Part Thirty Three

     August 4-6                       Beaverhead-Deerlodge NF                  (Go to Pt 1)

A while later as we sat idly on the open slopes of Little Table Top, two backpackers appeared over the rise to the east.  Craig and I looked at one another in surprise, “What on earth are two backpackers doing out here?” I wondered out loud.   We watched as they descended the slope towards us.

As they neared I could see they were both carrying good sized, frame packs, similar to ours, their hiking shorts and T’s were tattered and dirt stained, same as ours, they wore low, hiking gaiters like ours and their boots were well worn but it was their muscular calves and quads that really caught my attention, they clearly had a lot of mountain miles on them, same as ours.  Who were these guys?

They reached our lunch outpost and with a simple nod ‘hello’, dropped their packs and sat down across from us.  One of the hikers, Dan*, introduced himself and we did a quick round-robin of names.  Steve* was the taller of the two with blond hair and Dan was similar in height and build to me with dark hair.  They were eyeballing us up and down with the same look of astonishment mirrored in our faces.  Were we suddenly in Bizzaro World?  

“So, where’re you guys coming from?” Dan asked as he pulled out his pocket knife and cheese from a lunch sack.  I shaded my eyes against the sun and considered his question “Well, that depends,” I replied, because we were ‘coming from’ a lot of places, both near and far “…do you mean originally?” I finally asked.  “Yeah,” Dan replied “originally.”  

“Well, we started in Canada” I said.  “Where are you guys coming from?” I asked.  They looked at one another for a moment then with a throaty chuckle Dan came back with “Do you mean originally?”  

Suddenly, I knew who these guys were!  When we had met with Glacier National Park Superintendent, Bob Fossen, before starting the trip, he’d mentioned that he had been contacted by a couple of backpackers who were planning to walk the Continental Divide south to north; this had to be them.  

I must have acted like some guy on a game show because I just blurted out “Wait, let me guess, you’re the guys coming up from Mexico!” and I looked over at Craig who was smiling and pointing back at me as if to say ‘We have a winner!’  For Dan and Steve it was like ‘Oh, okay, well, apparently our reputation precedes us.’

We all just laughed in stark amazement, I mean, really, what were the odds?  There wouldn’t be an established ‘Continental Divide Trail’ for another twenty years and route finding in ’77 was a free-for-all; we’d gone several months in the mountains without running across backpackers and the happenstance of our crossing paths with these guys was remarkable.  

Then again, we were walking the Continental Divide and they were walking the Continental Divide and we had been sitting on the Continental Divide when they came along, so maybe it wasn’t that remarkable.  No, actually, it was that remarkable!

The first thing I had to know from these dudes was how they got to Montana so fast.  “Well,” Dan started “we began in early April,” which is when that little christmas-tree bulb in my head lit-up ‘Ohh yeeahh, they started in the sunny south; they have a six week head-start on us’, “and we’ve been hiking the valleys, mostly on Forest Service roads and trails…” as Dan continued to describe their route through various areas south of us.  

Turns out they were primarily after long distance days on Forest Service roads, lowland 4Wtracks and trails.  As we compared notes they were surprised (and not necessarily impressed) by our choice of routes, what with all that off-trail, timber bashing and scores of boulder strewn ridges; how could we make any time doing that?   

Although we refrained from saying so, Craig and I, on the other hand, detested the mind-numbing boredom of road walking and we pointed out that our objective was to hold as close to the Divide as our legs, wits and time would allow.  

We also mentioned to the valley boys how spectacular much of the alpine hiking had been; which I think they saw as all very interesting but expressed concern (skepticism) about our getting through Colorado before winter set-in with that strategy.

Route preferences aside, we spent the better part of two hours talking shop with these ‘bizzaro bros’ out of the south as only the four of us could; dissecting equipment, trashing poor designs, querying each other about trail menus (no revelations there, they were eating the same, monotonous crap we were) and supply stops. 
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Rounding back to route finding questions, which is what all four of us were mostly concerned about, we probed them specifically about the Wind Rivers (they’d stayed low) and the Red Desert in southern Wyoming where they had the scoop on locating a key water source.  They weren’t sure yet how they were going to get through some of the sparsely tracked sections of northern Montana but probably not by way of the route we’d come. ​

At last, they stood “We’re going to be late getting into camp as it is, so we’d better get going” Dan said.  We exchanged addresses, promised to write, shook hands and with that the boys from the south were off.  
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*Note: Almost tragically, I didn’t record these early Continental Divide trekkers’ names in my journal and the piece of scrap paper on which they wrote their names and addresses got lost somewhere in the reshuffle of gear during one of our town stays, or so I’m guessing.  The story is true but Dan* and Steve* may or may not be their actual names.  However, if either of you guys, ‘Dan’ and/or ‘Steve’, read this and recognize the story please leave a comment below so we can get in touch.  (What are the odds of that, right?)

