Most Miles Hiked in a Day
- Thread starter Parma
- Start date
Vegan.Hiker
Member
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2014
- Messages
- 2,099
). You'd think that Idaho of all places would be an easy place to find some fries.
- Joined
- Jan 4, 2015
- Messages
- 2,866
There's one exception. The last 4.5 miles from the north side of Mt Moriah (I think; there might be one more little bump after that) to Gorham are the smoothest, easiest trail you'll find anywhere. After doing 13 miles in 13 hours one day in the pouring rain atop Lafayette, I was so excited to see smooth decent trail, that I knocked out the last 4 miles to Gorham in exactly an hour. And I'm not a fast hiker either.
hikerboy
Member
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2015
- Messages
- 35
Joey
walking somewhere
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2014
- Messages
- 878
That was one of the most memorable hikes I've ever done. And one of the most difficult.
I made a bad decision to day hike up to Avalanche Peak the day before, wearing out my legs.
We started around 5am in Hayden Valley. It was dark, and frost was on the ground.
We first heard wolves howling around 9am. Then we walked out into a meadow, and saw several wolves surrounding a full grown buffalo. They soon turned their attention to us, and watched us watching them. Eventually we carried on.
When we reached the Mary Mountain trail a mile or so before the lake and cabin, I saw one of the biggest piles of bear scat I've ever seen. Of interest, about 3 days later a man was killed and eaten along the trail near there.
We left a duck decoy in the lake. I haven't been back to see if it is still there. None of the Old Faithful crew who stay at the cabin have noticed it.
We left to trail heading towards Beach Lake. We crossed one of the most difficult sections of fire burn I've seen in the park.
I ran out of water. We didn't cross any either. When we dropped down to Spruce Creek, I ran ahead towards the creek with high hopes, only to be devastated to see the creek was dry. I remember sitting there on my knees in disbelief.
It was almost dusk when we reached Beach Lake. Lots of grizzly bear tracks and scat everywhere.
We weaved in and out of meadows as darkness set in. Far ahead of me I could see @scatman leading the way with his head lamp on. That's when I realized he was a animal. No fear of the dark or bears.
After walking in the dark for 2 hours with our headlamps on, I started getting dizzy. It felt like we were going in circles. We were.
2 different guys hiking with us had their own GPS's. One kept saying "Go to the left", while the other kept saying "A little to the right".
Then we took a break. The group decided the road was in front of us. At the same time, I could hear a car driving down the road, behind us. Thankfully we straightened that out before making a big mistake.
Almost back to the cars, Scatman informed us to be alert since this was where they dumped all the road kill carcasses for the bears to eat.
When we got back to the cars, I asked to sit in the front seat, because sometimes I get car sick, and I absolutely would have puked if I sat in the back of a little car.
Originally we planned to cook burgers for dinner. But no one had the energy at midnight to do so. Luckily the vending machines where still open by the bathrooms in Grant Village.
Park Rangers drove by shining their lights on me, probably wondering what I was doing sitting in front of the vending machines at midnight with 3 root beers and several bags of chips in front of me.
I couldn't walk the next day. Scatman went on another off trail day hike that day. Which is when I realized he is a legend.
I drove back to SLC . I still remember not being able to walk, as I tried to set up a book fair at the Heber Wells Building 2 days later.
lostlandscapes
rope mule
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2012
- Messages
- 328
Ok, long story coming.
Backpacking - 36 miles. Back in 2005 or so a friend and were hiking the Washington portion of the Pacific Crest Trail from north to south. Thing is, it was only supposed to be a 26 mile day to our resupply and a warm, dry bed in White Pass. The day started great - despite the 3rd day of rain in a row we were motivated by the ecstatic vision of a warm, dry hotel room and cold beer. Unfortunately, my friend was a little too motivated.
