ON TRAIL
Clay Jacobson surveys an avalanche field in the Sawtooths. The Idaho Centennial Trail hides somewhere in the mass of snags, undergrowth and debris.
“We can’t even get to trails that outfitters and guides use, where people are 9 paying big dollars. We can’t even get those trails maintained,” Hennessy said. “We need millions.” Hennessy said he hopes to make his own thruhike out of it when he retires in the next few years. So far, he’s done about three-quarters of the trail in sections. “We had these great plans when we created the Idaho Centennial Trail,” Hennessy said, “but no money to do them. The Centennial Trail isn’t the most important. I’m doing this on the side to keep the thing alive.” The four set out June 30 with the goal of doing just that. They planned to reach Canada by Aug. 22. Having no idea what she was in for, Bussard, 25, decided to make the trek, regardless of trail conditions and regardless of the fact she and Jacobson had only started dating for about five months. What’s more, she had never spent a day in her life backpacking. “I had never even heard of thru-hiking,” Bussard said. “I didn’t even know that’s a thing people do. It was just one of those moments in your life when you feel like you meet the right person to do something like that with.” From the start, it was clear Jacobson was the right person for the undertaking. Referred to by some of his fellow hikers as the “stoner Confucius,” he wears a scraggly beard and draws on a reservoir of patience and encouragement. He thinks any problem can be solved if you just keep walking. Bussard felt a strong pull to take up the challenge for her own reasons. In April 2014, she went 10 | SEPTEMBER 16–22, 2015 | BOISEweekly
to the emergency room with what she thought was appendicitis. The doctors took out her appendix, but a week later, she got a phone call from the hospital. “My doctor sat me down and told me it was cancer,” she said. Shocking, because Bussard was healthy. She’s slender and smiles all the time. Cancer would be the last thing she expected to interrupt her young college life. Her final surgery was in June 2014— one year before her meltdown in the Idaho desert. “Things like that make you realize how precious life experiences are,” she said. On a whim, she was in. The couple started training in the spring, getting accustomed to increasing distances and elevation gains. They plotted towns they could send supplies to and mailed themselves packages of dehydrated meals, granola bars and pizza-flavored goldfish crackers to be picked up along the trail. Each person tagging along with Jacobson had his or her own reason. Lindquist, 26, recently graduated from Northwest Nazarene University and figured this was his last chance to do something crazy before starting a career in business administration. Malloy, 38, spent enough time riding the bus up to Bogus Basin with Jacobson, hearing stories about the Pacific Crest Trail, that it sparked his interest in the undertaking. Most of his hiking had been done in the military, so he was interested in taking a hike for fun. Walking the Idaho Centennial Trail became a goal he wanted to reach out before he turns 40. “Growing up in Idaho, it would be cool to say I’ve walked all the way across,” Malloy said. “It’s going to be soul searching for me.”
After that hellish day in the desert, Bussard went home and thought hard about whether she wanted to follow Jacobson anymore. She felt panicky about getting back on the trail and spent a lot of time talking it over with him. Then, she took everything nonessential out of her pack and they started again, this time skipping the desert due to the summer heatwave. The quartet regrouped in Mountain Home and started toward Highway 20. Conditions were measurably better. A car stopped and gave them free beer on the first day. They made the hard climb up Ross Peak—elevation 9,773 feet—and looked across the valley where the Sawtooth mountains begin. Their exhaustion was replaced by a sense of accomplishment. They started to understand why they picked this challenge to consume the next two months of their lives. Then, at the summit, Lindquist sneezed and blood poured out of his nose and all over his shirt. “Yep,” Jacobson said. “That’s what victory looks like.” After six days of hiking, the group dropped into Atlanta during the Mountain Music Festival. They spent a day listening to live music, diving into the all-you-can-eat taco bar, and soaking in hot springs and intermittent rainstorms. Lindquist got to see his girlfriend and ate seven hot dogs. A few of Bussard’s friends met up with her in a happy reunion. They found a friend with a cabin and took showers and slept in beds. Bussard’s friends decided to join on the backpacking trip for a few days, as did Malloy’s girlfriend. They all felt pretty good. The next day, the larger group left again with 60 miles to their next resupply point in Stanley. They’d make it there in four days. It drizzled throughout the day as they walked on a steady incline along a side of the Sawtooth mountains that most people never see. They waded through creeks and regularly climbed over fallen trees taller than their waists. “Any other day, it would be easy—maybe even kind of fun—to hop over them,” Lindquist said. “But wearing a 35-pound pack on your back makes you realize how awkward and cumbersome you are.” For that reason, Lindquist and the others kept their pack around 20 pounds. They accumulated scratches and bruises as the day wore on. Partway through the afternoon, the expedition
came to a halt. Jacobson looked over an avalanche field about 100 yards across. The snow had long since melted, leaving behind hundreds of fallen trees, brush and rocks, making the trail below invisible. It was not a happy sight. They navigated slowly, picking their way through the debris. They had to laugh at the absurdity—the avalanche path being symbolic of the Idaho Centennial Trail, untouched by hikers and trail workers alike. One image held firm in the hikers’ minds: Spangle Lake. It was their camp spot for the night, and as the switchbacks grew steeper and seemingly unending, the vision of cresting a summit and looking down at a beautiful mountain lake kept them strong. “It’s all mental,” Bussard said. “Your body will make it up the peak of that mountain. It’ll make it down and it’ll make it up to the peak of the next mountain. You just have to find a way mentally to push yourself through it.” Bussard did that by counting her steps. One, two, three four. Then, four more steps, four more steps. At 11 miles down and six to go, the rain started again. The thought of having to stop one more time, take off the packs, rummage for raincoats, zip them up, heave their packs back on, clip the straps and keep moving was infuriating. The rain took on a new vigor, cold and forceful, and drenched the party in minutes. Thunder rumbled nearby. Still, the group pushed on along the ridge line in the craggy Sawtooths, exposed but hellbent on Spangle Lake. Thunder cracked again, echoing off the peaks, and the rain turned to pelting hail. The wind picked up and blew hard against the hikers, knocking them off the trail in gusts. Malloy kept his head down and pushed on. Fighting the adrenaline-fueled urge to get out of the storm numbed aching feet, legs and shoulders. Lightning flashes turned the trail a pinkish-white. Being cold and wet stopped mattering and it became more important not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. All day, the hikers imagined their arrival at Spangle Lake as a moment of triumph—coming over the summit to see a blue mountain lake nestled in the peaks of the Sawtooths, bathed in orange and gold alpenglow. Instead, after almost 10 hours of hiking and 17 miles covered, they came over a small, soggy hill. Lindquist pointed toward the highest ground, shouting for everyone to head in that direction. The lake was gray and choppy, swollen by the rain. The group split up, each in search of a patch of ground dry and flat enough to pitch a tent. No one emerged from their tents for the rest of the night.
TRIAL BY TRAIL Sun baked their tents until it was too hot to sleep anymore and the group awoke to a flawless blue sky. They were rewarded with the sight they anticipated the day before. The lake wrapped BOISE WEEKLY.COM