Author of the award-winning debut memoir, Alone in Wonderland. Christine writes about outdoor adventure, familial relationships, friendship, grief and trauma. She's passionate about hiking, backpacking, rock climbing, & storytelling.
Colorado's Chicago Basin and 14er Mt Eolus
It’s been three years since my thru-hike of the Wonderland Trail. And since then, I’ve done less backpacking than I would have liked. A few two-nighters in the Wind River last summer pretty much sums it up. So, in preparation for 500 miles on the CO trail starting next month, I jumped in on a 40-mile trek in the San Juans that my friend, Sarah, was planning.
I’ve been searching for weeks now, but haven’t found any sign of a waypoint. I should have known it wasn’t true. If a way across had been found, people should be lining up to get back to the mainland. Those late believers that thought they’d have more time have been stuck for years—isolated in California. Maybe they’ve all perished.
Magic in the Making
I grew up in a house with a dozen pair of scissors. The junk drawer in our kitchen flowed over with their hefty plastic handles. Sky blue and slate grey and deep red and bright orange. They seemed to always be multiplying. New pairs appearing out of nowhere. When I was young, there were small pairs for mine and my brother’s tiny hands. We cut construction paper and yarn and pipe cleaners and thick colored sheets of foam. At school, the scissors were heavy and metal, with handles that bit into my fingers. The blades never seemed to line up quite right—they bent and tore at the paper, rather than slicing it clean.