I got my pizza. I savored a few pieces hot, then decided it would taste better in the woods shared with my mom and carefully packed the rest up. Soon I was dashing up the trail. “Are you hiking with your mom?” a couple asked as I passed them by. “Yup,” I confirmed. “Oh, she's up ahead,” they told me, as if I didn’t already know. I had hardly bade them farewell when another couple came down the trail. “Are you the daughter?” the older lady inquired. “Yep,” I said again. “Oh, I was so worried about you!” she exclaimed, clearly relieved. What had my mom told these guys? Fueled with cheese and tomato paste I charged the next five and a half miles over steep hills and rocky terrain. I made it to camp in an hour and 45 minutes, just as my mom Lil Bit finished setting up her tent. As anticipated, the pizza tasted even better around the pizza box campfire.
“It's like you dance down the trail... like you memorized the steps beforehand and have it all rehearsed,” Lil Bit told me as I passed her rather early the next morning. “I've had a lot of practice walking,” I replied. I put more thought to the comment though. Keeping pace, feet shuffle, leap, and maneuver obstacles quickly. Some steps rely on trekking poles to hold the weight of the body if the footing is rough or unsure. Forward motion, the mind makes instant calculations and adjustments for each footfall as the body moves with the land.
I had told Lil Bit we would eat at an overlook, but hadn't specified which one. As I approached the third one in the past few miles, I hoped she wouldn't go out to all of them to try to find me. I put my pack by the trail so she wouldn’t pass by unaware and went down to a rock overlooking Lake Superior. The sun was nice and warm as I strummed some music. Sweat bees showed interest in my water bottle. An hour later my mom showed up, grimacing with pain as a previous knee injury started to flare up. But she agreed to take the short side trail to top of Carlton Peak where we dined on trail burritos, surveying the land we had yet to walk across and admiring the fall colors.
My mom seemed to be becoming a trail legend. As I followed after an extended lunch
break a man asked, "are you Carol's daughter? It's so good to meet you. I like your mom." She was making friends left and right.
Temperance River was one of the prettier State Parks we had passed through. A river carved its way through steep rock banks, forming large drops and holes. We departed the main trail and located the showers in the campground. I took my time washing the grime away. Clean, my skin itched as if it wasn’t sure how it felt without a protective layer of dirt. I washed my clothes in the sink and hit the trail, wet shorts and socks dangling from my pack. I raced to the campsite 2.5 miles away, and got camp set up. I had started working on getting dinner ready when my mom joined me.
Mice started to run around as evening settled, dashing to grab fallen crumbs between the searching beams of our headlamps. I had an Ursack, designed to dissuade such creatures from destroying food supply, but Lil Bit’s food was in danger. Usually she would stuff her food bag into my Ursack but both bags were too full for that. The second option was to sleep with it, a sure way to discover if bears were brave enough to disturb a sleeping hiker. For such small creatures so low on the food chain, mice are bold, and I had many an unpleasant encounter with the little critters. I suggested we did something with her food bag or else she would be awake all night listening to mice scamper around. Unable to locate any good trees for a bear hang, we decided to hang the food bag from a bridge nearby. I strung it up, secured it to a beam, and lowered it down. We peered over the rail, scrutinizing the makeshift bear hang. It dangled six feet over a rocky bank. "A bear could get that," Lil Bit observed. I agreed, though I was more concerned about mice than bears. We pulled it up and lashed it to one of the steel beams that formed a handrail. A bear wouldn't go on a bridge, we reasoned. Some guys passed us on the bridge as we finished up our project, greeting us with a hello. They looked like trouble-makers but not dangerous trouble-makers, and went to the neighboring campsite. We settled into our tents and woke at 11pm to the two guys talking loudly. They were on the bridge. It was hard to hear what they were saying over the rush of water, but I heard "stars" and a thunk followed by laughter. Their voices faded as they went back to their site. I stumbled out of my tent. "Should we check our food?" I whispered to Lil Bit. “Probably not a bad idea,” she replied from behind the thin nylon walls. The food was untouched, but I retrieved it and bought it back. Lil Bit ended up sleeping with it after all. No bears came, nor mice. Food and hikers were safe.
