IOn the 122 miles between Leadore and Darby, days alternate between scorching sunshine, heavy thunderstorms, and an unbearable amount of smoke. I’ve had incredible luck with fires along the way so far – I’ve only had to detour about 13 miles of the trail into New Mexico – but some nearby fires are making for some pretty terrible air quality in our area.

We all spend this section wondering if we’re going to get sick or if breathing in the smoke is affecting our throats and lungs. This stretch starts on exposed forest roads before turning into a beautiful, rolling singletrack through the mountains.

My main source of entertainment is FarOut, my navigation app that allows other hikers to comment on waypoints along the route.

While most comments focus on water conditions and route finding, some hikers intentionally – and unintentionally – leave funny comments bemoaning the CDT’s harsh conditions and challenging terrain.

Here are some of my favorites.

Day one: Dry roads and squirrel water

As in the rest of Idaho/Southern Montana, water is scarce here and usually far off the trail. On the first day after Leadore we only find two water sources, and one of them looks… pretty unattractive.

While the comments on the water source are full of brave hikers taking the risk with the chalky squirrel water, I decide not to risk it.

I’m having a pretty rough day – partly because of the low water needs, but also because of the 26.6 mile ride out of town over steep and rocky forest roads.

After a short break for dinner – against the backdrop of a beautiful, smoky sunset – we set up camp near Lemhi Pass. We have to make our way downhill through the undergrowth for half a mile to reach a water source, which surprisingly turns out to be the source of the Missouri River.

I already feel fragile from crying at dinner, and this reminder of home is making me weepy again. I don’t seem like a “strong, confident athlete” in this section. Maybe more like a “fragile wreck.”

Day two: The green tunnel and a blood price

Day two begins on a long stretch of burnt land before I enter, blissfully, a long stretch of green forest. The last two days have been scorching hot and I have developed a very painful heat rash on the back of one of my calves. Burnt tree shells do little to protect my skin from the relentless sun.

From the forest (which I guilty of actually enjoying), I climb up a long ridge just in time as bad weather rolls in. What starts as gentle rain and distant thunder grows more intense by the minute.

Then it really starts to hail. I get hit by grape sized hailstones and it seems that the further south you go the hail gets worse. Big Catt, just a few miles south of me, comes to lunch with pictures of the golf ball sized hailstone that hit her.

We are both very grateful that we had our umbrellas. While they couldn’t protect everything, at least our heads are safe.

When the hail stops, I have a lot of bruises and a little blood, but most of all I’m just happy about the cooler temperatures.

I descend from the ridge to Jahnke Lake, where I find a dilapidated cabin, plenty of flat spots for camping, and surprisingly few mosquitoes.

The sunset over the lake provides a beautiful backdrop as I get ready for bed, and the lack of mosquitoes is a stark reminder that summer is almost over and temperatures are only going to drop further.

I’m a little stressed about the remaining miles between me and Canada, but glad to be free of mosquitoes along the way, and I fall asleep easily.

Day three: The heat death of the universe

Much of the last 300 miles have been along the Idaho-Montana state line, and I cross the border several times a day. Today, according to the map, I reached an exciting milestone: the Idaho-Montana border.

Unlike Montana, Montans is a disappointment with its limited views and large changes in elevation in a short period of time.

One of my favorite parts of the FarOut commentary is when, after someone leaves a weird or easily mocked comment, people band together to make a running joke out of it.

After lunch I see this comment at the next water source:

The river – actually a stream – is very small and easy to cross, so this comment makes little sense. Apparently someone followed up with this comment:

Followed by Mr. Robot’s post:

My family and I had a lot of fun reading the many comments poking fun at one person’s random, odd post. Of course, I have to add my own:

Despite a long lunch break (during which I soak my feet in an ice-cold spring, eat the rest of a bag of chips that will last for the next three days, and eat a thousand thimbleberries), I still manage to hike 29 miles.

That night I camp at Lena Lake and enjoy another breathtaking sunset and a mosquito-free evening.

Day four: blueberries and big holes

On the last full day before the city, I hike long before sunrise – even though I get up at my usual time. I may sound like a broken record, but the increasingly late sunrises are really getting to me.

My feet hurt terribly on this section, and I finally fixed the problem. Since I’ve had stubborn Achilles problems for a million miles, I usually cut a factory insole in half and put it under my heel to give my shoe a little more foot clearance (a tiramis shoe, if you will).

However, after getting new shoes and insoles in Lima, the extra height has caused massive friction and irritation on the back of my heel. In the afternoon I take out the extra insole and by the evening my feet already feel better.

The morning miles go by quickly, but the afternoon miles drag on. I’m usually in a bad mood then, but this time the slow pace is due to the thousands of ripe blueberries that line the trail.

Crumbs and I spend a few hours filling a Talenti jar during our lunch break and then reap the rewards of a big berry dessert later at dinner.

We push a 30-mile day past Big Hole Pass (who gets the naming rights to things around here?!) and set up camp amidst a ring of dead, burned trees.

Don’t worry, we’ll survive the night.

Day five: Detours and anus raccoons

Normally, on a city trip, the miles fly by as I race to the nearest highway and hitchhike to a restaurant. Today, however, the miles aren’t exactly a walk in the park. Part of the trail has been rerouted, eliminating much of the elevation gain of the previous trail, but the new trail isn’t quite finished yet and I still have several miles of steep, frustrating climbs ahead of me.

However, once I hit a forest road, the remaining 10 miles fly by and soon I find myself in the back seat of a charming couple’s truck as we drive down the highway to Darby, Montana.

I raced through this stretch to get into town in time for a job interview. My body is sunburnt, bruised and exhausted, but I make it to the Darby Public Library in time.

Unlike Leadore, Darby has an overwhelming choice of two restaurants and I eat one of the best pizzas on the trail so far. Darby is also the last town on the FarOut map of Idaho and Southern Montana. In a day or two I will move on to the final map pack of Northern Montana and take my final steps into Canada.

I am so grateful for the miles behind me, excited for the journey ahead, and thankful for everyone here who is experiencing this journey with me!