[kenbee]

I just returned a couple of weeks ago from a hike that ranks as the trip of a lifetime: an 11-day, largely off-trail solo backpack through some of the wildest and remotest parts of the northern Wind River Range of Wyoming. It was my 61st birthday present—or dare—to myself, and it was simply one of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had! My usual summer hiking partner David and I have been to the Winds twice now in the past few years. In 2012 we did a 10 day loop in the central part of the range, taking in Titcomb Basin, Indian Basin, and some off-trail rambling along the Continental Divide near there. The next year, we decided to do the route in this report, but fire near the trailhead forced us at the last minute into an equally rewarding Plan B in the southern part of the range. This year, with David in Europe, I had my chance to take care of unfinished business as well as reconnect with the rewards of an extended solo. I started at the Green River Lakes trailhead. Unlike the several parties heading south at the same time, I went north from there on the Highland Trail (also the CD Trail at this point, even though it avoids the Divide), crossing over into the Roaring Fork, which I followed east up into the high country. That led to Crescent Lake, and then south through unworldly terrain just this side of the Continental Divide: Daphne Lake, Bear Lake, Bear Basin, Kevin and Connie Lakes, and then up onto the Divide to continue south to Baker Lake. From there I worked back west, gradually descending down to Golden Lakes, Elbow Lake No. 2, and over Lost Eagle Peak and White Rock back down to the Highland Trail, for a final leg north back to the trailhead. I’m not particularly interested in numbers when I go out, so I don’t know what my pack weighed—it was lighter than I would have expected, since I got bitten by a bit of ultralight bug as I was prepping for this…thankfully! I’ve never used a GPS, so I don’t have an accurate breakdown of mileage and elevation gain, either—I do know the total miles weren’t as impressive as 11 days might imply, as it was an adventurous route done at a wimpy pace: short days, early camps, and in this case, two layover camps. I like to think of it as thorough-hiking, as opposed to thru-hiking. I find it more satisfying, and my body likes it, too! The first 2 days, and the last half of the last day, were on good trail. Everything in between was off-trail, on a loop that I pieced together mostly from Nancy Pallister’s excellent guidebook to off-trail ramblings in the Winds, along with various tidbits from the internet and maps. I had my first and only encounter with other humans on the 10th day—a group of 4 hunters. Prior to that, I saw a moose (in the first 2 hours of the trip), probable bear scat, deer, a coyote, numerous bighorn sheep, tons of marmots, pikas and other critters, 2 weasels, various raptors…and a wolverine! Best of all, a grand total of about 5 mosquitos (and only one bite, for which the sucker payed dearly). The weather was perfect…as in made-to-order. Mostly bright and sunny, with enough drama and bluster to keep it interesting at times, and a couple of days of classic mid-afternoon hail/sleet/snow to remind me of where I was at. The only rain I encountered while hiking came in the last 15 minutes of the last day. Every night was crystal clear, with the Milky Way and every star in the sky on full display. I had 2 or 3 memorable sunsets, and the last day’s sunrise had me wondering if the Archangel Michael was about to descend for a chat. Once in a blue moon, if we’re lucky, we have a trip that unfolds as this one did—where virtually everything falls into place just perfectly and each decision turns out to be the right one. This trip moved the bar for me—I’ve done longer trips with partners, I’ve done an equally long solo (this one was the follow-up to it that I’ve intended to do for the 30 years since), and I’ve done things that incorporated elements of this trip…but I’ve never done anything that put it all together like this. It was a trip without highlights—the entire thing was a never-ending spectacle, from start to finish! Anyway…an accounting: On Sunday, August 21, after a 2-day drive from Seattle, I rattled my way up the long washboard road along the Green River, to the Green River Lakes campground and trailhead. My excitement at finally doing this was tempered by plenty of anxiety…I’d never done a solo quite this adventurous, and my insecurities were out in force—mostly concerns over whether I could physically do it…and hyper-awareness that I was in grizzly country. It didn’t help that I had washed down my big lunch in Pinedale with a couple of beers, which tends to not be a good thing on one’s first day at altitude. That night at the campground was surprisingly cold, but clear and beautiful, with several coyote choruses throughout the night to serenade me. I slept little, and fitfully, as is usual. The next morning I got up and immediately got down to the business of trying to rationalize a reason to bail—this would be a recurring theme for the next 2 or 3 days! Nevertheless, I packed up, drove over to the trailhead, signed the register, fought the urge to flee, and set off down the trail. Between the parking lot and the fork in the trail below, I encountered more people (a half dozen) than I would the rest of the trip. They all headed south on the Highland Trail, and I headed north, towards the Roaring Fork (as good a name for a river as there ever was). It was hot and sunny, and the trail was clear and easy to follow as it gradually angled up the ridge above the Green River valley. Views were magnificent, and the whole scene was classic western, complete with sagebrush and abandoned log cabin. As I expected, the anxieties and butterflies started to give way a bit to the reality of feet on the ground. The trail moved up into groves of aspen and conifers (much yelling and babbling on my part to keep the grizzlies alert), and 2 hours in I had my first wildlife encounter: a moose grazing a few feet off the trail up ahead. I passed through the burn zone from the 2013 fire that kept David and I from doing this that year. Surprisingly, the trail crosses the Roaring Fork on a nice, substantial bridge. I was under the impression that the trail to this point was spotty, and afterwards was unmaintained and probably more spotty. Not at all…the entire route to Crescent Lake was clear and easy to follow. Spent the first night tucked away in the woods a couple of miles up Roaring Fork.

