“I’m leaving with everyone at 4am whether you’re ready or not” I say through the darkness to Beaker. I giggle as I watch him with my headlamp, comically slow despite his best efforts to hurry. The others are packed and headed towards us. I’m packed and ready for the day as well. 

I join the Chai doctors and Droobie, forming a single file line in the darkness. My headlamp is dying almost immediately. I curse myself for not buying batteries in the last town, resigned to stay in the line of my friends, bumming scraps of their headlamp light until the sun rises. 

“Aw, I feel bad for leaving Beaker” says Thunderbear. 

“Don’t” I say, dryly. “We do this every morning. He’ll catch up fast” 

Droobie nods in agreement. “He needs incentive to get moving” he adds. 

The sky above me is thick with stars, the milky way clearly visible above. I crane my neck to look up, tripping on rocks as I do, but continuing to steal glimpses anyway. 

The trail is mercifully flat, and we’ve already made it almost ten of our 18 miles before the sun’s fully up. The faint smell of sulfur welcomes me to Yellowstone. 

In the darkness we stop at a small metal sign propped upright in a pile of rocks. In black sharpie it reads: “Welcome to Wyoming, SOBO’s!” 

Beaker appears at the back of the group. We all take turns taking photos of eachother by the sign. 

I’ve got my town jets on, the day feeling ripe with adventure with the change in our collective routines. I grow impatient with standing beside the sign in the darkness and silently begin hiking off into the woods, my eyes adjusting quickly in the dawn. 

“Be careful!” I hear Droobie yell. I make it some ways before I see bobbing lights greeting me from behind. I’m slightly relieved, as I felt acutely aware of the presence of grizzlies as soon as I began walking alone. 

I hear a rustling in the trees and begin frantically shouting: “hey bear!”. I lock eyes with a horrified hiker in a bush and realize I’ve just yelled at a NOBO hiker trying to take a shit. I apologize, making a point of looking away and walking quickly ahead. 

Night folds into morning, and I confidently zoom ahead to the next water source, Summit Lake. The sun is just beginning to crest above the tree line, beams blinding me as they bounce and reflect off the early morning water. Steam rises off the lakes surface. The shore is mostly swamp and mud, but I find a solid enough spot to fill my water bag with much needed water to filter. 

The trail is lovely, featuring boiling mud pots and geothermal features far removed from most tourists eyes. My excitement builds for old faithful with each step.

Peaceful trail abruptly turns to paved, tourist-ridden hell. I watch tourists dancing beside geysers, far past the designated areas they’re meant to safely stand. I put my head down and walk as quickly as I can to Old Faithful Village, stopping only due to a crowd forming ahead. 

Castle Geyser erupts and I’m stopped in my tracks, realizing this is my first experience seeing evidence of the earth churning below me. I take a quick video, then hike on.

I’ve hiked 18 miles by 9:30am. I walk into Old Faithful Lodge, the oldest log building in the US, and immediately turn myself around and sit outside to collect myself. The crowds are more overwhelming than I’d anticipated. 

I have no service and will undoubtedly not find my friends in this mass, so I quickly come up with a plan- I’ll buy coffee, then wait outside and people watch until I see them approach from trail. 

The simple act of sitting on a comfortable bench feels like luxury. This, combined with a hot cup of coffee? Bliss. I watch crowds of tourists and listen to their conversations. I’m cross legged in front of a row of valet parked cars, enjoying paying attention to the people passing by.

An old man on a bench beside me points at a parked sports car, and says “that one’s mine” then laughs boisterously. We laugh together, as if us sitting so close to a car so nice is a joke in itself. 

A family passes me, the father gesturing clearly in my direction. He turns to his family. 

“Don’t you just love people watching?” he asks.

I guess we’re all enjoying watching eachother.

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The title could also include a reference to the day I spent goofing around in Grand Marais, I guess. But that’s not as cool and ominous.

I know this is really late, but everything else in my life has caught up to me. Also, so sorry to make the last day its own post, but I have a lot to say about finishing (and the trail in general) so I think that’ll be its own thing. I know everyone is on the edge of their seats wanting to know if I make it or not. Spoilers: if you’re reading this, it means I got back to civilization long enough to upload it. I’m probably ok. Unless I suffered a one in a million bear attack while in downtown Duluth. You never know.

It’s really starting to sink in that I don’t have too much time left on trail. Grand Marais was always a distant location that I’d get to eventually, a last checkpoint before the final stretch of trail. Now I’m in Grand Marais. I’m at the final stretch.

