Dan slept a little better, but not good enough. We set out on some nice high trail, got some great views, and saw marmots aplenty. The first pass we went over was Kokomo Pass. Gotta love it.
We eventually descended and came across the remains of the 10th Mountain Division WW II weapons bunkers.
It was great hiking weather. Dan wanted a real campsite, not another windswept, treeless site like I had picked out before.
On the way to Tennessee Pass, the trail was an abandoned road. There was a rusted model T in the woods plus the remains of some huge old kilns.
I had trudged ahead and created a decent campsite in the woods with a functional fire ring. Dan showed up early and we enjoyed warm meals plus a fire. A few people passed us on their way to some of the backcountry ski huts you can rent from the 10th Mountain Division Hut Association.
It was a great night’s sleep, even with the noise from cars and trucks on Interstate 24.
I had to wait for the post office to open before I could start hiking. I made a Wolf Creek Pass sign and went out to the road. Let it Be had told me where to hitch.
After about 45 minutes, two ladies a little older than me pulled over in a Subaru. They were part of a prayer group that had an appointment a few hours away. The driver said I looked peaceful and was comfortable picking me up. Alleluia.
They were affiliated with the Catholic church. Interestingly, more of their efforts are devoted to in-life crises. I expected it to be more end-of-life. They were good folks. The driver exuded a great sense of serenity. I am not good with words, but she seemed very much at peace. I donated $20 to whatever cause they wanted and got out at Wolf Creek Pass.
I had the now-typical experience near a highway trail head: I passed a ton of day hikers who were going a mile or two and then absolutely nobody. The weather was beautiful and the views fantastic. The snow had all melted.
Looking down a valley from treasure peakJust a hint of snow left
I went past Wolf Creek Ski resort. There were some nice views down in to the ski basin as well as the other way. Saw a baby horned lizard and colorful grasshopper as well.
Baby horned lizard.This little fella needs to work on camouflage
I was amazed at how fragrant the forest smelled. Like a spruce tree air freshener. I couldn’t tell if it was me getting away from the slight sulphur smell of Pagosa or just the forest’s reaction to the snow.
I ended up camping on the ridge near Summit Pass. It was a great night and I was able to have a small fire and warm dinner.
Heading down from Hunchback Pass, I got my first sign this was going to be the Day of the Willows. This shrub grows very thick. People who create the trails essentially carve a path through it. Then, the trail becomes a creek. Maintenance consists of cutting it back a bit. Horse riders end up trying to go around because it must freak out the horses.
My hike down Nebo Creek and then up to Mount Nebo was almost entirely a struggle against the willow. Thank goodness it doesn’t have thorns.
Midday the trail went along slightly more level ground. It went around some pretty lakes, most notably Ute Lake. (Utes were the Indian tribe known to live in these mountains.)
Later it climbed around a sort-of famous fixture on the trail: The window. It is a missing chunk of a mountain that looks like a rolled-down window. Before I went over to the east side of the mountains, I looked back and could see snow squalls moving in from the west.
It kept getting colder. I met a young hunter. He said he thought it was supposed to snow. I told him what I had seen. As if on cue, the snow came down.
I had a long descent down to a valley. I crossed a marshy area and ended up at the edge of the valley where the North Fork of the Los Pinos River comes out. I was too tired to hike up the steep canyon, so I slept at the base.
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.
There was a boulder the size of a bus that had rolled down the mountain but was stuck there.
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.
Camp high, hike low. Well, this morning it was camp high and hike higher. I had a steady climb up to Hope Pass. It was cold and clear. I like getting a climb done straight away in the morning. I passed a fancy abandoned log cabin compound. It had at least three buildings plus what looked like a root cellar.
Hope Pass was interesting. I guess because of the name, somebody had attached some Tibetan prayer flags. At least I think they were Tibetan. I went to an impoverished public school and Tibetan was not one of the choices for foreign languages. It made me wonder how effective they were. After all, Tibet’s leader has been exiled something like 60 years and presumably at least a few of his fans have placed some flags somewhere.
Heading up to Hope Pass
Regardless, it seemed like a nice gesture. I continued down the eastern slope as the sun rose. I witnessed an amazing scene. Looking up at the ridge to watch the sun rise, I saw a couple bighorn sheep at the crest. The sun, from the other side, was heating up the wet ground and wool and sending a little steam up. Wow. I tried to get video, but by the time I got the camera out, on, in movie mode, and zoomed, the moment was gone. Still, I have it in my head. Oh, the valley I came down was Sheep Gulch.
