Disaster Stories

A new podcast, Boldly Went (think The Moth), came to Bend recently and invited a few people to the stage to tell some stories of DISASTER… I shared a harrowing tale of catching myself, the forest, and most of my stuff on fire when I thru-hiked the CDT two years ago. Take a listen and don’t do what I did. (my story starts at minute 14)

Continental Divide Trail Video – Thru-hike 2015 (rough draft. really rough)

I haven’t touched this video project in a year and a half, but who knows when I’ll get to working on it again, so here we go!

Here’s a rough cut of a rough trail.
Epic in so many ways.
CDT, I love you.

And yes, the video ends at 2:11, unless you love the Gorillaz, and then listen to the end of the song.


Continental Divide Trail Movie 2015, part 1 from Renee Patrick on Vimeo.

Lessons Learned from a CDT Thru-Hike

I wrote an article on my CDT thru-hike last year that was published in the current issue of Passages, the CDTC’s newsletter. Click on the image to read the whole magazine.

CDTC article

Lessons Learned from a CDT Thru-Hike

“If the Pacific Crest Trail is a purring kitten, then the Appalachian Trail is an angry house cat that still has its claws, and the Continental Divide Trail is a mountain lion about to take your face off with one wrong move.” – Day 3 on the CDT

Thru-hiking the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) has always been a difficult endeavor. Yes, the trail isn’t complete and crosses terrain that is strenuous and/or paved. Yes, the weather can throw down the gauntlet, and the isolation and remote conditions can gnaw into the psyche of even the most stalwart of hikers. But the reward for pushing through all the snow and rain and loneliness is well worth it. For me the challenge of completing a CDT thru-hike was so much bigger than merely walking across the country.

My 2015 thru-hike came many years after my other long trail adventures: it had been 13 years since completing the Appalachian Trail, and 9 years since finishing the Pacific Crest Trail. Prior to setting foot on the CDT this past April, I’ll be the first to admit I had doubts. Could my almost 40 year old body handle the miles? Could I spend the whole hike solo if I didn’t find others to hike with? Could I handle the harsh conditions that are often found on the Divide?

Now that I’m at the reflection stage of the hike I know the answers, and after reading back through my daily journal I am able to look back at a few things I learned, or was reminded of, along the way.

It’s ok to be Uncomfortable

“I was going to town! Now I know I just left Pie Town, but there are towns where you have to wash your hair in a trickle of warm water with dish soap, and there are towns with hotel hot tubs, Denny’s restaurants, and just about any kind of fried food imaginable.” – Day 24


I knew going into the hike that big goals like walking across the country can be scary, and putting yourself in uncomfortable situations is a great way to grow. The CDT is definitely scary and uncomfortable, but I knew that by trusting in my abilities that I could handle what the trail could serve up and possibly learn a thing or two.

I had moments on the trail where I knew for a fact that there were no other thru-hikers within a few days ahead or behind me. The isolation is real, and at times I was nervous about the implications of needing help in such situations. So I would dig deep, remind myself this level of solitude is quite unique in our connected/populated world, and try to revel in the freedom of hiking alone…sometimes.

Getting grumpy when you are hiking by yourself really doesn’t mean much. If you have no one to complain to, what’s the point? This is the second day in a row that I haven’t seen anyone, and all I wanted to do was bitch about the wind and terrain (yes the same terrain I loved this morning).”

I had to be my own cheerleader and companion, and trust myself to make the right decisions. Sometimes that meant going low, bypassing a summit, or carrying extra water. It usually came down to making safe, smart decisions.

Oh yes, being uncomfortable can also mean the simplest pleasures are magnified. The suffering was expected and highlighted every small pleasure to an excruciating degree. Being dry was a luxury. Warm? Even better. Food took on a mythical status and prior to getting to each town stop I would daydream about what I would stuff in my face.”