It really is crazy when I look on my map just how far I’ve travelled. I remember the reverse being true just two weeks ago. I was sitting in the rain, looking at the line of trail I still had to cross and thinking “I’ll never make it”.

Look at me now. I’m certainly a different person than I was back in Duluth, even if only by a little.

Day 12: Grand Marais (and a Fish Festival?)

I woke up, at the last of my food and drank the last of my water. I was running totally on empty, which meant that my food budgeting had been a bit tighter than expected.

The good news was that my 27 mile day paid off. When I woke up at South Bally Creek, I knew I only had around seven miles left into town. That’s light work. I expected to be there by noon.

The bad news was that hiking 27 miles in one day does, in fact, make your legs feel a bit off. Not horrible, but not great either. Needless to say it was a slow morning.

This was not helped by the rapidly deteriorating trail condition on the way in to GM. It was all the things I complained about in my first few posts: muddy, buggy, horribly overgrown. Fortunately, the knowledge that I wouldn’t be hiking through it for more than a couple hours helped me to push on.

There was one section that I’ll shout out for being particularly awful, where the ground looked solid but was actually peat (I think, or maybe just mud) over shin deep water. Both my poles hit solid ground, but my boot went straight. Soaked immediately.

Once again, though, the knowledge that I’d be done soon made the wet boot easy to just ignore.

Fortunately, the final section of the trail was an incredibly long and quite steep boardwalk down the mountain. No mud, and no slowly picking over rocks. After that, I road walked about a mile and a half into town. I tried hitching at first, but I kinda gave up after ten minutes of being passed. I guess I look too scruffy for the instant hitches I got at the start of the trail. The walk wasn’t bad, either.

The first thing I noticed as I walked into Grand Marais was that it was BUSY. There were lots of people in the streets, which made me think “huh, must just be peak season”. Then I saw the roped off street, the inflatables, the food trucks. There was some kind of festival going on, which was very exciting.

You see, I could care less about street walking (already do it) and inflatables (cool, but I haven’t shaved in too long and kind of look like a creep so I’m not taking my chances on a kids bounce house). Food trucks, however, were awesome news.

I found one that did smoothies, and ordered a smoothie called something weird like “Loon Passion”. It had mangoes and bananas and was ice cold. I’ve done nothing but crave cold drinks (I’ve ranted about this before) and this smoothie hit the spot so well that I drank it in one go. I don’t think my lips left the straw once.

After instantly deleting $8 (kinda pricy for a medium smoothie, but it was good so I’ll let it slide) I moved on to my next target: Hungry Hippie Tacos. I’d heard about it when I passed through Grand Marais on my way to Duluth, and being both hungry and a hippie it seemed like a good fit.

I ordered something with chipotle cream and pulled pork. The taco was larger than my whole hand (and I have big hands). Plus, it was fried. It was amazing. No complaints.

The real winner of the Hungry Hippie, however, was the medium (but infinite refill) fountain drink I got. They had coke products, I sat right next to the fountain. I would pound my drink before immediately refilling it. I kid you not, I must’ve drank at least two liters of red gatorade. It tasted like the nectar of the Gods.

I read in a textbook once about Alexander the Great and his army marching across the Sahara. They had little water or food, and when they finally got to the city they were headed to (Alexandria? It’s been a while) they ate and drank so much that they all became sick, vomiting up most of what they consumed in a vicious cycle.

Now, I got how you could get like that. I could conceptualize being so hungry and thirsty that you eat until you puke. However, I don’t think I truly understood that headspace until I got to Grand Marais, where I proceeded to do exactly the same thing. Between the smoothie I drank in two kinutes, the giant fried taco, and the absurd amount of red gatorade, I felt like I was going to puke. In a good way though, if that’s even possible.

Fortunately I was able to keep it all down, but it was a very slow walk to my campsite. I stayed at the same place I did on the way l ppl down. The campground in GM is almost always fully booked (as far as I could tell, it’s like that all summer) but it has first come first serve camp sites that are cheap enough for me to splurge on them. They are close to the road, but I’m so tired at the end of each day that noise hasn’t really been bothering me.

When I checked in to camp I asked what was going on down town. I didn’t get a. straight answer, but it was something about a fish festival? They did tell me that there would be fireworks later which was exciting.

I pitched my tent, which was actually surprisingly hard. The ground isn’t super deep at the campsite (rocky, too) so it’s hard to really get the stakes deep into it. This is bad, because due to the lack of frame my whole tent relies on the tension form the stakes to stay upright. It’s a trade off that I have to make for the ultralight benefits.

