Nic and I were on a run along Sourdough canyon in Bozeman, Montana when the idea was born to do a big trip in the remote Wyoming wilderness. The only objectives were a lot of miles and incredible fishing. It was the seed which everything would come from. The next week he started talking about the “Winds” and their golden trout. They sounded legendary by the name alone. 

Summer came around sooner than we expected and the idea was still just an idea. I made it more than just an idea. In my dude ranch work application I got the time off so I can leave early to go on an epic adventure. Nic etched off 8 days in August as well and it was settled. On the ranch I met Nina, a seasoned thru-hiker, who lit up when I mentioned my trip into the Winds. The Wind River range is one of the most remote ranges in the lower 48 and our dream was to hike the entire length of the route in 7 days. 100 miles. 70% off trail. It was an insane plan that we were insane enough to draw up. Not to mention the bears, mosquitos, and stormy weather we could face.

 I spent hours on the deck with the comically big map that Nina gave me. I was googling the best lakes that hid the elusive Golden Trout, and marking them down. Nic did his research too, and found the Skurka route which we would call the Shurka route. This is the one we would agree on because it combined the high alpine hiking with several good lakes that had been stocked with golden trout in the 1980s according to my research. Everyone was hiding the honey holes. They were there, but you had to work for them. 

The summer flew by and I had done no dedicated training for this 100 mile backpacking. This is for two reasons. I lived a very active lifestyle over the summer including hiking, running, and biking. Essentially treating Route national forest as a playground. The other reason was a dangerous level of confidence that I could do it. I had done hard things before and I could do this trip too. Mid August came, and with it, all the farewells to the friends I made on the ranch. It was bittersweet, but I didn’t have time to think about it, I had my head in the Winds. 

I guided a group fly fishing trip, packed up my belongings, and headed North to meet Nic at the rendezvous point. It was a long day and even longer, because we had to set up our shuttle. We drove into Dubois Wyoming that evening with 2 cars at 11:00 pm. Yet we weren’t alone. There were 2 people walking down the trail with huge packs. They were moving slow and looked almost lost, they just stared right through us. We passed them and saw 4 more and then 8 more after that. They were dressed in camo, bearing heavy loads, and they looked exhausted. That is when I realized it was a U.S army ruck and their base must be close to the trailhead. I crawled into Nic’s old forerunner to try and get some sleep that night, it was too dark to see anything and we would get our first look at the Wind River range that next morning. We were really about to do this thing. 

We woke up to some crisp mountain air and I left my car at the trailhead and we drove together 100 miles south to Lander where the journey would begin later that morning after buying a breakfast burrito, and a permit to access the Native American reservation part of our hike. There was an excitement of the unknown as we cruised out of Lander, Wyoming to get into the mountains. We did a gear check and I slurped down some electrolyte otter pops that I snagged from the ranch in order to give my body a fighting chance. At the start of the hike we saw a lot of people, kids, older adults who probably grew up in the area, and everyone in between. Some young parents told us about a natural waterslide that they were taking their kids to who were going crazy. It was a little out of the way, and we had just barely started so we decided to skip it. We still had 14 miles. Nonetheless, we took a mental note. It is also worth noting that this 14 miles was our warm up day because none of it was off trail. Slowly, we got away from the day trippers and started to experience the wilderness we were after, falling in love with the crystal clear rivers that we hoped wouldn’t be void of life. 

We took it one mile at a time and eventually the trail led us to Deep Creek. We looked at each other and without hesitation set up our fly rods for the first time of the trip. I tied on a little black wooly bugger and then bam a dark flash in the water and my line was tight! It was a brook trout and they were hungry…we were not though, so we released them back into the deep and continued onward. By now we were close to where we were going to pitch camp that night… the Deep Creek Lakes. A thunderstorm rolled and we got soaked. It continued getting worse so we waited it out under a large patch of pine trees in our rain jackets we brought for exactly what was happening. We changed our plan a little and went up to an unmarked lake because we didn’t think there would be any tents. We were right, but there were also no fish, despite the fact we were 200 yards away from a lake with Goldens(tragic). Upon setting up the tent I passed out for a 30 minute nap. We ate our instant potatoes and fruit snacks then went to sleep early. We needed it. Wind River Peak was the next, and day one was in the books. 

