CDT - Canadian Border to East Glacier

Published on 2023-06-21 by Michael Stanton

To go back to days 82 and before (from 2022), click here.

108 miles, 25,000 feet elevation gain (Google is reporting less than my daily mileages in the image above).

The text below refers to the same events as the blog entries:

• Getting to East Glacier
• Days 1-3
• Thoughts before launch
• Getting in place
• Day -1, with video

June 21, Day -2

Here I am again. Driven back to a dusty range, away from the spires of the European Alps, into a sullen forest of lurking bears and surly woodsmen. Why? Why did I leave the good woman behind, promise to burn piles of cash on scruffy but expensive motels, leave my pleasant and well-paid job for clouds of mosquitoes and rashes in embarrassing places?

One stark and devastating reason, which offers me no inspiration yet won't release me:

I need to finish what I started.

What I did bears no relation to the halcyon days of 2020 and 2021, when I dreamt of walking the Pacific Crest Trail like my idols on YouTube. And little relation to the actual fact of the Continental Divide that I traversed in 2022. For the first half I was held aloft by those dreams well-dreamt in the years before. In the second half my inspiration drained slowly as exhaustion and giardia taught me that dreams are dreams for a reason: they do not stand the harsh light of this world. They bleach and fade in the harsh sun.

I returned home after that, determined to record my impressions and remember the good times. But to go back seemed ridiculous. Now I know what the trail is, after all. A line of dusty footprints populated by obsessives no more interesting than me, and I'm boring as f(#k. I concluded that we weren't really living a grander life, but instead were slotting ourselves into a narrower life because we suspected we were unfit to cope with the ordinary. The ordinary is a kind of "noonday terror" for many, including me. But it seeped into the trail anyway. What is that exotic, long-limbed woman doing over there in the sunset?

Curating "likes" on her phone.

What occupies the mind of that idealistic young man, as his grapefruit-sized calves power him to a stunning vista?

The hope of cadging some free ice cream in the next town.

In short, we are glamorous...until you get too close. Then we are ordinary, or, perhaps worse, because to a greater degree than the actual ordinary person, we believe we are beyond special: we find ourselves exquisitely interesting.

Looking across at Vimy Peak from Waterton.

Looking up the South Ridge of Mt. Crandell.

Waterton from slopes of Mt. Crandell.

The South Ridge, with some exciting scrambling ahead!

So! Naturally, if I HAD to return to the trail, I'd go as a misanthrope. I'd ignore all the "hiker culture." And return I must. Because the gleam in my eye through those years of dreaming came from the idea of completeness. It wasn't "doing a long, long hike." It was the grandeur of crossing a country. My country -- big and terrible, once riven by frontier wars, now riven by a broken culture. I wanted to thank it for producing me, though it wouldn't notice in the least.

So I needed to go back. I had to face my fear of the grizzly bear. I couldn't just wimp out. This had to be finished. Even though the mountains were, well, not up to snuff. I'm sorry to say it, but the Rockies are more about big empty stretches of land full of game than they are about dramatic cliffs and rock faces. Sure, those exist, and I saw plenty of 'em, but distances are long. So on going back, I had to accept that my mission was somewhat purgatorial: make the slogs. Establish the camps. Keep going, and finish the job.

Now that I got all the negative stuff out of the way, I can tell you that I was reasonably cheerful. After all -- I was still setting out on an adventure. I'd be free of work for months. I budgeted 3 months and a week or so for the trip. My first problem was getting permits for Glacier National Park.

I put this off for a long time, then fumbled around on the park service web-site, managing to score a camp for nights 1, 2 and 3. But I couldn't get any more than that. I trusted that I'd be able to contact the rangers when I got there and work out the rest of the trip through the park (I needed another 5-6 nights).

Barbara dropped me off at the airport. I flew to Calgary through Paris, where a champion blacksmith from Waterloo, Belgium told me about the horseshoe-making competition he was flying to there. I told him I used to work in Waterloo and we shared memories of the local Ibis hotel -- what a small world...

