Part Forty Six

     August 29th - 31st                   Wind Rivers, WY                       (Go to Pt 1)

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.

From the boulderfield, we worked our way down off Lava Mountain through open timber out into rambling, sagebrush pastures where we finally made camp along Sheridan Creek. ​

It had been an Olympic training day from the minute we broke camp and we had made the grueling haul for as long as we could possibly stand it.  

Moral wasn’t great and it would have helped considerably if we had gotten to a mountain lake or maybe someplace with a bit of a view but camping in a cattle pasture was as far as we got.  Nothing was mentioned about Lava Mountain and beyond that we were too tired to talk, anyway.

The next morning we navigated our way down and across Sheridan Pass through more highland pastures and range cattle, reaching Warm Spring Creek early in the afternoon.  By now the sun was glaring and It was hot, sapping away at energy I needed for other things, like carrying the pack, and I could tell already it was going to be another dog-it-out afternoon.  We followed along the creek through open pasture out to a short piece of dirt road which then took us to a trail, leading steeply up the last 3 miles to Fish Lake. ​​​

Were it not for the weight of our packs, the backpacking through this stretch could have been enjoyable but as it was, by the time we reached the lake, the hip belt on my latest renovation, internal-frame pack was mashing my innards, the shoulder straps were compressing grooves into my shoulders and the sternum strap across my chest was making it hard to breath; it was time to dump this pig.

 We set our camp along the lakeshore and ate supper with unsaid words doing most of the talking. Right now, there was still a lot of anticipation and hope about doing the ridgeline traverse, but after another herculean day of load-carrying we had again been slapped down into exhausted silence. Nonetheless, we were finally camped at a beautiful spot and our packs were getting lighter with every meal, so we chowed. 

​I slept hard that night and the next morning I didn’t even remember climbing into the tent or getting into my sleeping bag, but I did wake up feeling well rested.  The weather 

continued in our favor and the morning was brisk and alive with plenty of fresh, mountain energy in the air.  ​

​​Our overall route planning for the Wind Rivers had included a couple of short days and one rest day so we would have some recovery time along the way, and today was a short hike on easy terrain to Lake of The Woods.  As we started off I could feel my pack was just a titch lighter and I could tell my lower power source had kicked-in a few extra ‘mule’ muscles to make the hiking a little easier. 

We climbed up out of the Fish Lake Valley to reconnect with the Continental Divide on an open, rambling ridge with a good trail.  Despite the weight of my pack, the hiking was pleasant and there were no radical elevation changes to deal with, just ambling terrain with awesome views and perfect weather all around.  The trail eventually took us through a stretch of lush, evergreen forest before finally arriving at the shoreline of Lake of The Woods.

Lake of the Woods provided another amazing campsite and with fall colors popping out across the landscape, set against the sparkling, midnight blue of the lake, we had no problem taking the rest of the afternoon off.  We were in good spirts, lounging about the lake, and by suppertime we were back on a roll about the ridgeline traverse, chatting at length about the alpine terrain just one day ahead and how incredible it was all going to be.  

​After supper we walked up the hillside from camp to watch the sun go down.  Sunsets were always an event for Craig and me and we delighted in the grand sunsets we’d seen from our many, lofty perches along the way.  

We settled in at the top of a knoll just as the deep yellows and oranges in the sky were giving way to a golden hue, with the sun hovering just above the skyline.  We began to glow, literally, as alpine glow slowly lit up the hillside. ​

​Then, out of thin air, Craig produced a joint in his hand.  Well hello, daddio!  “Where did that come from??” I asked, completely surprised.  Remember the guy we’d watched getting busted for selling pot while we were in Jackson Hole?  Well, we had bought a couple of joints off that dude earlier, before his internment, but I thought what we had was toast by now. “I found it on the trail” Craig replied, grinning as he fired it up.

Now we were really all aglow as the sunset’s artistry became magnified.  We basked in the fleeting alpine glow until the sun vanished and dusk’s chill began to settle-in. Deciding it was time to head back to camp, we hiked back down the meadow we had come up then, not far from the lake, we entered into some scattered trees. ​

 We went a short way into the darkening wood when we heard an unexpected rustling just beyond.  We stopped to look and noticed the shadowy figure of a large, hoofed animal in the more dark than dusk, standing in a patch of trees downhill from us. “Is that a cow?” Craig queried.  We looked harder into the dusky trees when Craig suddenly blurted out “Or is that a MOOSE?!... OH SHIT!” 

​No sooner were the words out than the moose took aim and charged, giving us just seconds to avoid a viscous mauling.  At the moment of confrontation, we were probably a 

good 20 to 25 yards from reaching any climbable trees, and in that sudden, branch-bashing instant when the moose exploded out of the dark, Craig and I both leaped into the air and shot off in a bolt-sprint for the nearest trees, instinctively splitting our path to create confusion for the moose. ​

There was a flash out of the corner of my right eye, which was Craig, and the pounding, crashing sound of impending harm right at my back, when the next thing I knew I was 15 feet up in a tree and the moose was thrashing around some 30 feet away, trying to smash Craigs feet into the trunk of his tree.  Craig jerked his feet up and the moose missed, giving Craig a few extra seconds to scramble for higher branches. With Craig now out of reach, the moose turned and started assaulting my tree.

The beast kept raging between the two trees, madder than holly hell.  I’d heard stories of people being treed by moose that refused to leave for more than a day, so I didn’t know, maybe I was going to spend the night up here. We waited and waited while the moose rutted and stomped between our two trees until it was dark and cold. We’d been perched up in the branches for maybe a half an hour, which seemed more like several hours, when the moose finally gave up, snorted and left.

So, the moose was out of sight and the forest was quiet again, but we were both reluctant to climb down out of our tree.  And then, once on the ground, we still had to work our way around the lake back to camp through the now pitch-black forest and, at this point, I was not only seeing moose behind every tree in the dark, but grizzlies, pumas and Bigfoot as well.

​Finally back to camp, we joked about the moose incident the rest of the evening, having laughs over the immaculate ‘levitation’ we had executed up into the trees and Craig, being 6’5”, having to whip his feet up ​before the moose smashed them against the tree; it was all like a slapstick comedy to us now. ​

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​​Go to Part 47

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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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