September 11th
Given the various roots and rocks that I slept on, it was not too difficult to pop up and get going. I was cold, but when I got to my first valley with a creek, it got real cold as I filtered water. There was frost everywhere. To make things a little better, it was shaping up to be a beautiful sunrise. Rich, puffy clouds across the horizon. Unfortunately, I could not get out of the forest to get a clear shot and instead had to settle with a view west across the valley.
Eventually, after a choppy hike down another Gulch (Prospector, this time) I came to Texas Creek. It seemed a fairly popular tread, but during a weekday after school has started, I didn’t see any people.
Next up was Cottonwood Pass. Although a challenging uphill climb, there were parts with some old trees. They somehow make it feel like an adventure. Maybe its their size, but it makes me feel like I am hiking in a forest rather than through one.
Above treeline, I went through expanses of alpine willow. It is a tough shrub. While it no doubt serves ecological purposes, in this section it appears to live only to scratch backpackers and to let its fluffy seedlings fly away.
Near Cottonwood Pass, I met a fresh looking day hiker coming down the trail with his dog on a leash (thank you). I stopped and asked him where he was coming from as he was the first person I had seen today. He said”The parking lot.” I felt like a dork. I reviewed my maps and this time noticed a paved road that accesses the pass.
Sure enough, I crested the pass and saw the cars and the people. As I navigated my way around them, I felt a little out of place. I was still in shorts and my merino wool hoody was my warmth. I watched a few of them get 0ut of their cars and attempt to climb Cottonwood Mountain, but most would give up after a little while as the thin air took its toll.
There is a saying in backpacking which seems a little too mystical for my tastes. “The trail provides.” However, in this case, it was true. I had been struggling with how to get a pair of gloves. Ones from home would be too bulky. I needed a pair I could hike in, provide a little warmth, but allow flexibility to grasp gear. About a third of the way up Cottonwood Mountain, just beside the trail, was a pair of Mountain Hardwear gloves, Men’s XL. Perfect. No snot marks from wiping noses or blood from crimes. I rejoiced. However, I did pause for 15 minutes to see if somebody came looking for them. None did, so I trudged on.
There ensued some beautiful ridge line hiking with great views. Unfortunately, the wind got stronger and colder, so I put on some more layers. To give you a sense of this hiking, it means you are above all meaningful plant life. The trail is usually rocky or gravel. It can go over peaks or parallel around them from pass to pass. If there are alpine lakes, you can look down into them, getting a great glimpse of their blue or green depths. It is glorious. At least, if you are dressed for it. I was now, with my trail gloves.
I met a couple weekend hikers who were about my age. I was chatting with one. we noticed a younger hiker coming towards us. The weekend hiker asked me if the approaching hiker was a CDT hiker. I noticed the shorts, super light wind shirt, and absence of hip belt for his backpack and pronounced him a CDT hiker. He didn’t stay to talk. He was interested in catching another hiker that I had seen disappear in the distance. He was a younger guy and seemed to be that cohort of hikers who want to see who is fastest.
Once I got on the other side of the ridge, the wind died down. I came down into a box canyon. I came across two buck mule deer. One was a little nervous, but the other could not care in the least.
Since I was going to be above tree line, I knew finding a rock-free campsite would be my main challenge. I started my search earlier and found a spot just before Emma Burr Mountain. (on a side note, the obvious attempt to honor Ms. Burr is wasted. On the topographical maps I had, her last name appears with a grid line through it at the precise point over the r’s thus showing the 13,000+ mountain as “Emma Butt”).
I set up camp in the cold, fading light. I was surrounded by pikas who lived among the rocks and boulders that came off Emma. Were they nocturnal, I wondered.
The highlight came when I looked up the cliffs. A mother mountain goat and her kid were feeding. These creatures are so graceful. It was fun to see the mother effortlessly jump from ledge to ledge to get to better grazing. Sometimes the kid could follow, other times it had to work its way around. What a great way to close the day.
That night, it was windy at first, then rain, then ice and then silence. Mountains have their own weather.
backpacking over the hill 