I had hired a shuttle to Waterton, and the driver picked me up at the airport. Along the way I bought food at a Walmart. The Rockies were snowy and beautiful. At the hotel I walked into the town and ordered a delicious pizza.

June 22, Day -1

In the morning, I went to the park office where a call was made on my behalf to the U.S. park office. A poor skinny ranger sat on hold for almost 2 hours, then called me into the back to talk to the ranger across the border. It was a very friendly talk, marked by the rangers deep frustration with the software he has to use, to all of which I murmured sympathetically. To his disbelief, I managed to snag a campsite that everyone wants, and which was full only seconds before. I tried not to scream that he should take it immediately. After a few mouse clicks, he had my way through the park perfectly set up.

There was another computer SNAFU, but eventually it was overcome. Meanwhile, I had to watch a video about bear safety under the eye of the skinny ranger who secured the contact with the American side for me. Yes sir!

I was elated to leave with my schedule set for the next day. I'd have 3 easy days getting to Many Glacier. Then two medium-sized days followed by a monster 24 mile day. Then one more day, and out to East Glacier.

Fantastic.

I was so excited, I had to do a hike. Trying not to think about how my plans would be wrecked if I hurt myself, I decided to climb Mt. Crandell by a narrow ridge that required climbing skill and good route-finding ability. It was a bit much to bite off for an afternoon before the big day, but I was just too excited not to take it on.

After an hour I was at the Bear's Hump, an overlook above the town, looking for the easiest way up. I walked and scrambled up, enjoying myself. At one point I had to do some climbing moves on a granite wall right below the crest. Above that I met the narrowest part of the ridge with pleasure. Then a longish walk to the summit.

Mountains to the west of my climb.

The two halves of Waterton Lake from near the summit of Mt. Crandell. My journey on the CDT and the USA is on the right side.

Zoom in on the first steps of the trail, along the right side of the lake.

The Canadian Rockies look pretty awesome...

Panorama from the summit.

Me on the summit, chillin'.

After a good look around I started down to the northeast, supposedly on a "trail," but I quickly lost it in steep forest. I just headed straight down, stepping over trees as needed. In fact, I'd rarely see a trail on this descent. Mostly, the line on the map was just a marker of the easiest way. Near the bottom it got ridiculously steep and loose. I really had to be careful. Eventually I was climbing over boulders in the dry creekbed.

I popped out near a grand hotel (kind of a Harry Potter looking place). I went back to town, ordered a pizza and enjoyed my last night in the room.

I had my bear spray. I had my food, purchased on the way down from Calgary, while my shuttle driver contemplated the horror of her colonialism.

A startled deer at the townsite.

June 23, day 83 (counting from last year), 10 miles

I'm off!

I allowed myself a big breakfast, then waddled off to the south (big breakfasts have a way of doing that). There were many day hikers, probably shunted here from the flooding of a few days before which closed much of the park.

The trail was crowded, and a nice person took a photo of me with Mt. Crandell behind.

It was exciting to approach the US border. I registered for entry the day before with an app, which meant I wouldn't be shot as an intruder at the border. I got there to find a man with a glorious white beard and a red shirt lounging on a pier next to the monument. I took some pictures and we starting talking. He had a kind of "larger than life" mountain-man persona as a longtime thru-hiker. He told me his trail name but I soon forgot it. I just called him Cory.

My buddy Cory shortly before we met for the first time.

My selfie at the marker. Blurry, because the camera focused on the little blade of grass, doh!

Relaxing on the pier...

We talked of many things as we walked the few miles further south to the camps. Strangely, there was a sign at my campground saying it was closed due to bear activity. Cory suggested that I go to the Goat Haunt campground with him, another 15 minutes around the lake.

Over there we met a ranger who confirmed this was the right idea. Two months later I'd learn the story of the bear activity when I met the woman who was snuffled and sniffed by a grizzly bear in her tent! But for now, it was a good chance for Cory and I to keep talking.

