Roger Carpenter – Greg In Wild
Living with a sense of adventure
It was a promising, reasonably crisp morning on July 8 when I departed a Forest Service campground near the edge of Red Meadow Lake. The previous day I briskly walked on a road that gently ascended 18 miles to the lake. No problem. But after the lake I knew it would require 16 strenuous miles and 4,500 foot of total ascent to the next potential campsite that had water.
After thanking Wyett, a member of the Blackfeet Nation, for the ride to the Chief Mountain trailhead and the beginning of my journey, I pledged to look for and view the actual mountain as a sacred Blackfeet cultural site.
After obligatory photos of the start, I descended into the mixed meadows and forest. Mosquitoes and blackflies welcomed me right from the start! I walked confidently, knowing I was here before on October 3, 2016. I immediately began reciting bear poetry to scare off any grizzlies that I would other meet in a surprise encounter. When not checking for bears, I looked for a good view of Chief Mountain. As I reached a wide meadow where a beautiful deer stopped to look at me. Seeing wildlife at the beginning of a hike is, for me, a good omen. The doe ran towards me before darting into the forest. This was the same meadow where three deer greeted me on the final day of my hike on the Continental Divide Trail in 2016. Image that!
July 1, 2024. The following was written while I was visiting the ancestral lands of the Blackfeet people.
Cindy and I had fun in Seattle before I boarded the Empire Builder train to East Glacier, Montana. We watched the Seattle Mariners beat the Minnesota Twins in an exciting fashion after a weakly hit ground ball drove in the winning run. The next day Cindy boarded a train back home, and I boarded mine. Twelve hours later I woke in Montana as the train neared Glacier National Park. It is there I will begin my 1200-mile hike.
Specifically, I will start at the Chief Mountain trailhead in the northeast corner of the park near the base of Chief Mountain. I obtained my backcountry permit at the St. Mary Visitor Center. To get there, I received a ride from Wyett, a member of the Blackfeet Nation. What I learned from Wyett was enlightening. “All of this is Blackfeet land,” Wyett explained, pointing toward the mountains inside the National Park. I understood this to some extent.
Continue reading “Blackfeet Nation: PNT Pre-Hike”The Choice
Embarking on my fifth attempted wilderness thru-hike since 1995 is a big event and a privilege. This time it is the Pacific Northwest Trail, a 1200-plus mile route that crosses Montana, Idaho and Washington. I will hike it westbound from Glacier National Park starting July 2. After hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2021, the Camino de Santiago in 2022 and the England Coast to Coast in 2023, I wondered which trail I would attempt next. Having lived in and embraced the Pacific Northwest since 1979, the PNT was an easy choice, and not solely for the location. The PNT is a hard trail. It combines the steep, up and down terrain of the Appalachian Trail with the remoteness of the Continental Divide Trail and the unfinished, pre-90s Pacific Crest Trail. I chose the PNT because it’s better to hike it while I am still relatively young (?).
This is Post 3 of 3 about my pursuit of the Triple Crown of Long Distance Hiking and the Appalachian Trail. I started in 1995 with the Pacific Crest Trail, but finished far short that year. I hiked the entire Pacific Crest Trail in 1996 and the Continental Divide Trail in 2016. To read the previous posts look for the link “Triple Crown Hikes” or click here.
I was nervous about hiking the AT. “Welcome to New England hiking!” my friend Brownie wrote in an email. “Why the nerves?”, I blogged the night before climbing Katahdin. This was not the well-graded PCT I hiked in my 40s, and Brownie knew it. I was 67, and about to walk and sometimes crawl over steep, rocky terrain for 2,169 miles on the AT for the first time.
The five-hour hike up and down Mt. Katahdin was spectacular. In Maine I embraced the lush forests, ponds and lakes, but learned quickly how the steep, rocky terrain can beat up a SOBO hiker. My good friend Marmot had advice when our paths crossed in Maine. “This is the hardest state on the AT; take more zero days here!” I took the advice and ultimately loved hiking the White mountains and the Presidential range in New Hampshire in great weather. Thru-hiking southbound was a good choice for me.
