September 16
Today was one of those hiking days when you know you need to put on the big boy pants and go. I was entering some tall mountains later in the day. I would have to get into Beast Mode later on.
In the morning, however, it was a gradual climb for several miles along Cochetopa Creek. In terms of terrain, the creek hike was nice. A fairly mellow stream with just one crossing. Side creeks with water. The forest was colorful aspen and a strange mix of dead older trees and younger green trees in the under story.
As I climbed up the valley, I ran in to a few hunters. One guy was hunting mountain sheep. I thought that was physically demanding to climb these peaks and ridges in pursuit of the agile creature. He thought I was nuts for lugging a backpack over the same ridges.
I passed some horse guys camped at a trail head. They were in chairs and sipping coffee. I asked if they knew the weather forecast and the older one went off about not having a weather forecast for three days. One of the horse trailers had Iowa plates. This was the second time I have seen Iowa plates on a horse trailer deep in Colorado.
I stopped at the two door pit toilet at the trail head. The first had no toilet paper, not a big deal, but I thought Id check the second so I could use good old government issued material instead of my own precious supply. I looked in the second and saw an entry into the backpacker hall of shame.
Some backpackers think it is some kind kind of badge of courage to sl3ep in a pit toilet for a night. They usually say the weather was terrible and they could not put up their shelter. I’m sorry, but if you cannot put your shelter up in bad weather, should you be backpacking? Every pit toilet I have seen is square so at the very least you could pitch your shelter in the leeward side. Well, whoever had slept here had also left their food wrappers. Naturally this attracted rodents and there were mouse turds. So now the mice know to come in to the pit toilets looking for food. Great. Thanks fellow backpackers.
After this, I noticed there were barefoot prints in the mud on the trail. Oh here we go, I thought. There had previously been a hiker who had the signature move of hiking barefoot. Was this him? Soon enough, I caught up with the barefoot hiker. He turned to me and asked “are you a geologist?” I said I was not and immediately had the instinct to walk rapidly away. He then asked if I was an expert on mushrooms and I cynically thought, “No but I bet you are.”
This trail has changed me a bit. I suppressed my suburban reaction to ignore/flee. I asked him why he needed a mycologist. He said he didn’t need one of those. I explained a mycologist is an expert on mushrooms. He said he found some mushrooms growing in cow turds and wondered if they were the psychotic kind. I explained I had no idea, but as a general rule I personally avoid eating or drinking anything that has touched cow turds. He thought that was good advice and would hold on until he could do more research.
I asked him if he was hiking the CDT. He was hiking the CT southbound. I could see he had some sandals hung on the outside of his pack. Most of his gear looked very worn down. I asked him his trail name. He said “Emily” but I think he meant the french pronunciation.
We spoke a bit longer, but then I said I needed to go. He let me get few feet ahead and then asked me to Wait Up. He said he found some cool stones and that is why he wondered if I was a geologist. He wanted me to have a couple and thought, at a minimum, they might give me “good mojo.” What the hell, who can’t use good mojo. I expressed my gratitude and went on my way.
Later, as I was having a snack, I thought about Emily. He was obviously marching to a different drummer. I suspected his drummer did not have a lot of money. He had given me a gift. In most cultures, if you get gift, you give a gift. I had extra snacks. So, I went back down the trail and found him making his barefoot way. I gave him food, wished him well, and thanked him for the rocks.
Around 1:00 pm I started my day of uphill climbs. I was tired but psyched. Not to complain about the thin-air hiking, but it was the elevation gain-then-loss which I dreaded. Also, I was going to pass an important milepost. At one junction, a southbound CDT hiker can choose to take a lower level shortcut through the San Juans or stay in the mountains. It is called the Creede cutoff. Picture the San Juans making the curved part of a backwards capital “D”. The Creede Cutoff would be the straight part of the “D.”
Through self loathing, snickers bars, and the beast mode, I cleared three different high altitude passes. Importantly, I went past the one that led to the Creede cutoff. I did see three hikers ahead of me take it, but to me it was part of the adventure to hike the San Juans.
The views, by the way, were impressive. You are way up high (12 to 13 thousand feet) and looking down these long valleys. In fact I was looking down one of these valleys when I got a message from home that a room and a ride awaited me a day early in Lake City. That kind of good news lit an after-burner I dd not know I had. In fact, I decided to do some night hiking.
It was like hiking in the early morning except without the confidence the sun would rise soon. Fortunately, I knew the almost full moon would rise at some point to help. For the most part it was easy. I had one interesting encounter. I came around a sharp corner to an area where the trail crossed a rock slide. There were two shiny eyes looking right at me. Whatever it was quickly and quietly climbed the rocks. I was glad. I was not going up or down.
Eventually, I found a fairly level spot around 12,500 feet. It was just areas of grass growing between the willow shrubs. A clear night, I set out to cowboy camp under the full moon. I noticed owls swooping around trying to flush out some rodents. While it is disconcerting to have owls fly within 10 feet of you and about 15 feet off the ground, I preferred that over snuggling up with a varmint in my sleeping bag.
Just before going to sleep around 10:30, I was brushing my teeth and looking down from the mountains. I was struck most by what I dd not see. Not a single human light for miles in all directions. This was wilderness.
backpacking over the hill 