We were three days out from Rawlins when the storm started at sunset: dark, rolling clouds on the horizon, sun illuminating filmy sheets of rain from behind and turning them eerie colors of orange and bruised purple. The storm moved slowly, taking its time, and we listened to its approach from inside our tent as darkness fell. Wind gusts pushed up against one tent side so hard the entire tent bowed under the pressure, poles bending but managing to not snap. Then came the rain. A patter at first, it quickly crescendoed into a waterfall. Outside the tent, the water filled the gullys and draws to overflowing as the dry earth struggled to absorb the sudden deluge. The lighting and thunder followed the rain. Flashes of lightning followed each other in quick succession, creating a disco light effect, and the thunder cracked and echoed across the sky in an erratic percussion beat. One lightning bolt flashed so close by that the hairs on my head stood up and tingled like someone had just held a staticky balloon close by, and Britta swore she had felt a flash of heat. The storm passed, eventually, and we were finally able to get some sleep.

The following day we came across a reservoir, which was listed as a water source on our maps. Past hikers had commented on how it was a great place to take a dip, and when we caught a glimpse of the water, I understood why. It was beautiful, deep, and clear, without all the usual cow pies and algae which were staples at most of the stagnant ponds we’d passed. We ended up spending two glorious hours at the reservoir.

Once we finally got back on the trail, conversation eventually drifted around to the next upcoming water source. It was listed as a spring, but what held Britta’s and my interest were all the comments on the map, the ones made by past hikers. Several of them mentioned “bocce”, but surely it had to be a typo, or maybe referring to something other than the game of bocce ball. Or perhaps, we speculated, a bunch of hikers added it to their comments as a joke. “I mean,” I said to Britta, “would there really be bocce ball out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Turned out, there really was. The balls were stored in a metal culvert, left for hikers by Wired, who had hiked the CDT several years ago. We enjoyed a few rounds of the game with Five Cup, another thru hiker who happened to be at the spring when we arrived.

Despite the blog post title, the stretch from Rawlins to South Pass City wasn’t exclusively excitement. We hiked at least 20 miles most days, and being in the Great Basin meant everything was mostly dry and hot and endless sagebrush. We did get a second thunderstorm, though not quite as intense as the first. We caught glimpses of antelope and wild horses and, unfortunately, quite a few cows. The CDT even followed part of the Oregon Trail for awhile. And on the sixth day back from our trip home, we strolled into the tiny, old town of South Pass City, where we picked up our resupply boxes and enjoyed some ice cream.

It’s great to be back on the trail!