We followed the cut bushes all the way to Big Shale Hill. After being drenched from the carwash effect of wet branches, my rain gear finally began to dry. I didn’t need to put my head down and push through woody stems, and not a single branch smacked me in the face. We didn’t need to wonder where the trail went: cut branches showed the way. We went from a half a kilometer an hour crawl to flying down the river valley. But after fighting through the brush for days, I too would have taken great pride in whacking back at the bushes. It wasn’t pretty: the trail crew had hacked and cut with speed and violence rather than precision. Another broken shrub, and then another, until the trail was lined with cut leaves and torn branches. Underfoot, green leaves were trampled into the mud. Then, appearing like a dream, a single cut stem, the white sapwood broken and bright against a ring of dark bark. The only problem was that there wasn’t a single square inch that wasn’t covered in these damn alders. I thought about resigning myself to my fate and lying down on the side of the river. We’d be stuck in bushwhacking hell forever. Two kilometers later, and I’d given up completely. In this narrow valley, we’d find the path eventually, right? Finally, we gave up, bushwhacking towards the river. But where was the trail? Surely it must be obvious? We traipsed back and forth searching, wet rain gear sticking to our skin, until we shivered from the damp. Soaked and grumpy, we searched for the trail. We’d made it.Īfter half an hour, the storm moved off. Across the river, we could see a trail badge, white and shiny and new. We took refuge in a stand of pines on the banks of the Spider. Thunder boomed and echoed across the valley, loud as a rockslide. Just a few hundred meters away, and the clouds that had been building all day burst. Not because I was worried about getting lost, but because I was counting down the kilometers to Spider Creek. Occasionally, we had no choice but to put our heads down and push through, stems as fat as my wrist grabbing at my clothes, and wet leaves whipping my face as they sprang back from my husband pushing through in front of me. But our way was frequently blocked by impenetrable vegetation, thick as a wall. We couldn’t get too lost: we just had to follow the river as it meandered down the valley. The trail crew had given us hints on the easiest travel, and told us to cross the water whenever the path petered out. We forded the river, again and again, trying to stay on horse paths that were little more than faint indentations in the vegetation. “Good” trail in the Jackpine Valley before we hit the maintained section. Glacier-studded mountains ringed the high plateau, while streaks of virga rained down from patchy clouds. We crossed another valley, then up, up, up, across the trailless wilderness of the Jackpine Alpine to Blueberry Lake. We climbed up towards Bess Pass, blood rushing back to our feet in painful pins and needles. We crossed Chown Creek over and over, until our feet went numb in the glacial water. We left camp in the morning, saying goodbye to our new friend. And apparently it was about to get even worse. We’d spent the day fording swollen rivers past the remnants of washed out bridges. I’d torn a hole in my pants clambering over downed trees, and alders and willows had blocked the path for most of the past week. The trail had gotten steadily worse after leaving Jasper. We only had a week left to hike the final kilometers of the Great Divide Trail, but we were struggling. We’d stopped for the night at Chown Horse Camp, north of Mount Robson. This awful section of trail, which had him so shaken up? The Jackpine River, infamous among thru-hikers as the very worst section of bushwhacking on the entire Great Divide Trail.Ī dirty smudge covered his cheek, and one pant leg was ripped from ankle to knee. Alders up to here.” His hand hovered over his head. “It took me all day just to get between camps. “It is the worst hiking I’ve ever done in my life,” the southbounder complained, a soft accent masking the fatigue in his voice.

Magic trail after effects