Self Reliance leads to Flexibility

I’m just going to go ahead and not worry about it.” – Words of wisdom from fellow thru-hiker Pimp Limp


I was prepared to be make decisions on the ground. A lot of the CDT is an unknown until you are in the middle of freaking nowhere and need to decide how to get up that mountain without hurting yourself. I liked to call the CDT the PhD of hiking trails because often I had to draw on other hiking/backcountry experiences to make the right decisions. That came in the form of very little advance planning.

The CDT is a trail with hundreds of alternates, I knew trying to decide which routes to take as I was packing my boxes and splitting up my maps would be next to impossible. Instead I sent myself all the materials I would need to make those decisions on the ground and let the trail and weather and my body decided which way I would go. And I knew I could trust myself to make those decisions because I had spent most of my adult life in outdoor/backcountry environment. I could draw on those experiences.

Here’s a journal excerpt from one particular day that I couldn’t plan for after burning myself in a stove accident: As with my lost sunglasses, burned up thermarest, patched but trashy repair jobs on my tarp and down jacket, burned tyvek, broken watch, and lost handkerchief, I swear I thought it was a decent day. Oh and I shouldn’t forget needing to keep the blisters on my fingers, hands, and arms clean and uninfected.” For all intents and purposes it was a disaster of a day, even though I didn’t realize it until my end-of-the-day tally. But instead of throwing in the towel and hiking out on the nearest road, I patched what I could, cleaned the blisters best I knew how, evaluated my health and safety of continuing to hike to the next town, and just did it.

Snow and storms were a major stressor this year, but again, having backcountry shoulder season and winter experience came in handy when I had to deal with the wettest spring New Mexico, Colorado, and Wyoming had on record. I was prepared; my gear was prepared. Gortex socks, gaiters, and pants came in handy in Colorado. Rain mittens, extra trash bags, and an umbrella helped keep me dry in the storms, and shoe bindings on touring skis kept me on top of the snow instead of slogging through it. If you think you might encounter snow on your hike, go hike in the snow. If you are worried about staying dry in a rainstorm, go hike in a rain storm. I believe having faced these conditions before gave me an advantage, especially when faced with how to keep myself safe out there as a solo hiker. It’s not really an option to go in unprepared when the stakes are as high as they can be on the CDT.

This is my Vacation

Two weeks on the trail, 200 miles, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Sleeping when the sun goes down, waking just before the day begins…it’s as if I’ve been transported to an alternate universe where time takes on a different pace. Two weeks back in Bend pass quickly…the routine of the everyday has certain qualities that are blissfully absent out here. No bills to pay, no obligations other than to my feet and stomach. I’ve already lived a lifetime in these two weeks, and the prospect of 4-5 more months of this is pretty exhilarating.” – After a soak in the Gila Hotsprings, NM


At the heart of my 160 days on the CDT was the fact that this was my vacation. It had been years since I had taken any real time off of my job; I was working a desk-bound, weekend warrior existence, and come rain or snow, I was determined to enjoy my thru-hike.

How an experience is framed can mean all the difference. Yes, completing the CDT this year would mean earning my triple crown. Competing the CDT would mean I can hike through challenging conditions, but really, hiking the CDT meant I could do what I enjoy doing more than almost anything: backpacking long distances in the backcountry.

Having that as my main goal changed the way I hiked. I enjoyed getting to camp early and reading. I took lots of zeros and neros because I wanted to. I connected with friends I hadn’t seen in years, and took the time to meet new people and make new friends. I carried a french press coffee mug because I wanted to enjoy a great cup of hot coffee in the mornings, and slept on an inflatable pillow because I could. Why not? It’s my vacation!

Put one Step in Front of the Other

“One step at a time.” – repeated over and over and over on my approach to the 14er Grays Peak, CO


Due to the various challenges I would face (sometimes daily, sometimes hourly, sometimes even by the minute) I found it essential to focus on one step at a time. I had to be completely present in those times, or would risk missing an important turn, falling off a mountain, or getting swept away in a river. Each step needed to be intentional.

