Part Forty Five

     August 28th & 29th                  Wind Rivers, WY                          (Go to Pt 1)

The late afternoon sun shadowing the Tetons shone across the Snake River Valley to cast alpine glow on the northern tips of the Wind River Range and clouds gliding under the sun created specters of moving light across the valley.

We sat silent in camp.  I was lost in a hundred mile stare, looking out at nothing but everything and feeling whittled down to a naked, nano-spec of whatever it was that was me.  I was anxious in a way that I had not felt since the early weeks of the trip, and yet, I knew I should be really stoked about what was out in front.

We were finally heading into the Wind Rivers, a range of mountains that had occupied many of our pre-trip discussions.  As has been mentioned, in the early days of fantasies run wild and loose talk, we concluded that our route along the Continental Divide should adhere to “the strictest line possible” and, in our dreams, we were convinced that the technical climbing across ridges in Montana, Wyoming and Colorado could be climbed - by us - while backpacking.

So, as we poured over the maps, planning for the Wind River Range, we saw one topo sheet after another covering some of the best alpine 

Click on the map for a larger image

climbing the Rocky Mountains had to offer, and most of it ran straight down the ridgeline of the Continental Divide which, per our specifications, would also be ‘the strictest line possible.’  So, that’s what we had planned for.  And we did so in spite of the fact that the maps also showed a north/south trail system running along the toe of the peaks that would have made for a pretty logical backpacking route.

As a result of our ‘strictest line possible’ philosophy, we were now carrying the extra weight of crampons, ice axes, climbing harnesses and helmets, as well as a small assortment of rock and ice gear and a 150ft, 11mm climbing rope.  In short, all of 

the extra pounds necessary for climbing the miles of glaciated and rock-splintered ridgeline.
 
Then, adding more weight and bulk to our packs was the warmer clothing we would need. Our plan also had us exposed us to autumn winds and weather at high elevations so we needed hats, gloves, mittens, shell parkas and extra wool clothes.  Throw in two weeks’ worth of non-freeze dried food stuff and all the other backpacking crap we needed and our packs had ballooned into insufferable pigs, approaching the weight of a 100lb sack of cement.

We were certainly strong, strong enough to shoulder the load, but by now our bodies were also fairly worn and tired from the previous 1,200 miles and this challenge here, in front of us now, was going to be an ordeal.  I really didn’t know if we were strong enough to pull this off or not, but I had a feeling fantasy was about to have a head-on collision with reality.
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That first morning heading into the Wind Rivers was crisp, clear and, seemingly overnight, autumn colors had burst out all across the high country.  We didn’t anticipate much in the way of trails at the outset so we started off cross-country, through open forest and rocky, highland pastures. 

 As we headed toward Lava Mountain, we had to mingle several miles with small herds of range cattle and I was not a fan of range cattle.  Range cattle saw us as predators and were easily spooked into erratic behavior that I couldn’t figure out so, when we came across them, Craig and I would  ​

typically skirt our way around a heard.  Today, however, our packs were too heavy to play dosey-doe around the pasture with these hoofed hamburgers, so we just kept our heads down and maintained our direction with a slow, plodding pace until the cattle were behind us - which worked out surprisingly well.

After lunch we made a long, tiring climb up the flank of Lava Mountain through meadows strewn with boulders up to the ambling plateau forming the mountaintop. We hiked across the plateau to the south side and descended a short way to where 

we came up onto the top of a massive slope buried in boulders.  Looking down at all that chaos we’d have to descend with this dead pig on my back made my mojo sag.

Descending the boulderfield was tedious, time consuming and unexpected, since I didn’t think we’d see this kind of terrain just yet.  But there was something else I noticed that was more troubling; when I reached the bottom of the slope and looked back for Craig, he was still far up the hill and plainly struggling to fight his way down through the boulders.

​I sat down on a rock to wait.  Craig wasn’t lagging because he was slow, it was more serious than that.  My mind was starting to question how we should proceed, our entire plan right now depended on our ability to move through this kind of terrain with some semblance of speed.  In another day or so our entire world was going to look like this, for days, and a lot of it was going to be much harder than coming off Lava Mountain.  

Craig finally joined me at the bottom of the boulderfield and propped his pack against a large rock to relieve his load and take in the afternoon view.  There it all was, rolling tundra and shimmering peaks in the not-so-far-off distance, just out there waiting. ​

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Go to Part 46

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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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