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I'd planned to cover the rest of the trip (days 9-12) in this installment, but Day 9 was a big, big day with lots to talk about, so it gets its own blog post. So there'll be one more after this (days 10-12), plus a wrap-up of all the unexpected lessons learned.

Okay. Day 9.

We dubbed our campsite "Lower Halls Lake", situated as it was slightly south of Halls Lake proper, with water draining into Halls Lake via a rocky stream. While our camp at Long Lake was perhaps the most spectacular, "Lower" Halls Lake combined breathtaking scenery with comfort and ease of living that made it the jewel of our trip. When I think of Wyoming, the first images that come to mind are of Halls Lake.

We gathered the evening we arrived, and weighed our options for the next day. The fish were clearly biting, so fishing was a possibility. But we were also camping just west of the Continental Divide, and so chose to spend the day hiking to the top of Halls Mountain, at 12,473 ft. of elevation.

I'm not typically a peak bagger. I prefer to cover distance and have fun, and getting to the top of some arbitrary rock isn't usually where it's at for me. But this was a chance to do a tough hike at altitude and stand on the Continental Divide, which I thought was pretty cool.

We ascended the western side of Halls Mtn, up a 1100'' scree slope steeper than your average staircase. We practiced switchbacking as a group, and routefinding, and general safety guidelines.

This was certainly the "bunny slope" of peak ascents. But even this put some light on the challenges of mountain climbing. They aren't physical, they're logistical. We each carried just two or three liters of water, and wouldn't have a chance to top up once we started up the mountain. With afternoon storms a possibility, we carried all our clothing layers, which added weight and bulk to our packs. And time was a factor: being caught in a thunderstorm at 12,000 ft, and trying to negotiate a steep, rocky, off-trail descent would be dangerous for a group of beginners like us.

At the top of the scree slope, we spied thunderheads moving in from the Western horizon. But they seemed to be passing north of us, while the skies directly above stayed clear. We debated turning around, but decided that we were making good time, and could reach the summit and get back before any storm caught us. (Plus, we had nearly a 360° view, and would have plenty of warning should a storm head our way.)

A couple members of the expedition elected to stay on the saddle, enjoying the view, rather than make the second leg of the ascent. I have to say that one person particular showed the most courage I saw on the trip. That day, she faced the two toughest challenges of climbing: she faced her fear and climbed anyway, and stopped when she felt she'd hit her limit.

The rest of us continued up, topping out maybe an hour later on the top of Halls Mountain at 12,473 ft. of elevation, standing right on the Continental Divide. Pretty cool stuff. Here's me on the top:

We spent a few minutes on the top, did some quick GPS and map reading lessons, and then headed back down. The clouds we'd been worried about were still skirting the northern horizon, leaving clear skies above us all day.

On arriving back at camp, we discovered that our horsepacker, Nikki, who'd been injured the day before, had passed the time while we were out hiking by making us biscuits. After a long day on your feet, coming home to discover that dinner is already half done is awesome. Nikki kicks ass, and this was just one of the ways she showed it out there. Broken toe, hobbling around, with 4 horses and a dog to care for, what does she do? Makes diner for everyone.

We were famished, and followed up the biscuits with some kind of chilli chese macaroni or something. As we were cooking, clouds rolled in, and the wind picked up, and we knew we were finally going to get rained on. We tightened the lines on our tarps, and got our waterproof gear on, and carried on cooking dinner.

For a couple of hours we huddled under our tarps, enjoying our dinner and the novelty of a rainy evening. And then, as quickly as it arrived, the rain stopped, and the wind faded, and the last rays of the sunset shone in from the west, lighting up the underside of the clouds as they passed, and the peaks above us. Just an amazing reward at the end of the day.

We crawled into my sleeping bag that night well-fed and absolutely exhausted. I think this was the best night's sleep I got the whole trip.