This means that I ended up doing some dumb stuff to make sure my stakes stayed in the ground. This included putting rocks on all the corners, and digging a hole and then rebutting two of the stakes. The end result was a pretty bad pitch, but there were no storms in the forecast so I wasn’t worried.

After sitting down at my site and letting my legs rest (for like three hours. This was no short break) I decided to get up and buy myself some groceries. Grand Marais was large enough to have a decent variety, including a propped outfitter store and a nice co-op grocery. I bought most of my stuff at the co-op, but because it was my last few days on trail I splurged on a couple of the fancy camping meals. I opted for thai curry, because thai curry is generally good.

Other notable puckups from the grocery store: I bought ~4000 calories worth of pop tarts (3 boxes). I picked three different flavors: blueberry, the ol’ reliable, sundae, which is quickly becoming my favorite, and cake batter, which was the one I’d always buy as a kid. When I packed them into my bear vault, I deliberately shuffled them so that I’d never know which one I was grabbing. This system worked out well, keeping things interesting for the rest of the hike.

I then grabbed food at the Angry Trout, which is a Grand Marais restaurant that I cannot say enough good things about. They specialize in fish, grilled and fried (I got the fish sandwich). The food is all amazing, and it backs right up to the bay for some amazing views.

A super cool thing is that they make it really clear that you’re not supposed to tip, and that they’ve just raised prices so that they can compensate their waitstaff. It means things are a bit more costly, but knowing that I’m not determining how much my waiter gets paid was worth the extra $4 on the sandwich. There was a section saying that tipping is extra, purely for a good job. I wish I’d taken a photo of the menu where it said that.

After that, I went back to my campsite and lounged around some more (basically the theme of today). I worked on the blog a bit, then it got dark so I ushered down to go watch the fireworks. It was a really solid show, and I should’ve taken some photos of it but I honestly forgot my phone.

I still never figured out what the festival or fireworks was actually about.

As always, I slept like a rock.

Day 13: My Life is Saved by the Right Bridge Being Down

I woke up around 8:20 (like usual) and meandered over to the Java Moose for coffee and to work on my blog a bit. I didn’t love having to stay in town and write, but I was not going to do it while actually on trail so I figured I’d get ahead. Overall pleasant experience, good coffee, congee corner with four bars of cell service and a power outlet.

Leaving Grand Marais was slow, as it often is while I get out of town. My pack is full of food so it’s heavy, and road walks are just my that fun so I’m inclined to go slower.

I did eventually get rolling, though, and almost immediately came upon the Devils Track section of the trail. The bridge was put, but I’d heard from some of the southbound hikers that the river was fordable if needed. I hadn’t done a proper river crossing since Crow Creek (day 3? 4?) so I was excited to try my hand at it.

I got hiking. The “Devils Track” is a river running through a rocky valley (who would have guessed? That’s basically all named locations on the SHT). The water runs fast, to the point where I heard it well before I saw it. This did not fill me with confidence.

Laying eyes on the river made things way worse. It was deeper than just a creek and had several serious waterfall sections. Plus, the banks were steep on either side. If a bridge was out over the track, it meant I would be climbing as well as fording the river. It didn’t help my nerves that trail conditions were pretty poor (tree falls, not overgrown) which meant that very few people had recently come this way.

Still, I started psyching myself up for it. I was going to extend my poles all the way, lean into the flow of the water. I knew all the right steps. I was going to do it, and come out the other side alright. I was really about to do it.

The trail veered towards the river . It was still loud and raging water, so I braced myself for a really bad crossing. Sincerely, the thought went through my head “at least if I drown it’ll be in a pretty spot.”

And boom. There was a bridge.

I was really received, to be honest. Part of me was worried that the bridge was unstable (which is why it was “out”) so I rushed across, thanking the Lord that I didn’t have to try my luck fording.

If I had? 50/50 odds I wouldn’t be writing this blog post right now, if I went through with it. I like to think that I would’ve just gone back i’m and done the detour, but who knows. I was really in the “ford the river or perish trying” state of mind, and it was ~4 miles back to the trailhead. I guess we’ll never know, because I never had to cross.

Once the near death experience was over, I was suddenly more open to the views. Devils Track was incredibly pretty, with sharp rising walls made out of bright red stone and a rushing river beneath. Pines grew sporadically along the ridges. It reminded me a lot of something out of an old western movie, to be honest. I got some great photographs while climbing out of the gorge.