On that trip we rarely walked side by side, usually having a few hundred yards (at least) in between us. I stopped to take some photos of some enchanting Doug Firs towering above in the eerie fog, when my friend "J" passed by me. He was in the zone, and didn't say anything. And I didn't think anything of it. I put the camera away and continued my jaunt. After about a half mile of walking solo I approached an oddly designed trail junction with an oddly placed trail sign. A feeling of doom suddenly hit my chest. I had a bad feeling about this. I knew the PCT continued to the left, but the design made the correct path "feel" like it went to the right - a trail that traveled due west a few dozen miles to Mt. Rainier National Park. Not the direction we wanted to be heading in, in other words. I hunted for foot prints in the muddy trail. Strangely, I didn't see prints in either direction. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and trusted that he took the correct trail. We had an absolute rule that the hiker in the lead always stop a trail junction, no matter how obvious. J was known to get into meditative zones while he walked - did he completely miss the junction? I could only surmise. With a hurried, panicked energy, I hustled ahead on the PCT, desperately searching for a sign of him. There were none.
I ended up switchbacking down a 1000 feet or so through the fog and rain. I'd spot a footprint every now and then that had to belong to J. I could even make out the little Salomon symbol. I began yelling his name, only to hear it get swallowed by the fog. My instincts were telling me that he wasn't down here, that I should turn around. But I kept going, convinced that those prints were his. But they weren't. An older man appeared out of the dark forest, hiking northbound. Surely he'd give me the relief that my friend actually was still somehow ahead of me? Unfortunately, no. His first words to me, in a deep grizzled voice were "Wellll hellllo - didn't think I'd bump into anyone out here on a day like this". That was all I needed to hear. He obviously hadn't seen anyone else that morning. I stared blankly at him. Could've been minutes for all I know. So many feelings coursing through me - anger, fear, disbelief, confusion, panic. I never said a word to the man. When I finally snapped to it and realized the gravity of the situation, I simply spun around and began marching back up those switchbacks. I needed to get back to that junction.
My brain was hit by a flashflood of negative emotion on that climb back up, only temporary soothed by the thought that he had to have realized his mistake by this point and I'd see him trundling down those switchbacks anytime now. It didn't happen. Exhausted and back at the trail junction, I caught my breath and inhaled my second to last item of food for the day. After a few shouts of his name, I shot down the side trail. And sure enough, within 200 yards or so, I came upon some very fresh foot prints. They were undoubtedly his.
I began to jog down the trail, shouting his name in heavy breathing intervals. Despite the temporary relief that finding his prints provided me, I had new, larger, scarier items to contemplate. Because here's the kicker: J had the tent. I was wet, I was cold, my friend and hiking partner was who-knows-where, and with this detour I probably had 20+ miles left and it was getting close to 2pm. A distance that was growing with every step I took down this spur trail in the opposite direction. If I don't find him, how will I make it through this night?
I had a decision to make. I was tortured by the thought of abandoning the search for J, but it was one that I was forced to entertain. He didn't have much backpacking experience, and zero navigational know-how. Hell, he didn't even have a paper map - I did. But at least he had a shelter. Meanwhile, I was getting chilled (despite all the walking) and my sleeping bag was already a damp mop. It'd be foolish to try to make it though a night in these conditions with saturated gear. So I set a cut off point. I'd hike down one more mile, or twenty minutes. And at that point I'd force myself to end the hunt and turn around and make like a bee to White Pass where I'd be able to call for help. It was a terrifying proposition, but in my panicked brain I felt it was the wisest one for my own safety.
The following stretch was nauseating. I think I even slowed my pace down, fooling myself into thinking that I could somehow out-wit time and delay the inevitable. I was shouting even more now, voice crackling under the stress, knowing that my screams weren't getting anywhere in this oppressively drenched forest. That scared me even more. I waddled along silently for a stretch, looking at my watch and wondering just how far I could stretch this out. When, truly, I was about to give up any hope of finding him, a yell from down the trail gave me an electrifying jolt. I looked up from the hypnotizing rhythm of my muddy shoe shuffling to see him about 25 yards away, stopped and as white as a ghost. We just stared at each other for a few moments, he giving me a horrified and apologetic look and me giving him every emotion my face could possibly wear - mostly negative I am sure. I thought I'd feel more relief and joy. Maybe I did, but that door slammed shut violently with the reality of what still laid before us.