As I came down off Hope Pass, I got to experience some dumb trail. Basically, for about 2 miles, the trail goes up and down slightly while it runs parallel to a forest service road. It must be these trail associati0ons have excess funds and feel compelled to build a trail even if it duplicates a perfectly acceptable dirt road nearby.
I then had a gradual climb up along Clear Creek. The weather was fine, so the steady grind uphill was not as bad. I went by a trail head that provided access to one of Colorado’s 14ers. They are passionate about their 14,000′ peaks and many residents consider it a rite of passage to climb all of them. This was Huron Peak on the maps, but the trail signs inflated the title to Mountain. Indeed, Huron needs all the help it can get at 14,003′. One mischievous teenager and a shovel could knock this one down 4 feet and it would be a mere Peak again.
Further still, I trudged my way up past Lake Ann. I needed to get over Lake Ann Pass to reach my goal for the day. Lake Ann, at 11,800′ is beautiful with a small island and glorious alpine colors. I finally cleared the Pass at 12,600′. It was so cool to reach the pass, have the sun shine and the wind blow as I began the long series of switchbacks down the hill.
Lake Ann
Once I dropped below treeline, I began looking for level ground for a campsite. It was a good slope, so, as was becoming my habit, I raced darkness to find a flat place to cowboy camp. I ended up with something less than ideal near the trail and got a good night’s sleep.
Dan works out at the same gym around the same time as me. He was interested in hiking part of the trail in Colorado. He put a huge effort into planning, gear and getting in shape.
After I did my usual town chores we got together for dinner. I was a little embarrassed because of how much food I ordered, but figured he might as well see what hiker hunger was like. As if on cue, the rain that had held off all night came down as I walked back to my motel.
We set out the morning of the 5th. It was cool seeing things through his eyes. Nice vistas, cool mountain sides, beautiful creeks were thing that I had been taking for granted. Dan quickly reminded me why I was out here.
Cliffs on the way up.
Going up to Eccles Pass, Dan thought this area looked like a place he had backpacked as a young man. It turns out he had been on this portion of the trail almost 30 years before.
Dan clears Eccles Pass
We cruised pretty far. The altitude was starting to take its toll. It was impressive how Dan kept grinding away at the trail.
We camped up high. I believe the saying “camp high, hike low” is true for adjusting to altitude. Even though it was cold and windy, Dan was adept at setting up his gear and cooking a hot meal. He knew his stuff. I was thankful.
Moving early, I tried to find the trail junction in the dark. I was on a trail paralleling a river. I needed the trail that went up the hill side. Three times I walked slowly past where both gps maps said the trail should be.
Not wanting to get frustrated, I just winged it and started bushwacking my way uphill through the trees. Sure enough, after about 20 minutes I found the trail. Often the trail fizzled out, only to rally again around a cairn or tree marking.
On a positive note, the sunrise was delightful and I snapped a few pics.
The sunrise reflected off a slow part of the creek.Nice sunrise.
Once I reached Ptarmigan Pass, I thought things would get better because I could see Silverthorne down in the valley. Nope. The trail split irrationally and I had to pick a spot on the horizon and just wing it by walking to that point.
Respect for the sign maker who corrected ptarmigan.
Eventually, my sometime-trail intersected with a popular day hike trail. I flew down the switchbacks. I found that backcountry trail behavior is not appropriate for popular day trails. In the backcountry you pee when and where it occurs to you. Not a good idea on this trail. Fortunately, I heard the folks before any misunderstandings happened.
My printed map said to follow a certain trail and it would drop me close to my motel. Not at all. I was dropped down into the back of a suburban development where all the “log” townhomes looked the same. It was a two mile walk into town. Just winging it.
Eventually, I made it to my motel and the day’s hassles were washed away with a hot shower.
I often have trouble with spatial relationships. But to my eye, the people and dogs in this area must be gigantic if that is a 6 foot leash.
Because I was an idiot on route selection, I was about one day behind on my schedule. A friend from my gym in the Twin Cities was flying out to meet me in Silverthorne and hike part of the trail. As a result, I had to cruise. Also, I had to take an alternate into Silverthorne.
I crossed the highway and climbed up to the ridge on the other side. Once I got up high and the sun started to rise, I could see the atmosphere was unsettled. It really did not take long to go from drizzle to wind-swept cloud. Fortunately, the tread was clear on the ridge line. Trying to make lemonade out of lemons, I was thankful that at least I was getting the daily rain done in the morning.
