the white room

Day 11 on the Colorado Trail - Mount Belford Base to C.T. below Harvard

July 12 - Mount Belford Base to C.T. below Princeton - 20 miles, 4,360 feet climbed, 4,977 feet down

We woke up this morning with a ton of condensation on the tarp. It was a cold night, with frost everywhere and the little ponds frozen over. It's been months since I've seen that.

We packed quickly and began the steep climb to the top of 14,203 foot Mount Belford. One again Elaine set the pace. There were a bunch of switchbacks right off the bat, and it was steep going, but even wearing a wool long sleeve shirt and a ski cap we didn't overheat - it must have been hovering in the high 20's. Last night was the first night I felt a chill in my sleeping bag, a Western Mountaineering Summerlite rated to 30°. Elaine was setting a fast pace, and we managed to sneak past a couple who camped near us last night.

Up still, enjoying the sun shadow hugging the eastern ridgeline. After an hour and a half of stiff climbing in the cold Rocky Mountain air, we crested the top of Belford. It was quite smokey to the west - hopefully the rest of the route isn't burning - but the views were excellent in all other directions. We're really up in the mountains here...the very heart of the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

We quickly killed any notion we had of doing Mount Oxford - we had miles to cover and Durango is a long way away. Just as we left the summit the couple we passed came to the top. Nice conversation and good people, so we gave them a 20% off coupon to Neptune. I feel a little weird handing those out, and have refrained from doing so, but these folks lived in the Front Range and seemed genuinely psyched.

We also saw another guy blaze over the top, hit his stop watch, and proceed on with great haste to Mount Oxford. He didn't even stop to look at the view or say hello. 14er bagging is a popular pasttime in Colorado. I admit I enjoy climbing and even better skiing 14ers - they have a mystique about them and the extra height is noticable. Still, I find it strange that Colorado has a plethora of 13,000-plus peaks and you can climb them in almost complete solitude, while the 14ers have droves of people and all the issues that goes along with that. Sometimes I wonder if this pursuit of 14ers is really about being in nature or just about checking off a list for the type-A's out there. Ah well, I suppose it's good either way. There are bigger things in life to get worked up about.

We began the descent to Elkhead Pass (it's a saddle between two high peaks) and the stunning Missouri Basin below. More irony - Missouri Basin was much more spectacular than the main approach to Belford, but because it's not a main 14er access route, there was absolutely nobody in there. We must consider a spring ski trip here this coming winter. It'd be a long slog in but completely worth it. The light in the morning was good and the birds seemed happy - they were chirping up a storm.

As dawn proceeded into late-morning I got kind of hot and felt a little bonk coming on. A concern for me on this trip is a lack of food, as I am skinny to start with and don't have much on me for reserves. I've had issues on past NOLS trips around day 20 to 30, and this trip involves many more miles and calories burned. I guess we'll take it as it comes. I ate some food and felt better.

We headed down the basin, off the tundra and into a wide open valley that was straight out of a wild west movie. There was a winding river heading down the middle of sage valleys intersperced with pine forests. We came across an old cabin outpost and lots of century-plus old ramnants of human inhabitation. A tough life up here I imagine, but the views make the "Seven Wonders of the World" seem mundane. Missouri Basin has two things keeping it wild: a huge approach and no easy 14er access. 14ers attract people like spilled coke attracts ants.

After hours of hiking through this landscape, soaking it all in, we came back onto the Colorado Trail - an old friend that we missed. Immediately I felt a surge of energy. We headed up a climb and then back down where we encountered the massive blowdown that had closed this section. It must have been scary up here - 200 foot trees ripped out by the roots, a massive jumble of chaos, like steel scaffolding crumpled and piled up after a building demolition. A month ago this was all impassable. Since it's designated Wilderness, chainsaws are not allowed. Volunteers cleared all this with handtools.

Nature is a funny thing. I'm sure the deer and elk hate the blowdown, as it makes travel all but impossible. Then again, the squirrels and chipmunks must feel like they've won the lottery with so many places to hideou from owls and hawks and eagles.

We were feeling tired and hungry so we stopped at Frenchman Creek around 4 pm. It started to rain, but we managed to get the tarp up just before the deluge began...we seem to have good luck with that. Now it's relaxation time before what will hopefully be another good and filling dinner - note to self - next time being more cheese and variety in dinners.

It was a good day - we climbed a 14er, saw much beauty and got back on the Colorado Trail after our diversion. The diversion was maybe not the wisest thing in the world - it added both miles and elevation to the normal route and we must be cautious with our cumulative effort - but we did see beauty that few have seen as a result.

I must admit I'm feeling a bit blah with so many miles behind us yet so many more to go. I'm trying to stay in moment though. I'll be excited when we hit mile 243 - the halfway point - hopefully in a couple of days. We crossed 200 miles today...we've now walked from Nederland to Vail and back again. Not bad.

Day 11 campsite location.

Day 12 on the Colorado Trail - C.T. near Harvard to Silver Prince Creek

July 13 - C.T. near Harvard to Silver Prince Creek - 23 miles, 4,000 feet up, 5,300 feet down

I suppose if something were to go wrong, and I were the superstitious type, today would be the day. It's Friday the 13th and we're smack dab in the middle of the 13th segment of the trail. Well, I'm not superstitious but last night something almost did go very wrong.

Just as we were settling into a blissful night of sleep, we heard a massive cracking and smashing, not more than 50 yards from the tarp. It was a tree slamming to the earth. There was not a lick of wind, but because of the event that caused all the blowdown, there are a lot of trees that are still standing but are mortally wounded. It was scary. I got up and checked out all the surrounding trees to make sure a similar event wouldn't occur right where we were. I've worked with NOLS instructors who have been involved with fatalities - in other programs - because of this very reason. Fortunately everything looked good where we were.