Eventually I get to the downed bridge, but after what I was prepared to do it ended up being nothing. To be honest, scrambling down the slope to the river bed was harder than actually crossing the rocks. No trouble at all.

After that I passed through a number of super cool open meadow areas as I climbed up into the hills again. I also met another thru hiker who said she was from Bristol, England. I was proud to be able to say “Hey! I’ve been there!”

The sun was starting to set, but I knew the lake walk was just up ahead. Fun fact about the SHT: only around a mile and a half are actually on Lake Superior. This is the legendary “Lake Walk,” and I wanted to make sure I hit it at sunset rather than pushing through it in the dark (mostly for the views of the beach).

Before trying to push there, however, I stopped to have dinner. Despite being the most money I paid per calorie this whole trip, the coconut curry was worth it. After 20 minutes of rehydrating it tasted like takeout from a thai place. It was amazing. It paired well with the cake flavored pop tart I ate. Very solid.

After a couple hours of really determined hiking, I did make it to the lake walk just as the sun was setting. The whole thing was surreal; the water gently crashing against the rocks of the beach as mist rolled in off the lake.

It was probably the most solitude I’ve felt all hike, which was weird because I was less than 400m from the highway at all times. As the whole world turned pink it felt like a dream, especially the part right before you wake up where you’re half aware of the real world but not out of the magic quite yet. Truly surreal experience.

The trail eventually turned back inland right as it started to get dark, which was bad for a number of reasons. I still had a few (3ish) miles to go until my campsite, and the darkness meant the bugs were out in force. Also, even though my head lamp is good walking in the dark really ups my chances of falling and breaking something. Thankfully my poles kept me mostly upright, but there were a few close calls. Plus, walking along with just your headlamp lighting up the dark forest makes me feel like the protagonist of a found footage horror movie, which isn’t exactly a pleasant experience.

When I got to camp my problems got worse. 1) all the ground was rocky, which made it not only uncomfortable but also a pain to pitch my tent into (for reasons covered above). 2) the bugs. There were so many mosquitos that the second worst thing about them (after getting bitten) was having to put in mental effort to avoid breathing them in because the cloud was so thick. I would swat four or five at a time when I hit my legs. Awful, but a good motivator to get everything pitched and put away.

Fortunately I slept very well. Some might even describe it as rocklike.

Day 14: The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Second to Last Day on Trail

I started out this day somber and moody. I didn’t want the adventure to be over, and I knew this was my last full day on trail. I was worried that after I got done, everything would go back to normal and I’d lose the high on life feeling I’d been riding all week.

I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness for the mosquitos. They made me more than ready to be done. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Things didn’t exactly start off as the title of this section describes. It was a cold night, so the bugs chilled out a little bit in the morning. The trail conditions were good, so I made solid time and was at Judge C Magney state park before 11, where I found the new best official state sponsored sign I’ve ever seen.

Magney is smaller than the other state parks, being only one major trail called the Devil’s Kettle. This is a path that runs, you guessed it, along a river and past a really cool set of falls.

To their credit, said falls were probably the best ones on the whole hike. There was a lower one, which included a really cool rocky outcrop beneath where you could do a nice niagara falls spray knockoff. Then, the trail climbed to overlook the upper set of falls that were really spectacular. My phone doesn’t do justice to how massive or how cool they were.

Then, the trail climbed. I had a hiker warn me that coming out of Magney was the worst section on the entire trail because it just kept going up. I don’t think worst is an accurate descriptor (section B for misery, or that first day in the Swatooths if ranking purely on difficulty), but I can see where he got the idea from. It was certainly a long climb (~80% uphill for 5ish miles) if not the absolute steepest. I didn’t mind it tho; higher elevation generally means less bugs which is always good.

This section also featured a road walk, during which I saw a really cool abandoned heating and air truck overgrown by weeds. It was an old timey one, boxy like an ice cream truck. Very cool find.

After that, though… things got bad.

The road walk turned back into the woods and I was instantly reminded of section B. the upside of section B, however, was that it was flat. This was just overgrown.

What’s worse was the bugs. Swamp Gator and a generally relaxed attitude about getting a few bites had been holding off any bug related rage for the most part. That stopped today. There were so many mosquitos and biting flies that I literally couldn’t stop without ten or more landing on me. I couldn’t swat them effectively either, because that would mean slowing down/stopping and that just meant more would get on me. Honestly it was miserable, I shimmied down the trail slapping my legs like a circus monkey in a bad dancing act for almost ten miles.

