The Continental Divide Trail: Redline or Big Sky?

Toolman had arrived in Anaconda that morning, but not fried. We had sent him a text message and suggested that he go directly to Butte. The hooks were easy. One on the back of a truck on the edge of the city, the other to the edge of the interstatal to the super 8 in Butte. The guy who gave us the last trip had given some friends on a trip in the previous year, which we learned when we signed his hat. He asks all his self -establishrs to sign his hat and, strangely, his car. I signed near the gas tank.

The check-in was not until 3, so we hid our packages in the hotel costumes and we carry the free transport service to the festival. Butte loves and supports the Montana Folk Fest, and the transport service serves all the main hotels.

The music festival was great, but the expectation is the mother of disappointment, and my expectations were too high. The energy was great, the city supports strong, the food trucks are greasy, but the music looked like its theme, at least in 2025, it was something similar to Grade B music from all over the world.

The music was reproduced. Chinese Erhu, Caribbean rhythms, tap dance from nothing, hitting the battery and song of the Native Americans. Rooms or pavilions full of white people looking still, almost imperceptibly swinging their heads with time with melodies as we are not to do. Our apparent lack of enthusiasm is not our fault. Our recent ancestors were mostly Protestants who protested, among other things, the saints, the fun and the turn of the hips. Elvis was our liberator, but his work extends slowly, and has not yet penetrated the heart of the Rocky Mountains of the North. When a song would end, we would stop Bobbin ‘our Noggins and give our applause, 1/3 in genuine appreciation, 1/3 in courtesy and 1/3 in celebration of Diversity of Self -Contratulator.

He would later describe the Frito Festival as «flaccid but fun», as an appointment night in an elderly home. He chose not to go.

Instead, we went to the Perkins restaurant, which, strangely that it may seem, also has mild energy in the elderly home. Even so, Perkins had a hamburger, french fries, drinks and his choice of cake for $ 10. We would eat several times during our triple zero in the Super 8. Always choosing the hamburger and the special cake.

The rest of the time we rest, having divided the hotel in four ways, five if Mimicus counts, which slept on the floor one night.

While we rest, we argued what followed. A great option was coming, perhaps the second largest option (the first option would be Nobo Vs. Sobo), one makes approximately a CDT walk. Should I take the red line or the big sky?

The red line winding through Idaho in a massive way of more than 400 miles «C» that finally turns south and goes to West Yellowstone, Wy. The big sky is something completely different. Farout is not at all, and there is also no official route. Even so, due to the peculiar history and the strange tradition of the CDT, it is still miraculously official. Well … the official is probably a word too divisive. Let’s call the great sky … culturally acceptable. You will see, some hikers will never accept anything more than a pure walk like a walk, defining the CDT as the route as officially listed in any specific year. However, others, including myself, define the CDT as a border walk on board through the United States through the Rocky Mountain Region. From this point of view, the red line is only the central center of a massive series of alternatives, and the Big Sky is the largest set of alternatives by far.

Farout, for its discredit, omits these alternatives completely. To walk through the big sky, look for GPX files for past hikers and build your own route. That is, you must build yours if you do not want to follow Keebler’s crew or onion, or any other blessed Rando who has assaulted a path.

I could not resist this. Pure adventure. It was almost as if I had eighteen years again and prepare to walk and make self -octop through the United States without rules, without mental straps, only a vague and nostalgic road to the south. At the request of Ice Cream, I built a route for us, something that we could use as our «red line» so that we had some type of anchor, but it was just that.

After much discussion and deliberation, Toolman and Fito decided to keep the red line. It would be the rupture of communion. But not yet. First, we had to eat a further food load, make the hotel another day and open the Dreamr service package.

Dreamer is the Smith dwarf from under the mountain, and to remember you, he had sent us a package in Anaconda, all my reason to go that way before hooking Butte. With a skillful and careful portion with my vargo knife, I opened the box. Briefly, he issued a weak glow when the seal broke. Inside, we discovered lemon bread packages, protein dwarf (guaranteed to muscle even the thinnest beards) and three hand -forged talismans, iron with plasted blazes whipped to leather thongs. They were fucking massive, at least 1/4 of pounds. I promised to take mine to Mexico, knowing that the magic it would bring would exceed its … weight. The ice cream did not get one, or rather, had obtained the first more than a year earlier. Of the four, she is Far Dreamer’s favorite. I do not blame.

And so, finally, we leave Butte. We said goodbye to the Lady of the Rocky Mountains, that holy figure perched on the mountains there. She smiled and, in my mind, I heard her sweet voice. «His analysis of whites that do not dance because their recent ancestry is a Protestant is shit,» he whispered sweetly. «Even Catholics would only turn their hips when they infect with the dance disease of the Middle Ages.»

I leaned for the holy wisdom of the blessed virgin and loaded in our uber, who would take us where the road met the CDT. Our driver was a middle -aged woman without pretensions who ran sled dogs in the winter and frightened Grizzly bears in summer with her .44 Mag. His ability with the high, so terrifying weapon, that he had not even seen a Grizz in 10 years.

We downloaded and go to the road, following it through its natural progression in the CDT. Paved Road to Dirt Road to Trailhead to the path. We speak as if it were any other day, and then, once we reached a certain path of path, we separated.

«Until we met again,» I said.

«We have more than 500 miles to West Yellowstone from here,» said Toolman.

«And we have less than 200,» I replied, «but never underestimate our ability to relax. We will see you again, probably early in Colorado.»

Frito seemed doubtful, but I didn’t contradict me. We say goodbye, feeling sad to see our friends leave. Who knew what was now extracted impossible memories of the group of possibilities? But each wave must collapse one day in a particle, each possibility becomes a certainty. It’s how the world is turned, convicted, you must decide something.

Then the ice cream and I took the big sky.

Unless they have been given express permission for use, all the names and names of trails have been changed in my articles. Any similarity with real people is a coincidence. If you enjoy my writing, do not hesitate to subscribe or buy me a coffee with the tip of the author’s button.