I'm not a coffee drinker. Except when I need the caffeine. So after a restful 2.5 hours of sleep I grabbed a cup of hotel coffee and loaded it up with as much creamer and half and half as possible, hoping for a palatable concoction. The other hiker and I cruised down the road and made it to the shuttle pick-up where a friendly man took our names and beckoned us inside an old stone building. Eight or so other hikers were lingering inside, an anticipatory silence lingered in the room. Soon the shuttle drivers ushered hikers to the vehicles, and we loaded up. I was squished between the driver and another hiker in the front seat. I had hoped for a little nap on the three hour drive but it wasn't exactly the best position for that. The highway turned into a backcountry road turned to a gravel road, and we bounced along the progressively worsening road. A mountain range rose up to our left as we drove. "The end of that range is where the start is," the shuttle driver pointed out. My eyes followed the ridge to the point where it ended in the distance. That seemed far. After an hour and a couple stops at some landmarks and water caches, we pulled up to the southern terminus. We took the obligatory start photos and hikers trickled out in small groups. I stayed behind for a moment longer and I stared up the trail... the 3100 miles that I would need to walk before reaching Canada and finishing this achievement. I didn't really know what to think or to feel; I was excited but also a little bit numb of emotion. And so I stepped foot in Mexico, and began.
It wasn't as bad as they say it was, at least not yet. The trail through the desert was always described at "you see a trail marker and you walk to it," not so much following a designated path but more walking in a general direction. But starting out, the trail was well-defined and easy to follow. Within a few miles, the trail merged onto a dirt road, and I realized very soon that I was bored. That wasn't good. Three miles into the hike and I was already trying to figure out what to think about. But the walking was easy and quick and finally met up with a dry riverbed. The trail twisted and turned with the potential path of water. Many times the sandy path diverged and I could choose which way to go. Sometimes the river cut a wide path around a corner, sometimes a narrow bush-lined channel promised a potential short-cut. The trail markers no longer guiding, but merely encouraging that you were on the trail.
I stopped in a small patch of shade under a Mesquite and tried to eat some food. I still wasn't very hungry but knew I needed something, and soon I moved on. After a while I found some hikers sitting under a ginormous shade tree. I said hi as I passed, wondering if I should join them. The water cache was two miles ahead but the shade was inviting. Seeing my indecision, they encouraged me to join. I gave in and sat down. I didn't recognize any of them from the shuttle, but found out that they had taken a different shuttle in. We introduce ourselves: Tiptoe, Guru, Ollie, and Ranger and I exchanged past trail experiences. Most everyone has done at least one long trail on the CDT, and sharing your hiking resume was a common part of introductions. "Arrow when did you hike the PCT?" Guru asked, as I settled in. "2018" I said. "I think we hiked together for a bit," he continued, "Idlewild and Big Bear..." I nearly jumped up. "Oh my gosh! Yes!" I had completely not recognized him with his sunglasses. Ollie had also hiked my year but we hadn't spent much time together. We rested in the shade, sometimes chatting, sometimes just watching the hackberry leaves dancing above us.
It grew late and we continued on to the cache. I got some water and joined the others for dinner. The CDT is unlike the other long trails in that it offers a plethora of "alternates." Also unlike the other trials, it is 100% acceptable to choose any or all of the alternates. The CDT is a "choose your own adventure" trail. I didn't realize I would be faced with a decision for an alternate so soon. Just after the cache, the trail cut up toward the base of the mountain and followed higher ground for about 10 miles. The other option was to walk the dirt road we drove in on and meet up with the trail 10 miles ahead. The shuttle driver had warned us the trail was non-existent, that people who took the high route came back with legs scratched up like cats had attacked. He was encouraging people to walk the road, but I didn't want to abandon trail so soon. There would be plenty of forced road walks in my future, I didn't really want to choose a road over the trial. Still, most of the other hikers were opting for the road walk and I second-guessed my decision.
But the trail was why I was here and it promised adventure, so I decided to stick with that plan.
I bid farewell to the road walkers and took off up the trail. It was pretty well-defined aside from a few places where it went over the washes and faded out for a second in the rocks. Faint, but easy. The sun set. I found a flat spot to set up camp and tried to pitch my tent with limited success. They made it look so simple on youtube. It was much easier setting up my new non free-standing tent in my back yard than in a rocky, windy desert. I would pound a stake in and then a pole would fall and then the stake was the wrong angle so I had to re-set it, causing the other pole to fall. The wind twisted the tent all around making it impossible to straighten out. By the time I was done with some semblance of a shelter, another hiker had joined me. We got ready for bed as clouds built up in the distance, throwing lightning across the sky. It looked like it would miss us. I crawled into my tent, eager for a good nights sleep.
