June, June is the Month.

June first, is it truly summer? Gray clouds congregate at the north end of the Columbia Valley, perhaps a thunderstorm will rumble through town. It has been an awfully dry and cold spring. The snow line hangs around 1500 meters, a frightening thought when considering that it is within this very month that we will be spending most of my time at, or above, the stated elevation. There are now 25 days until setting the first step on the Great Divide Trail. 

I can feel the timeline shrinking away. Feelings of doubt, anxiety and worry crop up like spring gardens. Did we pack all of our food? What are we forgetting?...the list goes on. These negative feelings are not the lone residents of my chest cavity, they are joined by joy, excitement, and a new energy I am yet to fully describe. It is the first time in my life where I have a day to day schedule penned-out for the 77 days ahead. Crazy. 

I know that the days ahead will pass by like that of the days behind. We were once nervous and filled with worries on Permit Day in January…and February, but we successfully secured our permits. We were once nervous about our gear and how the first time we packed it, it did not fit into our packs. We can now close our packs with a comfortable sub-20lbs base weight. In 77 days' time, on the side of highway 16, we can reflect on the feelings of today, like we can for all the other days our guts were filled with uncertain feelings and smile. 

Training for the GDT

The first time we wore shorts and a T-shirt for our training!

The Great Divide Trail is approximately 1,123 kilometers in length (697 miles) and has a total elevation gain of nearly 38,000 meters (Mt. Everest is 8,848 meters). I say approximately 1,123 kilometers because the trail is very much a “choose your own adventure” type of trail, some areas lacking a formal trail all together. Along the GDT there are plenty of alternative routes that one can take that may lead to easier travel, access to civilization or more epic views. The choice is yours! 

In order to walk this far in 54 days we have been following a loose training schedule, curated by yours truly. Once a week, we walk.

That’s it. Simple. 

We started on 10k walks with 9kg bags in early March and now we are walking 15k with 14kg bags, which are in excess of the weight we will actually be carrying on the trail. On our current training walks we use our bags as if packed for the trail with all of our gear, minus food, and supplemented with 7 liters (7kgs) of water. Obviously we will not be carrying 7 liters of water on our day to day walking, somewhere between 2 or 3 liters depending on water availability. That leaves us with 4 kgs of excess weight, and figuring food will be around 3kgs (a guesstimate?) after resupplying, we are training with approximately our maximum expected pack weight on trail. 

Looking back to 8 weeks ago when we started training it was an activity that would eventually lead to us being able to hike the GDT. At the current moment it feels like we are rapidly approaching our start date with a decent fitness foundation. The time from when we started training to now is the same amount of time from now to when we start the trail. 8 weeks. 

Our training won’t vary too much from what it is currently, we do live an active lifestyle which supplements much of our singular hiking activity. We plan on doing our fair share of mountain biking prior to beginning which will be great to strengthen our legs and boost cardio while being low impact. We will also be trail running for cardio fitness and to strengthen our lower limbs and joints to prevent injury while on the trail. I also enjoy wearing a weighted backpack around with me everywhere I walk. By wearing a weighted pack daily it becomes normalized and I will be familiar with all the associated aches and pains when I need to wear a pack for 2 months straight. 

Little Thoughts on Spring Walks

Kedar

I slip into my winter boots, lightly insulated, for the impending walk. The dogs, both of them, groan with excitement at the door. After lacing up, I toss on my backpack filled with eight liters of water as we exit the house. The beaten path is impossibly slick, to attempt it would be nonsense. I parallel the icy chute, choosing my steps with care, looking for any detail of texture which provides traction. 

I’ve walked this road for several days now, it is becoming more familiar, but new observations occasionally present themselves. The weather is warming, low hanging gray clouds obscure the mountain peaks and drape down into the gulleys. A subtle rain, perhaps even a mist, materializes from the sky. I don't mind it. Rain is welcome, it is March afterall. 

We have not covered much distance when I recognize a peculiar noise, nearly forgotten. The faint burble of a stream draws my attention. The sound, as well as the sight, of moving water excites me. The change of seasons is nearing and winter, as fun as it was, is losing its grip in the Columbia Valley. 

My latest birthday marks a punctual day in my memory. Late October presented temperatures that I had experienced a handful of times before. The Kicking Horse river, subdued by the low temperatures, drifted by, carrying small sheets of ice. It was there, watching the ice drift along, that I knew winter would be unlike any other I had endured. 

Weathered wood

Now, roughly five months later, water is once again beginning to flow. The magic of spring, the northern hemisphere rejuvenation of life, an awakening from the dark winter days, does not lay ahead. Instead it is happening now. 

I walk the road. Envisioning spring brings joy to the dreary, coastal-like day. I strive to walk on the patches of bare road, not because they lack snow, but because it is gravel and soil. Soil. Another forgotten consequence of winter. From my first step on soil, I recognized the difference beneath my foot. A silent step, no squeaky crunch of snow, the fear of slipping gone. I can walk with confidence, perhaps even ignorance, as I know that my next steps will not betray me and send me tumbling, slipping or sliding. 

A young Aspen patch taking hold between the conifers and an abandoned field.