Our itineraries through the park were almost the same. He'd come in from the west side of the park and befriended a woman and her young son, who camped with us at the Goat Haunt. Together, we had a great evening, building up a fire in the fireplace at the strange little "Peace Monument" building next to the sleeping building, which was a kind of concrete structure open to the air where you can set up your tent inside.

With the fire and the beautiful view over the lake it was a fantastic start to the trip. Mosquitoes were out, but the fire kept them away.

We really hit it off immediately!

Cory got this nice panorama from our camp.

The view from the Goat Haunt camp buildings.

Zoom in of the same...

We built a fire, quite nice.

Goodnight with a dramatic sky...

June 24, day 84, 10.5 miles

Rain and soaking bush lead to high country and good weather.

I was up and off before Cory, though I figured I'd see him later. It was interesting to disappear into the head-high brush around the trail in the quiet morning. After an hour it began to rain lightly. The brush thickened, but mosquitoes kept me moving.

I took a rest at a patrol cabin by a junction where sometimes CDT hikers approach from the east, being unable to book a night at the Goat Haunt. As I took off, Cory arrived. After a brief chat, I headed uphill. Wow, the brush can hold a lot of water! Before long my lower body was completely soaked, I mean wringing wet!

Cory resting at the Patrol Cabin by the junction up to Stony Indian Pass.

The view southwest as the rain stops.

Climbing the slope, up from the jungle...

In high country under Cathedral Peak.

But as I climbed the rain stopped and the sun came out. I passed some snow on the trail, wondering how bad it would get (not bad).

Before long I was at a beautiful high point resting amid some rocks. Gorgeous views to the west, with a dramatic wall on the east. After an hour or so, Cory arrived, complaining about the elevation gain. In this early part of the trip, he really hated hills. His pack was huge, and he said he was out of shape. All that would change by the end of the Glacier section. But for a short time, I was more fit.

We headed down to camp and Cory showed me how to make a little sack of rocks to throw over the bear hang, then hang the food. Cool! Soon I'd be an old hand at that.

View from the high point near camp.

First snow of the trip...

Cory heads down to the Fifty Mountain Campground.

The bear hang.

We ate our dinners and went to bed after sitting around talking a while.

June 25, day 85, 12.2 miles

An unforgettable and not-too-long walk.

On the trail to Spectacle Lake.

I was really excited about visiting Spectacle Lake with a short detour from the trail. Cory was game to join me. It turned out to be the most beautiful scene of the trip.

Spectacle Lake, looking east.

A peaceful place...

Michael with slopes of Mount Kipp behind.

It begins!

Michael at the lake...

We shared how thankful we were to get to do this, and that we seemed to have the whole place to ourselves. We saw no one the day before, and on this day we'd only see some campers in the distance once we reached camp. We both laughed at the same things, and started the kind of joking we'd do for the whole trip together, inventing silly scenarios that built on things that happened or that we'd talked about.

Grown ups can play, too. But just like kids, the play isn't completely useless. It's also about figuring out the world and your place in it. We had a way of moving from the most absurd storylines into something more serious. We're both divorced men with children, which means there are a lot of years, a lot of thoughts, and some darkness shading the light in our view of the world. Life is neither easy nor unimportant. Somehow, you need a mix of skills and people. A mix of errors and success. Cory and I both felt we'd learned more from our own errors than anything else. Chiefly, it was good to be alive.

Rounding the valley heads south.

Preparing to cross Cattle Queen Creek on a snowbridge.

Michael crossing the creek.

Cory also was patient with me in another way. I'm on a spiritual journey, well, we all are. But I'm trying to figure it out the way I figure out a computer program. This means I'm constantly going on about some "metaphysical" topic. On the one hand, I'm a fierce defender of Christianity but probably, I color outside the lines far too much for a good Catholic. I share with the occultist the idea that the world itself is telling us something, and it is our duty to listen and learn. But then again, Jesus did not say something different. He said, "knock and the door shall be opened." We should look. But not only with our mind and eye. With the heart, chiefly.