Lil Bit left late which gave me permission to leave late. My pack felt light and comfy in the cold fall air, cruising under some of the best colors all trail. A parade of people passed, headed to one of the overlooks to view the changing trees from above. I pushed a little past the normal stopping time to make it to Alfred’s Pond, a lovely lake home to beavers and edged with marsh. We ate lunch by the water.
We were due for a zero soon. Lil Bit had slowed down noticeably, and I was hurting as well. Fifteen miles a day for eight days straight wears on you if you don’t work up to it, and her knee was getting worse. She usually averaged a mile every half hour but had dropped to a mile every 45 minutes. She wasn’t able to stop to enjoy the breaks for long, or else she wouldn’t make it to camp before dark. I knew something had to happen soon.
I let her get a head start from lunch and then followed. That was how we operated. She got out of camp about an hour before me. I would catch up to her 4-6 miles into the day, continue on, and then find a good spot to stop for lunch. I would wait as she caught up, we would eat together, and she would take off. I would follow later at my leisure, pass her, and continue to the campsite.
The campsite on horseshoe ridge was one of the best; protected on one side by a natural rock wall with open spaces under red trees, tucked around a cozy fire ring. Lying in my hammock, I was so content to just be out there. The beauty and new sights everyday kept things interesting. We were a third of the way through!
When I woke up the next morning I was a little less enthused to have to go through the process of covering ground by foot. It was starting to get monotonous. But that's the nice thing about a short trail like this; once you get sick of being in the middle you are already near the end.
It was a beautiful morning. A low layer of clouds had ensured a warm night and heavy air. A distant layer of fog and rain crept closer for the first few hours of the morning, but the sun came out and evaporated it all. George Manitou State Park slammed us with incredibly steep hills. Trails intersected every which way, giving backpackers plenty of opportunities to cover as many miles as they wanted in a small space. We ate lunch at a campsite. After Lil Bit came and went, humming all the while, I contemplated stringing up a hammock but was too lazy for it, so I sat on the bench and read.
Knowing that we needed time off the trail within the next few days, and hoping to secure lodging, I paused on the hilltops to find service and search for a place to stay. Unfortunately our miles would put us in town on a weekend and everything was booked. I Googled and called eight different places; every accommodation in the near vicinity. But alas, there was no room in the inns. With no promise of a town day, I was in a grumpy mood when we made it to the campsite. Two other campers were there, out for a short section, and their friendly talk helped distract me from the woes of zeros. We joined them at the fire ring for dinner and went to bed under a display of stars.
I rolled out of camp with no idea of what the day would bring. We hoped to meet Ben (who was taking our car to the Southern Terminus for us) to get Lil Bit’s wallet, which was accidentally left in the car, and I was still trying to figure out a zero. The timing would have to be perfect; Ben would need to be passing through the area when we were near a road, and we would only cross two roads that day. Both crossings held the potential to meet up, but I hadn’t heard anything about a time guestimate yet. We cruised to the first road quickly. I checked my phone; nothing. We were headed toward town so I was hopeful I would have service and trusted something would work out. Sure enough, a couple miles later I came across another road that hadn't been on the map. Ben had called and would be there in an hour, so I waited. Lil Bit joined me at the road crossing about a half hour later and in no time a familiar car pulled up. We retrieved the wallet, drove to Finland where we picked up our package and some goodies at the general store, then headed off to find food. We parked at one of the only restaurants in town and walked into the empty building. A few workers were trying to fix a vacuum and looked at us like we were intruding, but told us we could seat ourselves. The place was deserted. It felt a little bit more like a school cafeteria with a bar than a restaurant. The server looked like she like she loathed us and hated her life. I felt bad for her. All throughout lunch my mind was spinning. As we chatted with Ben, I was calculating miles and days and trying to figure out how we would get a zero.
