I almost started crying when Bethany asked how I was doing at lunch. I almost cried again when she told me we were 3/4 of the way there. She meant it to be encouragin. But I didn't. I squashed it down like I always do when I want to cry from physical pain.
Dinner was good, though. Sleep will be better. And tomorrow, if all goes well, I will enjoy all the comforts of the modern world.
All did not go as planned.
A Massive storm set us back. I thought the hut would blow off it's moorings, but it didn't. However, we couldn't get started until the afternoon and then the swollen river slowed us down even more. We spent probably an hour looking for a safe place to cross. And it couldn't be simple. We couldn't just walk upriver, cross, then walk downriver. No. The opposite side of the river shot up a steep hill covered in unpleasantly dense underbrush, so we had to push and pull ourselves and our backpacks through all of that, scraping ourselves, breaking branches left right and center. There were a few goat trails, which were helpful to an extent but, short though I may be, I am rather taller than a goat.
Water kept gushing down from the mountains all day, turning the trail into a creekbed and making each subsequent river crossing a bit more dangerous. But there wasn't much point in turning back, either. Bethany said watching me cross the last river was terrifying. The water was up to my waist and really rushing. I would never have made it without my hiking poles.
By the end of the day, I stopped caring about walking through water. There's a marshy wetland to cross? A puddle I might or might not be able to walk around? Ah well, Forward ho! My boots were transformed from footwear to mobile puddles.