Near the end of the long, rough road up to Green River Lakes trailhead.

My truck's view from the pre-hike campsite.

The famous Squaretop Mountain, with White Rock to its left. My trip ended with a descent from the top of White Rock...with a stunning side view of Squaretop.

The beginning of the hike, heading north towards the Roaring Fork.

Upper Green River valley

Upper Green River valley

Upper Green River valley

First wildlife sighting...2 hours into the trip.

I was happily surprised to find a bridge here...the unmaintained trail on the other side was in excellent shape the rest of the way to Crescent Lake.

Roaring Fork

The second day, I continued up the valley, through Alexander Park, with grander and grander views, until the trail fords the Fork one last time and heads towards the outlet stream of Crescent Lake. Then it’s a very steep grunt up the outlet until you emerge into the meadows surrounding Crescent Lake. Crescent Lake is beautiful, tucked under the cliffs of and snowfields of Osborn Mountain’s east face (a pointless statement, as all the lakes in the Winds are beautiful). I decided to bag the idea of going north to Dad’s Lake, and stay at Crescent for 2 nights…to acclimatize, and because I was still nervous about distances and my stamina. I did take advantage of the layover to day hike towards Dad’s Lake. It was surprisingly easy, and I would have actually made it to Dad’s, but turned back when the afternoon weather started getting dicey. That second evening there got blustery and quite cold…and, of course, my anxieties went into overdrive. I slept fairly cold, again, and I was starting to doubt the wisdom of undertaking a trip of this length with a barely-vetted new quilt. In the end, that turned out to work well enough, but I was still going through my “maybe I should bag this suicide mission before I get too further out there” phase.

Roaring Fork valley

Suspicious...

The north side of Osborn Mountain.

The end of river hiking, and the start of the climb up the outlet stream of Crescent Lake.

The last, steep section approaching Crescent Lake.

Osborn Mountain

Elevation 10,739 ft.

Gasping at the splendor, and at the little hand in my sunglasses.

The pod docked for a couple of nights.

Crescent Lake

Looking back down into the Roaring Fork headwaters

Upper Crescent Lake drainage

Upper Crescent Lake drainage

Alpenglow, the second afternoon at Crescent Lake.

