JMT August 9th : Garnet Lake to Crater Creek

We set out early, moving quietly so as not to disturb the ladies camped on the ridge above us. The trail led us past the shimmering waters of Garnet Lake and alongside the peaceful shore of Rosalie Lake. Most of today’s hike was  downhill—a welcome relief after the ascent over Donahue Pass just yesterday.

A Geology Lesson at Devils Postpile

We left Garnet Lake early to beat the searing afternoon heat. Our plan only partially worked. By the time we left the forest and entered the exposed, open terrain, the heat was already intense.

The trail led us to Devils Postpile, where we came across a film crew interviewing an older geologist about the area’s distinctive columnar basalt formations. One of the basalt columns had been set up as a seat just out of the camera frame. We were drawn into the conversation and paused to listen for a few minutes before continuing on toward our destination—Red’s Meadow Resort.

Our first stop at Red’s Meadow was the store, where I grabbed an ice-cold Gatorade and guzzled it down. Then we headed to the takeout window of the restaurant. We each ordered a burger with fries and fresh fruit—I couldn’t resist adding a tall, thirst-quenching lemonade. After the meal, we picked up our resupply and sorted through our treasure trove of new food. As we packed everything into our now overflowing bear canisters, we chatted with other JMT hikers, swapping stories and enjoying the brief break from the trail.

Through the Burn Zone to Red Cones

With full bellies, we pushed on for another three miles, hiking through a burn zone and climbing a gentle peak near Red Cones. We made camp at Crater Creek, a small and secluded site tucked beside a quiet stream. The creek had just enough flow to soak our tired feet and rinse out some of our stinky trail clothes—a perfect end to a full day.

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Resupply 25 | Wisdom, MT to Anaconda, MT via Anaconda Cutoff

Day 98, 33.3 miles.

I don’t have much to say about the hiking today. I went up and down. I walked through forests and burned forests. I ate food, I got rained on. It was a very normal day. What I do want to say is this: 

On day 74, I said I told my parents I would be the first known woman to connect the CDT and GDT, and then I said on day 82 that documenting this hike while trying to put in big days is hard. Since then, I have gotten a lot of questions about my motivation. I wrote about this extensively in my Q&A and on The Trek before I started this hike, so I don’t feel I need to answer again. I just thought walking the whole divide as far as the trail allows seemed like a no brainer. You get to walk continuously through some of the most beautiful landscapes in two countries and you see the headwaters of every major river in the U.S. I was surprised that I could only find record of two men completing it, one in 2019 and one in 2021. There were no online guides on how to connect them, when to start it or what the conditions to expect or what kind of pace would be reasonable and necessary to complete it in one season. I didn’t set out to be the first woman, I just wanted to do this hike and I happen to be the first woman. And I hope that because I’ve documented this, that there will be a second, and a third, and a fifteenth, and a seventy-ninth. 

When I first heard of the calendar year triple crown, I was told that fewer people have done it than have been to the moon. And now this year alone there are four or five attempts ongoing, and three of them are border to border. One is Slide, one is Punisher, and one is Peg Leg, who will be the first woman. 

There is a Greek word I really like: atelic. It’s the opposite of telic: meaning, to do something for a goal, like bagging 27 peaks or getting a promotion at work or becoming the first woman. But to do something that is atelic means to do it for its own sake. To climb the mountain because you like climbing mountains. To do a good job because you take pride in your work. To hike because you like to hike. Telic outcomes are conditional. Atelic outcomes are unconditional. Honestly, I just like being outside. That’s why I started. That’s why I’m here. Some days are harder than others, but ultimately I have never questioned if this is anything but an atelic adventure. 

Recognition for its own sake, without personal integrity, is empty and meaningless. 

I once read somewhere of a Native elder putting feathers on a headdress. He was almost done, when he realized he had done it wrong. And he started taking it all apart. His grandson asked, “why would you redo it? No one will know.” And the grandfather said, “But I will.” That’s integrity.

Because you are the only person whose opinion about yourself matters. Everything else is temporary. 

