Backcountry

The week after midweek, the Shadow crew was split in half and we were sent backcountry to do very outreaching trail maintenance and also patrol, AKA bust campers for doing any non-kosher things during the 4th of July. My backcountry group--consisting of Tommy, Connor and a forest service guy named Troy--however, didn't have to bust anyone for illicit behavior. As a matter of fact, we barely saw ANYONE we were sent so far into the boonies. Our trail was also, somehow, uphill both ways. While I was initially kind of stoked to carry around all my stuff in a 70 pound pack (and I'm serious. I WAS pumped) after mile 6 of trudging uphill on the first day the novelty had thoroughly worn off. We finally stopped at this mountain lake which was awesome and beautiful and also icy frosty freezing nippy searing cold.

We then found a campsite where I pulled out my tent to set it up. To my great surprise, I found the only supporting tent pole had broken somehow and, even when taped, it's greatest possible erected position looked like this.

But we had three other tents among the four of us so all was well.


I also have this little nibblet of backcountry adventure that was for the Rocky Mountain Conservancy blog:

Day 3 of backcountry. We’ve been hiking for 8 hours and are now following a very rough, obscure portion of the trail with intermittent avalanche snow patches. We keep getting turned around and then spending 30 minutes of bush-wacking to re-find the trail. Our goal for the night is to get to a narrow spiny ridge about 1,000 vertical feet up to our right, but it’s late and the flat patch of grassiness we put our stuff down in to refill on water looks like a very inviting camp spot.

After a vote, we decide to just push it up the last ridge. I’m in kind of a numb haze, just putting one foot in front of the other and I start to wonder who ever thought it would be a good idea to climb a mountain in general. But then I start really thinking about it, and you know what? I like when the trail isn’t totally clear, searching for the carens like a high-stakes easter egg hunt. It makes you more engaged: the frustration of being lost, but then when you finally spot a slash mark on a distant tree there’s this sense of reward; a rejuvenating burst that pushes you up the next climb.


I also think there’s a balance between living in the moment, yet having enough time to reflect, and somehow, miraculously, backpacking allows you to do that. The pounding of my heart and crunch of trail under hiking boots create a personal soundtrack that lulls me into a world of complete synchronization. My pack straps bite into my shoulders, my feet are sore and soaked, the cross-cut I’m carrying has this weird wave jiggle going on with every step, but it almost makes the moment feel more vivid, more real. Everything is raw. The trail is raw. The work is raw. The sharp, jagged horizon of mountains chiseled against the distant gray sky is raw.


There aren’t very many adventures that are this inherently physical. We are climbing up the side of a mountain to stand on top–it’s the most literal representation of a goal.

And when we finally push over the ridge, everything is mountains, as far as we can see. Soft, tree speckled foothills, building into enormous rocky summits on to the spiny purple-blue haze of distant ranges. It’s kind of the ultimate reward; a high feeling of extreme purpose, of teamwork. 

And then we camp right on the ridge and I felt like I might roll right off the cliff all night but it’s so fresh and clean and beautiful that it doesn’t even matter.