Crescent Lake

That night, as usual, was crystal clear. The 4th morning, however, alternated between clearing up and turning ominous…and this was to be my first day off-trail, and the stretch where I was the least certain about the route. I got packed and headed up the drainage to the south, all the while telling myself that I would get to the top, wherever the hell that was, and then decide whether to continue or not. I need not have bothered: the route was easy to make out, the weather held (and was pretty awesome to boot), the scenery was as stunning as any I’ve ever seen, and by mid-morning I was pretty much in rapture…mojo kicked in, and the pace for the rest of the trip was set! By early afternoon, I had made my way through an incredible landscape of tarns, meadows and austere granite, to my next camp near the outlet of Daphne Lake. The dithering little anxieties seemed to have slinked off in embarrassment… The weather politely waited until I had camp set up—on rock shelves overlooking the enormous chasm of Bear Lake below—and then proceeded to put on a late-afternoon show as the hail and thunder moved in. Afterwards, I got out of my shelter to check things out, and was floored by the surreal scene of light, cloud, storm and splendor all around me—unbelievable!

Beginning of the off-trail trek to Daphne Lake, day 4.

Tarn above Crescent Lake

The spires of Osborn Mountain.

Between Crescent and Daphne Lakes

Between Crescent and Daphne Lakes

Between Crescent and Daphne Lakes

Between Crescent and Daphne Lakes

Between Crescent and Daphne Lakes

The first stunning view of Bear Lake, at the beginning of the traverse over to Daphne Lake.

Osborn Mountain crags, as a brief hailstorm moves in.

Light shows during my brief hail/sleet showers.

Daphne Lake outlet

Yes, it's Mordor.

The 5th day was a short one. After another cold clear night, I moved on to Bear Basin…basically next door. I dropped down the Daphne Lake outlet to a wide bench that ran high above the east side of Bear Lake. The terrain around that landmark was primordial—an apocalyptic landscape that could have been from the beginning of time, or from some far-distant, post-human future. A large bald eagle was perched way below on a lakeside patch of krummholz. The route description I had followed that bench all the way to the main part of Bear Basin at the outlet of Rocking Horse Lake, but I left it sooner to detour through what I considered the “upper” basin, the smaller northern section. More moonscape, with a couple of frigid lakes surrounded by barren granite slopes coming down from the Continental Divide. In that setting, a large windbreak stacked up by a previous explorer looked like a relic from prehistory. I crossed a small ridge into the main basin around Rocking Horse Lake, and found another ideal campsite on the peninsula that split the lake. This day was much like the previous one: mixed weather for the hike in, followed by an afternoon of short but fierce hail showers. Like the day before, I was snug in my shelter by the time it got nasty, and afterwards I crawled out for another late afternoon of exploring and marveling at the light show. A bit of movement caught my eye at one point, and I saw a coyote (or fox?) off in the distance scurrying away—looking back every few feet to throw an alarmed look my way. The highlight was checking out the lake’s outlet, as it dropped off into the south end of Bear Lake, hundreds of feet below. I also got a jaw-dropping view of the next day’s route from the ridge above the outlet. By this time, I was fully in the groove and beginning to realize that I was in the middle of something very extraordinary. A splendid day, indeed.

There is a bald eagle on top of the lakeside bush, lower right corner.

The traverse above Bear Lake, going to Bear Basin.

Unexpected architecture.

Bear Basin

Camp number 4, out on the peninsula of Rocking Horse Lake.

The afternoon hailstorm.

Bear Basin

View towards the outlet of Rocking Horse Lake.

Outlet of Rocking Horse Lake, entering the abyss down into Bear Lake.

Bear Basin

The southern end of Bear Lake, from above the outlet of Rocking Horse Lake.

View of tomorrow's hike...an incredible valley of meadows, granite and cascades between lower Bear Basin and Kevin Lake.