Pink (or purple) in the morning, sailor take warning
The trail dropped off the ridge and it was different from the maps. The tread was faint. I was anxious and wet and cold. Like life in general, sometimes if you just grind it out, it turns out okay. The rain stopped. The trail was obvious. One scary moment was after I had put my pack on after a morning snack. I always check for my phone and camera. My camera was missing. The belt pocket in which I keep it handy was unzipped. Finding a black leather camera case in the forest duff was tough. After about 10 minutes I found it, a little wet, 7 feet away. When I hurriedly slung on my pack in the rain, it flung the camera out of the unzipped pocket. Lucky to have it back and functioning (as best it can in my hands).
The clouds were slow to disappear.
I circled around the top of a canyon and reached Jones Pass. From there I had a set of ups and downs. Later in the day I was high up on the ridge and it felt good to cruise with a clear view. Racing darkness, I dropped down into a canyon on a faint trail. I quickly found a campsite in the dark and heated up a meal. I figured I went about 24 miles this day.
Later in the day the ridges were a great place to be.Some plants are already taking on fall colors
The day started out foggy. It was a creepy climb up the creek. A lot of blown down trees that emerged through the fog. Eventually I got up on the ridge. It was a beautiful view. But throughout the day the weather wavered from clouds to clear. Indeed, I could be on top of a ridge and one side would be thick clouds while the other side was clear.
Eerie figures in the fog.Once in awhile the clouds would break offering great views.
Next wave of clouds coming at me.
By afternoon, I started hearing some elk. I was on a ridge before entering the canyon that contained the Knife Edge. The elk bugling got louder. I looked down and saw a herd of elk. The bull was fending off another bull. It wasn’t the Mutual of Omaha, locked-horns drama, but the young guy was not giving up. After a while my scent must’ve blown down the hill. A second herd of elk, this one higher up towards me, trotted downhill past the first herd. The first bull now had a herd running through his territory plus the young guy. Rather than stress him further, I mosied on.
The next canyon over had the Knife Edge. This was a quarter mile long gash carved into the shale side of a mountain. It dropped almost a thousand feet. The weather was getting worse as the wind picked up, the drizzle started and the sun slipped down to the horizon behind the clouds. I got out my trekking poles and went for it. It was not as scary as I had feared. I made the hairpin turn at the tip and then entered a canyon where the rain was constant.
About halfway along the Knife Edge, the valley floor just drops. If you have vertigo, this is a place to remember.The Knife Edge goes along near the top
I searched for some small flat spot spot where I could pitch my tent. Finally I found a crappy spot that would suffice. It was on a bluff and had a couple trees to block wind.
Trying to sleep on an inflated sleeping pad on a slope is always an exercise in surprises. At one point you wake up and you’ve slid on top of a root you didn’t notice. Another time you’ll awake to find you’ve slid to the edge of the tent. To make matters worse, I apparently had selected a site dead center of the elk equivalent of the bachelorette. There must’ve been four different bulls at locations all bellowing / bugling all night.
It was a chilly morning. Of course, the evening rain made for a very wet tent. I know in normal life getting out of bed is tough, and I am not looking for sympathy, but going from a warm sleeping bag and putting on cold damp clothes and then taking down and rolling up a tent with ice/condensation on it is not a great way to start a day. On the positive side, it sure makes you want to start hiking and warm up.
Mountains in the distance
The day witnessed a gentle, important change in my surroundings. I moved from pine/spruce forests out in to more open land and all of a sudden aspens and ponderosa pines started appearing. Of course, I knew from experience that ponderosa pines tend to grow where its drier, so I was more attentive to water sources. In short, the yellowing aspen leaves, cool temps, dried grass all combined to make it feel like Fall.
Aspen leaves are falling
The weather was clear and in the afternoon I was on an abandoned logging road that went through a mixed pine / aspen forest. It was almost surreal to walk throughba sunny, yellow tunnel on fairly level ground for a few miles. Life is great.
As the day wore on, I passed a couple who were hiking the CT. They were young and carefree. We both got water at one of the last spots for several miles. As the sun went behind a ridge, I made camp on the opposite side of Van Tassel Gulch and hoped my tent would dry out.
It was a great campsite on the edge of the forest at the top of a ridge. It looked over a grassy valley to a twin ridge on the other side. I made a little fire and enjoyed the night just a little longer than usual before going to sleep. Later, the Full Moon came up and showed the same valley in a new light.
backpacking over the hill 