During my second week on the trail I received this message loud and clear. Navigating what might have been my 60th river crossing of the day in the Gila River, I found myself in a foul mood. I had wet feet with the promise of continued wet feet. I started to wish I was out of the river canyon and walking on dry ground when Woosh! I slipped and fell in the river. Yes, I was crossing a slippery, mossy rock shelf, but instead of paying attention to my footing, I was dreaming of walking on dry ground until the Gila slapped me in the face. It was a very clear message: “Pay attention.”

When I was picking my way across the knife’s edge between Edwards Mountain and Gray’s Peak in Colorado I simply couldn’t let my mind wander. The ridge was so steep and the consequences of one wrong step so severe, I had to be 100% present. In fact I even muttered the mantra, “One step at a time,” to keep myself calm and on track.

Each day required focus, and this little tidbit from my journal speaks to that: The consequences are immense with one mistake out here, I’m confident in my abilities, but I’ve never been on a trail with this many challenges. Today, the wind.”

What is in my Control?

I had several plans for the day and my plans had plans. But really who can plan on the CDT? What I had for the day were vague ideas of what I would do if certain conditions existed…and back up ideas. Plans on the CDT are for suckers.” – On whether I would continue skiing the divide to Spring Creek Pass


I am normally not an anxious person, but at times had a lot of anxiety on the trail and had to find a way to deal with it. Much of the stress came in the form of how to properly deal with sketchy conditions.

In mid July I was racing across a 10 mile section of above-treeline trail towards Berthoud Pass as storm clouds threatened to unleash their fury. At 11:30 in the morning 15 people were hit by lightning a short distance from where I was hiking. I descended the ridge that day at 1:30pm, well after the recommended noon hour on storm days in Colorado. The next day of hiking looked to be another long section above treeline with the continued storm cycle, and I really didn’t want to go back up there. I started stressing out, so much so that it was manifesting in an upset stomach and feelings of panic. After a calming phone conversation with my boyfriend, he reminded me of what I had forgotten. What is in my control? Can I control when and where the lightning will strike? No. Can I control the fact that I would need to hike 25+ miles tomorrow, primarily above treeline? Turns out I could. I had already needed to find alternates around a very avalanche-prone section in the San Juans; I could find an alternate around my current problem too. I pieced together a series of roads to bypass the high country…an exercise that was as much for my peace of mind as it was for not getting caught in a lightning storm above treeline. The decision helped remind myself of what was in my control, and that it was my hike to hike.

But it wasn’t always easy to make those decisions: “I left the mountains. Amid some self-berating about taking the easy way out and not rising to the navigational challenge of the trail ahead, was a deep sense of relief. I would be safe today. And tomorrow. I would get myself out of these mountains safely and not get caught in a potentially dangerous situation of hiking through the terrain ahead alone.”

Readjustment is Hard

Thru-hiking the CDT has been a goal for a long time. Completing the hike felt amazing, but was soon followed by a gaping hole where that goal had been. What now?

Fortunately I live in a community with dozens of thru-hikers who understood that hole, and as I was struggling with the absence of what had consumed so much of my time and energy over the past few years, they reminded me it was ok. It was ok to feel a bit lost; it was ok to be unsure of my next steps. I needed to give myself permission to struggle.

Ultimately what these past few months have highlighted is my desire to have another goal. It’s time to dream up something scary to do. Something I’m not sure I can do. But I know this much, I’m capable of so much more now that I’ve hiked the CDT.

Oregon Desert Trail

Oregon Desert Trail

I have an exciting development to share with you all…I’ve accepted a position as the Oregon Desert Trail Coordinator here in Bend! The 800 mile Oregon Desert Trail is one of the newest long distance trails in the country, and begins right outside of Bend  and connects a series of remote mountain ranges in the high desert of south eastern Oregon.

This is an incredible opportunity to combine everything I love doing to help shape a long trail. Ever since my friend Sage Clegg was the first to hike the ODT in 2013, I have watched with envy as other friends and hikers jump on the trail. Before I even heard about the new position I wanted to hike the ODT next. It’s exciting to be on the other side of the trail community and really be able to dive into something I am passionate about.