Bear Basin

Bear Basin

Day 6 dawned a bit clearer than the previous two. I set out under slightly hazy skies, followed the south shore of the lake, and then rounded a ridge separating it from more lakes in the southern part of the basin. Soon I came to a relatively small tarn that Pallister’s book describes as a chore to get around: cliffs on the south side, endless talus on the north. From where I stood, it looked like all sides had plenty of both, with a gully of car-sized boulders to get through first. I opted for the cliffs, just because they were closer, and had some fun negotiating my first real navigational challenge. After a bit of scrambling, I was past it and entered one of my favorite parts of the trip: a vast, open valley between Bear Basin and Kevin Lake, my next destination. To the north, it dropped off, like everything in the area, into the abyss of Bear Lake. To the south, the outlet stream of Kevin Lake climbed up slopes surrounding an airy expanse of granite, lush meadows, waterfalls and snow. This would make a great base camp for days of exploring… Kevin Lake was huge…nothing like Bear Lake, but impressive enough in its own right. I worked my way around its south side, at one point having to rock hop in the lake itself to get around the endless fields of boulders that spilled into it from above. (Actually, that kind of describes the Winds in general: an endless field of boulders.) I made it up to the next lake, which was either Upper Kevin Lake or Lower Connie Lake—references vary, and does it matter, right? It was still early afternoon, and I thought I should just push on to Baker Lake, but I decided to keep it short again—the route to Baker Lake would take me up onto the Divide and across the slopes of Yukon Peak, and I wasn’t sure how difficult that would be (not too much, as it turned out). The wind was cold and relentless at Kevin/Connie, even though the weather in general had turned for the better, and I spent some time in a fruitless search for a sheltered campsite. What I did find was windy, but sunny, with an awesome view of the Connie Glacier in my backyard. Another great afternoon ensued, minus any white stuff falling from the sky.

Leaving Bear Basin for Kevin Lake, one encounters this nightmarish tarn...cliffs on the left, endless talus on the right, and car-sized boulders in between. I chose the cliffs...

Look closely at the center...

Photos cannot capture how awe-inspiring this hidden valley is.

Lower Kevin Lake

Upper Kevin Lake and Connie Glacier

A very chilly, windy and beautiful campsite.

Another cold night, which accounted for the last bit of anxiety that kept popping up—each camp was higher, and colder, than the previous, and the next one at Baker Lake was to be the highest yet (at around 11,700). Furthermore, it was on a saddle of the Divide that I figured would be a wind tunnel, so I was starting to worry again that my gear choices might not be up to par. I realized that all it would take would be a big downturn in the weather for me to be up Hypothermia Creek with no paddle. For just a few ounces more, I could be snug and cozy in my real tent and my real sleeping bag! But again, my fears were for naught, as the mountain gods kept smiling on me: the 7th day marked the beginning of a warming streak that lasted through the rest of the trip. On that day, I left the Kevin/Connie Lakes area and headed up to the Divide, with the Connie Glacier for a backdrop. Soon enough, I was looking out over the desert-like ridges of the east-side—the Continental Divide in this area is mostly wide, open plateau, and the views are endless in all directions. There’s always something exhilarating about standing on what is basically the spine of the continent. To the south, the jagged peaks of the Gannett Peak area peeked up over the ridges of Yukon Peak, and I headed that way. If I were more ambitious (and I now regret not having been so…), I would have gone up and over the top of Yukon on my way to Baker Lake, but I was still feeling the altitude and just went for the path of least resistance. I worked around the eastern slopes of the peak, getting to crunch some snow for the first time, and headed down into the meadows that stretch between the Divide and the shores of Baker Lake. Klondike Peak, the massive Sourdough Glacier, and Iceberg Lake loomed over it all. My camp there for the next 2 nights was ideal: sheltered from the very minimal wind by 2 enormous boulders, with a small windbreak stacked by some previous tenant. The views of Baker Lake, Yukon Peak, the Divide, and Klondike Peak were great, and the big pile of boulder and rubble of Sourdough's moraine that blocked the view of Iceberg Lake served as a reminder that even Nature has her garbage dumps.

The slopes above the Connie Glacier and lakes, heading up to the Continental Divide.

First glimpse of the eastern half of the continent.

View south over the slopes of Yukon Peak to the peaks of the crest. The big snow patch on the right horizon is Gannett Peak, highest point in Wyoming.

Snow slopes on side of Yukon Peak.

Klondike Peak, Sourdough Glacier, and Iceberg Lake.

Camp number 6...just above Baker Lake with Klondike Peak and Sourdough Glacier in the background.