Why am I here? Do you know that nursery rhyme? The bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see. That’s why.

Day 99, 28.1 miles.

Today I found my friend Mamacita from the PCT. Out of the first 40 people to make it through the Sierra in California’s highest recorded snow year, there were only seven women. We were two of the first seven women. I was beaming out of my ears, I was so overjoyed. All hiking friends are special but the friends you make on your first thru hike are extra precious. And I share a certain understanding with anyone else who also endured the suffering and experienced the beauty of the Sierra in that year when the snow stretched for 500 miles, like a kinship born of a trauma bond. 

I climbed up and down a lot today but after doing so much steep snow and loose off-trail talus and scree, I’m just grateful I have switchbacks and it’s all level, stable dirt. 

The most significant milestone from today is that I’ve made it into the final map on FarOut. The maps are downloaded state by state, but now I’m in the final North Montana map, which means the border of Canada is now visible on my screen. I can tap it and see exactly how many miles I have left on the CDT. The border is no longer abstract. It is in a way inevitable, so long as I keep putting one foot in front of the other in the right direction, moving patiently through each square of the quilted fabric of the landscape. When I’m out here, I can see so far. In daily life we are often in enclosed spaces. We don’t have a reason to look beyond the room we’re in. I can’t help thinking that what I’m doing now is probably how we’re meant to be, and how overstimulated and undernourished we must be in our normal lives. And I don’t mean nourishment in terms of food. I’m talking emotionally, spiritually. When I was looking for a way out of my depression last year, my doctor recommended doing another thru hike, because I was doing a poor job at doing all the basic things that keep us alive and well: eating, sleeping, moving, getting time outside. That’s all I do out here. That was how I ended up on the Colorado Trail last year, where my idea for this hike of the combined CDT and GDT was born. 

Day 100, 23 miles into Anaconda, 8.2 miles out. 31.2 miles total.

Well, it’s been 100 days. Two years ago on day 100 of my first thru hike, the Pacific Crest Trail, I had just reached the midpoint of the trail about 1300 miles in. I was still in California. Granted, that was a high snow year so we weren’t able to move fast, but now on day 100 of this hike, I’m already nearly 2400 miles in and I’m in my last state on the CDT. That would be the equivalent of me being at Stevens Pass in Washington at this point. Honestly, being on trail for 100 days doesn’t surprise me as much as doing videos and blogs for 100 days does. Never thought I’d have this much to say. I saw my fourth bear on trail today, but it was once again so scared of me that it ran away immediately before I even noticed it. I’m an apex predator and I strike fear into the hearts of bears. I did a long road walk into Anaconda along a highway where I saw four dead animals: a beaver, a skunk, a deer, and a dove. In town I got my resupply and met up with journalists from the Montana Standard. It was funny to have a photographer follow me around while I did my town chores and hung out at the hiker shed because I kind of think it’s all unremarkable. The reporter got me some snacks and even apologized for not finding the white chocolate flavor of Lenny and Larry’s cookies because deep in a blog post somewhere I briefly mentioned that’s the only one I like. I was impressed. In the evening I hiked out into a thunderstorm but since I was in town I at least got to add layers in a Pizza Hut restroom

Instead of out in the rain. I’m trying out latex gloves now since all my fabrics wet out eventually. Worked ok. I also got offered a backyard to camp in by one local and a ride from another but I had to decline because I had to do more miles and unfortunately this highway is part of the trail. I camped just off a pullout. 

xx

stitches

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Maine, and its highest peak of Mt. Katahdin, are the end point of the Appalachian Trail for most thru-hikers. The miles through the 100 Mile Wilderness, leading up to that emotional point, are filled with challenges, beauty, and people who help support hikers on their final leg of this amazing journey. Although that isn’t the case for me because of the route I’ve chosen, I felt a range of emotions these past few weeks that were more varied and intense than any other places on the Trail. In addition to stunning scenery and huge physical challenges, Maine really had all the feels.