Cory put up with all that for MONTHS. And I regularly chided him about what I thought of as his "Manicheism." Haha, you might have to look that one up!

Looking across to the Ahern Drift.

Across Flattop Arm with Heavens Peak behind.

The Drift, and trail beyond.

We were approaching the most feared section of the trail: the Ahern Drift. Its a steep snowfield that can't really be avoided, as it protects the entry to a trail blasted into a cliffside that you need to use. We both had axes and spikes just for this, and had been well-queried by the rangers on this subject.

We got up to it, and with some reasonable boldness decided to just use our ice axes and no spikes. By the time we were in the middle of it, I wished I'd put on spikes, but oh well, concentration on the best way through would have to do. I kicked steps with Cory right behind. He offered a suggestion to use the thick part of my shoe around the heel to better kick steps. What a great idea! I did this and was rewarded with better, quicker steps.

Other side of the Drift, the only place where an axe and/or spikes are needed.

Cory and Heavens.

We climbed into a little moat between snow and rock after the drift and made celebratory noises. Yeah, it was a little tougher than expected. On the other hand, spikes would have made it too easy!

Another shot of Heavens, so impressive!

The Granite Peak Chalet and our campground for the night.

After the Drift, nothing could bother us. We reached our campground, only a little annoyed at having to climb down a few hundred feet that we'd have to reverse in the morning. Once again, we had it to ourselves.

June 26, day 86, 11 miles

Crossing a spine, nabbing a summit and enjoying a restaurant meal!

Cory let me take off early because my plan was to climb up Swiftcurrent Mountain before dropping down to the metropolis of Many Glacier. He figured we'd meet up on the other side of the peak at some point.

I enjoyed the lonely journey up, taking quite a few pictures. On top there is a fire lookout building and a resident marmot. I nearly lost a ski pole to him! I set the poles down and messed with the camera. When I came back only one was there. In fact, he'd dragged one of them nearly off a sheer cliff!

A meadow west of Swiftcurrent Pass.

Lichen on the southern slope of Swiftcurrent Mountain.

Looking north from Swiftcurrent Mountain.

I said "hey!" and he let go of the strap and appeared to jump off the mountain. I retrieved my pole gratefully, now decorated with some friendly teeth marks on the rubber hand-grip. Losing a pole isn't just an annoyance -- my tent depends on them!

View from the lookout on top.

Timed self-portrait looking down to Many Glacier.

The Garden Wall.

After many looks down to the the valley and Bullhead Lake, I started down. Eventually I was moving pretty fast, kind of "hop-running," since my pack felt nearly empty. The trail was absolutely incredible, having been blasted out of cliff faces for long sections. Waterfalls seemed to surround me.

The lovely valley with Bullhead Lake and Many Glacier beyond.

Bullhead Lake again.

The view on descent to the east.

Michael at Redrock Lake.

It started to rain in the flat forest before town. I got to the restaurant to see Cory, and we tucked into burgers and beer. He said someone knew me here and I had an idea who it was. Sure enough, it was "Dragonsky" who I'd met on the stretch from Lordsburg to Silver City the year before. We'd exchanged some messages as we hunted for ways to get a permit for Glacier. Happily she found some way, too.

Food...shower...wow! These were heartily enjoyed. We shared a camp with some guys who we'd see on and off over the next few weeks. Sleep came easily.

June 27, day 87, 15.6 miles

Over Piegan Pass through the heart of the park.

The ranger had asked me to try and find more hikers to combine onto my permit in Many Glacier. The night before found no takers, and we didn't want to wait around until 9 in the morning since today would be a relatively high-mileage day over a pass, and rain tended to arrive in the late afternoon. But a likeable fellow from Israel had curled up in a corner of our campsite in the night. I walked over to the ranger station with him in hopes of finding someone, but had no luck. Later he told us that shortly after the station opened someone came by with an extra space on their permit so it all worked out.

