Days 9 - 10
May 5 - 6, 2023
Miles 157.9 - 209.0
I got off trail. I went back home to California. This was such a challenging decision to make. And I'm still not sure if it was the right one. But I was not enjoying myself out there. I wasn't getting into this hike mentally. My mind felt pulled back home, and the hardships of this trail, how little this felt like an actual trail, made it so challenging to ground myself there. So I made the hard call, and pulled myself off. But first, I still had two more wonderful days out there:
Another early start to the day to get ready, pack up my stuff, and eat breakfast. The hotel had a complimentary continental breakfast complete with a waffle maker. As I sat at the table chewing my waffles, my stomach squirmed with trepidation. I didn't feel good. I was nervous and reluctant to go back on trail. I felt like I was just going through the motions, acting the part of a thru hiker, and wishing I wasn't. Sorority Steve, Bushwhack, and Hannah all tried to hype me up and offered words of encouragement. But I listened with cast down eyes.
The morning's progression from paved road to dirt road to trail
I left the hotel and my friends - they were leaving later and taking different routes, and walked through town to rejoin the "trail." It was about three miles of paved road walking before it joined 2.5 miles of dirt road walking. I missed the turnoff for the trail and had to double back. I had been keeping an eye out for it, but it wasn't very distinct and hid much farther from the road than I would have expected. The trail weaved through the forest and my spirits lifted a little as I walked the dirt path under the trees. A couple of mountain bikers passed by and we chatted for a few minutes. They were interested in hearing about the Continental Divide Trail and knew a bit about it. I tried hard not to sound too much like I had been beaten to a pulp by the trail as I talked to them.
A few more miles later and the trail turned into another dirt road. It wasn't as bad as there were still a lot of trees and soon even flowing creeks started to appear. I stopped for a lunch break after crossing one. Not so much because I was hungry, but because my feet were aching something fierce. I desperately wanted to get off of them and take my shoes off. The blister on my heel had grown and was making every step painful. The rest in the shade near the creek helped soothe some of my feelings, but I still wasn't thinking very positive thoughts about choosing to stay out here.
Back on trail, I saw a beautiful red, black, and yellow snake. It was my first time seeing one of these and finally got to apply the rhyme "red touches black, friend of Jack, red touches yellow, kill a fellow." I wasn't sure what it was, but at least I could tell it was non-venomous. Later, I identified it as a Sonoran Mountain Kingsnake, Lampropeltis pyromelana. So cool.
I briefly ran into Yeti. He was having a great time out on trail. It was great to see him, but I was nervous to be around him because I felt that my negative energy was an infectious black hole that would drag anyone down who got too close. He stayed upbeat despite my concern, although he did stop for a break and I kept hiking, alone again.
The trail led out from under the trees and out onto a more rocky cliff where I got to enjoy views of an interesting geologic feature: hoodoos. These rock columns are formed through weathering and erosion and look somewhat alien. The trail passed over another small creek where I took another short break to collect some water. Yeti caught up to me again, but stopped there to make himself dinner.
I continued on my way and the trail dropped down to a streambed. While it was mostly clear which way the trail went, there were a few large trees that had blown down and meant an element of bushwhacking. The path left the streambed and began climbing steeply up the mountain. It was slow going and the incline reminded me of the Appalachian Trail - I thought I wouldn't see trails that steep again. I guess I was wrong about that. Navigating through the overgrowth added another element of challenge, and more scratches to my legs.
I finally crested the top of the climb. Although I had been distracted by the difficulty of the climb, it really had been very beautiful. Manzanitas and other low shrubs covered the rocky ground underneath short juniper trees. As I descended down the north side of the ridge, I noticed how different it looked from the south facing slope I had just come up. The forest floor opened up and tall Ponderosa pines dominated the scene. Not to my surprise, I hiked further than I initially intended, searching for a decent spot to set up camp and using up every last drop of daylight possible. Which meant I got to see the full moon rise above the mountain horizon. I had been looking forward to this moment, as it was my best friend's birthday and we were excited that the two events coincided. I had been thinking about her all day. Her favorite flower, lupines, had been all over the trail today. It was an extra dose of enjoyment each time I saw them and thought of her, which I needed.
