It is the end of June and the summer of 2020 is warmly announcing its presence. I am on the wrong trail, heading in the wrong direction, and in the wrong state. If COVID-19 never existed, I should have been in northern California right about now. A thousand or more miles of the Pacific Crest Trail should be growing faint in my rearview mirror. I should be a different person. I should be a person shaped by miles hiked, friendships built, relationships deepened, and time spent away from normal life.

COVID-19 did happen. We chose to follow the advice of local health officials and went home. My dream of one day conquering the Pacific Crest Trail was placed on the back burner to simmer for a while. Hungry and in need of something mirroring the adventure I spent two years working toward, The Colorado Trail quickly became a viable option for my small trail family. I ignored the morality of our decision to be here. My mental health needed a win. With this in mind, we took every possible precaution and headed for Colorado.  

From the outset, this trail is different. The elevation gain is a beast. It is summer and sweltering. Bears are a reality. As we leave the comfort of a dirt road often used by runners, cyclists, and fishermen, we begin to climb to a spot we believe will be best for our first night under the stars and evergreens. Climbing for what seems like forever, a thought flashes through my quiet mind, no one is forcing you to be out here. The bag is heavy, no one is forcing you to carry it. The miles are tough, no one is forcing you to climb them. The work is hard, no one is forcing this sweat on your brow. I do my best to quiet these thoughts. Hiking is often an exercise of mentally willing yourself forward. This is especially true for an attempted thru-hike.

As we near the camp, we have our first encounter with a bear. He hops up on the trail as we are rounding a bend and we startle each other. We do everything we have been taught. We make ourselves seem big. We make noise. I blow a whistle. We annoy him until he gives up and finds a different route. Before we fall asleep, we will encounter him two more times. This should do wonders for my trail insomnia.

Sure enough, in the supposed comfort of my tent, I lay with earplugs tightly in my ears and melatonin in my stomach. Neither are working. Out there, I hear the snap of every twig and can only imagine that our guest has returned in search of food. It is going to be a long night and I feel completely helpless.

A couple of nights later, I have yet to sleep for more than an hour. I am exhausted, but my racing mind will not let me sleep. When we wake, we find all three of our bear bags have been torn from the trees, and food is scattered everywhere. I may never sleep again.

This forces us back into town and my trail-family loses a member. Fear got the best of her and was doing the same to me, but I was not prepared to admit it just yet.

After several days off the trail, two of us return. Revived and rejuvenated, I find myself feeling better than ever. We are walking through a beautiful forest, through Birch Trees, on terrain with gradual climbs and down slopes easy on the knees. Today is the best day of hiking I have ever experienced. We learn of trail angels giving away soda, beers, and food a few miles ahead. This fills me with an excitement that is hard to measure.

Then Caroline rolls her ankle and falls to the trail. I do my best to comfort her, assess, and talk through our options. After 30-minutes of relaxation and talking, she decides to plow forward. She will fall again, and we will repeat our exchange. Once again, she will decide to fight on with all she has. I respect her for this decision. She is braver and stronger than me.

With full bellies and beers, we make camp in a stunning clearing. Caroline has her ankle propped up and I find myself putting immense pressure on myself to find some comfort in the night and sleep.

Sleep does not come. Instead, we awake and begin Section 4 of the Colorado Trail. It sucks. It is uphill for miles on rocky terrain. To make matters worse, we can hear thunder rolling in the distance. Soon, it will be on top of us, and rain will fall. With a prediction a local weatherman could not have called, rain begins to fall for the next hour. I am miserable. I am wet. I am tired. I need to sleep.

Then Section 4 reaches its apex and opens to a beautiful tree-lined valley. Standing at the 50-mile marker, we made it farther than we did on the Pacific Crest Trail and find ourselves surrounded by indescribable beauty. I am reminded that the beauty we experience in this life is often born out of seemingly impossible trials.

We find a secluded spot to make camp. After the daily ritual, we cook dinner, chat, reflect, and begin the process of going to bed. I have yet to sleep more than a few hours on this entire journey. If I have another sleepless night…

And I do. Another sleepless night has visited me. I am utterly exhausted. I have hiked my hike and have decided Breckenridge will be the end for me. It breaks my spirit knowing I can physically make it to the end, but the lack of sleep is destroying me.

From the 50-mile mark, we make our way into Jefferson for a resupply and then to Fairplay for a couple of zeros. Jefferson is a crumb on a map, but the food is delicious and the conversation with a couple who previously hiked the Appalachian Trail is even better. In Fairplay, we come face to face with the inspiration for the television show, “South Park.” More importantly, we get tasty beers, nachos, and an opportunity to sleep in a real bed. Over the next two nights, I will net 6-8 hours of sleep. Even here, I am not sleeping well. I have no idea what is going on with me, but I am beginning to get worried.

After a break, we get a hitch back to the trail. Today’s journey is mostly uphill, but the view is supposed to open up and we should begin seeing more of the Rockies. On this long stretch, I spend most of the time alone, thinking, and debating with myself. It is here that an epiphany strikes.

I have spent a lot of time over-romanticizing nature. Do not get me wrong. I will always be a fierce advocate for escaping to the great outdoors. I believe it is here you can discover a truer sense of self. You can reconnect to a simpler life, and, if you are open to it, find a new perspective. With this understood, I am beginning to realize I have turned nature into a temple and birthed a religion. I think this gives the outdoors expectations they can never fully formalize. This realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It is something I will be forced to wrestle with for the remainder of this journey and much longer than that.

The two days of rest must have served me well because today I am feeling strong. Despite the elevation gain, we hike 17.6 miles (a personal record for me). We also reach 11,875 feet in elevation (another personal record). As a kid from Seattle (sea-level), I feel pretty proud of myself despite the fact I feel winded, light-headed, and cannot wait to leave the thinness of this air behind.

We make camp for the night and I break the news to Caroline. She is not blind-sided. She knew it was coming. Still, I feel terrible for leaving her on the trail. I cannot wait to sleep in a real bed, but I desperately wanted to see this thing through.

Tomorrow, we will make our way into Breckenridge. We will also cross the 100-mile mark. This will set a third personal record for me. I feel hope and relief wash over me.

Then with the breaking of a new day and more arduous hiking, I find myself standing at 100-miles hiked. I snap a photo to celebrate. No matter what happens next, this is one accomplishment that can never be stolen from me.

Breckenridge comes into view. Looking down on this town tucked into the mountains, I begin to question what comes next. A road trip across the country, a trip back to Seattle, making the northwest home once again, and a life away from the trail. After two years of thinking and discussing only hiking, this may be the most terrifying journey of all.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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