Baker Lake

Baker Lake

The 8th day was another layover, and I went out with a vague intention of hiking up Pedestal Peak; it would have been my first time over 13,000 ft. I never made it all the way, due to constantly stopping to gape and gasp, but the day turned out to be one of the most spectacular day-hikes I’ve ever done. The pictures tell it much better (though not well enough), but it was a stand-out day of roaming through the rolling sea of rocks on the Divide, with side-trips to the east and west where it drops off in all directions into astonishingly deep canyons and valleys: Tourist Creek to the west, Grasshopper Creek and Glacier to the east. To the south, the crest of the Winds and the Gannett/Dinwoody Glaciers filled the view. At one point what looked like a simple overlook on the side of Pedestal Peak turned out to be just boulders balanced over the edge of sheer cliffs dropping down to the Grasshopper Glacier below. Being a map fiend, I had a blast playing name-that-spot and imagining future trips. On my return to camp, I followed along the tops of cliffs that overlooked the Sourdough Glacier for an up-close look at my neighbor. There were numerous Bighorns on the slopes of Pedestal (but, as was the case the whole trip, none had Big Horns…was I only seeing ewes and kids?). And the weather was, yes, perfect. To cap it off, in the late afternoon as I was finishing dinner, I spotted a wolverine making its way across the lower slope of Yukon Peak…amazing ending to an amazing day!

The beginning of an amazing day-hike, on the saddle above Baker Lake, looking east.

Approaching the astonishing view looking down Grasshopper Creek.

Grasshopper Creek

Context, again...

Continental Divide

Continental Divide

Upper reaches of the Grasshopper Glacier.

Continental Divide

Cliffs above the Grasshopper, Gannett, and Dunwoody Glacier area.

Viewed from the top of sheer cliffs, hundreds of feet above the glacier.

Another sheep herd on the slopes of Pedestal Peak

Tourist Creek headwaters

Sourdough Glacier

Sourdough Glacier

Baker Lake

Baker Lake

Both nights at Baker Lake were comfortable and warm, and the Milky Way was the brightest I’ve ever seen it. The upturn in the weather put to rest, for the last time, any sense of unease and doubt, and the rest of trip was a dream—difficult, challenging, exhilarating and amazing, all in one. Leaving Baker Lake on the 9th day emphasized the difficult and challenging part: one starts by crossing the Sourdough moraine, and it’s as difficult and tedious as it is ugly. Then it's up and over steep humps to avoid snow fields along Baker Lake, then back up and over again when you go the wrong way, twice. Then boulder fields and boulder fields. The setting, however, provided the exhilarating and amazing part: the area between Baker Lake and Golden Lakes is as wild and beautiful as any I’ve ever seen. The hike ended with a tortuous long slog down an endless talus chute to the lower Golden Lake, and my next-to-last camp. The day ended with some more exploring in this incredible hanging valley, and a long afternoon of alpenglow that explained the name of these lakes.

Part of the arduous, complex moonscape between Baker Lake and Golden Lakes.

One of several boulder chutes to navigate along the route.

Lake 11,440 with its amazing infinity pool, dropping over a thousand feet into the headwaters of Slide Creek.

Between Baker and Golden Lakes

Between Baker and Golden Lakes

On the plateau above the Golden Lakes, looking towards the top of the 700+ ft. talus descent to Lower Golden Lake.

Campsite 7, on the island (accessible with nimble feet) in the middle of the lake.

Lower Golden Lake

Late afternoon light explains the name of these lakes (the upper 2 of which are inaccessible from this one).

Scale is deceptive: my tarp is a tiny silver triangle near the upper center edge of the island.

From the bench above Golden Lakes, looking down Elbow Creek towards the Green River.