Arising sore the next morning to the sun cresting over the lake, the view was gorgeous as we ate our portion of oatmeal…our bags getting slightly lighter and our stomachs growing slightly fuller. Our attention left the desolate lake we slept near and it rested on the 13,197 foot mountain that stood in front of us. I lagged behind early on and worked at my own pace once I accepted that Nic was in better hiking shape than I was. I needed many breaks and this was only the beginning of our day. I put that behind me, walking, zig zagging and scrambling til we made it to the top. We passed a group of men who were on the same route as us, it secretly bummed us out because we were not as badass as we thought we were. But, we were at the top nonetheless and it felt good. The rocky earth jutted out in every direction. Each with an icy pool of pristine mountain water resting at its foot. Nic and I sat behind a rock to stay out of the end while we ate our special snack consisting of an rx bar. After we finished, we made our way around the peak and ducked out of the sun and wind into the shadow of the scree field. 

This was my first ever scree field descent. Nic led the way prancing down like a mountain goat with a control that I had not yet learned. After he got out of the way of the rocks that I would inevitably kick up, I began my descent. It was slow, full of slips, falls, and frustration. I made it to the bottom relieved, and I thought that was the end of it… I was wrong. Time for more rock hopping with a full backpack. I lost my balance and struck the rock with my hand in a moment of anger. The mountains were beating me down, my legs were starting to hurt and the mental fatigue was setting in. Nic sat with me for a little while without saying much. We continued down, Wind River peak was now behind us, and on our left was an incredible spire with the title Eastern Temple Peak. We thought about how awesome it would be to have ropes and make a pilgrimage up its steep crags. This daydreaming was a good distraction as we made it closer to camp, “The Cirque”. 

It’s a famous geological amphitheater that all serious climbers flock to with ropes and a tent. First, we had to make another thousand foot pass. And before that, we had to navigate around unnamed lakes to get back on a trail. We hugged the bank going up and down in order to not get cliffed out. At last we made it back down to the tree line with a slow moving creek waiting for us. We leaned over its edge and sure enough there were trout. We both hoped they were Goldens while we were setting our rods up. I went downstream with a hopper on the end of my line. The cast laid out perfectly a few inches away from the bank and a fish started to rise up. My heart rate went up and then it broke the surface. I set the hook. The line went tight for a second and just as quickly, lost all its tension. But now I had an ambition to succeed and all the aches from the morning disappeared. I casted again next to the bank, and another came up out of the depths and attacked my grasshopper fly. Got him! As I brought him closer I saw the characteristic spots and red jaw of a yellowstone cutthroat. Not the golden trout that we were after. I let it go and watched as he darted back to where he came from, camouflaged with the river rocks and unseeable by the human eye. We both continued casting…Nic also got some action too. And then we came to the lake. 

More people were in this section because we were getting close to the Cirque De Towers where we’d pitch camp. But first we caught some brook trout dinner at the lake. It paired well with the instant mashed potatoes that we had the night before and would eat the next night. After we left the lake with fish in our packs, we had a heart to heart looking at the next thousand foot pass. “This sucks.”… Was what I was thinking after another mile of hiking. And Nic could see it in my eyes. I was getting beat by the mountains of the southern Wind River range. The 20 mile day on our schedule for the next day would be grueling. Off trail too. So, Nic pitched, making it a loop back to his Forerunner instead. I really didn’t want to quit, but then I thought about the purpose of the trip. It is not only about the challenge and the miles, but it is also about enjoying little side quests. And having energy for them. That is what made me fall in love with backpacking after all. Or, was I merely rationalizing to make quitting seem okay? Probably a mixture. Nevertheless, I agreed to change it to a loop. To give up. It hurt my pride. I’m human after all, and I have limits even if they are mental. It was humbling because Nic could have kept going. He was in better shape than I was, simple as that. It was bittersweet. I felt relieved that we were going to take it easy for the next day. Yet…there was something deep down that itched at me, that did not want to quit, still does itch at me. I think about the Winds as epic, but, I don’t think about that range without thinking about that failure. So we camped under the epic towers of chalked up granite, knowing the next day we would walk out the easy way, and not make a pass over the towers to the beyond of golden trout  to where my Pathfinder was parked in Dubois at the trailhead some 70 miles away. 