I'd resupplied food at the store the night before, and grabbed some pastries in the morning. We'd also done laundry, so we set out fresh, clean and well fed! After about 30 minutes we met the bear on the road.

The grizzly bear on the road near the Many Glacier Hotel.

He was in front of a pickup truck, slowly rolling forward. He looked vaguely irritated. As he came towards us, we put our arms up and made noises ("Hey, bear!"). He wasn't impressed, but continued on his line, leaving the road for the trees. Cory saw that the bear was tagged, thinking that might be a bad sign for the bear, anyway -- that he was a "repeat offender" coming into town and getting used to people.

It was impressive to see how he paid us no mind. Over and over in the woods, you see furtive animals. Their movements almost seem programmed as they take every opportunity to avoid you. You get to know exactly where they'll turn, look and dodge in the electrified space the environment becomes with you, a threat, in it. There are exceptions to this rule, with marmots for example. Their holes are nearby, and if they need salt they can be relentless. Once a deer followed me on the trail for 2 miles, hoping I'd drop a boot.

But this nonchalance was different. It indicated we were no threat, and the bear knew it better than we did. I was glad we weren't having this meeting way out on a trail somewhere!

Looking south in the Grinnell Creek Valley.

Mount Gould and the hotel.

Michael heads up to Piegan Pass.

We headed up Grinnell Creek. A couple of miles in we startled a moose and her cub, who loped ahead of us along the trail then crashed into the trees. Eventually the trees thinned out and we emerged in the sun under cliff faces with waterfalls ahead.

Views in the upper valley.

Cory rests near a waterfall.

More views...

Getting closer to the pass.

Mount Gould.

We got over the pass and started down. Cory was happy to have made it over a big pass, and sung various rock and roll songs. I joined in occasionally or suggested different ones. We'd meet people on the trail and he'd do a british accent and say irreverent things. One lady had no time for it and just looked exasperated. I felt bad for her, she must be tired out. In general, I envied Cory's outgoing nature with people on the trail -- he left a lot of smiles in his wake. I tended to just smile and say hello, but he often struck up conversations and learned inspiring things about the people he talked to or news of the trail up ahead.

The verticality of this valley was amazing. Note the pair far below.

Resting at Reynolds Creek.

We dropped down to the famous "Going to the Sun" road and rested on a bench at an overlook where a volunteer ranger was giving a talk about the glacier normally visible in the distance. It was hidden in lowering cloud, and it began sprinkling on and off -- the afternoon rains had come.

As we continued the hike, we met a couple who told us two climbers died here recently on rotten cliffs above when their belay anchor failed.

Michael massages tired feet.

My tent at Reynolds Creek Camp.

Safe from the mosquitoes in here!

We walked down to Reynolds Creek and put our feet in the water. The sun came and went. In the forest there were too many bugs, so we retreated to our tents after an early dinner. It had been a great day, and I was tired and sore in a good way.

June 28, day 88, 13 miles

An easy day traveling along Saint Mary Lake.

We happily settled in to an easy day, almost a "rest day" because there was no climbing or descending, just a gentle journey along the lake shore. In previous years there had been many blow-downs on the trail but they'd been cleared.

Michael at the bridge near Virgina Falls.

Cory captured a nice panorama here.

The views were tame compared to the previous days, and the country seemed to get a bit drier. We had big world-spanning conversations about philosophy, movies and our kids. Cory is a master HVAC repairman, and told me many things about the construction business, about business ownership in general, and the place where he works in particular. He understood how small decisions on recouping costs or treating customers respectfully add up. Businesses can go broke slowly, or they can build on a good reputation to the point that they don't have to put up with lousy customers, which also exist! For himself, he's looking for a position somewhere out here in the west in the mountains. We often talked about Stehekin, Washington, a remote village in the North Cascades. He could certainly be the town heating engineer, and enjoy snowshoe trips all winter. It would be better than Misery...that is, Missouri, where he lives nowadays. Cory seemed to love snow, and once ran a snowplow business, much to the exasperation of his wife at the time! I shared in his general perplexity as to why. It all sounded like great fun to me too.

