Unnamed Tarn at Continental Divide to Cub Creek

The weather looked as bad as I was feeling

I woke up still feeling like crap, but alive. Our little slice of the Absaroka’s was shrouded in clouds and mist but no rain had fallen the previous night to the best of my knowledge. Having been laying down for the past 12-13 hours my back was also hurting so I forced myself to get up and stretch the best I could.

By now I was about 90% positive that I had nothing more serious than a kidney stone. The dry heaves from the night before were my best clue. Whatever it was, there was no way to hide the fact I was hurting and couldn’t make it out on my own in my present condition. I’d have to tell the rest of the group.

Bob was the next person up so I told him of my condition, then the others as they crawled out of their tents. I have no idea what they were thinking or if I even brought up a potential rescue when I reentered my tent to get my sleeping bag to cover up with outside. Sick of laying down I sat on my sleeping pad Indian style, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

And just like that, the pain was gone. Totally gone. Not even a tweak of discomfort. Now relieved and 99.99% sure it was a stone I went back into the tent to get a few hours of real sleep before the boys woke me up around 9:30. The skies were starting to clear somewhat and it was time to roll. No problem. I knew from experience that my reprieve could be short-lived or maybe forever. Either way, I wanted to get as close to civilization as possible if it started moving again.

A look back from the Continental Divide towards our camp

I quickly packed up my damp tent and sleeping bag and soon we were off. By this time the clouds were burning off quickly and we were soon traipsing through more wildflowers just below the continental divide. The views were, again, spectacular as we contoured toward Crescent Mountain.

After about an hour of little elevation gain or loss we needed to huddle up and determine our next move. On a saddle directly on the divide the going ahead of us looked more than a little sketchy. Though I’d been told our planned route could be done without a lot of difficulty, it was probably assumed that one of the party wasn’t a 58 year old without any mountain backpacking experience or that another in the party was hiking in Crocs just 4 hours removed from a nasty kidney stone attack.

So there we were, wondering what to do: take the high road or the low road?

I knew that most of the drainages had either official NFS trails or outfitter trails thanks to many hours poring over Google Earth imagery. I knew for a fact, without looking at the maps, that there was an official trail at the foot of the particular drainage to our right (southwest). What I didn’t know was whether there was an outfitters trail that could get us to that trail or not, which was about 3.5 miles away and through some dense forest at the very least. I didn’t want to think what the terrain could be like once the canyon narrowed and I certainly didn’t want to hike back up to where we were to try and find another way back.

I told the group there was a trail at the “bottom” of the drainage. Looking back, I believe they understood my verbage to mean that once we got off the saddle, we would inevitably run into the trail while still just above the tree line. That’s not what I meant but that’s the way everyone wanted to go. I still wasn’t sure this plan would work out until we stumbled across an old camp site as we made our way toward the edge of the saddle. Somebody got up there from somewhere and the only real logical way was from the drainage we were going.

We voted against sticking to the divide in favor of the low road down one of many drainages in hopes of finding an outfitters trail. We lucked out

Moving down off the saddle proved to be the most difficult section of the hike for me and my Crocs. I had to baby step down the steep 500’ descent with some slippage but there was no tweaking a knee or kidney stone. There was some evidence of human travel in the upper drainage but still no trail was to be found. I was hopeful that once we got below the tree line a path would reveal itself and we’d have clear sailing.

Descending further, we were able to pick a route through the brush and ever-thickening forest without much trouble until the canyon narrowed a bit. Thick brush, wet ground and eventually a small stream was now our nemesis as we made our way downward. Things looked a little easier on the opposite side of the creek so we crossed over and were literally on an outfitters trail once on the other side. Sweet. There was no way this trail would peter out and not hook up with the NFS trail. That would make no sense at all.