We watched the southern boys amble off then hoisted our packs knowing that we, too, were going to be very late getting to our scheduled campsite at Big Table Top Mountain.  As it was, after crossing Little Table Top Mountain and dropping to Pete Creek Divide my energy was completely sapped. The map indicated water at Pete Creek Divide and then no water again until Big Table Top Mountain which was further than I was going to get in my lethargic state.

There were plenty of pines about the shallow saddle and Craig helped me get the tent set-up before he took off with the empty bottles in search of water which turned out to be quite a bit further from camp than either one of us had anticipated.  
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About 25 minutes later Craig returned with the replenished water supply and handed me my bottle.  The water was pretty silty and for some spectacularly stupid reason I thought it funny to verbally dis on how ‘dirty’ the water was.  
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“Whoa, lots of minerals in this one.  Not a problem, I’ll just strain it through my sock first.  No, No, kidding!  I’m just kiddinggg!  The water is fine - for a tadpole, hahahaa… ha, aw common, man, that’s funny. But really, thanks for getting the water - the sediment topping is a nice touch, hahaha….  Kidding, man!!  I’m just kidding!!”  ​

I was making these ridiculous, self-entertaining remarks while lounging back against my pack, comfortably stretched out on my sleeping pad where I’d been parked for the past half-hour.  I don’t know, maybe I’d even dozed a little while Craig had been out in the hot bush, hunting down water.  Surprisingly, dissing his water source did not play well.

Dunn was a tall boy, 6’3”or 6’4”, and from where I sat on the ground he suddenly looked to be a giant as he glowered down at me, his two-quart water bottle dangling from his right hand; anybody else and I would’ve been clocked right upside the head with that 4lb water bottle and deserved it.  “Yeah? Little funnyman?” he said and turned to start unpacking his stuff. 
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In all fairness, though, Craig’s sojourn into the bush for water aside, joking about dank drinking water was nothing out of the ordinary and usually worth a snigger or two, however, in this particular instance, I can see where a simple “thank you” might have sufficed.
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I had an appetite when supper rolled around and finished off my ration of rice and tinned chicken, after which I felt better.  It rained in the night and continued to rain on and off throughout the next morning as our hike continued up and across to Big Table Top Mountain.

We arrived at the spring near the crest of Big Table Top around noon and stopped for lunch.  By now the skies had cleared and although I was feeling better, the exertion of carrying the pack was still depleting my energy quicker than it should have.  
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We were still behind schedule by almost a half-day and from Big Table Top our next water was too far off to reach without putting in a powerhouse afternoon which I didn’t think I could do.  So, we buggered-off another afternoon and made camp near the spring.

It again rained during the night and the next morning not only did I feel rested and energized but the skies were blue and the rain washed air was fragrant with the scent of sage and pine and all things come to life.  The temperature was cool with low, billowy clouds rolling across the hills; it looked to be a perfect day to stretch out some miles.
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From the spring on the south side of Big Table Top we rose back up to the Divide.  As we ambled along the ridge, I looked off into Montana stretched out to the north; a vast, flat expanse of 

brown, desolate ground.  Then I looked off to the south where Idaho was a tangle of green, thickly forested valleys merging with intersecting ridges; the contrast was unlike anything I had ever seen.

By late morning we had reached the long, extended, west ridge of Baldy Mountain.  We had planned on crossing over the top of Baldy but now, as I looked up and across the endless ridge to the distant summit, I started to get anxious.  

The ridge itself was four miles long and on the horizon the west summit rose-up another 1,600 vertical feet.  After crossing over the west summit, there was another ridge traverse, which we couldn’t see, to the main summit with the descent to water being similar in reverse. 

To be honest, there was nothing difficult about traversing the ridge crest or climbing up the elevation, it was the lack of water and exposure to the sun out on that miles-long ridge that suddenly had me worried. 
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Water sources in these mountains were either dried-up or drying-up fast and my internal thermostat was already running hot; continued exposure to the sun at 9,500 ft. of elevation out on that ridge was going to be intense and finding any water out there would be like finding a jackpot, lottery ticket.  I didn’t like it and Craig wasn’t helping me out; he just wasn’t that concerned.​​​​

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Go to Part 34

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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