Bright lights rustle me from a deep slumber and I am disappointed when the sudden brightness comes from headlights and not from the sun. I managed to fall asleep again while my neighbors get set up their RV for the night. Though I usually like to be walking by 6 a.m., I couldn’t escape the allure of a hot cup of coffee. Savoring the warm bitter caffeine in front of the Mammoth Hot springs Hotel, I will found some breakfast and readied myself for the excitement of crossing into Montana.
We walked north out of Mammoth and through the geothermal pools that draw hoards of tourists. It was early in the morning and there were more elk on the boardwalks than humans. Our chosen path quickly leaves the valley and climbs to snow pass. Walking through grassy meadows and along lush creeks, the local deer population is unafraid of my presence. After a few hours of hiking .3 and I have lunch near Mulherin Creek under an unassuming stand of pines. The junction wasn’t signed, but my maps confirm I have reached the final state on this slow stroll to Canada: Montana.
For the first time, it’s starting to feel like the goal is within reach. I leave my lunch break feeling like like my to-do list only has a single box left to check off. Fortunately, the steep climb to Specimen Ridge, and the start of the Sky Rim Trail, snap me back to reality. I have a lot of hard miles ahead of me.
Three days after leaving Mammoth, I walk on to highway 191 and in to the town of Big Sky. The toll of the last 2,000 miles is accumulating in my body. Every morning I roll out of my shelter with stiff muscles and sore feet. Thankfully, the discomfort usually sluffs off after an hour of walking, like a skin molted on the way to feeling healthy again. Of course, there’s still pack chafe, and sore shoulders, and a nagging stomach. Todat I keep the stomach at bay with pancakes and an omelette. I do my best to ease the rest of what ails me by hitchhiking to some hot springs for a long soak, then taking a day off in nearby Bozeman.
The day in town is revitalizing. A fresh pair of shoes is on my feet, I’ve consumed ample quantities of espresso, and I even managed to make some friends over a tasty beer at a brewery. A local trail angel, Mandi, put us up for two nights, helped us with chores and made sure we got back to the trail at a reasonable hour. Bozeman was a great stop, but I’m ready to be back on the trail.
A young guy, who works as a bellhop in a fancy Big Sky hotel, picks us up in his burnt orange Toyota Tacoma and drops us at the trailhead just outside of town. There’s smoke in the air. Visibility is limited and I can feel my sinuses working overtime to filter out the fine particulate lingering in the air.
The trail leads me into the Tobacco Root Mountains, along a crystal clear creek, and up to tree line. There’s plenty of bear sign, but no bears to be seen. The mountains are jagged and rough, but the trail is welcoming and well maintained. It’s a shame smoke from far away fires has the ability to subtract from the beauty of this place. I do my best to stay present and focus on the beauty I am able to see.
The route .3 and I have chosen has us crossing the Tobacco Roots from East to West. We reach the western edge of the range on our third day and follow rolling hills into farmland and the edge of civilization. As I walk up to the highway, where I’ll hitch into the town of Ennis, a work truck pulls up and motions for us to hop in. We’re at the diner 20 minutes later and I am grateful for our good fortune. In a further stroke of luck, our neighbor at the communal table buys our breakfast. Folks really are too kind.
The rest of the day is a blur. I buy a few days of food at the local grocer, and suck down a cold beer with a large pizza at the town brewery. A second quick hitch brings us back to our route just as the rain clouds roll in. It starts to rain a few miles into our 15 mile road walk but quits just before we reach the public lands where we’ll rest our heads for the night. Back on cattle-grazing land, I manage to find a flat spot with minimal cow shit and bed down for the night.
A long slow climb puts sweat on my brow and a sting in my legs. The disused mining road I’m following crests a pass, the drops to a river valley and the small hamlet of Mammoth (no services). The rain comes and goes, then comes and goes again as I climb a second pass. A heavy fog is tumbling up the mountainside and a switchback down. With the knowledge of coming thunderstorms, I do my best to find a sheltered place to set up my single-wall tent. I can hear thunder in the distance as I press 8 titanium stakes into soft pine duff covered ground. Hopefully they’ll hold.
I wake up cold, and a little damp after last night’s meteorological adventures. It’s always harder to make myself move in the morning, when the world is wet and frigid. A 20 mile morning lands us in the small town of Whitehall, where Mayor Mary has created a space for hikers to shower, launder and rest themselves in the town hall garage. I inflate my sleeping pad next to a snow plow and am happy to be inside, when outside temperatures dip to freezing.