Continue reading “Hiking the Triple Crown of Long Distance Hiking, 1995 to 2021: Part 3 of 3, the Appalachian Trail”After hiking the PCT in 1996 I waited twenty years before I could begin a thru-hike on the CDT. Family obligations, a mortgage and an interesting but tumultuous career limited my hiking on the long trails to occasional section hikes. Getting laid off from my job of eleven years relieved me of the stresses or a corporate career. After I announced to my Facebook friends I would attempt the CDT in 2016 I received an invitation from Whitney “Allgood” Laruffa to join a group he named the “Portland Mafia,” a collection of our friends who planned to hike the CDT. I knew nothing about hiking in New Mexico, and attending CDT Trail Days in Silver City before starting the hike was an introductory course for hiking the state. The old mining town has a rich history and robust revival as an arts community, and I looking forward to hiking into town soon after embarking from the border with Mexico on April 18.
Trouble happened even before I took step one on Day 1. After showering in the motel room in Lordsburg, I screamed fearfully after jamming a toe into the bathroom door. Despite the pain, and convinced that the toe was not fractured, I climbed in the vehicle driven by Tereasa Martinez, the Executive Director of the CDT Coalition, rode the bumpy gravel roads to the Mexican border, and soon took my first-ever steps on a hiking trail in New Mexico on April 18.
This is Post 1 of 3 about my pursuit of the Triple Crown of Long-Distance Hiking. This one is about the Pacific Crest Trail. Look for two more posts soon!
Introduction – 1993, 1994 and 1995
A lot changed while I pursued the Triple Crown over a span of 25 years. I aged from 42 to 67 years old and managed to complete three thru-hikes with ever improving gear, technology, and growing numbers of people hiking the trails. On the CDT in 2016, at 62 years old, I crafted my way northbound with strong feelings of optimism to overcome injuries and a slower pace. As one of the older thru-hikers on the AT in 2021 I respected need to “stay in my own lane,” while growing to love and appreciate the unique culture of the trail. But the increasing rate of wildfires, drought and extreme weather events along the trails concerns me more than it did when I hiked the PCT in 1996, a time when awareness of climate change was minimal compared to today.
My triple crown journey really started at a central Oregon home I was invited to in the fall of 1993. It was a gathering of people who had enough experience on the long trails to create a sense of awe to this much less experienced hiker. Ray and Jenny Jardine completed the Appalachian Trail earlier that year. I was surprised to hear they recently hiked two other trails: the Pacific Crest Trail (1987) and Continental Divide Trail (1992). Brice Hammack, whom I met while doing PCT trail maintenance earlier that year, completed the PCT and the AT in sections and was nearing completion of the CDT. Scott Williamson was just back from his first thru-hike on the PCT. Lesya Struz and Joris Naiman, whom I also met on trail projects near Portland, Oregon, facilitated my invitation. Inspired by the people I met that weekend, I hoped I could complete a thru-hike someday.
In the late summer of 1994, a gift was handed to me: a layoff notice from my job at a large corporation. After counting severance pay and freelance opportunities for short-term income, the enthusiasm for hiking the PCT in 1995 outweighed the immediate continuation of a corporate career. Within a few weeks of the layoff notice I excitedly traveled to the first official ALDHA-West Gathering in Oregon with knowing the event would kick-start preparations for the thru-hike! At the Gathering, the first five recipients received Triple Crown plaques: Brice Hammack, Alice Gmuer, Ray Jardine, Jenny Jardine, and Steve Queen. My first steps to the Triple Crown would start on the PCT at Campo, California on May 11, 1995.
In the winter of 1995 I was aware of the extremely high snowpack in the Sierra Nevada . On May 24, while approaching Idyllwild, the deep, icy snow on the steep approach to San Jacinto Mountain was just a preview. One month later I met a young section-hiker and aspiring author, Cheryl Strayed, who later traveled with me to Sierra City to skip the high snowpack in the Sierra for what we hoped was much less snow. This is called a flip-flop, and it would require a return to California to hike the areas I skipped. I would have preferred a continuous footpath without the flip-flop, but I decided to go Sierra City with Cheryl. On July 4 I hiked ahead of Cheryl, but we encountered the lingering snow on the Sierra Buttes. The conditions convinced me to leave the trail for three weeks and return to the southern Sierra where Cheryl and I exited the PCT at Trail Pass. Cheryl kept hiking northbound to the Bridge of the Gods on the Columbia River in Oregon not knowing where I had gone. Read more in a story I wrote for the Pacific Crest Trail Association.
