Project Eveningland

8/2/2023 Wednesday

I woke after a peaceful sleep in the narrow valley. I could hear the creek rushing nearby. No winds came in the night to shift the dead trees. I had been thinking of something my dentist and friend in Pittsburgh once said to me about why they crown teeth that have been treated with a root canal: a tooth that no longer lives is like a dead tree in the forest—it might stand a hundred years, or it might crack in the wind tomorrow.

I have ten miles to walk today to the historical Molas Pass Campground. My journey has reached its end. I’m going home.

8/1/2023 Tuesday

The storms last night were terrifying. I woke at various points to lightning, thunder, rain, and hail. I felt deeply what I was: all alone on a vast tundra shielded by two aluminum poles and some polyester fabric.

7/31/2023 Monday

It wouldn’t have mattered if I had wanted to get up at 3AM this morning to avoid weather. The rains came and went right through the night and morning. By 8AM it was still cloudy and gray and spritzing. I waited an extra hour to leave, to honor my promise from yesterday not to leave the tent until the sun shone directly on it. Ahead lay 22 miles of above-treeline walking, to include at least one night of above-treeline sleeping (tonight). I plan to do only 10-12 miles today because I’m just beat.

7/30/2023 Sunday

Four days ago, I proceeded onto the Colorado Trail with supreme confidence. I’d already hiked nearly 600 miles on this trail in 2020 and 2022, with many more miles of alpine foot travel besides. But everybody gets spanked now and again by the mountains, and today was my day.

7/29/2023 Saturday

The morning cool was perfectly comfortable at my 12K elevation campsite near Willow Creek. I got an actual, honest-to-goodness, voluntary early start. I spent my pleasant morning in a valley full of massive mountains surrounded by valleys full of other massive mountains. It’s just endless. Totally endless.

7/28/2023 Friday

Today was such a varied adventure, with an opportunity to develop my storm dodging skills.

7/27/2023 Thursday

I hadn’t realized that this was a disliked part of the CT. Commenters in the navigation app, and other hikers on trail today, suggest that what comes after mile 340 is much better. I’m not there yet but today’s walk certainly marked a transition in the landscape.

7/26/2023 Wednesday

Yesterday, on the drive to Gunnison, Dad marveled at the views. We can see snow, he pointed out, but we’re roasting in the sun. That’s the magic of altitude. I mean science. That’s the science of altitude.

There’s this weird instinct that I get after about three weeks into any long hike. It’s a nesting instinct. I start thinking about all the changes I want to make to our house. It becomes a way to cope with homesickness—I walk the trail and dwell pleasantly on all the changes Benny and I might make to our little sanctuary on my return. But the instinct has become a bit painful now that I’m temporarily home.

I’m back in Colorado and resting at home. It’s been a lovely few days with Ben, who’d expected to wait another two months to see me. Preparations for my Colorado Trail Flip Finale continue apace!

7/11/2023 Tuesday

There’s no clear pathway to Maine. Vermont is under a state of emergency and they’re having terrible flooding there—VT is already notorious for muddy tread. Many creeks and rivers will be impassable and require lengthy reroutes by road. I desire a straightforward, classic, enjoyable journey.

7/9/2023 Sunday

Forecasts of late say more or less the same thing: it’s probably going to rain, maybe a lot. Which days it will actually rain is unclear. We’ve had whole dry days when the forecast spoke of inches of rain. That was not today. Today was some of the heaviest, most sustained rain I’ve seen on this journey. Or on any hike.

7/8/2023 Saturday

Mission: rest day. I overrode some tiredness yesterday to do a few of the rockier bits of southern NY in the dry weather. Not that it has at any point felt dry, on account of the endless non-evaporating sweat.

7/7/2023 Friday

The Lost and Found Hostel is a welcoming place—I felt welcomest where the AC was a blowin’! I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hike in the heat today.

7/6/2023 Thursday

I enjoyed a nice leisurely morning. Ana was puttering around the house when I came downstairs. I got a selfie with Ana and her cattle dog, Lucy, who is a little bit sweet on me since I stayed with her and kept her safe during the fireworks.

7/5/2023 Wednesday

I was on the trail by nine. No rain in the forecast but plenty of heat. There’s still enough moisture in the ground (and in the trees) to keep the humidity nice and thick.

7/4/2023 Tuesday

I got poor Ana up early and we shuttled a car to a trailhead. That way I could drive myself back to their house after my hike today. On the drive through Unionville we saw many other backpackers. My question for Ana: do you think I can pass for one of them?

7/3/2023 Monday

Ana and Art—my friends who picked me up last night—took me out for a rich dinner and then back to a lovely forested home for climate controlled conversation and sleep.