Somewhere along Saint Mary Lake.

Cory heads into the broad valley to Red Eagle Lake.

Taking a break at the lake while storms threaten to the south.

We took a short cut down to a creek and forded it rather than walking a mile north to a bridge. It felt quite adventurous...little did I know that fording creeks would become a constant daily occurance for weeks once we hit the Bob Marshall Wilderness. We hung out for an hour at the north side of the lake, where a small rise catches the wind and keeps the bugs away.

Whiling away a hot afternoon at the head of the lake.

Finally we went to our camp at the south side of the lake, which was brutally hot and rather buggy. My tent became a sauna, so finally I left to sit under a gnarled tree at the lake shore. Many dozens of butterflies licked at the ground here in great groupings, wings slowly battening. Why?

I kept an eye out for bears and people. Two men came down from a climb of Mount James, which rises on one side of the Triple Divide Pass. Finally it cooled off enough to go to bed. In the morning I'd have the huge 25 mile day. Cory seemed inclined to do it with me, but would let me take off extra early anyway.

June 29, day 89, 25.2 miles

The big day, a "double pass" day from Red Eagle to Two Medicine.

Dawn at Red Eagle Lake Head Camp.

I wolfed down some oatmeal by the food bag in the predawn. Loaded up and headed out. The trail meandered amid deadfall, little hillocks and crashing rivers. I had to check the map often because it turned in unexpected ways.

Complex terrain heading to Triple Divide.

Looking up at Split Mountain.

Though finally the trail committed to enter the valley I desired to climb, dominated by views of Split Mountain. I enjoyed this walk quite a bit. As the climb to the pass began in earnest, I saw Cory below steaming his way up. He likes to have people in front of him who he's obligated to catch! I chuckled a bit at this, because it reminded me how I motivated myself through the years. With mountain climbing, I was always afraid of being the one most out of shape, and that inspired me to do lots of cardio workouts during the week. Well, it worked. I was often the slowest, but not by too much, and I could at least endure.

A waterfall just north of Split Mountain.

Happy for good weather at Triple Divide Pass.

Looking back north from the pass.

Cory caught me at the pass and we moved rapidly down together. Half the job done!

We reached a camp called Atlantic City (I guess this side of the pass flows towards the Gulf of Mexico). It was a sad, mosquito infested mud-pit scraped out of the forest. We got some water, much needed after the hot, rapid descent and moved on as a volunteer ranger arrived.

I remember this section as hot and tiring. We made it entertaining by inventing a couple of characters, Brother (Brutha!) Jessup and Brother Williams. Two southern preacher-men who delivered long sermons with many references to the various angel-food cakes and other delicacies made by the good women of the church (pronounced "chui-che"). Practically delirious from the oxygenating effects of long orations ("TEST-i-FAH!") combined with steep uphill travel, we arrived at Morning Star Lake and promptly collapsed.

Two women came by then we heard noises down by the lake. We joked that they must be skinny-dipping. We were right! (we found out later). Okay, so we are essentially 12 year old 52 year olds in the woods. The 52 year old won out though: it was nap time.

Michael descends towards Medicine Grizzly Lake (pictured).

Cliffs above Medicine Grizzly.

Resting at Morning Star Lake.

We got up from our nap, stiff as boards. Time for day two. Cory was allowed to camp here, so he could have stayed. But he wouldn't let a friend walk on ahead, so he was coming, too. We set off painfully slow. Lordy, this was going to be tough!

Looking down on "Seven Winds of the Lake."

Tiring now, we pass Oldman Lake.