I returned to the PCT on July 25 at Trail Pass. With some nervousness but great satisfaction I steadily hiked over snow-packed Forester Pass (13,200 feet). But the next day at Glen Pass I glared north at the solid snow as far as I could see, peak to peak. I was discouraged and nervous at the sight of continuous snow ahead, and I was alone at 12,000 feet above sea level! After descending the snowy north side of the pass at sat down near Rae Lakes while paying attention to the pesky Marmot trying to eat my part of my lunch. I knew I had to decide, and in that moment, I could not know how life-changing my choice might be. The risks of pushing northbound, alone, in such conditions were significant. Questions and thoughts ran through my mind as swift as the meltwater in the nearby creeks. The solitude in the snow-packed Sierra was intense, not what I expected or desired. “Where are they?” I asked silently. Obviously, they flip-flopped and were far north of where I sat. Most importantly, I assumed the snowfields ahead would slow me down. Logic overtook anxiety as I wondered, “with just a little more than two months until October, could I really finish a thru-hike to Canada? Doing some math, I would need to push every day at a pace of 31 miles per day to reach Canada before serious snowfall could put an end to it. Would bad weather block my progress to the border? Could I re-start a thru-hike in 1996?” The next question was the key. “Could I lighten my gear and streamline my approach next year and hike the PCT well?” Yes, I concluded. It justified what I would do. The next morning, I hiked back over Glen Pass and eventually caught a Greyhound to start my journey home…and eventually to the 1995 ALDHA-West Gathering two months later.
Pacific Crest Trail – 1996
The aborted 1995 hike was not a failure. I was determined to go ultralight on the trail in 1996. At the 1995 Gathering one I learned about a frameless, two-pound backpack made by Wild Things. I bought one, and I chose a tarp for shelter rather than a heavier tent. With a re-engineered approach to gear, hiking 30 miles per day was possible and even likely. Confident and evolved, I hiked out of Campo on May 8 with a long stride and gleaming eyes to the north. Having hiked 800 miles the previous year helped a lot, too. The difference was obvious on Day 1. In 1995 I camped at Hauser Creek. In 1996 I ate lunch at Hauser Creek! Apparently, most of the 150 thru-hikers started before me. It was not until Day 10 in Idyllwild when I met another PCT hiker.
On May 26, the second day after I departed Big Bear, a small wildfire burned on a nearby ridge that required a few miles of walking a road. I was happy with my 24 mile per day pace as I hiked into Mojave on June 6. I knew safe, drinkable water would be an issue in the hot, dry desert north of Mojave after a bad experience in 1995 scooping cow piss smelling water from a nearly dry creek bed. Using a rental car I drove to several locations and hid many one-gallon jugs of water for me and the thru-hikers I had met five days earlier. After leaving water near Butterbrendt Canyon Road, thru-hiker Ryan Christianson appeared trudging in the dust, looking surprised and very thirsty. After introductions and hearing Ryan’s bad luck story of his search for water, I said, “nice to meet you, Ryan! Hey, there is plenty of water in the car, and how about some fresh fruit?” This is one of my best memories of the PCT.
The camaraderie that was missing one year earlier was at the forefront of my experience in the high desert and continued at Kennedy Meadow and into the Sierra. Meadow Ed, whom I first met in 1995, hosted the PCT hiker campsite again. In the years after 1996 Meadow Ed continued to be one of the most known trail angels in the PCT community of hikers and received the Trail Angel of the Year Award from ALDHA-West. I departed Kennedy Meadows on June 15 with about 20 other thru-hikers. The weather in 1996 was seasonably average. The valleys were snow-free, the passes were pleasantly snowy for some fun challenges. I hiked the Sierra with two thru-hikers much younger than me: White Root (who later earned a Triple Crown) and Sparrow. With experience gained the year before, I guided us up Forester Pass. It is worth noting that no GPS devices or smartphones were available that year. In the Sierra I used a map and compass when needed. Aided by sunny weather we hiked over one pass each day. It snowed only once, but thankfully it while I was nicely bunked at Vermillion Valley Resort, where I met even more PCT hikers on June 25! The weather continued to be wonderful, and the forests continued to be free of wildfires until I reached Crater Lake, Oregon. A small fire was burning to the west of the PCT, close enough to see flames. However, that fire did not turn out to be very large. Hiking with Sparrow in Oregon I averaged 28.7 miles per day. In Washington I passed into a zone of solitude, with most of the other thru-hikers now behind me. With two rounds of tendonitis, I moved north with determination and grew to love the solo aspect of the journey. One of my best memories was hiking into Goat Rocks Wilderness, across the Packwood Glacier and over the “knife edge” with ravens soaring overhead, limping with tendonitis to a tiny campsite as darkness fell with snowmelt from Old Snowy Mountain as my source of water. Rain and a little snow fell as I headed into the wilderness north of Snoqualmie Pass on September 5. Ten days and 260 miles later, on September 15, with rain and snow giving way to timely sunshine, I reached Monument 78 at the U.S.-Canada border blissfully alone.