The next day we explored more, fished more, and ate more, because our provisions were planned for 7 and we cut 2 days. I ventured off the trail while Nic chased around some more brook trout. We were led up to Deep Lake and the panoramic view was truly breathtaking. We had way more time than the last two days, and so we turned in after fishing. We actually watched fast and furious in the tent I had downloaded on my phone. Instant gratification day. Still no Golden trout. I don’t think we earned our prize. 

After the rest day the next morning we broke camp and started up a big pass. Nic pointed out I was grunting and subtly complaining like I had the day before, so I made a conscious effort to stop. I made it to the top 2nd and followed a little spring to a spot I could kneel down next the water. That’s where I saw the most beautiful mountain lily while I was drinking right from the creek. It was such a humble beauty. Hidden at the top of the mountain that wouldn’t be seen by many. Yet here it was meekly showcasing the rugged beauty of the Winds. I met back up with Nic, then we scrambled down the steep mountain side and jumped into a freezing alpine lake laughing. After we dried off we walked along the river looking for fish. 

The river meandered into a serene green valley. We had mostly been in the high alpine zone above the trees, so it was a good change of scenery. We caught up and walked with this older man who was impressive. His pack was huge and he had to have been at least 70 years old. Scaring his family no doubt by going solo in The Winds. We said farewell and turned to a ridiculous off trail pass to a mountain that looked like it was an ancient fortress. It guarded coon lake. I fished it HARD. No luck, we talked to someone who caught a golden trout on a spin rod. They were taunting us. That’s the way it goes. Trying too hard usually doesn’t give success, only frustration. That is part of the challenge though. I was enjoying it. Still no fish though. “I don’t know how to fish lakes that well” even though I practiced in Colorado lakes just earlier that month. No lake is the same though. 

I packed up my rod and had some cold oatmeal with Nic. We stood up and pushed to make it to a place we could hike out the next day. Mostly downhill and on trail we put our heads down and went another 8 or 9 miles from coon Lake. We got in at dark, and the forest had an eerie look to it. Of course we fished some more on the way and found some more awesome brook trout habitat, we let all of these go though. Fishing is still finishing. 

But, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t a little disappointed. I had been dreaming of 20 inch Goldens and instead  got 8 in brook trout. My expectations and reality were not aligned. Same for the amount of miles I thought I could do as well. I most certainly am being too hard on myself over this. I know Nic didn’t mind. Right here is the case and point of me being too hard on myself because I couldn’t do 100 miles in 7 days. Could have, would have, should have. 

We still had a great time and we still accomplished a good loop. Why am I so dang hard on myself? I’m not being hard on Nic in this, only me. I think next time I need to have more realistic expectations. Fun and fishing is different from 100 miles with many off trail sections. If I had trained better and if my attitude was better than I think both are possible. This is what I love about backpacking. But, I also hate failing. I am NOT a machine. Yet, I tried to be like one. And I paid for it via disappointment. 

Maybe I’ll go back in and do it someday. Or I’ll accept my finiteness. Or hopefully both. Not to give up. Not to overreach either. My identity can’t be in just my body. It has to be in my soul too. The Physical and the Spiritual are connected and go hand in hand. 

Honorable mentions from day 5:

1. We saw a young moose and I got stung by a bee.

2. And, we did indeed go to that Water slide and play around like little children.