The 10th day was another ridiculously short hike: over Golden Lake’s hump, around the headwater bowl of Elbow Creek, and over Elbow Lake No. 2’s hump to my last camp. It was spectacular enough to make up for it’s brevity, and it was here I had my first personal contact with anyone since the trailhead (I did spot a couple of parties from afar at Baker Lake, little ants traversing the Divide above my camp): 4 hunters, likely a father and sons, out sheep-hunting. Our brief conversation revealed my embarrassing lack of knowledge of my Rocky Mountain mammals: the hunters (who should know) informed me that I had been observing sheep, not antelopes…like I said, they didn’t have Big Horns—they had little prongs! I can imagine the conversation over dinner that night… My camp at Elbow Lake was as stunning as any yet. Afternoon day-hiking took in one vista after another—even after 10 days of this, this area had me just gasping. It struck me as ironic and sort of disturbing that I kept comparing it to some kind of fantasy CGI (“Lord of The Rings” kept coming to mind)—disturbing when one’s best description of something so utterly and purely real, is something completely artificial. But, the scale of the northern Winds landscape really is at the edge of any frame of reference I can come up with, so I have to grasp at something! The good vibes continued with an amazing final sunset—I took one photo, then gave up and kept the rest as my secret. The night was warm but different: for the first time, I kept waking up to see clouds blowing across the sky. The thought that the weather might be turning on my last day was to me just further proof of how perfect this trip had become. In general, when I go out into the wilderness, especially alone, I try to remind myself that, romanticizing aside, the mountains just don’t care: they’ll break your leg, bash your head, drown you, burn you, lose you, and eat you—and it won’t even be a blip in the scheme of things, so you’d better be on your game. But by this point, I was enjoying thinking that, just maybe, the mountains here had decided to not only allow me safe passage, but to roll out the red carpet and treat me to a show! At the very least, I’d had a fantastic roll of the dice, and was feeling good.

Looking across the headwaters of Elbow Creek at the hanging valley of the 3 Golden Lakes, hidden behind the cliffs in the center of the photo. The J Glacier is in the background.

The upper Green River valley.

Lost Eagle Peak on the left, Slide Lake down below, and Green River Lakes (and my trailhead) off in the distance.

Too small to see, my camp is on the bench separating the lake from the canyon below.

Above Elbow Lake No. 2

Above Elbow Lake No. 2

Tomorrow's route...final leg back to the trailhead.

Last sunset begins.

Last sunset.

The last day turned out not to be the quick and relatively easy coda that I’d expected, but the longest and hardest yet, in spite of returning to trails mid-way. But it was as awe-inspiring as any of the others. The weather was, indeed, turning, with roving thunderstorms mixing with the sun all day. One minute I would be getting spit on by tiny hail drops, the next I’d be in blinding sunlight. The route took me up and over the plateau of Lost Eagle Peak and across a narrow and somewhat airy land bridge to White Rock. My original plan (and one of the reasons I planned this route the way I did) was to follow the ridge line of White Rock all the way down until it dropped onto the Highline Trail, alongside the lower Green River Lake. That would take me along the tops of the cliffs that overlook Squaretop Mountain and the entire Green River headwaters. Alas, that had to be abandoned, as there was one spot at the top that would have involved a bit of at least class 3 climbing—in reality it was probably easy enough, but with a pack and 10 days of unbroken good fortune, I really didn’t want to screw up on the last day. So, I took in the panorama (which included the Tetons off in the haze), and then went the way I’d read about, cross-country down the backside, to hook up with the Slide Creek trail and then the Highline. It was beautiful in a much more conventional "mountain" way than the surreal fantasia I'd just been through, and it was great to be back where green things grew more than a few inches high. There was a nice stretch of easy cross-country woods walking, and a few game trails and elusive boot paths got me back on trail. Oddly, after over a week of off-trail scrambling, plodding down a consistent trail was monotonous and exhausting. The final stretch, along the shore of lower Green River Lake, was gorgeous but tiring—it’s doubly frustrating because you can see your destination so far in advance…and it never seems to get any closer. The tedium was relieved by the show in the sky, though, and in a final hurrah, I got rained on for the first time, just as I was getting back to the trailhead. A nice goodbye from an amazing, special place! On a final note, the wonders continued even as I drove away: during the 11 days I’d been in the high country, the lower Green River valley had burst into full peak Fall colors. On Sept 1! And that was my summer adventure…

Last sunRISE, the next morning.

Last sunrise.

Final day, traversing from Lost Eagle Peak towards White Rock.

Although called a "Peak", it's more of a vast plateau. White Rock is lit in the background.

One of the last views of the high country.

After days of stunning clear weather, a storm moves in during my final few hours out.

Another view down towards the Green River Lakes and my lonely truck.