My my sleeping pad had popped and I woke up a couple times to reinflate it but I otherwise slept well. I headed out around 7am, the trail was faded but still navigable until I came to a wash with some cows. I skirted around them to give them a little bit of space and lost the path in the process. I didn't bother finding trail for a while and just walked across country heading north until I saw the marker post sticking up in the distance and rejoined. The next three miles went that way; the trail went in and out of rocky desert washes, I would lose the trail climbing out and walk generally north until I found another marker. That was nice about desert hiking- you can't get turned around. You can see everywhere, and can use landmarks as easy navigation. I wound between plants and threaded cacti so the going was a little bit slower traveling off-trail, but there was something unique about finding your own path. Rather than follow the same footpath that hundreds had before, I may have been the only one to slide into that ravine in that spot or trod across those rocks, aside from maybe cows. I would meet back up with the trail on occasion. This section was definitely what I expected the CDT to be like. Eventually the trail became well-defined once again and I followed it down to the road where it crossed and wound through head-high plants on a soft sand.
All of these pictures are taken looking up the trail...yes, even the one that doesn't look like a trail.
I hiked until lunch, where I found a crew hanging out under a shade tree. I joined them for a few hours but with nine miles to go I wanted to get some more miles behind me and stop at the next shade tree six miles ahead. I left around 2:30, which happened to be the hottest part of the day. It was the most miserable thing in the world. The sun beat down, and although only 87 degrees, felt like it was 100. The trail decided to go up hills pointlessly and follow an old road in and out of ravines. I felt tired and sick but I didn't want to stop with no shade. On the top of one pointless hill I saw a lush green tree in the distance. That was my destination. It taunted me for the next two miles, and finally I pulled up to the welcomed shade and was greeted by some other hikers. Someone pointed to a cooler that had been restocked with ice-cold Gatorade.
I helped myself and lay down. Those six miles had been brutal for everyone. Over the next few hours, people came and went. I made some dinner and then as the sun was starting to set, we headed out for the remaining three miles to the next water source. Every bit of me ached; I couldn't wait to be in shape and crush miles with ease. But that would be another few weeks yet. Right now, 20 miles was a struggle. It was dark when I got to camp. My feet throbbed.
Coyotes called in the morning- a lone one close by, calling to his fellows far away. I heard some cows trod past, their feet clapping on the ground on the way to the water. I got up at 6am before the sun and got in a few miles of hiking in the glorious cool weather.
As the morning wore on, my feet hurt like crazy. I fumbled along, slowing down dramatically. Every step effort, I listened to podcasts just try to keep my mind off the pain. The miles drug on. Finally, I made it to the big water tank and found a flock of hikers resting in the shade. I lay down in the only shady spot left off to the side and tried to take a nap. I drifted in and out of sleep for a while, I heard people come and go, laughter and conversations had. I stayed on the fringes of it all.
When I woke up, my shoulder blades screamed in pain. I could hardly pick up my pack- it felt like I had been shot in each one. I drug myself over to join the other hikers in a deeper patch of shade and flopped down on my pad, wincing and grunting with the effort. The others asked how I was doing. "Well, I've been worse..." I told them, though in the moment I couldn't recall feeling worse hiking. I had super low energy, mega pain, blisters forming, an upset stomach... I was drinking plenty of water but probably not getting the balance of electrolytes I needed. My food bag was as heavy as the day I started, I hadn't eaten much with a queasy stomach so I had no energy to hike one. Something had to change; I couldn't carry on like this. Drastic pain call for drastic measures: I turned to modern medicine to help me out and swallowed two ibuprofen tablets. Someone had mentioned salt candy which seemed like a marvelous idea so I took out my gummy candy and started dipping them in salt. I had to laugh- this is what my life had resorted to- dipping candy in salt. Within half an hour I felt like a new person. I gathered water from the tank, squeezing it through a leaky filter, and set out.
The next miles flew by. Before I knew it, I was cruising past a tree sheltering some others. I didn't want to stop when I was feeling so good and risk starting to hurt again so I moved on after a quick break. I stopped again under another lone tree with 8 or so others huddled under it. The last shade tree for miles.
There was rumor there was trail magic three miles ahead, but it was a gamble to set out for it. On one hand.. trail magic. On the other.. that would mean leaving the only shade on a hot afternoon and committing to four more miles to reach the next water source where we could camp. It was a risk I was willing to take. Half a mile later we gathered around the water cache to mourn the news a southbounder delivered: there was no trail magic ahead. Too early to stop, especially in such an exposed place, folks trickled out to get a few more miles in before setting up camp.
