Bannock Pass is a saddle in the Beaverhead Range, a grassy summit on the Continental Divide separating Idaho and Montana.  I was driving from Dillon, Montana to Leadore, Idaho to do some hiking farther west in the Lost River Range.  The 7,700-ft crest was not the route of Lewis and Clark over the Rocky Mountains.  With the help of some Shoshonis, they chose what is now called Lemhi Pass, a steeper summit farther north.  I selected Bannock Pass because I wanted to hike a few miles south from there on the Continental Divide Trail before heading on.  It was also the quickest route to Leadore.  I pulled into the large parking lot and walked to a nearby kiosk with a map and safety tips for hiking the trail.

I looked south.  A backpacker was approaching, a young man, slender, tall, with a skimpy red beard and a determined gait.  We greeted each other.  Andrew was from Berkeley, California.  He was headed north, now three fourths of the way to the Canadian border, 2,500 miles into the 3,100 mile trip.  He was scheduled for a short one-day break, planning to hitchhike to Leadore to resupply and enjoy a hot shower.  Leadore was 15 miles down hill to the west along a dusty gravel road.  We chatted about the trail—I’ve only done short segments of it—about bears, trail conditions, the weather, all the stuff hikers talk about.  I was impressed with Andrew, a polite and articulate young man.  He was 29, he said, escaping from a cubicle in corporate America.  He gladly accepted my offer of a PB and J on whole wheat and a can of apple juice.  I asked Andrew what he carried for the trip to keep his pack weight down.  “No stove”, he said, and added “no tent”.  He used his oversized poncho as a rain fly.  No freeze-dried dinners, just quick, light foods, lots of trail mix, dried fruit, crackers, and jerky.  No hot coffee in the morning?  He was carrying about 25 pounds, he added, a light pack by backpacking standards.  “Remarkable”, I said.  I was impressed, but also thought about the tragedy of not having hot coffee in the morning. “Bears”, I asked?  He had seen only one, a black bear and some sounds in the night suggesting bears.  We joked about grizzlies farther north.

Soon, another hiker appeared.  “Hey, Big Sauce, I wondered what happened to you”, said the newcomer.  Big Sauce returned with a quick retort, “Hey, Recalibrate”!  I soon discovered that long-distance hikers on the CD trail are given monikers and use them exclusively.  A great idea, I thought.  They started catching up.  “Have you seen Bear Spray”? “No”, said the other.  “How about Indie?”  “I saw her a few days ago.  She’s ahead of us by now”.  Recalibrate apparently continued to change his schedule along the way to earn his name.  Big Sauce said he always added dried gravy mix to his sparse dinners.  I offered to drive them both to Leadore since I was headed that way, but Recalibrate was continuing north to Darby, Montana, 100 miles away to resupply.  Wow, I thought.  Impressive.  Big Sauce and I added some peanuts, crackers, and water to Recalibrate’s larder.  We wished him well as he continued north.

I decided to forgo my short hike that afternoon and drove to Leadore with Big Sauce as a traveling companion.  I volunteered some geologic insights along the way and explained the origin of the name Leadore.  I dropped him off at the Leadore Inn, where he was immediately greeted by a bevy of long-distance CD hikers.  “Whoa, Birdman, how ya doing”?   “Hey Big Sauce, you must be out of gravy.  Have any of you seen Bear Spray?”  I wished them well and drove off, wondering how Bear Spray got her name.