AT Box Score

• Friendly People – 216/216
• Interesting Wild Critters – Bear, beavers, ducks, turkeys!
• Errors – 0
• Injury Report – No new news

There were many more opportunities for day-hikers to take advantage of this portion of Maine than I’d expected, so the count of people I saw was on par with most of the other parts of the Trail, despite the very remote location. The people I’ll remember most from this part of the hike are the ones that climbed Katahdin the same day I did and the many supporting folks that lent a hand and offered knowledge.

Arguably the most supportive hostel on the AT is Shaw’s in Monson, Maine. They hold a special place in the hierarchy because they are the last stop before entering the final leg of the Trail for north-bounders, because of the respite they give to south-bounders stumbling out of the 100 Mile Wilderness, and because of the top-tier operation they run. Shaw’s has been welcoming hikers for four decades and, though the current hosts (Poet and Hippie Chick) have owned it just for the past 10 years, they have created a full-service, four-building haven that serves all sorts of visitors from all over the world. When Blue Bear and I were there, we were blown away by the myriad stories – thru-hikers of all ages, solo folks hiking the 100 Mile Wilderness, friends back in Maine for a 40 year reunion of their thru-hike, family groups doing a series of local day hikes, and the list went on. All were equally welcome and joined together for delicious, fixed menu breakfast before leaving for their own adventures. I lingered at Shaw’s that morning because I needed to get my new phone up and running, do some electronics charging, and write a blog post. Sitting in the spacious kitchen, I enjoyed watching the buzz of activity by the staff while they turned the hostel over, getting ready for the next group of guests. It was really impressive to watch. Equally impressive was the store that they run on-site – many a hiker has swapped out their gear at Shaw’s in hope of lighter loads and more joy on the Trail. I didn’t need any gear, but was happy to restock my supply of powdered hummus from Mother Earth Products!

Other folks were critical to navigating through the past few weeks – notably Greg, the canoe captain who shuttled me across the Kennebec River, Trip the Ridgerunner who answered questions and warned me of a hiker who had taken up residence in an upcoming shelter, the staff at the Monson Visitor’s center who confirmed the spectacular weather forecast and low-flowing river crossings to come, and the park rangers who helped explain and execute the convoluted rules for camping at the base of Mt. Katahdin before my summit. They all played their parts beautifully, with a smile and an ease that made me feel that all would be ok.

Despite many people telling me that Maine doesn’t have a lot of bears on the Trail, it turned out to be the location of my sole bear sighting so far. I was walking up the bank from crossing the Kennebec River and a juvenile bear casually strolled across the path 30 feet in front of me. It “bearly” acknowledged me with a sniff and slight nod of its head before continuing on its course. I wasn’t quick enough with my camera and was much more concerned with looking for any of its kin to get a photo. I spent the next few miles making as much random noise as possible, including singing dumb children’s songs that were bizarrely the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve been working on the railroad . . . ” Also in the wildlife count were large turkey and duck families and two beavers. I had been hoping to see beavers busy at work, but the ones that I saw were very much at play. I had to settle for seeing all the results of their work in the many ponds along the way.

A Range of Emotions

People talk a lot about an AT thru-hike being a mix of physical and mental challenges – the path can be tough and the reasons to quit mount high as the months roll on. Things hurt, the Trail isn’t what you expected it to be, you feel the guilt of leaving responsibilities in the real world, you miss your dog, you miss your bed, you miss your people. The enormity of it all hits people at different times and for me it was in the 100 Mile Wilderness. The positive emotions also hit with force during this time, so feeling it all in a swirling pool of emotion was a lot to process on the limited sleep I’ve been getting.

Peacefulness – I typically feel very at peace while hiking and my time in Maine was no exception. The beauty of Maine lake, ponds, rivers, which dominate the landscape, were fantastic. I’d been worried about the chance of high-water river crossings since I’m not a strong swimmer and had heard stories of depths above the waist for some hikers earlier this year. The lack of rain over the past few weeks made this a non-issue and the quiet, babbling water was a pleasure to cross. I only swapped my shoes to sandals twice; otherwise the rivers were a fun rock-hop.

