Fear and Boredom on the Continental Divide Trail
I’m training for the Fjallraven Classic. It’s approximately 40 miles of hiking through the Rocky Mountains over three days. And in the spirit of being prepared, I took myself off into the woods to practice hiking with a 40-pound pack.
The plan was to set up camp up past Monarch Lake in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Boundary on the western side of the Rocky Mountains. The camp site was about a 3 mile hike in from the trailhead and I’d hiked it a few weeks ago without the heavy backpack.
This time I set off from the car at about one in the afternoon with my one-man tent, a packet of freeze dried food, Ronald’s leatherman and—crucially—a can of bear spray. The initial trail was a swarm of midges and feather-light rain. There were troubling, heavy clouds to the south east but they appeared to be heading further south so on I went.
The trail runs along the lake before the Cascade Creek Trail split and there are plenty of day-trippers with their dogs to give one the illusion of numbers and safety. But after the split, the trail climbs higher and the number of hikers drops off exponentially. There was the dense scent of moose dung in the air and their scats were liberal on the path. All good and well but one never wants to get between a mama moose and her young but on I plodded. I passed two or three hikers but they were heading back towards the trailhead and by now I was a good 45 minutes from the car.
The area I stopped to erect the tent was about 4 miles out from civilization. And by now it was about two thirty in the afternoon. The rain had let up and there was no wind. I set up the tent in record time and then flung the blow-up mattress and sleeping bag inside.
To the south there was a charming, rushing river that drowned out any sounds. To the north, the trail ran through a glen. A few hikers past by. Again, most heading back to the trailhead.
You know where this is going, right? I am definitely not Alexander Supertramp.
I peeled a mandarin and sat in the tent with the fly open. There was at least six hours of daylight left before the forest would be blanketed by darkness. I had no book with me. I didn’t want to listen to anything on my cell because what if it, along with the rushing river, drowned out the sound of a belligerent bear, a marauding moose? I chewed on a segment of mandarin and peered into the pine trees. A lone hiker, a man, walked past. He wasn’t heading back towards the trailhead. Why? Why was he up here alone, had he followed me, did I just see him slow down and note my one-man tent, my small self sitting inside attempting a nonchalance I was certainly not feeling? I groped for the side pocket where the leatherman was stored. The blades were blunt.
I got up and took a few selfies because what the heck else was I supposed to do? I went to the river’s edge and looked at the white water. So easy to dump a body in something like this. All evidence would be washed away.
I took out my cell phone. 3.30pm. Jesus Christ. I kicked at a boulder. I went and sat back in the tent. I could maybe skinny dip in the river? Nah. That’s just asking for it. The silence, despite the rushing river was unnerving. I pulled out the stove and boiled some water. God damnit. I had no sugar. I’m not a fan of straight black tea. I threw the boiling water into the river.
I cocked my head, was that a rumble of thunder? Maybe that lone hiker wants company. Not everyone has to be Ted Bundy on the trail.
It’s barely 3.45 in the afternoon. I’m so bored, I could cry. Plus the ennui is merely a sidebar before the encroaching terror of inevitable darkness swamps me.
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes contagion into this world.
(I’m paraphrasing Hamlet quite badly but you get the gist.)
I don’t have the stomach to sit this out till morning. Not today. Not out here in the stillness and the wild that is fast taking a stranglehold on my imagination.
The tent, the sleeping bag, the air mattress; all are stuffed into the backpack in record time. I'm back on the trail heading back down the mountain before four in the afternoon.
Perhaps another time.