The sun was high in the sky when we got dropped off on the trail with about 9 miles left for the day, as we had only come about five and a half. Tough climbs and hot temps made for slow going.
The funny thing about the trail is that you never really know what will happen, and through a series of complicated yet fortunate events we found ourselves at a trail angel’s house that evening. We had been offered a ride into town by a talkative stranger, invited to dinner by a fellow PCT thruhiker, and given a place to sleep by a generous trail angel. Clean, dry, and happy, we climbed into a soft bed.
Sleeping in is nice. When we finally got up, we walked to a nearby store for breakfast and groceries. According to google, there was an organic grocer located in an old school building. We marched in and soon realized it was a packing and shipping company for organic food and not a grocery store at all. We managed to escape before any awkward encounters. The real store was about three-quarters of a mile away. I demanded Lil Bit should go back to the house and I would go get some stuff. She hobbled back while I took off at a jog. It was a pretty small grocery but they had what we needed, mainly candy, chips, and cheese. A kind stranger had seen Mom limping along the sidewalk and went above and beyond to try to help her knee.
We hung out for most of the day, resting, but with four miles to a campsite we couldn’t stay late. We were dropped off at the trailhead late afternoon. My pack was way too heavy but we had five days to the next town of Two Harbors. At least I wouldn't be hungry. Just like the hotels, the campground was full, but some friendly hikers pointed us to a nice spot nearby for our tents.
It was straight up hot; I packed up with at least 80% humidity. I had heard the toughest section of trail lay just ahead, and the trail confirmed the rumors were true. Right away we hit a massive uphill. Those little topographic lines were the bane of my existence. Steep, they said, its going to be steep. The trail climbed and descended, climbed and descended. Endless rocks. Sweat saturated my clothes. My pack was heavy with food but I managed to keep my mind off the discomfort. I decided I preferred a light pack with hunger over a heavy pack with food.
I caught up to my mom and hiked behind her a while, trying to see if I could help her cover miles more quickly. The nearo hadn't done anything to help; she was still moving pretty slow. I gave her some tips- quick pace, longer strides, relax shoulders, straighten poles. “Let your subconscious do all the calculating on where to place your feet. It does that a lot more efficiently than our conscious. And if it makes a mistake and you stumble then let your feet take over and correct itself. That's what it's designed to do,” I told her. I tried to play upbeat songs. All this only seemed to make a fraction of a difference. I was perplexed. Obviously fatigue and injuries would slow one down. I figured maybe we should consider a full zero day to completely rest and recover.
We started to see more people as we walked through Tettegouche State Park. Passing High Falls, the trail climbed endlessly and I ran out of water. I stopped at an overlook on the hilltop. Lil Bit came up nearly 45 minutes later. She was frustrated at her slow pace. I took her food bag to see if that would help. After lunch she set off, and I followed shortly behind. With the additional food, suddenly my pack got at least 10 lbs heavier. Let's just say it went from a pleasant walk in the woods to me hating my life. I'm a strong believer that the weight of your pack directly correlates to your happiness on trail. I was pretty unhappy.
Clouds built up. It had turned into a never ending day. I trudged over the miles. The trail went over a beautiful section, of landscape, Bean and Bear Lakes, a section I had been looking forward to all trail. I had been there before, but I was excited to see it in the fall colors. But all the beauty seemed to be sucked away as the trail traffic started picking up. I wondered if a part of beautiful things is the fact that you feel like you are one of the few to see it. Hikers were out in full force. I got incredibly irritated about having to pull over every 30 seconds to let people head-on pass, as they showed no initiative to do so themselves. I had a heavy pack and sore feet and a long way yet to go till the night. A look of misery spread across my face as groups chatted merrily. They didn't acknowledge me. I had the right-of-way people!
