As I’m standing next to the river, I look around and decide this spot will do. It’s as good as any other spot. I use my hiking pole to draw a number in the sand: 400. One selfie later, it’s official: I am halfway through the Hayduke Trail! My estimate that I am halfway is based solely on the gpx track on my phone, and a rough estimate at best. The Hayduke Trail does not provide its hikers with mile markers or signposts, other than big hikes I’ve done previously. But if this is mile 401, or mile 399, who will know or care?
Am I really halfway through the hike that is known as one of the most challenging hikes around? Am I really doing this, and doing it alone? I guess I am!
Satisfied, I park myself and my pack in the sand. Today is a good day. An easy day. I grab a snack to celebrate the moment. Easy days are long and far between on this trail.
The obstacles in my way
So far, I have had to bushwhack for hours on end. In one case I even spent five hours bushwhacking through mud, reeds and poison ivy in an effort to reach the Escalante river before sundown. I failed miserably, by the way, and ended up spending the night in a swamp, surrounded by the noisiest choir of various animals I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending the night with. There were croaks and shrieks, rustling in the reeds, cries of what sounded like a wounded animal (or perhaps a dying baby, but I’m still hoping it was the former), growls and grunts, and the occasional threat uttered by yours truly, addressed to the completely unimpressed disturbers of the peace.
I have had to scramble up, under, around or over seemingly impassable boulders, pour-offs, dryfalls or scree slopes. Finding a route where there seemed to be none. Sometimes taking hours to complete a single mile.
I have had to pause and reflect on some sections, wondering if I was capable of overcoming this next obstacle in front of me. If it wasn’t too hard, too dangerous, too scary. Managing to convince myself every time that I was capable, no matter how much I doubted it.
I have had to carry a pack so heavy with food and water (six days of food and nine liters of water at the heaviest) that my knees almost buckled the first time I tried to lift it, and then still ran out of water before reaching the next source. The driest year on record and finding several ‘reliable’ sources dry made sure I became increasingly vigilant and wary about how much water I carried from each source.
Thirst
Throughout this section, I felt nearly permanently thirsty. Not a single night went by where I did not wake up every few hours during the night, feeling so parched that I could not go back to sleep without drinking water first. Dehydration was my constant companion and the spectre lurking in the dark just behind me the entire way.
And now, here I was. Halfway. Sitting beside a clear, clean river in the gorgeous Hackberry Canyon, in the shade of a cottonwood. The leaves rustling above my head. The temperature even almost agreeable in the shade. Life was good, and I was suspicious. An easy time never lasts long on the Hayduke, or so I came to believe.
The perils and rewards of going alone
Ever since my hiking partner had to go home afterHanksville, I had been going it alone, and while this certainly has its rewards, it also brought with it a whole new set of challenges. More than any other trail I’ve ever hiked, doing the Hayduke solo makes for an exponentially tougher hike. There is no more room for error when you go it alone. Nobody to ask for some spare water if you run out, no second opinion on a particularly dicey section, no one to hand your pack to before climbing down or up a narrow section, and no one to cheer you up if you had a rough day and are in need of some encouragement.
On the other hand, the solitude has its own attraction. When I embarked upon some particularly isolated sections, I sometimes did not encounter another living soul for up to six days in a row. An amazing and sobering experience, that demands you are exceptionally comfortable with your own company. I came to see this as the reward for my efforts, but for many, this would perhaps be an additional hardship. Being truly alone takes practice, I found, and it scares off many a hiker.
I found myself being moved to tears on occasion with the beauty of the landscape around me, and wishing I could share this moment with someone. At the same time, being alone without any external distractions, engraved the moment into my memory even stronger. And making it through alone did wonders for my confidence. I now know I have it in me to do something most people consider madness, and it empowers me to dream of the next challenge I can undertake, setting my goals even higher perhaps?
Onwards
The next half of the Hayduke Trail will undoubtedly bring me many more challenges, but I no longer fear them as I did before. Making it this far, has made it clear to me that I am capable of making it all the way. Alone or not, I will be ready.
Want to read more about my journey on the Hayduke Trail? Read about my pre-trip anxieties here, or about the alternate routes on the HDT here.
This article was published originally on The Trek website
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