Up and over the pass. We met "Wrecking Ball" in here, an exuberant young lady keen to take an interesting side trail around Mount Morgan from the pass (Pitamakan Pass). We made the long, long walk east from Oldman Lake as exhaustion slowly took hold. By the time we reached the valley floor and had to wearily regain some elevation to the south, I was worn out.

Cory walks tiredly to the Two Medicine Store in search of beer and a snack!

Finally the lake appeared in the form of big parking lots and pickup trucks. We found the CDT hikers camping spot. Apparently a dozen of us would share a single campsite. We left our things here (putting our food in the bear box, of course) and walked over to the general store. Sitting on benches in front, we drank beer and ate some kind of dinner (I don't remember what). Wrecking Ball came up and told various entertaining stories. Back at the campsite conversations continued around the picnic table. There was no room to put up my tent so I just spread out my things in a ditch and crashed.

June 30, day 90, 11.5 miles

A dawn walk up and over a peak, then hot and tiring country that made my feet hurt!

I awoke bathed in my own drool at dawn and couldn't get back to sleep. The beer had made the ditch tolerable. Now it was uncomfortable. It was time to walk. Cory was up, so I whispered that I'd see him in town. I was beginning to learn his ways. As I marched up a mountain, my arms like cold slabs of meat waiting for the sun, I imagined that he'd use the thought of me ahead of him to light a fire under his butt. I wasn't wrong. Long before the summit, I saw my red-shirted friend wheezing up the switchbacks below. Darn it, he was going to catch me too. Well, I'd had enough of people for a while, even the good ones.

Oh, I saw the most amazing thing near the top of the mountain: two marmots playing...scrabbling and wrestling with each other...slapping their paws in tiny pinwheeling motions. Rolling, jumping...occasionally stopping for a rest in an embrace. Starting up again. I forgot about Cory catching me and stood there for 10 minutes. They didn't care about me at all. Their play was far more important than me. This healed me a little bit. To be disregarded by tiny animals who normally make a big show of respect feels like a compliment or a shared secret. Smiling, I continued into the sun, now warming my alabaster arms.

Peak 9267 above Two Medicine in the dawn.

A bit sad to be leaving Glacier so soon!

Two marmots playing on peak 7643.

Again, marmots.

The marmots and their home.

Eventually the hot afternoon arrived and caught me whimpering over my sore feet. I had the first of several insincere conversations with Wrecking Ball, like this:

"Man, you guys are fast." (me)

"Oh, not for long! I'm just eager to get to town." (Wrecking Ball. Or anyone, really. Any of these young people. Or, honestly, people 20 years older than me too, like Swede)

"Well save me a beer!" (me, wanting to get back to my audiobook and forget the insincere interaction)

"Oh, you'll catch me!" (an obvious lie. Was that a gleam in her eye? Hmpf.)

This is one of the most popular games of the trail. The one being passed adopts this attitude: "I'm old and slow. I'm humble and praise you effusively as you pass. For that I expect you to self-deprecate."

The one passing plays along: "Oh, I'm only passing you because of some temporary and foolish reason. Soon I'll be far behind where I belong!"

The one passing gets a dopamine hit at the freedom gained by passing the wheezing wreck. The one being passed gets one too, though smaller and marked by a certain bitterness: "they don't know how to enjoy the trail, they just walk like machines," he might think. The bitterness comes from the fact that he knows he's lying to himself.

A last look north...

We descended these slopes to low, hot country around East Glacier Village.

Did you think that the trail would free you of these social lubricants, so ridiculous but somehow inevitable? Well, it actually highlights them because they are the sole interactions between hours of silence.

Then again, I probably overthink this stuff to distract me from PAIN. I was miserable in the last miles to town. Cory took pity on me and said that he walks with two insoles in each shoe. He gave me that extra set for my bruised feet and it did seem to help a little. Satisfyingly, he began limping a little bit and complaining in the last mile. "This must really work then," I thought, spirits lifting.

At ChrisPacks in Fischbachau with Trailbrain. She did the whole trail in 2022.

To go forward to days 91 and after (from 2022), click here.