View of the Green River valley from above the cliffs of White Rock

The headwaters of the Green River from the top of the White Rock cliffs.

Down in the valley, on maintained trails, for the first time in 8 days.

Clear Creek

The first time I get actually rained on, during the last 15 minutes of an 11-day trip!

Meanwhile, on the drive back down the Green River valley, the Fall colors have exploded and are at their peak--on Sept. 1.

At this point, I cranked up The Modern Lovers' "Roadrunner," and headed home...

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \8

[meck]

Wow Kenbee! That looks like it was one great trip! Thank you for sharing your photos and narrative (really enjoyed vicariously "tagging along" for the journey). I really enjoyed all of those photos, that's some gorgeous terrain. Does that area (at least the "trailed" area) get a lot of visitors?

[kenbee]

Thanks, Meck! In answer to your question: even though I saw almost no one, the Highline Trail going south from Green River Lakes is one of the main routes along the entire length of the range, so it apparently does get lots of traffic. I was only on that part for a short time my last day, and my timing was just right for not seeing anyone. I doubt that many head north from there as I did, other than thru-hikers doing the CDT.

[Earthbound]

What a great trip and trip report! I love how you shared your doubts and fears. We all go through that, but few of us have the guts to publicly admit it. Bravo! I also love how you took your time and savored the scenery. I'm really trying to get myself to slow down like this as well, and your trip is an inspiration for the kind of travel I want to be doing more of. I also love the route you took. Many of the areas you visited are places I also want to explore next year. Thanks for sharing Kenbee!

[Distel32]

Nice

[Bugs]

Very nice! Thank you for the pictures. A friend and I spent a month in there one August many years ago. On the second to last night, a storm dumped three feet of powder snow and continued as a blizzard the next day. We plowed out through the wind and white-outs and finally got low enough to be out of the snow. Love that place!

[Sourstraw]

Awesome trip - I think my husband and I actually saw you camped at Baker Lake! We completed the Wind River High Route, and we actually were coming down the granite slabs just above Iceberg Lake Pass and we saw a solo hiker walking past the tarn at the pass. I recognize your tent as well. We filled up our water bottles at that little tarn and then headed up the hill on the other side to get back up to the divide (ultimately, we climbed Downs Mountain that day, camped at the bottom of Downs and then hiked out to Trails Lake Trailhead the following day). I'm writing about our trip on my blog (anastasiaallison.com). This was our 2nd summer in the Winds and it is pretty much amazing!!

[topshot]

[Mtngirl717]

WOW, love trips like these, thanks for sharing!

[kenbee]

Hi Topshot! Thanks...and, in retrospect, I'm not sure the spot I described was as daunting I thought at the time. I was in the final stretch of 11 days, and was pretty tired and was getting pretty conservative, I think. But for the record, if you look at a topo, the high point of the ridge is a point 11284 and further along to the SE is another point 11246--that is the one that stopped me. And the higher one looked even more intimidating from what I could tell. From the map it looks like you just skirt both of them to the east, but it looked too steep and loose. However, I don't know what it would be like coming up--I do know from The Google that people have ascended that way. I would love to hear a report if you try it! And, if all goes well, I will be back this year (for the eclipse atop the continental divide!) doing a 12-day point-to-point from Elkhart to Green Lakes, coming down Tourist Creek...many intersecting paths in the Winds! And thanks, too, Mtngirl717!

[Matt Lemke]

Oh The memories. ..I Did much of the same route, just climbing up downs mountain and pedestal peak in 2011. Bear basin was a lifechanging experience. Absolutely loved that place

[topshot]

I can likely handle that part of the ridge. I'll definitely give it a go. I'll be there for the eclipse as well. If you want to see a small taste for Tourist Creek drainage you can watch the first portion of my trip report that you can find at my Youtube page. Looks to be from 1:30 (Green River) to 6:20 (pass). Of course, it will look quite different coming down.

[kenbee]

I've read your report on that trip many times, Matt...it was a big inspiration for the trip I reported here! And I've enjoyed your videos Topshot many a time, as well!

[topshot]

11 days is a fair bit of food. Do you use a pair of Ursacks? I think I could fit 8 into one.