Another four miles put me and a few others at a large water tank in a fenced-off area. There were no cows, but the smell proved they did exist. We sat there amongst the cow poop cooking dinner, leaning against the trough. The water didn't seem too bad aside from some floaties, and after gathering some we hiked a bit further and set up camp in a ditch to get out of the wind.
I slept terrible. That is to say, I didn't really sleep at all. When I laid down I could hear my pad hissing, leaking out, and located the hole right away. I put a patch on it but that didn't fix the problem. Within half an hour the pad was deflated again. I spent all night reinflating my pad dozens of times, finally submitting to trying to become comfortable on the hard ground. My hips were in pain; my extra foam pad did little to cushion me from the hard ground. I thought about just getting up and walking but I didn't want to disturb those camping nearby. I managed to get an hour of sleep around 3:00am and when I woke up it was close enough to morning. My head throbbed but it wasn't because I was dehydrated; I realized I had a lot of congestion in my lungs. My throat was so dry no amount of water helped. Sinus drainage would explain why I had felt queasy since starting the trail.
My tent stake snapped as I pulled it out of the hard ground. Great. Anything else care to break? I packed up and was out of camp by five. Walking in the dark, I lost the trail a couple times following old cow paths. It was impossible to see the difference between cow trail and the CDT in the dark, and shoe prints went everywhere. I was able to cut back to the CDT pretty quick, readjusting course with the aid of the gps. It was blissfully cool even as the sun rose. I passed other hikers waking up, and we leap-frogged up the trail. A flat basin gave way to a climb up old beds of rock that slipped underfoot, then followed along an old river bed with plenty of shade. I stopped to take a nap under a big inviting tree for twenty minutes, hiked a few more hours, and took a second nap. All the hikers had gotten ahead, eager to get to town, and I limped behind them toward civilization. Along with fatigue, I was in mega pain.
Usually the promise of town is enough to motivate, but the foot pain won over. The constant pounding on the ground made my feet feel like someone had rolled over them with a steamroller and attached weights to them. I stopped multiple times to relieve them of their burden, imagining myself shriveling up in the hot sun as the others basked in the luxuries of town. One step at a time, I got to the road and was able to cruise a little better to town. I got my room key, dropped my pack, and joined some folks for some lunch. I spent much of the rest of the day in bed. Chores could wait.
The hotel beds were incredibly uncomfortable and I can't say that I got a great night sleep. I was still pretty tired when I woke up and did some chores, took a nap, found the two holes in my sleeping pad, and then took off after checkout to go mail stuff home and resupply. I walked across town too many times visiting the food stores and trying to locate a suitable glue for my sleeping pad and something to stop the leak in my water filter. Resupply complete, I joined another hiker under a shade tree and glued up my sleeping pad with fish tank sealer and cut an o-ring for my filter from a sink plug.
We waited out the heat of the day, grabbed some dinner from the dollar general, and then started the road walk out of town. The six miles were still painful, and I was grateful when the sun set and we stopped to camp.
I had averaged 22 miles a day for the first four days on trail. The flat ground encouraged big miles but my body wasn't ready for them. I didn't recall struggling so much starting on the other trials. Having done two trails already, there is a mindset that I should be experienced and invincible, but the trail was proving me otherwise.
A delightful morning it was. I didn't sleep as solidly as I had hoped as my hips were in pretty big pain but at least my sleeping pad didn't deflate. The cool 45 degrees froze my fingers but I welcomed the change of temperature as I walked toward the sun rising over the mountains I would soon be climbing.
I lost the trail a few times following cow paths and had to climb under a fence to get back on track. It's crazy how far off you could get, confident you're on the right trail and it suddenly the path just disappears. There is comfort knowing that the other dozen footprints you follow also took the wrong way.
Thus far, the CDTC had provided water caches every 12 miles or so, but from there on out we would be relying on the same water the cows drank. I came to an algae-infested trough with hundreds of dead bees riding the waves. A ball floated on top of the water, connected to a lever. When the water got too low, the ball dropped, pulling the lever to release clean water from a huge tank. I used the neat contraption to fill up with the clear water.
The mountain was a welcomed addition to the trail. The elevation gain and loss made it easier for my feet. After a dry river bed the trail cut steeply up the mountain. The sun was hot but not brutal yet. I cruised down the other side of the hill, my achilles unhappy, and found the others resting in some shade. I joined them and took a long, three hour siesta.
Mileage often depends on where the water is. I wasn't really planning on another long day, but I didn't want to dry camp. Water was heavy, and carrying extra for cooking and cleaning was burdensome. Often I already carried a gallon at a time, so anytime we could camp near a water source, we did. After the siesta I cruised the seven miles to the next water source, scaring a momma cow and her baby away as I went to gather water. The sun set on a good day. I felt much stronger.