After that point, not much was said. Just a dreary death march parade of gloppy footsteps and the icy swooshing of our nylon ponchos. I think we may have walked 10 miles or so before I could finally ask him what had happened - of how in the hell he got 4 miles down an overgrown spur trail before he realized something was amiss and turned around? Well, turned out he never saw the trail junction. In fact, even before that, he hadn't even seen me take one step off of the trail to take photos of those trees. That whole time, he genuinely thought he was following me.
We made it out in the dark, but we made it. Checked in to a small motel in White Pass and slept one of the better sleeps of my life. For the rest of our abbreviated trip I didn't leave him out of my sight while we were on the trail. Oddly, approximately 3 days after that marathon, we both developed severe pain in our achilles, which completely debilitated us. Did all of the walking through mud force us to alter our gaits enough that it brought this on? Either way, we at least made it through the legendary Goat Rocks Wilderness and Mt Adams Wilderness areas before the onset, so we had seen the best of what Washington had to offer. We were also still doing with some post traumatic fallout from an experience that could've ended very badly. It was a good time to be done. So it wasn't with too heavy of hearts that we hitched out to the charming town of Trout Lake, WA and ate Huckleberry shakes in silence. While we remained friends for a bit, J and I never backpacked again together.
Backpacking - 36 miles. Back in 2005 or so a friend and were hiking the Washington portion of the Pacific Crest Trail from north to south. Thing is, it was only supposed to be a 26 mile day to our resupply and a warm, dry bed in White Pass. The day started great - despite the 3rd day of rain in a row we were motivated by the ecstatic vision of a warm, dry hotel room and cold beer. Unfortunately, my friend was a little too motivated.
On that trip we rarely walked side by side, usually having a few hundred yards (at least) in between us. I stopped to take some photos of some enchanting Doug Firs towering above in the eerie fog, when my friend "J" passed by me. He was in the zone, and didn't say anything. And I didn't think anything of it. I put the camera away and continued my jaunt. After about a half mile of walking solo I approached an oddly designed trail junction with an oddly placed trail sign. A feeling of doom suddenly hit my chest. I had a bad feeling about this. I knew the PCT continued to the left, but the design made the correct path "feel" like it went to the right - a trail that traveled due west a few dozen miles to Mt. Rainier National Park. Not the direction we wanted to be heading in, in other words. I hunted for foot prints in the muddy trail. Strangely, I didn't see prints in either direction. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and trusted that he took the correct trail. We had an absolute rule that the hiker in the lead always stop a trail junction, no matter how obvious. J was known to get into meditative zones while he walked - did he completely miss the junction? I could only surmise. With a hurried, panicked energy, I hustled ahead on the PCT, desperately searching for a sign of him. There were none.
I ended up switchbacking down a 1000 feet or so through the fog and rain. I'd spot a footprint every now and then that had to belong to J. I could even make out the little Salomon symbol. I began yelling his name, only to hear it get swallowed by the fog. My instincts were telling me that he wasn't down here, that I should turn around. But I kept going, convinced that those prints were his. But they weren't. An older man appeared out of the dark forest, hiking northbound. Surely he'd give me the relief that my friend actually was still somehow ahead of me? Unfortunately, no. His first words to me, in a deep grizzled voice were "Wellll hellllo - didn't think I'd bump into anyone out here on a day like this". That was all I needed to hear. He obviously hadn't seen anyone else that morning. I stared blankly at him. Could've been minutes for all I know. So many feelings coursing through me - anger, fear, disbelief, confusion, panic. I never said a word to the man. When I finally snapped to it and realized the gravity of the situation, I simply spun around and began marching back up those switchbacks. I needed to get back to that junction.
My brain was hit by a flashflood of negative emotion on that climb back up, only temporary soothed by the thought that he had to have realized his mistake by this point and I'd see him trundling down those switchbacks anytime now. It didn't happen. Exhausted and back at the trail junction, I caught my breath and inhaled my second to last item of food for the day. After a few shouts of his name, I shot down the side trail. And sure enough, within 200 yards or so, I came upon some very fresh foot prints. They were undoubtedly his.
I began to jog down the trail, shouting his name in heavy breathing intervals. Despite the temporary relief that finding his prints provided me, I had new, larger, scarier items to contemplate. Because here's the kicker: J had the tent. I was wet, I was cold, my friend and hiking partner was who-knows-where, and with this detour I probably had 20+ miles left and it was getting close to 2pm. A distance that was growing with every step I took down this spur trail in the opposite direction. If I don't find him, how will I make it through this night?