Gratitude – This emotion typically nudges all the others out of my mind. The Trail in Maine is maintained by the extremely competent volunteer-run MATC. This is the only state where I’ve seen piles of bog board materials stacked up and ready to be used where needed on the Trail. Although the folks in Maine don’t control the weather, I’m still grateful that every day was picture-perfect with sunny skies, light breezes, and relatively cool temperatures!! Maine required some extra logistics and many hours of driving for Blue Bear. In fact, he went out of his way to deliver meals to my hiking group in the 100 Mile Wilderness. I’m grateful for his support and continue to see his fan club grow.

Disillusionment – I felt a little guilty about this emotion because it seems very much the opposite of grateful. I’ll confess that I didn’t love the 100 Mile Wilderness like I thought I would. I had imagined it as an unspoiled, perfectly wild section in which to contemplate Life’s Big Questions. I mean, isn’t that what Thoreau did so many years ago? My first day, I listened to hours of target practice on nearby land. The noise was so unsettling that I hiked an additional four miles that day, just to get farther from the source. The next morning I woke up to sounds of machinery – not really sure where it was coming from. Another day featured sounds of logging trucks for much of the day and small planes shuttling visitors around Rainbow Lake. I had built up Maine in my mind because of happy visits previously; this was a reminder that the Trail is a narrow protected corridor, often surrounded by privately held land on which owners have no obligation to provide a good hiking experience to folks wandering through their world.

Sadness – Finishing Maine is an end for most northbound hikers – the end of the Trail, the beginning of What’s Next, the return of the pressures that likely brought hikers out here in the first place, farewells to the kind people around you. I saw all of this in the group of people who camped at the Birches Campground and summited Katahdin with me. I could watch the emotions unfold as an observer, since I have some miles to complete before I’m done. What I felt in sadness was more about leaving the mainstream of this bizarre alternate reality. I’ve been with the pack all this time – heading North, just like most people. From here, I’ll be largely on my own from Georgia to my home state of Virginia.

Anger – I’m also not proud of this one. After half a day of picking my footing amongst enormous, tangled tree roots and annoyingly placed rocks, I said a few well-chosen expletives about the folks who set the Trail through the 100 Mile Wilderness. It’s almost cruel the way they tease you with beautiful, flat, pine-needle covered surface before serving up rocks and roots again. It was another lesson that the flat elevation on a topo map in no way tells you what your experience will be. My second tantrum was a little more grounded. The first portion of the climb up Mt. Katahdin is among the most difficult portions of the Trail, with head-height ledges to climb, boulders to squeeze between, and hand-over-hand navigation of jagged rocks. In just a few spots, rebar has been embedded in the rock to provide a much-needed handhold. Without going into the details of my humbling belly-scoot across a rock ledge trying to reach a handhold to secure me, I’ll just say that a bit more rebar would be great for the vertically challenged among us.

Relief – I had a lot of worries about Maine – high-water rivers, too-tall climbing, injuries from poor footing, car trouble for Blue Bear, bear attacks, moose trampling, missing the sign-up for a Birches campsite (which would have meant losing a day or hiking 20 miles including Katahdin), lightning storms – and none of them happened. Whew!! 

Pride – I’ve walked 1617 miles, including the toughest sections of the Trail, with a full pack every day except Katahdin summit. Even if something stops me from finishing the remainder of the miles, my accomplishment so far will be a source of pride forever.

Curiosities From the Trail

Ignoring Leave No Trace principles, I could completely understand how these boots were left on a remote section of trail. A hiker bought these boots, thinking they were both functional and stylish, but not appreciating that a pound on your foot feels like five pounds on your back. The rigid structure caused a bunch of blisters and pain in heels, knees, and back. The hiker finally gave up and switched to camp shoes, leaving these torture tools behind.

Remember to Look for Beauty

These carnivorous pitcher plants were growing everywhere in Maine’s “Fourth Bog”.

State Limerick

The wilderness stretches on for miles
The new bog boards stand ready in piles
Choose only one state
and Maine would be great
Katahdin prompted sweat, tears, and smiles

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help me reach my goal of raising $25,000 for the ATC this year.