August 22nd
The day started clear, but soon grew overcast. During the night a persistent mouse had tried to get in to my tent. I still hang my food far away, so I am not sure what it wanted. I was tempted to give it a blast of the bear spray I keep in the tent. Even though Colorado is not known as bear country, I still take precautions. I call it being bearanoid.
The morning hike was on broad ridgelines. There was 2 track road down the middle with trees generally cleared out 15 feet on each side. I startled a huge bull elk with a tremendous set of antlers. He couldn’t pinpoint where I was and he moved towards the road. I quietly unzipped my camera pocket. He was about to step on to the road about 20 feet away, but he heard the snaps on my camera case as I opened it and ran off. Ten minutes later, I roused a mule deer buck with nice antlers. If I was a hunter, this would be my spot.
While it was a great morning for hiking, all good things must end. I had two descents to valleys. The first was a broad meadow with a meandering creek I followed for a few miles. The second descent was steep and rocky and slow.
At the bottom of this second valley there was a sign saying the bridge was out and I needed to take a road detour for a bridge further down. This seemed insane given the size of the river, so I decided to go ahead. Sure enough, with some ingenuity and luck I was able to cross the river and stay dry.
My trail followed the river down to a campground. I crossed another, bigger river (on a bridge) and climbed a steep hill as thunderheads formed. I climbed still further along a gravel road. The skies let loose. I opened my umbrella and cruised along, waving to the car campers I passed.
The thunderstorm cleared just as I came to the entrance to the Zirkle Wilderness. Oddly, some creature had been steadily gnawing away at the sign. I registered and went past the entrance. I stopped and wondered why I was leaving the relative safety of the “real” world and entering a wer, dark wilderness.
I climbed steadily as the light faded. The spot that looked nice and level on the map turned out to be burned, with lots of dead trees standing, just waiting for the right breeze to bring them down. A couple years ago a Pacific Crest Trail hiker was crushed to death by a tree that fell. I moved on.
Eventually, I found a semi-level spot where I could squeeze in my tent. I ate a cold-soaked meal and enjoyed it. I had to. My feet were soaked and I gladly climbed in to my dry sleeping bag deep in the dark, damp wilderness.
backpacking over the hill 