Sparks goes home

“I almost passed out two miles ago,” I said, walking into camp. Catch-up was ahead of me and was already setting up his tent. I dropped my poles next to a tree and gasped in pain as I clumsily dropped my backpack to the ground. There was a cold drizzle and my raincoat was closed to soaked through; this was not what I wanted to deal with on top of it all. My breathing was ragged, and I couldn’t tell if it was because we were above 10,000 feet for the first time in a couple weeks or because I couldn’t hold back the panic I’d been trying to fight off.

“Are you okay now?” Catch-up’s eyes reflected my same worry.

“I have no idea,” I answered honestly, almost in tears. All I knew was that an ache in my shoulder blades had intensified to the point that it was now sending lightning bolts spasming down my back, rolling my stomach, and flickering darkness across my vision.

None of us really knew what to do, but I did know I wasn’t walking any further that night. So I set up my tent, ate my food for the evening, and took some ibuprofen, hoping that a good night’s sleep was all I needed.

The next day, it seemed to be better. There was no pain, no symptoms from last night, nothing. What a miracle sleep is, I thought to myself.

But that afternoon, the pain struck again with the same intensity.

Something’s got to be wrong with my backpack, I figured, and set to work on it. I adjusted my straps to make sure everything was as it ought to be. I rearranged everything in my backpack, shifting weight to make sure everything was balanced. I continued eating and thus the weight in my backpack lessened. I stopped throughout the day more frequently to stretch.

But it didn’t matter. No matter what I did, the pain appeared sooner and sooner each day with little change in the intensity.

It was seven days between towns, but I knew the next town (Grand Lake) had an outdoor shop. They’ll know how to fix this, I figured, still assuming it was something with my backpack, and that was my sustaining hope. But when I got there, they also didn’t know what was wrong. Everything seemed correct with my backpack.

Two days further, I knew I’d be able to pull off to see family in Colorado Springs–and a doctor. All I had to do was make it 50 more miles.

Winter is coming

Colorado is beautiful. The mountains rise up before you to rugged heights, the vegetation is turning golden and burgundy. On a ridgeline, you feel like you can see through to the other side of the world. You’re up so high that the rest of the world falls away and it’s simply you and the mountain.

The mountains demand respect as well. The air thins around you; the rocks are loose and slick under your feet; one eye is always turned towards the sky, watching for signs of thunder or storms.

As we hiked out from Grand Lakes, we followed the lake’s shore out of the town and back into the mountains. The grey clouds alternated between sprinkles and blue sky, Colorado’s weather bickering back and forth. It was dark when we pitched our tents, but the trees around us rose up in protection from the wind and a creek bubbled past.

The next day, we had a 27 mile day. If the weather cooperated, we were hopeful to do an alt trail that would take us over 5 peaks on the ridgeline rather than following the redline down into the valley and then needing to climb back up the next day.

The day started off good. It was cold that morning, but it’s been cold every morning. Solemate and Catch-up took some weight for me to help me through the day, and then we set off. We said goodbye to the living trees and stepped into a burn zone. The wind was cold, but the climb helped keep us warm. We all met up at the creek, 7 miles into the day and our last water source for twenty miles. The sky was still clear.

When we finished our climb onto the ridge, the wind picked up. There was nothing left to hold it back. Cixin Liu’s narration of my audiobook grew harder to distinguish against the steady voice of the wind. We sprawled out on the side of the trail for lunch, three bodies tucked into our coats and rain jackets, huddled around our stoves. We’d found Walking Tamales in the Mountain Market, a favorite for lunch, and I’d just started to chow down when ice hit me from above. We all three looked up at the darkened sky and laughed. It was hailing once more. Of course it was.

And this began one of the most bipolar weather experiences Colorado’s given me yet. It sporadically hailed on us through lunch, and then the clouds moved away and a ray of sun broke through. We packed up our gear and started walking again.

Behind us, the clouds continued darkening, moving off in the other direction. But a ridgeline caught them and redirected them back our way. That day, we walked through hail, sunshine, fog, hail again, wind, clouds, hail, sun.

Some of the best views only come when my camera is tucked away to protect it from the weather and this was true today. The ridge was shades of brown, red, and yellow. The mountains held back seas of grey and white; sunlight cracked through the grey mantle above us and radiated through the hail and dampness. The clouds clung to the mountain peaks and dips and rolled towards us from them. Finally, the clouds rolled up over the ridgelines and enveloped us, so that we couldn’t see more than 30 feet ahead of us.

It was beautiful.

Needless to say, we didn’t do the alt, opting instead to head into the shelter of the valley where the temperature would hopefully be more moderate and the trees would protect our tent from any incoming weather that night.

Colorado Springs

Because we did 20 + 27 miles, we only had one climb and a few miles to Berthoud Pass the next morning. From there, Solemate and Catch-up went to see a friend and I headed to Colorado Springs to see my family.

I stayed there a week, taking full advantage of the proximity of food and a full kitchen. I visited a doctor and was even able to do a little bit of treatment. But after a week, it was still not healed up enough to go back on trail.

Snow was already falling in Colorado, and I knew it was time to call it.

It was time to go home.

Bittersweet doesn’t begin to describe it: I was relieved that I could rest and let my body heal without the risk of more injury, without pushing through that pain again for the remainder of the trail. I was excited to see my friends and family back home again. But I was leaving my tramily, the big, incredible mountains of Colorado, the incredible, difficult, life-changing challenge that was this trail. I was over halfway but still so far from being done.

Nothing happens without a reason, and I take comfort in that. This is not “goodbye” to the CDT; just a “see you later.” The trail will still be there, the adventure will continue–just not right now.

2025 final stats:

Bears: 5
Moose: 12
Fox: 3
Mountain goat: 1
Elk: 0
Coyote: 1
Osprey: 3
Pikas: 10
Porcupine: 1
Badger: 1
Blisters: 24
Pairs of shoes: 4
Zero days: 6
Days: 80
Redline miles: 1,720.8