The Full Moonset (I didn't get a photo of it rising) and a Lupine flower. Small reminders of my bestie and feeling her support
I ended up camping next to another hiker I hadn't met yet. We chatted briefly before I found a flat spot and set up my tent. It was another long day and I wanted to skip dinner and just go to sleep. But I didn't let myself get away with that this time and I felt considerably better with a hot meal in my belly. A shocking revelation. I also spent some time tending to my heel blister. It seemed as if a second blister formed under my original blister. Disgusting.
Today had been a diverse day of roadwalks and trails. The trail was really beautiful and I enjoyed much of it. Yet the nagging sense that I don't truly want to be out here still hung heavy in my head all day.
I woke up the next day with my mind made up. I planned to get to Doc Campbell's Post, 21.3 miles away, and find a ride back to Silver City from there. It was terrifying, but also comforting. I didn't feel right being out here. Thru hiking across the country is an incredibly stupid thing to do if you don't actually want to be doing it. Knowing this would be my last day on trail, I really tried to soak it all in and let it be good, casting away all my doubts, hurts, and fears.
My hike down the mountain was a sustained sunrise. The morning sun crested the mountain ridgeline and I kept it there as I descended down into the canyon. Oaks and Junipers were frozen in the prolonged warm golden glow of the stilled sun. I skipped down the trail, spurred by the hillside's beauty and delighting in my minor role in creating it.
Too soon, I reached the bottom where the trail crosses shallow, but wide Sapillo creek. There was no way past it other than through it, so I stepped into the chilly water, wetting my feet. They would remain wet for the rest of the day. Walking west along the other side of this creek, I came to where it flows into the Gila river. I turned north and followed the riverbank. My jaw dropped as my eyes swept across the tall red walls of the canyon, the perfect backdrop for the spring green leaves of the cottonwoods, sycamores, and willows. The river glided past, unconcerned that everything here existed because of it.
I have to say, I did an excellent job at enjoying myself this day. About every quarter to half mile I had to cross the river as it ping-ponged off the canyon walls. I relished this new challenge of navigating across a river. Memories of a college class where we discussed, and acted out, river ecology and physics streamed through my mind. I searched for the wider, slower points to cross, or looked for where there were many ripples showing that the river, although fast moving, was at least shallow. Most of the time the water was at my knees or mid thighs. Twice, the water went up to my hips and only once did I have to turn back and search for a better crossing point. It was slow-going, each step a carefully calculated battle against the onslaught of water trying to sweep me away. I had so much fun.
Between the river crossings, I was able to follow a well-defined trail that wound its way across these almost-islands, under the broadleaf trees and through grassy meadows. Sometimes it was difficult to find the path as it often disappeared on the gravelly shores of the river and not everyone crossed the river at the exact same location. But I quickly learned that it was well worth spending the extra time looking for the trail, as bushwhacking takes even longer and is far more accident prone.
The real joy of this section, for me, was how many birds I got to see and hear. The cottonwoods were teeming with them. I saw colorful tanagers and orioles and got to hear the jays and sparrows calling. I was so grateful to have my binoculars with me. The birds seemed to stay active later through the morning than usual, perhaps because the canyon took longer to heat up. I also got to see some of evidence of some mammals who lived down in that canyon. I passed by fallen trees and wrestled my way through chewed willows, all the work of beavers. I walked along a sandy path for a while where I noticed I was stepping on black bear tracks. They looked fresh and I got a little giddy realizing I was following a bear. After a while, the tracks disappeared and I never saw it. I imagine it saw me, though.
After about 16 miles of walking up the Gila river, I joined Highway 15 for 1.5 miles to get to Doc Campbell's shortly after 5pm. The first couple of people that I talked to just so happened to be leaving the next morning for Silver City to tend to some injuries before continuing. How fortuitous.
I had such a great day today. It was beautiful, rich with life, challenging in the best ways, with a clean and constant source of fresh flowing water. A refreshing change of what I have experienced out here so far. Still, I was ready to go home. It hurt so much to leave and a small part of me screamed that I was making a huge mistake. But I couldn't stay out here. Not with where my head was at. Maybe I just needed a break, or maybe I needed a summer where I could spend it exploring some of my other interests and hobbies. The trail will still be here whenever I do feel ready for it, and likely in better condition as it continues to be built. There are no wrong choices. Everything always works out in the end.
At least I wasn't quitting on a bad day.
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