Looking back toward the divide from the safety of an outfitters trail

Secretly relieved we were now on the right track to get out we continued downward through some nice meadows following an unnamed Creek. Now hiking through what was essentially a gorge surrounded by 1500’ sheer rock walls we needed to cross the stream. We were all together at this point when Reed asked what the plan was for the rest of the hike.

It was obvious that this would be our last night out unless we would climb back up to the divide near Boday Lake and follow the crest back to Bonneville Pass and Lee’s truck. The scenery below the tree line was nice, but not what we had been used to for the past 3 nights. I certainly didn’t want to do a few more shorter days just to stay out and camp in some meadows. Steve could use a couple extra travel to get back home to California and ready for work. Besides, I wanted to take Bob through Yellowstone and the Beartooth Highway---something Reed hadn’t experienced himself.

Frankly, I was more than a little taken aback when Reed decided for Bob and I that we should head for home after the hike since “the hike was over”. That might have been, but this was my vacation and I was going to spend the entire time where I wanted: in the mountains.

Luckily, Reed and Lee decided to drive back to Wisconsin together and what could have turned into a nasty situation was quelled.

Meanwhile, back on the trail, we were now climbing above the confluence of several streams. The terrain was definitely more rugged at this point and I finally verbalized my unspoken fear before we started down from the saddle earlier in the day: We were so lucky there was a trail down here. Had we been forced to bushwhack down to this point we might still be picking our way through the dense forest and crappy breccia which was everywhere.

Reed and Lee crossing an unnamed stream

Finally, we arrived at the NFS trail, crossed the stream a few more times and were hiking up Cub Creek. I believe it was “Double Cabin” who told us that this drainage was teeming with Griz so I went on high alert (which meant I flipped the safety off my pepper spray) as we made our way through the forest.

After about a half hour of moderate climbing the drainage opened up into a wide meadow and soon we were all relaxing at the Boday Lake trail junction. During the planning stages I had thought about camping at Boday Lake for night 7 but with everything that was going on that wasn’t going to happen.

We continued hiking through the meadows and were soon dropping more elevation and into the trees again. By this time the skies had started to cloud over, the temperature dropped and rain looked inevitable.

We passed a few excellent outfitters camps across the stream but no sign of our party, dammit. My legs were starting to feel it for the first time all trip and I was ready to stop, as was Bob. Finally, just as the wind picked up and the first drops of rain began to fell we spotted the others about ¼ mile up the trail in the middle of a good-sized meadow.

There happened to be some flat ground somewhat protected by trees immediately to our right but was too rocky to camp so we pushed on to the meadow and hastily set up camp with the others. A quick look at the GPS revealed that we were about 7 miles from Brooks Lake Lodge which meant a pretty easy out and possibly even breakfast in town with an early start.

We decided that Reed, Lee and Steve would take off early in the AM to retrieve Lee and Steve’s vehicles. Steve, since he needed to go that way to get home, would take Reed over to Turpin Meadows, get the trusty Rav4. In the meantime Bob and I would be doing our thing, starting a little later, hopefully arriving at the Lodge as Reed pulled up.

Now on a NFS trail we continued to climb up another drainage to the trail junction near Boday Lake

Only a few things could possibly go wrong with our plan. Foremost on my mind was mud and water on the Bonneville Pass trailhead road. If Lee couldn’t get out from the trailhead it would suck for everyone as we’d have to push or pull the thing out or wait for the road to dry out.

Then there was Steve’s Mazda sitting all alone near the lake. I’d been wondering all week if having him park there was such a good idea after all. If the bears were as thick as we’d been led to believe, and Steve had food in the car…

The light rain had fizzled out long before but the skies were still clouded over, making for a rather depressing last night in the backcountry. Add the mosquitoes living in the damp, deep grass and the evening pretty much sucked. At least I had made it through the day pain-free and retired to the tent for the night.

I amused myself by checking out the map on my GPS and marking the trail junction that would take us up Bear Cub Pass and down to Brooks Lake. If all went well the hike out would take less than 4 hours, Bob a little longer.