NOTE: My previous blog post was sent out incomplete. Read the full post here: https://elkpass.com/2022/07/30/cdt-montana-idaho-days-14-15-july-22-23/
On the morning of July 24 I wished for a high energy level, at least for a 68 year-old hiker. I ate well the day before but I anticipated the terrain would be more challenging. Moreover, I wanted to complete the 220 mile hike on the 27th, the day I would run out of food. I wanted to feel good about this hike when it was over. Early in the morning I knew my first wish was granted!
With a heavy heart I waited for Ronnie to pick me up for the drive from Salmon to Chief Joseph Pass. The nearby Moose Creek fire had expanded to over 20,000 acres and two helicopter pilots died in a crash while fighting the wildfire. My complaints of breathing smoke and watery eyes were trivial. The effort to hike on the first day back on the trail was easy compared to the tough and dangerous work done by fire crews.
July 22: 18 miles, 2130′ ascent
July 23: 14.7 miles, 2,640′ ascent
Day 8, July 16: 4 miles (departed Jackson, MT)
Day 9, July 17: 13 miles
Day 10, July 18: 17 miles
Day 11, July 19: 17 miles (arrived in Salmon, Idaho)
Previous to arriving in Jackson, where I took a rest day off the trail, the annoyingly steep trail and oxygen starved high elevation encouraged me to slow down, stop and breath deeply. After the zero day I had hoped the rest would propel me up and down the CDT with renewed vigor. But, no.
After leaving a campsite near Rock Island Lake I slowly climbed to a high saddle at 9227 feet while fending off mosquitoes that never really went to bed last night. The route on the downhill side was not obvious, so I took time to enjoy the view. I kept reminding myself that I am in no hurry, thanks to avoiding over 60 miles of trail I hiked two years before.
With the peaks of the Divide on my left and meadows and small lakes ahead I let gravity assist my downhill progress northbound. I was not feeling my best, though. However, the day off from the trail was an excellent mental break, and I viewed this part of the CDT with enthusiasm. Getting a good look at a mule deer helped, and meeting day hikers was nice. It was Sunday and trail users ranged from hikers to ATV users. During a short rest I noticed a huckleberry bush with tiny, green berries. In a month or so bears will come here to feed on the berries. For now, I was happy to have no bear encounters.
I have been very careful storing my food at night. I have an Ursack that is designed to prevent a bear from getting at the food, although the contents might be crushed beyond recognition. The purpose is to avoid bear from becoming habituated to human food. Grizzlies can’t climb trees, so the best storage technique is to get the bag above the ground.
I became concerned about the air, which turned smoky even to the point of casting a reddish hue on almost everything. A day-hiker told me a fire started northwest of Salmon, the town I would go to within a couple of days. Yikes! I could see the plume of smoke rising at times, and a look into a GPS map app confirmed what the hiker told me.
Moreover, the trail beyond Big Hole Pass is affected by several large burned areas. Wildfires are always a significant concern, but in the past decade or two the fires have become more severe. The extended drought in the mountain west has left trees compromised with bark beetles, weakened roots and tinder dry conditions. In the burned areas I observed the stark contrast with the greener, healthier areas I walked through. In some places the forest floor was nearly devoid of any vegetation. Some beargrass and lupin have managed to survive a sparse existence among mostly barren land. A huge, old growth tree burned and toppled to the ground. Trail crews cut the trunk to clear the path for hikers. The diameter of the trunk was greater than the length of my trekking pole.
Life still does exist even in among the dead trees. While resting on a rare and tiny patch of green ground cover that was spared from the recent fire I noticed a woodpecker doing its work on the blackened remnants of the standing trees above me. I used my smartphone to record this sign of life, which I appreciated while eating nuts and dried fruit.
The area between Big Hole Pass and Chief Joseph Pass was hot, steep and a challenge to hike on a hot, low humidity day with the not-so-subtle hints of wildfire smoke entering my respiratory system. I committed to reaching Chief Joseph Pass late that afternoon so I could hitch a ride and sleep on a bed in Salmon rather than under the smoky sky of the Continental Divide. I did it, and it was fun despite the discouraging environment of climate change. Hike on!