There was one section where there were no mosquitos, which is a feeling that I’d describe as not quite as good as true love, but a close second. It was a rock that I’m calling the Spider Climb after the obstacle in American Ninja Warrior by the same name. Basically, it’s a big crack in a rock that you have to wedge yourself into and shimmy up. It’s about 6 feet tall and equally deep.

There is a path around it so you’re not technically required to shimmy, but I’m no coward. It was shimmy or nothing. The trick ended up just being throwing all my gear to the top of the rock and then climbing it with my hands free. Very fun, and also no bugs (heavenly). I decided to have dinner there, which was a little bit stressful because I constantly had to make sure things weren’t rolling over the cliff. Worth it, though, because no bugs.

After that it was more of the same. Thick brush, mosquitos, mud, hills. The only good thing was that I was making progress, but the trail was so miserable that it kind of erased that feeling. If every day had been like this I wouldn’t have been able to finish, that’s for sure.

Fortunately there was an unexpected light at the end of the tunnel. I stopped early at the Woodland Caribou Pond Camp (3 miles short of my planned stop) just to get out of the bugs.

Two great things happened. First, the bugs were just kind of… not as bad for some reason? They weren’t around in the same numbers as they had been.

Better still, there were people at the camp. I got to meet Seth and Harrison, two guys who had originally met in the Conservation Corps. They’d also done some volunteer work for the SHT association, so they were able to share some valuable insights into how the trail is maintained.

Apparently, the trail is cleared with chainsaws every spring. Then, crews go through with weed whackers from south to north, clearing the trail section by section. They speculated that the reason things were so tough in the last few miles was because the crews hadn’t gotten that far north yet. They also guessed that section B was bad because it had been whacked so long ago that the plants had time to regrow.

That wasn’t even the craziest part. Apparently, all of the bridges were built by crews of guys hiking in all the lumber on their backs. They said they’d carry some of the larger bits by just creating a rope harness between four guys and walking it in. Some of those bridges were massive, so I can only imagine the effort it must take to build and maintain them.

Knowing how much work went into to the trail made me feel kind of bad for complaining so much about trail conditions, to be honest. The SHT is all volunteers, too. I was just incredibly thankful that so many people had worked just to give me a trail to hike.

Seth and Harrison were just cool people in general, too. They’d done some wildfire fighting during their days with the conservation corps, so they had fascinating stories to share. They were also very generous with their cigarettes and whisky, although I had to tell them no on both counts. I don’t smoke, and while I do drink, with the calories and water levels I’m at, a shot of whisky would probably lay me out.

We stayed up late just talking before I finally headed in to bed. It was a great time, and definitely made a horrible day on trail better. That’s been one of the best parts; just meeting folk while hiking. Everyone is super nice, and everyone has this kind of good vibe to them that must come with doing outdoor hobbies. There have been so many great people that mot everyone has even made the blog. I’m really thankful for how good the community has been.

In Conclusion…

It’s going to be surreal not writing these any more, I have to say. This journey has been amazing. And I’ll definitely miss it when it’s done. I have so, so many thought about the SHT and will be doing one big final blog post detailing it all within the next few days.

Sorry for uploading this so late, the comforts of society have been a real distraction.

Happy Trails!

I’m convinced that I will eat something out of my pack today. A quick check of my bulging Opsak confirms that I am carrying more food than when I last resupplied. On the one hand this is pretty cool and on the other hand it’s lunacy and seemingly impossible. The generosity of day hikers, some amazing trail magic and the hut system have conspired to make me carry food for days through this alpine environment.

I woke at my usual 5.30am, the only unusual thing was my location, a bed in a hut. An incredibly generous gift from another hiker, it was a joy to wake up in the mountains and just need to squish my quilt back into my pack and be ready to go.

At 6.30am the croo wake the hut occupants with some exuberant yelling and joking. This seemed to rouse the rest of my bunk room, and ten people in a very small space start clambering about to ensure they were ready for the rigours of their respective days. I continued to lie in my bunk to avoid the action around me, and at 7am when breakfast was called I launched myself toward the dining hall.

Breakfast was delicious, having already performed operation oatmeal a couple of times I was very familiar with the offering, and ate enough food to get a baby elephant ready for the day. The conversation at the table revolved around the fear most of the overnight hikers had in reaching the next hut at Madison, having heard from others that it was an eight to nine hour traverse from this that had come from that direction the day before.

