operate in. If you can't make sixteen because of a storm, wake up early and do 18 the next day. There are only two time-dependent destinations: Breckinridge and Mt Princeton Hot Springs. Everything after that is negotiable. I like ease into a long hike; give myself some good food during those first few days. Take a shower here and there. It's amazing that the whole Colorado Trail is only about the same distance as Campo to the infamous LA Aqueduct section of the PCT. I was still getting my trail legs at that point. We'd been leapfrogging for a few hundred miles with our new friends The Howdies and Cherry and Leo from Korea. I remember walking a mile with my eyes closed while Hanne gently nudged me back onto the pavement here and there. I remember the winds outside Tehachapi, huddling behind a large boulder, watching the sun light up the valley at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada with a type of glow that I'd never seen before or since. For years after, I lived for the high pass golden hour vibes. You could take any day from that first series of firsts and I'd go all poetic in remembrance. It changed a lot of us...and then we all went our separate ways. So I've been thinking about this one and what it means, because I feel like that's important on some level. When I lost my mom in the middle of the PCT, there was a sense of such deep conviction about living life - any life that you've got in you, that I swore I'd never let it go. "Remember THAT feeling." The AZT tested our nerves and strength. It tested our resolve to put in the miles, drink from cattle troughs, find our way in random snow-storms, deal with resupply towns that tended to assume you were more homeless instead of thru-hiking. It was to me, often very humbling. We appreciated the little diners in Strawberry and Payson. The small-town Americana. A good pizza and a big IPA in Kearny. There was a certain magic to the whole thing, especially in Oracle where I got to walk back through Oracle State Park and do my little spiel with the rangers about how I used to live there when they were still opening up in the mid-80s. So, what is the CT all about? We haven't discussed it that much. Thru hikes are always on our mind. Van life, nomad-gypsy, whatever you want to call it, runs deep in both our blood but life compels you one way or another. It compelled me to open a recording studio in March after 20 years learning the ins and out of audio engineering. It compels us to make a garden, chop wood, bake bread and evaluate the time we've spent here. All the ups and downs and interesting lessons that life throws at you sideways when you think you're doing something else. I don't have a personal reason to tackle the CT outside of the fact that it's time. There's something very cleansing about being "out there" for prolonged periods. There's something otherworldly about the Rockies just like there's something about the Alps, Sierra, Cascades but as ever...I don't know what a trail is all about until I've done it. It happens by osmosis and slow steps. I wrote in 2017 that I wanted to do the PCT to commune with something...maybe myself. Just as good a reason as ever.

-W