It will be fun to keep this blog going and share my experiences on the other side of the hike, and yes, take you with me as I hike it as well.


So… home.

There is almost too much to do, so I choose to do nothing. It’s as if I were preparing to hike a long distance trail, and the thought of 2,000 miles makes the first mile unimaginable. That is what getting home after an almost 6 month absence is like.

I want to look at my 6,000+ photos and hundreds of little videos and make movies. I need to unpack from our 2 week road trip. I want to see friends. I need to go through all my mail. I want to go to yoga. I want to read all the magazines I missed. I want to veg in front of netflix. I want to go for a walk. I need to work. I want to write lots of blogs and reviews. I want to packraft. I want to make things.

So I don’t do any of it, or I do it slowly and distractedly.

Did I just hike across the country? Man, seems like years ago now.

Day 4 – 24ish miles (84ish miles from Mexico)

The milage is hard to gauge out here. While there is mileage I can reference when calculating how far I’ve hiked each day, within that day there are 100s of possible detours/alternate routes/and just getting “misplaced” for a while.


The route is out there. Can you spot the post? Sometimes I spend minutes scanning the horizon

I think I tacked on a few miles of “misplacement” today, at least one mile! I woke up in the middle of a cow pasture, again huddled by a couple of bushes in the hopes they would block the incessant wind. It was a calm morning, and as I made my coffee and packed up I knew essentially that I just had to walk across a few miles of open range to get to Pyramid Peak where the “trail” or route or dirt road, or combinations of the two would be. So not looking too closely at my maps I started hiking. The CDT posts were infrequent here, but didn’t worry about it too much.


I've been drinking coffee the first mile or so on the trail

After a break of drying out the blisters (yep, the blisters keep coming), I turned on Guthook’s App (luxury of all luxuries, there is a GPS enabled App to tell you if you are on the trail, or route, or road). I was quite a bit off, so then I head still towards Pyramid Peak, but also in the direction of where the CDT should be.


Dry the socks at each break...the feet get awfully sweaty

I expect much of the trail will be like this. Not quite knowing where I am, and turning on the App (and checking my maps of course) to figure it out. Now, I didn’t think I would use the App at all, but damn, once I turned it on and saw how easy it was, I was hooked. I feel very fortunate since most of my friends who have hiked in previous years had to be lost for real. No app to turn on, just good ‘ol map and compass and a bit of GPS. Times have changed, and instead of fighting it, I’m rolling with it! I mean the CDT is hard enough, the wind, the heat, the dirt…I could go on.


I just bee-lined it to the peak...and got a bit off track

In the first 85 miles it seems like well over half has been cross country with regular (sometimes not regular) posts marking the way, the rest on old dirt roads (bliss!) and 0% on trail tread. I hear that’s changing north of here and we’ll get some trail to hike. But really, that is what the CDT is. There is no intention to make a trail from Mexico to Lordsburg. The rugged, route-finding nature of this hike is what the CDT is. The new trail being built is often to take the walking off of paved roads, or heavily trafficked roads, but rugged it will always be. Brutal it will always be.


Ahhh those burrs drive me crazy

So I made my way back to the CDT after getting a bit off track, and made my way around the mountain to meet Kramers, a northbounder hiking south for a bit. He was the first person I’ve seen since the first day.

More hiking, more wind, but getting closer to my first town stop! I got to the 5th CDTC water cache and decided to take my phone off of airplane mode. I wanted to unplug for the first few days, but also wanted to see if Teresa, Snorkle & Val would be around when I got into Lordsburg later that afternoon. I found out I’ll be missing them, but get a chance to hang out with Bearclaw & Dirtmonger who rolled in a few hours before me.


Lordsburg is down there!

After a few burgers at McDonalds (I know, but when you are on the trail you DREAM about shitty food like that) and got to the Econolodge where we are holed up for the night. A quick dinner with Radar, Peru, Old and Slow & Mike from Maine, I am now ready to pass out.

Good night all! I think I’ll let my blisters air out for the morning and see about getting them on the trail again tomorrow afternoon.