Day 10-12: Bob Marshall Wilderness

Day 10: 25 miles

The first ten miles of land are flat, but my shoulders are killing me for the weight of a complete package. As in spite of the lack of appetite in an attempt to half can lighten my package.

In the middle of the day, we have made 15 miles and I feel achieved. We chose an alternative, which cuts 5 miles of our time in the bob, but it is said that it is steep.

I finished my day limping a store inclined by Dean Lake. The beaker and I sat on the shore of the lake together eating, taking the high snow mountains that took refuge in a small basin.

«I feel that I just went through something,» Brome.

Day 11: 22 miles

I am amazed at what the dream of such a hard dream can make; I feel completely restarted. It is not strong, but something close. The pains, pains and problems of yesterday seem to have dissipated. I am a new missing.

While we walk, I appreciate the thick and crispy lichens of jellyfish that border the path. I read once George Washington’s army ate this during war time, since he has more calories than most lichens. I’m not sure this is true.

We arrived at our camp and we were surprised to find at least 15 hikers who had left the shelter before us. I had no idea that we would all be in the same area.

I ask Beaker and Droobie to walk two additional miles to the Chinese wall. Beaker is not convinced.

Finally we do it, pushing a large and long limestone wall standing above a soft, luxurious and relatively flat meadow. A bird squeaks gently, tracking in a pleasant way that combines with the melody of the other birds. I do not smoke marijuana, but if I did, we would have smoked the thinnest joint I’ve seen. And it would have been wonderful.

Day 12: 26 miles

We had 26 miles at the beginning of the path that would be our ticket out of Bob Marshall Wilderness and in the city. I was determined to do it at once.

I put on my cheap rain jacket, which quickly becomes a personal sauna during difficult climbing. As soon as the sun looks out and removed my jacket, it starts to rain again. This is how it always goes here.

I walk through the Croyo crosses with my shoes and socks, I never stop to give them the opportunity to dry or breathe. I feel great ampoules forming my heels and fingers. I remember running as a child, and my dad told me to pump my arms to deceive my body to move faster when it surrenders. I pick up the rhythm of my trekking posts and I find that the rest of my body follows its example.

The last two miles are particularly unbearable, but we arrive at the beginning of the path, where I go to bed on earth.

I see the hikers of one day leaving the road and run.

«Excuse me,» I say: «I am a CDT hiker and I am looking for a trip to the city with my friends» I access the hikers of the days: the man looks at my age with a gun tied to his chest and a baby on a carrier on his back. Women have my age and her friend too.

«How many hikers?» He asked

«4» I say timidly

«We can take 2 … Does that help?» He asks

Beaker and I headed to the city, and we managed to reach our first rodeo.

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