[Day 67] Medicine Bow

I am not too sure where the name for the Medicine Bow National Forest comes from (actually, I do), but Wyoming has thus far been — and I don’t want to jinks this — the medicine for my Colorado blues. The name Medicine Bow, by the way, originates from the mountain mahogany the native tribes sourced from a nearby valley for make bows of exceptional quality.

Wyoming, undoubtedly, is the most anticipated state on the trail for myself. For the following reasons, I have very much looked forward to the Cowboy State:

• The red desert of the Great Divide Basin.
• The Wind River Range.
• The Yellowstone backcountry.
• The smaller, truer towns not as reliant on tourism economies.

What might I be not as comfortable with or prepared for in Wyoming? The following comes to mind:

• Grizzly bear country — namely the handling of food. In black bear country, I’m plenty comfortable sleeping with it.
• Snow and the need for snow gear in the Wind River. At this time, the Winds, Tetons, and Sierra Nevada have the deepest and most significant snow remaining in the country.
• The availability and quality of water sources in the Great Divide Basin.

My concerns are not worrisome. I have my expectations and plans, and as always, the trail will show me the reality quickly when I arrive to the application.

I continued through the Medicine Bow National Forest. Todays walking included more snow. Between Hog Park Reservoir and Wyoming Highway 70, I estimate about seven of 14 miles were on snow. Above 10,000 feet, this theme is holding true — about half of trail is snow covered. The story was the same for the Park Range near Steamboat. Trail was similar to the days before: either snow or marshy, muddy wetlands. Navigation was not so simple. A formal trail did not exist much of the day, but cairns and posts led the way when they were identifiable.

By 1pm, I made it to Wyoming Highway 70 and Battle Pass Trailhead. This was my hitch point to the town of Encampment. But, the traffic was slow. After an hour, a truck offered a ride down to town in the bed.

I was dropped in Riverside, an adjacent community to Encampment by a matter of feet. Firstly, lunch was in order. The Mangy Moose, a true small town saloon, offered up a great burger. During lunch, a crew of Harley riders pulled up in iconic fashion. None other than ZZ Top’s “La Grange” set the mood.

After lunch, I headed over to the Carbon County Visitors Center. Gary, a Wyoming native giving information, was happy to chat it up. Being a trashy hiker, I dried my gear on the lawn outside the building without any question. In Colorado, I’d be getting the stink eye from the touring Texans. I resupplied at the Sinclair gas station, ate another burger at the Moose, and grabbed an ice cream for the road.

Bob and Ross Harring, locals to Encampment, went out of their way to get me to Battle Pass after about an hour wait for a ride. On the short highway walk, I ate my ice cream and enjoyed the view. Soon enough, I was on dirt road ascending Bridger Peak. I heard a clank on the ground — the lower section of my hiking pole hit the ground. I had my poles holstered at my side on my pack with the flick locks open. The stiction, thus far, had always been enough to hold the axial sliding joints since the clamps were too tight at closed-telescope position. My brain interpreted that I had lost the middle pole section of my pole, and I found myself running a mile backwards searching. I checked my poles again to find nothing was missing. Sometimes I wonder if I am losing it.

After a bit of wasted backtracking, I hiked on past 9pm to position myself for a climb over Bridger Peak tomorrow. A headlamp was not required until after 9pm thanks to the brightness of the moon. A passing storm spit a bit of rain at me as I finished my day, and lightning flashed in the distance.

Signing off,

Zeppelin / fReaK (ON a leash)