I realized rather than clearing spider webs, the first person on the trail for the day clears the cows. Which happened to be me that morning. The cows stood in the middle of the trail and stared at me. "Hey cows, do you mind if I walk through there?" I gestured to the trail under their feet. They blinked. "Okay I'll just walk around," I told them. Their heads followed me as I passed, then they bolted.
The mountains didn't look that steep but climbed for a solid couple hours into the alpine zone with the big pines. It was much cooler and windier up high. I really enjoyed it the climbs, even though it pulled on my achilles. Down the mountain I found a familiar face resting at the water and took stock of the situation. It looked like the next reliable water source was 22 miles away. I didn't fancy carrying water for that whole stretch, including camping. We perused the guide and found two little retreat centers off the trail that offered different amenities. We thought about it as the others filtered in over the next hour and we discussed what to do. One place had a pool table and hot showers, indoor activity area, toilets-- it was essentially a campground. That place was in a mile and close to trial. The other place was somebody's homestead with a brewery- more like a farm- but also had camping, a port-o-potty, and shower. But that was the one 2.5 miles off trail down a road, and 8 miles further up trail. There were pros and cons going to either and we figured we could roadwalk 20 miles out of either place to get to Silver City rather than hike back to the trail (which continued 16 miles and ended with a 13 mile roadwalk to town anyway). In the end we settled on going to the further one; we had only come ten miles that day and we could still get there by late afternoon. Chatting, I became aware that was the first time we were discussing a decision of what to do as a group. It looked like a merry little band of hikers was forming.
It was really hot when I left the shaded spring and the few up hills were rough. Stiff grasses overgrew the trail and brushed against my legs. I finally made it to the road were I began the 2.5 mile walk to Ravenswing farm. The idea was to not return to trail but follow the roads 20 miles out to town the next day. I looked at the trail across the road. It would be a shame to miss that section. It looked lovely.
The road walk to Ravenswing seemed long. Some dogs barked as I arrived, and a kind woman welcomed me and gave me a juniper drink. The place was full of things to look at; an old freezer was made into a fish pond, glass bottles formed a walkway, a metal scorpion climbed down the trunk of a big juniper, a statue of a dog skeleton sat in a flower pot, old lights strung overhead. Simple living in the desert. The rest of the folks trickled in.
As we ate dinner, people seemed to have second thoughts about road walking to town, including myself. We debated for an hour what to do the next day. I was unsure how I wanted to define my thru... continuous footsteps? every bit of open trail? biggest sounding adventure?
One person was dedicated to walking the shortcut road out. One was returning to trail and then hitching the road stretch. Others considered walking both the trail and the road.
I buried my face in my hands, unsure what to do. If I finish the trail would I look back and think, huh, I did that shortcut on the road rather than that 16 mile section of trail? But as much as I hated the idea of walking a road for 13 miles as part of the CDT, I signed up for road walks just as much as the trail sections. In the end, everyone settled on heading back to trail the next day. A16 mile trail day then a 12 mile road day sounded much better than the 22 mile road walk shortcut.
The first thing I noticed when I woke up is that I felt so good. I wondered if there had been something in the juniper that I drink. We cruised up the road 2.5 miles back to trail. It wasn't as bad as I had anticipated.
The trail was relatively flat or downhill, skirting the side of a mountain. I joined the others in the shade for a nap before hiking three miles further to the next shady spot. The trail it turned off into a dry, sandy, cliff-lined riverbed. Walls of purple rock piles rose up either side. I was so glad I hadn't skipped this section. We found a nice tree and took a second nap. Moving on, the trail spilled into a wider canyon, the rocks green and jumbled. Cows grazed In the pastures.
I made it to the water trough and followed the cows into a large fenced area, giving them plenty of space. They saw me coming from behind and ran, then thought better than being trapped and stood at the gate, contemplating me. I stood off to the side and they bolted away. I felt bad that they would have to wait to get water. Another cow was drinking happily, her calf hanging out nearby. She kept an eye on us but didn't seem to mind. More cows joined her.
We left quickly to let the cows drink in peace and continued a mile further up to the edge of the national forest were we camped.
The 13 mile roadwalk along the highway wasn't as bad as I anticipated. I got out early to avoid a lot of traffic and ground out the miles. I was last one to town, as a few of the others had decided to hitch. I couldn't blame them. I decided that my goal for this trial was to see and do as much as possible. To take the scenic routes even if it means more (or less) miles and go on those side trails. As far as road walk sections go, I see the same things from a car as I do on foot. I think next time I'll accept a ride.
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