On the stolen land of the Blackfeet, Ktunaxa, Salish, Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla peoples.

This post is about my 2022 thru attempt. I’m not currently thru-hiking and will not be in the 2024 season. I’ll announce concrete plans when I have them.

I’m not going to go blow by blow through the Scapegoat. I lost my ability to connect with the trail, and started feeling like I couldn’t trust my own judgment calls. I was confronted with the grief of all of it, and it floored me.

At one point in the Scapegoat, I was walking along a section of trail that was around two or three feet wide and cut into the side of a mountain. I’ve walked on a fair few of these, but this one was slightly slanted toward the drop off and was covered in scree, which is loose rock. I slipped and caught myself with my poles. If I’d slipped to the side instead of forward, I likely would’ve slid down the mountain uncontrolled at a high speed. If I’d gone off the side, there’s a good chance I would have been seriously injured or killed by the fall. It’s the risk all of us take. It’s a risk I knew about before I set out for the CDT in the first place, but facing it was different. It made me question everything. Removed from it and after having time to think, backpacking in mountainous regions is still worth it to me, but facing it in the moment, I wasn’t sure.

This was the section of trail where I became very aware that I was disconnected from nature. The understanding came slowly initially, but the realization happened in a single moment a couple of days in. I’d had a good morning. The weather was excellent; and it was even a pleasant temperature. I’d had a gentle climb to the top of a ridge, and was looking down at an epic view. I wanted to be literally anywhere else. An alarm rang in my mind, and I sat down for a break, taking my pack off, understanding what it meant. I needed to come home.

I was devastated. I wouldn’t let myself make the call on trail, wouldn’t let myself make it without sleeping in a town first, but this time was different from the other times I’d wanted to quit. I wasn’t enjoying the good moments anymore. It all meant nothing to me. I wasn’t sure why I was out there anymore, and I still felt the heaviness of having left the trail in New Mexico. Coming back hadn’t taken away the grief. I was not in the headspace to stay, and I was not going to fix my headspace on the trail. I needed to be still for a while, and while the trail had provided answers, it could not provide the stillness.

I’d gone back out there. I’d given it everything I had and more. I was devastated, but also sure. It’s not safe to be out there when your heart’s not in it, and I didn’t want to throw away my ability to enjoy backpacking in pursuit of the ultimately arbitrary goal of walking across the country. I’d returned, I’d tried again, but I was done.

I would go home. I would re-evaluate. If I could let the completed thru-hike go without regretting it, then I would be done with thru-hiking. If I couldn’t, I would figure out a way to come back. I had to trust in the future, in my own ability to listen to myself and to fight for what I needed, and that the world would somehow let it work out. I’d figured it out once, and I had to believe I could figure it out again. I did, and I do. I finished the section, hitched into Lincoln with another hiker and shared a room with him. I ate a bunless cheeseburger and drank root beer and acted like I was staying, refusing to let myself actually make the call until the next morning, but deep down I knew.

In the morning, I pulled the plug. You know the rest.

Thank you to those who have followed along and supported me through all of this. I also want to thank you all for being so understanding when I came off trail, both times. I cannot tell all of you how grateful I am for your belief in me. It has meant the world. A huge thanks to my cousin for letting me visit him in Seattle on such short notice, and for putting up with my brain fog and wild emotions as I came down from an almost month-long runner’s high. Also a huge thanks to my family for moving my belongings in my absence, and to my boss for giving me my job back. Thank you to those who have followed along and read all the way through; I hope that you’ve been able to escape with me, and to learn things as I’ve learned them. I know it took me a long time to write about Montana, and I thank you for your patience, and for sticking around.

I don’t know what the future holds for me, but if I have any say in the matter, it contains another go at the CDT. I will post again when I have concrete plans in place, but I can say with certainty that it won’t be this year.