Cool, crisp air met my throat as I took in the alpine’s aroma. Autumn had arrived just two days before, bringing with it a dump of snow and a reminder to quicken my pace.

But the familiar nudge was no longer warranted. I was descending Northwest from a whiteout storm on the appropriately named Surprise Pass. Knowing my route’s elevation would soon remain below snowline for the rest of the day, I downed a cocktail of adrenaline, gratitude, and overwhelming stoke and let it become my fuel. 

After a trusty bushwhack North following the descent, I bent West to follow the bank of the Kakwa River. A pair of weekend hikers, the first people I had seen in over a week, trudged in shin-deep mud in front of me. In a typical scenario I would have expressed the level of enthusiasm warranted for such a run-in with humankind, especially in a Wilderness at this latitude. Instead, the absence of social interaction showed itself as I tried to combine urgency with a desperate wish for privacy.

“IvebeenhikingsinceMexicoandonlyhaveamileleft.”

I took a sharp breath. Their response was lost as the unexpected dialogue powered a reel of memories to life, framing the reality directly ahead.

I was minutes away from completing a 3,800 mile* route from Mexico to Canada, becoming one of few people to successfully connect the Continental Divide Trail to the Great Divide Trail. For five months, every ounce of grit I could muster went towards getting to that specific spot in British Columbia’s Kakwa Provincial Park. But as my feet neared my route’s terminus at the anticipated Lake Kakwa, my mind was elsewhere ––  dancing with Wyoming’s wildflowers, calculating Colorado’s challenges, bounding through Alberta’s alpine. I was serving coffee in Idaho. I was foraging huckleberries in Montana. I was setting up for a wedding in New Mexico’s late spring sun.

I was in a kaleidoscope of a million moments, all forming a greater whole I would soon mark as ‘complete.’

Teary eyed and disoriented by my own synesthesia, I shook my head. If trail was a book, as I often likened it to, I was writing the final line. Merely a string of shapes and sounds from the end, the epic now resolved. Savoring the conclusion, I drew a breath as a misty Lake Kakwa rose through a bench of Lodgepole and Jack.

365 babyyyyy.

Since arriving at Lake Kakwa one year ago today, I’ve been evolving my relationship with the kaleidoscope; identifying the reflections and observing their beauty. Sure, pieces have fallen out, just as memory is an open hand. But I’ve learned whether shared, unshared, forgotten, or remembered, experiences that require fortitude and curiosity will take form beyond memory. For me, they shape my very spirit.

I’m learning there’s no rulebook on how to metabolize such a significant, independent experience. There’s no clear line between solitude and loneliness, though knowing and loving myself has come by experiencing both in extremes. Oh, and there’s certainly no way to prepare for the brain’s remapping after hiking up to and over 50 miles/day. However, there’s this beautiful, busted kaleidoscope. There’s a new standard of Love I set for myself, and there’s a helluva a lot of bedtime stories to share.

So, I guess that’s my hope for this processing and sharing of moments moving forward. I hope you get a glimpse of the reflections, feel the warmth of the love, and find Wonder from a life lived outside.

Welcome to my blog and brain. Glad you’re here.

AG/p