Trail etiquette is something everyone should know, and I tried to be patient with the others’ ignorance. Hikers who get the right of way: 1. Heading uphill (me) 2. Those with a greater burden (me). 3. Faster moving (me). 4. Those with less maneuverability (not me, but in that case I happily gave the right away to those with strollers and dogs). So. Freaking. Annoying. I was in a bitter mood. Then it started raining. I ended up stuck behind a string of 15 slow-movers. They finally stopped at an overlook where I took the opportunity to pass them. I sat down in a huff to wait on a rock at a more secluded overlook. Lil Bit found me. “Where did all these people come from?” she was confused. “These are the people who took our hotel room,” I replied, still bitter about that.
I took off again down the trail, stopping more frequently to let my mom catch up, though it seemed like the more I stopped the longer it took for her to come up behind me.
Slow and wobbly, she slumped down next to me at the next road crossing. “I've tried everything, I just can’t go any faster," she was frustrated. It probably didn’t help that I ran ahead and seemed to glide effortlessly over the terrain (hint: I struggled). She was hurting, and upset that her body wasn’t doing what she asked of it. I understood that. My mind drifted back to the PCT where I tried to keep up with my trail family and I just couldn't go as fast, despite my best efforts. I hated seeing her like that, and knew something had to change. We either needed to cut back miles or take a true zero. We were at a road. I had the contact number for a generous trail angel we had met; we could easily call and she would be more than happy to pick us up and give us a place to sleep. Otherwise the next campsite was 4 miles away. My mom pondered taking the easy way out. “Would it be stupid to keep going?” she asked. I shrugged, looking across the road through the rainy mist. It was already 5pm. The sun set around 7:00, and with the rain.. If it was just me I would keep going, but with the situation I kinda thought we should call it a day. But she was determined to keep going, as sometimes the process of getting a warm place to sleep is more trouble than continuing on. So we did. I hoped we wouldn’t regret that.
It was getting dark and rain had picked up, so I stopped every mile or so to wait for Lil Bit. There was an unnecessary hill and stupid rock scramble before the trail leveled out. She seemed to be moving faster and more efficiently on this section. Maybe this is what she needed... to push through in order to realize just how far and fast she can go.
Darkness cloaked the trail and headlamps came out. Finally, we made it to the campground. I only had a few minutes to scope it out before Lil Bit came up behind me, but there were no obvious spots for two tents. The flat spots were saturated with water. I pointed out the spot I thought we could make work and we pitched our tents, suddenly working inefficiently in the rain. Once they were set up I could see that they wouldn't fit in the space between the trees as I had hoped. Lil Bit’s tent was on a severe hill with a rock underneath. I went to scout again. Lil Bit stood patiently in the rain as I debated moving the tents. We could make it work as it was, but I had a vision. I decided we should move to a different cluster or trees so we drug our tents over. My tent was compromised on a sharp decline at the foot but overall it worked. Lil Bit was soaked through in her rain jacket so I sent her inside to get dry. I had used an umbrella, and aside from my feet I was dry, so I made sure our tents were storm proof, tucked away loose items, went to gather water, and then rigged up my hammock before crawling into my own tent. We had gotten the placement right; with the hammock draped above and our fly doors tied together to form one side, umbrellas to form another, we built a sort of sheltered tunnel between the two tents. We were able to hang out in our tents with the doors open, passing food and remaining dry the whole time. It was like the forts we had made when I was little. The rain eased and picked up and eased again. We celebrated a big day, probably the toughest day. I wouldn't trade that night for a hot shower or cozy bed ever. I had hopes that this was a turning point for Lil Bit too.. that she would be able to cruise down the trail as smoothly as she had the last four miles. I would find out the next day after a good nights rest.
