Prying apart a seemingly endless expanse of emerald green forest, a bright golden sea of grass cradles a hardy stock of ranchers and a lazy, winding river that courses through it. Late summer stacks and rolls of bailed hay dot the fertile land by the thousands. It's the kind of place Monet would have come to paint had he not found haystacks closer to home. That's the Big Hole Valley.
A History of PUDs
It's the dirtiest of words out here: PUDs. Pointless Ups and Downs. It behooves you not to complain too much when you've signed up of your own volition to walk from one side of the country to the other, but PUDs are like the proverbial thorn in your side, the pebble in your shoe, the tiny thorn entangled deep in the fibers of your sock that you just can't shake…
When Montana Met Idaho
To an outsider, they seem the same. Those are probably fightin’ words to the locals. Returning to the land where this trip had all began, I'd forgotten how challenging it can be to know which state you're in at any given moment. High atop the divide, the trail is more often than not the line of demarcation between Idaho and Montana.
A Parting of Ways
We're missing something. Well, two somethings. Two someones, to be precise, and it hasn't felt the same without them.
Trailside Chats: Beardoh
New Mexico at last! A few short miles delivered us to Cumbres Pass and another hitch in the backup of a pickup truck to the nearby town of Chama. After being turned away by the miles of snow slogging in Montana, spending the month of July traversing the state of Colorado was a redemption of sorts.
Trailside Chats: Ace
Inching ever closer to the end of Colorado, there was nowhere to hide from the relentless wind—a preview of what is sure to come in New Mexico. Hearing myself think over the wind was a challenge in its own right, which made it all the more enjoyable when I sat down for a Q&A with Ace, aka Emily Newcomer, over dinner in a quiet, sheltered spot among the pines...
Trailside Chats: Sweet Pea
I could tell you about the day and how the trail is now referred to only as Trail 813 on all recent signage, as if it were a prison inmate with only a number to replace its actual name, but I've got a better idea. Instead of my usual philosophical ramblings, I figured it was time to shed some light on these three phenomenal people I have the good fortune to be spending so much time on the trail with.