Backpacker

­THE WIND CAME AT ME LIKE A FIST.I was a thousand feet higher than I intended,and the weather was letting me know it. Ilooked at my watch as the gusts regrouped foranother punch. Almost dinner time. Hikersshouldn’t be on ridgelines in Montana’s highcountry this late.But I wasn’t hiking. And, before themenacing weather chased me away, I couldn’tthink of a place I’d rather be than this veryspot, 5 miles deep in the wilderness withoutanother soul in sight.Earlier in the day, the sun had emerged aftera week of rain—and I had a few free hours.It was the kind of fate a visitor to Bozeman,Montana, doesn’t think twice about.I wandered northeast of town and joinedthe horde on the short loop to the white “M”plastered to the side of Baldy Mountain. Foottraffic congested the trail as I approachedthe turnoff to the “M,” but over my shoulder,I spied an empty ribbon of singletrack. Itstretched onward and upward, curlingthrough shattered limestone and coniferforest like a siren song.I didn’t know where the path led, and withjust two hours until a planned dinner with afriend, I also knew I didn’t have time to findout. At least not at a hiker’s pace.When I was a student at the University ofNorth Carolina, I had plenty of time for longhikes. But now, like most of the gainfullyemployed, I have to squeeze backpackingtrips into weekends or precious vacationdays. So I started running. Suddenly I hadtime for after-work “hikes”—6 miles before``````dinner? No problem. My runs grew to the sizeof weekend epics. I saw the backcountry evenwhen the clock said I shouldn’t.So when all other circumstances suggestedI had no time for a 10-mile hike that early-fallday in Bozeman, I tightened my laces.The Bridger Foothills Trail leapt gullies andducked into valleys. I hop-scotched rockydownhills, hurdled logs, glided flats. Fourmiles in, I was tired, but I didn’t want to stop;there was more ahead to explore, and withthe adrenaline pumping, the miles flew by. Toa would-be dayhiker, they felt stolen, and thatmade them even sweeter.It took a little over an hour to gain theridge, a fracture of limestone in the foothills’shoulders. I hadn’t found the end of the trail,but it was enough. As I gazed out, a gale rippedover the hogback and nearly bowled me over.It was time to turn around. I stood my groundfor one last glance down the valley. The trailunspooled beneath me, the Bridgers crestingthe horizon and rolling away to the north andeast. I soaked it in. Stolen miles, stolen view.On the descent, I skipped beneath the pineboughs and yellow aspens. The sun glowedcopper through the grass by the time I couldsee windshields glinting in the parking lot.The day was ending, but I’d covered twice asmany miles as I’d set out to see.And I would only be a little late for dinner. ■ PHOTO BY LOUISA ALBANESEplay listDouble your fun:Trail RunningToo little time and too much to see?Go faster. BY COREY BUHAYTHE EXPERIENCE18THE MOTHER OF COMFORTFOR THE UPS, DOWNS,and summits in betweenNEW- Designed for high aerobic activity in cold temps- PrimaLoft® Gold Active stretch insulation- Lightweight, half-zip, trim fit for layeringstyles for Men and WomenHahns Peak, CO – Noah Wetzel