I had a decision to make. I was tortured by the thought of abandoning the search for J, but it was one that I was forced to entertain. He didn't have much backpacking experience, and zero navigational know-how. Hell, he didn't even have a paper map - I did. But at least he had a shelter. Meanwhile, I was getting chilled (despite all the walking) and my sleeping bag was already a damp mop. It'd be foolish to try to make it though a night in these conditions with saturated gear. So I set a cut off point. I'd hike down one more mile, or twenty minutes. And at that point I'd force myself to end the hunt and turn around and make like a bee to White Pass where I'd be able to call for help. It was a terrifying proposition, but in my panicked brain I felt it was the wisest one for my own safety.
The following stretch was nauseating. I think I even slowed my pace down, fooling myself into thinking that I could somehow out-wit time and delay the inevitable. I was shouting even more now, voice crackling under the stress, knowing that my screams weren't getting anywhere in this oppressively drenched forest. That scared me even more. I waddled along silently for a stretch, looking at my watch and wondering just how far I could stretch this out. When, truly, I was about to give up any hope of finding him, a yell from down the trail gave me an electrifying jolt. I looked up from the hypnotizing rhythm of my muddy shoe shuffling to see him about 25 yards away, stopped and as white as a ghost. We just stared at each other for a few moments, he giving me a horrified and apologetic look and me giving him every emotion my face could possibly wear - mostly negative I am sure. I thought I'd feel more relief and joy. Maybe I did, but that door slammed shut violently with the reality of what still laid before us.
After that point, not much was said. Just a dreary death march parade of gloppy footsteps and the icy swooshing of our nylon ponchos. I think we may have walked 10 miles or so before I could finally ask him what had happened - of how in the hell he got 4 miles down an overgrown spur trail before he realized something was amiss and turned around? Well, turned out he never saw the trail junction. In fact, even before that, he hadn't even seen me take one step off of the trail to take photos of those trees. That whole time, he genuinely thought he was following me.
We made it out in the dark, but we made it. Checked in to a small motel in White Pass and slept one of the better sleeps of my life. For the rest of our abbreviated trip I didn't leave him out of my sight while we were on the trail. Oddly, approximately 3 days after that marathon, we both developed severe pain in our achilles, which completely debilitated us. Did all of the walking through mud force us to alter our gaits enough that it brought this on? Either way, we at least made it through the legendary Goat Rocks Wilderness and Mt Adams Wilderness areas before the onset, so we had seen the best of what Washington had to offer. We were also still doing with some post traumatic fallout from an experience that could've ended very badly. It was a good time to be done. So it wasn't with too heavy of hearts that we hitched out to the charming town of Trout Lake, WA and ate Huckleberry shakes in silence. While we remained friends for a bit, J and I never backpacked again together.
Last edited:
Seldom Seen Anderson
Member
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2012
- Messages
- 739
I assume Rim to Rim to Rim? (Grand Canyon) It is kinda a bucket list thing for the ultra runner community.
My longest was 20+ Hop Valley, to Willis Creek and Beartrap Falls to Kolob Arch and then back to the car! (got lost for a few miles but thats normal for me). This was early in my marriage and my wife didnt know to add 4 hours onto any time I tell her. She was dang near ready to call search and rescue.
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2012
- Messages
- 4,429
Wasn't that Lester Pass trip in the rain too?
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2012
- Messages
- 4,429
I've had a companion's sweetie call Search and Rescue on us as we were benighted trying to climb the north ridge of the Pfeifferhorn in winter. We got out about 10 pm under headlamp with no big deal to a whole host of sheriff's deputies at the trailhead so it was a bit embarrassing - for my companion
My sweetie is trained to not call SAR for me until noon the next day or two days late if backpacking.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2007
- Messages
- 12,954
Well trained.
- Joined
- Jan 4, 2015
- Messages
- 2,866
10AM the day after for me. Having an agreed-upon action plan takes the uncertainty and ambiguity out the system - for me too! I know that as long as I check in prior to that deadline, I won't have worried them too badly.