The distance between the two huts is 10km. The fact that hikers were travelling at close to 1km/h with very little elevation gain or loss suggests that it will be another day of wondering why no trail creation or management is being done on a premier walking trail.

Mt Washington

I hung around the hut for a little while after breakfast. The reason was pretty simple, I was keen to charge up my devices at the hiker basement in one of the buildings at the peak of Mt Washington, and opening time was 9am. As it was cold and cloudy, I wasn’t keen on arriving early and needing to wait outside. 

I judged that 8.15am was my perfect departure time, and strode out at that time. 

Fortunately there was almost no wind this morning and the very short climb up to the top of the hill was uneventful. 

I arrived at the peak and visibility was down to about five metres. This made locating the correct building for my charging needs entertaining as I had no idea which of the edifices that I couldn’t see was the one I wanted. 

Eventually I stumbled into the right space, right on 9am. I gave myself a pat on the back for timing my arrival pin perfectly and headed to the hiker basement to charge. 

Thirty minutes later with my powerbank and phone fully charged once more I headed back out to begin the traverse over to Madison. The first cog train was just pulling up to the peak and some ridiculously underdressed tourists hopped off and headed for the sign that causes tremendous excitement as a must have photo momento for achieving the almost impossible effort of catching a train to within ten metres of said sign.

The desperate scramble to reach the sign was fun to observe. I headed off the completely socked in hill utterly bemused as to why anybody would catch a train to the top in conditions like this morning.

I meandered off Mt Washington and took the non existent trail toward the next hut. The next three or so hours were spent hopping through a rock field. It was very apparent why it was taking people so long to cross between the two huts as there has been zero effort to create a trail.

I have no problem appreciating that this lack of trail creation or maintenance is a very deliberate decision in the Whites. I also have no issue with those reading that think this is a good thing for whatever reason (protection of nature, creating a challenging hike).

My own feelings on this section of the trail is how disappointing it is to choose to make the Whites this tedious as part of a long distance trail. You spend all of your time in arguably the most scenic part of the trail (when the weather is agreeable) looking at your feet rather than enjoying the views. Prior to starting the trail, I had been confident that the Whites would be the highlight of the northern section. It is sad to find it so neglected. Having walked through alpine environments in all of the other continents, there is no question that humans and the fragile environment can coexist without having to resort to not creating a trail.

What made this observation even worse was the last 500m to Madison Hut there was some evidence of  trail creation. The fact that it clearly can be done and hasn’t been all the way through the rock field is nonsensical.

Madison Hut

I arrived into Madison around 1pm. I had re-gifted my second hut night to Chestnut who had left Lake of the Clouds at 6am and was already ensconced in the hut. He was the only guest currently, and was pleased to let me know that leftover breakfast was still available. So at 1pm instead of eating lunch from my pack (will I ever eat from my food bag again?), I dig into oatmeal, eggs and pancakes.

The fact that the food was still here is a good indication of how few thru hikers are pushing through the Whites currently and also how many thrus walk right past the huts thinking they are not part of their journey. I encourage any and all hikers to enter every one of the huts on the trail as you come past, it’s a great way to ensure your pack stays heavy by not eating your own supply.

One of the other bonuses of being a thru hiker coming through the Whites is the opportunity to get a couple of free baked goods and a serve of soup from the huts. As I was now running out of huts, I decided to grab a couple of slices of cake to enjoy at Osgood campsite, my destination for the evening. Yes, I appreciate this sounds like lunacy considering my current food situation, it really speaks to just how hungry you get while enjoying a long distance hike. 

On to Osgood

So with the pack weighed down even further, I bade farewell to Madison and headed to the next camp. I left the hut at 2pm,and only had 5km to go. It took me two and a half hours to cover that distance. The only time I can think of going at a similar speed was in the upper reaches of some Nepalese hikes where I was above 5000m in elevation and climbing a peak.

Simply put, there was no trail. At all. Just a series of cairns indicating the direction you should head.

I stumbled and bumbled my way along, glad that I had plenty of daylight hours left to move at this glacial speed. 

It was with a feeling of great relief that I arrived at the blue blaze indicating the Osgood campsite. I collapsed next to a brook, filled my water bottle, and dig into some delicious cake for dinner.

I picked up my exhausted bag of bones and headed for a tent platform. A quick setup, a longer stretch and I was then ready to crawl into the tent and relax for the evening.

The camp remained empty as the sun began to set. I spent some time working out the logistics for the next few days and then read my book. Only a couple of days left in the Whites, I am sadly looking forward to escaping this park and getting back to a trail. 

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