Part Eight

     June 2 - 5                       Bob Marshall Wilderness                       (Go to Pt 1)
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In the near-distance, titanic thunderhead clouds churned their way up the Strawberry Creek valley, flashing lightning, rolling thunder and pulling with it a dark wall of water that poured into the lower Strawberry Creek valley.  We hurried to find a sheltered tent site but all the terrain was exposed, so we staked out the Gerry among the stunted trees, keeping an anxious eye out across the valley to see if the electrified tempest would eventually turn its furry up into the Clack valley. 

We didn’t have to wait long, within twenty minutes the front guard of the towering thunderheads started to churn their way up into the Clack valley.  A cold, hard wind began to blow and the sharp report of exploding thunder was delayed by nary a second from the lightning bolts that were being cast about with reckless abandon.  
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I looked around our camp.  Our tent was set by a dot of a lake on an open patch of alpine ground backed up to a cluster of stunted fir trees; we were exposed and we were going to get it.  We buttoned ourselves down in the Gerry Year Rounder and waited to find out if the old tent was still storm worthy.

Click on the map for a larger image

Minutes later a thunderous rain began pounding down on the tent and lightning flashed out to strike Trilobite Peak, instantly followed by ear shattering explosions of thunder that ricocheted off the rock walls and boomed throughout the valley.  

With every dreaded flash, instant death by lightning strike seemed a real possibility and for ten interminable minutes the lightning detonated all around us with terrifying frequency. The storm’s onslaught lasted for about twenty minutes, then its ferocity lessened and finally petered out.  Thankfully, the Gerry tent had shielded us from the torrent of rain pretty darn well. 
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The sky following the thunderstorm cleared and we ventured out to absorb the sweet, pure-clean, alpine air and shimmering views of the glossy-wet peaks and rain-dazzled valleys.  Looking about the terrain, there was not much open ground and snow was piled everywhere; it looked like we’d be wading through more schmaltzy snow on the Bear Paws for this upcoming stretch along the Trilobite wall.

The morning brought with it a grey drizzle and a somber, foreboding look to the expanse of rock that loomed out of the mist ahead.  I sat looking at my Bear Paw snowshoes with dismay.  I’d already jury rigged one of the binding straps but now it was evident that the neoprene straps that interlaced to weave the base of the shoe were worn to the point of near failure.  And sure enough, not even a mile down the trail, one by one, the neoprene webbing straps began to fail.  ​

I tried to ignore it at first until finally a third strap on my right snowshoe tore off and there was no more putting off the repairs. “I gotta stop and fix this shoe.” I told Craig.  He just dropped his pack, sat down and hunched over against the drizzle under his cagoule.  It took 45 minutes in the rain to dig out the repair kit, wire bale the straps back together and re-pack.  Two hours later it was Craig’s turn with the same problem, same right Paw.

Under the right conditions this stretch along the Trilobite Range would have made for a spectacular piece of hiking but plowing through the mash potato snow under drizzly, misty skies made the entire Trilobite section a slog.  Because of the sloggy trail conditions and the multiple stops to repair and re-repair snowshoes, we didn’t get very far over the course of the day and ended up making a wet camp just short of Switchback Pass at a tiny, somber looking pond called Dean Lake under wet, misty skies.

Thankfully, the next morning was sunny and we spent some time at camp trying to dry out at least the important stuff before packing up and snowshoeing on toward the pass. We crossed over Switchback Pass, dropped down into Pentagon Creek, where we finally descended out of the snow, and eventually came out, late in the day, into the Spotted Bear River valley. At this juncture we dropped 

our gorilla loads and made camp in a clearing along the river, savoring the thought of taking the next day off.

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Go to Part 9

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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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