Despite Lil Bit’s concern about making miles, I encouraged her to sleep in. “After a tough day you need to reward yourself,” I told her. Plus the skies were shedding the last bits of rain, and it was silly to walk in the rain. Finally, putting on wet clothes and packing up under drippy trees, we headed out together. The urgency had worn off from the previous night, and Lil Bit had slowed again. We had some climbs early on; fog cloaked the evergreens and aspens in the valley below. We had gotten a message from the trail angel inviting us back to the house to dry off, but the only road crossing where we could be picked up was at the end of a 15 mile day. I knew we probably wouldn’t make that with our late start, but I had done this section before. I had a plan.
When we arrived at the junction there was no sign. According to the map, the trail paralleled a river for two miles up to a bridge, crossed, and then paralleled the other side back for two miles before offering a half mile spur trail to a parking lot. The last time I had been there a sign had been tacked up announcing the bridge was out, and suggested a reroute using a short trail to a road that led directly to the same parking lot. Because there was nothing there now, I assumed the bridge had been rebuilt. When Lil Bit caught up I told her about the option to hike a mile on the old reroute trial. Usually thruhikers avoid spur trails, as they mean more miles, but this one would end up cutting off 3 miles off the total distance. Lil Bit easily decided to do the shortcut. I pointed out the route on the map, and gave her directions from what I could remember. I was set on doing the trail along the river, as I had already done the reroute and curiosity led me to opt for the official trail and additional spur to the parking lot. Best of all, the parking lot meant cars, cars meant people, and people meant houses. Getting dry, eating a nice dinner, and being with good company sounded good. I texted the trail angel that we would love to take her offer, and she agreed to meet us at the parking lot to pick us up in an hour and a half.
Then, because Lil Bit was only doing one mile and I had over four, I gave her her food bag back. I needed to travel fast. Agreeing to meet at the parking lot, we set off in different directions. My section was stunning, edging the water from cliffs above, passing falls and islands and confused cascades of water. After ascending two miles, I came to the bridge. Rather, the place where the bridge was supposed to be. They hadn’t rebuilt it yet. But I had prepared for the potential to have to wade across the river so I stepped right in. My shoes were already saturated with rainwater anyway. The water felt good on my sore feet, and I climbed up the other bank, hugging the old concrete support on the slippery mud. The river crossing had slowed me down a little bit, but with a lighter pack and new time challenge, I pushed hard and fast. I wanted to make it to the parking lot before the trail angel arrived.
High on a successful sprint hike I joined Lil Bit, leaning against a rock pillar statue. We traded stories about our routes as we waited. She had been smart to do the reroute. I was frustrated there hadn’t been any signs but thankful I had known about that or else we would have been in for an unpleasant surprise. We didn’t wait long. The trail angel pulled up and I went to load our packs. Lil bit got up, leaning heavily on her trekking poles, stiff from sitting so long. She inched her way to the van, even slower than usual. I knew she would loosen up as she moved, and a good shower would help.
At the house I gutted our packs and hung up all our gear to dry, and soon the basement smelled like wet hiker. I dug into some chips and dip as Lil Bit showered and soaked. The trail angel was very concerned about her limp but I knew she would be fine. A nearo the next day, maybe even a zero would help, and soon we would be back on trail, refreshed and energized to tackle the last little bit. But I could tell as she limped into the kitchen that she wasn’t fine. She was breathing heavily, and said she couldn’t put any weight on her foot. We propped it up and gave her some ice. “Where is your route taking you?” she asked the trail angel, who was taking a trip South the next day. As the angel explained the road systems my mom didn’t understand, I knew what she was thinking. She wanted to know if the route would go past our car parked at the Southern Terminus. It would. Lil Bit was holding back tears, “That’s too convenient. Maybe that’s what we should plan then,” she looked at me, and the tears let loose.
My heart sunk… “Don’t make any decisions tonight,” I encouraged her. “Lets see how it feels tomorrow and we can go from there.” There was no way Lil Bit would get off the trail. No way. I refused to accept that as a possibility.