Right after that Stella began peering into the woods with intent. What now? I turned on my headlamp, stared straight ahead into the night, and was relieved to see it was only a young buck deer walking gingerly, no more than 30 feet from our tarp, to the creek for an evening sip of water. Quite a start to the evening, but we slept soundly after that.

Dinner last night was excellent. Zesty tomato sauce was a much needed break from the endless stream of macaroni and cheese we've been eating. We dehydrated all of our dinners before the trip, but dehydrating takes time - essentially a day for a day of food. After a long day of work and getting home a 9 pm, we still had to prepare not only our dinner for that night but also our trip meal. As such, Annie's Mac and Cheese, which cooks quickly and was on sale at the market - four for $5 - ended up being the meal of choice. Indeed 75% of our meals have turned out to be Annie's Mac and Cheese. There is much to be said for variety. Indeed, zesty tomato sauce pasta felt like a vertitible delicacy.

Another interesting day today. We were up early again and enjoyed some incredibly fast, slightly downhill hiking past the northwoods-esque Harvard Lakes and eventually down to North Cottonwood Road. This was hero-hiking, easily four mile per hour hiking, and it was a nice breather after all the big climbs in the previous days. My favorite time of the day is, without a doubt, between 6 and 8 am. The air is cool and damp, the light reddish and warm, and trail mostly devoid of people. I like being wrapped up in my wool hoody, thumbs tucked into the thumb holes, listening to the rhythmic "click, click, click" of my poles on the trail, moving through the mountains in synch with Elaine, ticking off miles, while the world sleeps.

Our blissful ease did not last long. The trail on the other side of the road is known for two things: being one of the few homes in all of Colorado to the Boreal Toad, and being one of the hardest climbs and descents on the entire Colorado Trail. We didn't see the toads, but we certainly felt the climb. It was elevator shaft - 2,600 feet up in 2.5 miles to a ridge below Mount Yale. Elaine was having a bit of a rough go on this particular up, not because of any physical issue, but as a result of a cumulative mental effect of climbing four to five thousand feet each and every day. You can't let up...the mindset is everything. About halfway up though she turned it around and zipped to the top with her usual aplomb.

As challenging as the climb was, the descent back down the other side of the ridge was worse. Steep, loose, dry, seemingly endless. This was a strange section of the Colorado Trail, which is usually so well built. This section felt more like an erosion gully. Of course, the Colorado Trail is a constant work in progress. They are always building new sections, diverting less than optimal routes. Perhaps this segment below the ridge of Mount Yale is slated for a similar fate.

There was some good news though. Elaine's knee was feeling better. If ever there was a descent that was going to challenge it, this was the one. While the pain has not completely abated, it's improving and that is great news.

The Colorado Trail runs from Denver to Durango. While this is certainly an east-west route, it's also a north-south route. Today was the first day I noticed the fact that we're heading south. The hillside on the bottom of the descent was barren, devoid of water, full of cactus and hot. Grasshopper clicking hot. We were relieved to find a small creek at the bottom. We lounged in the shade for awhile, drank, ate and washed socks.

We both brought two pairs of socks each. While this may seem disgusting to some, it works. The process is simple. Wear a clean pair to hike. At the end of the day, when those are wet, sweaty and dirty, slip on the dry, clean pair for sleeping. The next morning, at the first convenient stream, wash the first pair and let them air dry on the pack all day. Repeat the process for a month. It works like a charm. You don't need much out here, or honestly, back at home either.

Today was a resupply day. We'd mailed ourselves a package to Cottonwood Hot Springs, a bit off the trail and down the road towards Buena Vista. We made our way east, eventually cutting off on Forest Road 344 (we think) to the highway. After an annoying two mile hike down the busy highway we made it to the springs. Our package was there safe and sound.

More lounging, dumping trash, eating food, emailing family and repacking with the resupply gear. There was a strange , warm pool next to us with albino, pirahna-like fish. We ordered a Dominoes Pizza from Buena Vista and ate it (size extra large) in about five minutes flat. The next section across Sargents Mesa and the eastern San Juans offered no outposts like this, so we decided to stock up while we could. The pizza wasn't great but after 12 days on the trail it really didn't matter.

We eventually dragged ourselves from the magnetic pull of the resupply. We headed straight up a steep hillside from the road and were back on the C.T. This is where I met the biking crew when I biked this trail back in 2004. The trail began a series of rolling undulations through aspens. Our plan was to hike till we met water, but water was a long time coming. We hiked a couple hours, bellies full of pizza, as thunderstorms raged in the San Luis Valley below. Just as we were getting concerned about the lack of water we found a small stream. In the nick of time too, as the storm was rolling towards us. We elected not to camp on an exposed ridge, opting instead for a tucked away campsite in a bed of Kinnickinnick. It's a cozy spot surrounded by aspens, just north of Silver Prince Creek at mile 223 of the trail.

Another solid day. Re-ration days are always more chaotic and time consuming, but we still managed to click off more than 20 miles today. It should be warmer tonight as we are camped just a shade over 10,000 feet.

I'm genuinely psyched for the next section of the trail. We're in the heart of it now and operating exceptionally well as a team. Our tarp set-up tonight was excellent - NOLS instructor quality and efficiency. We have a knack for getting these things up seconds before the deluge begins. I have an awesome, incredible wife - I'm a lucky guy for sure. She is really coming into her own out here as a skilled outdoors woman.

One thing that makes this trip challenging is the lack of support. My parents and sister are very helpful and a constant source of encouragement and love, but they are 1,000 and 2,000 miles away, respectively.  There is zero support from her family despite them living in Colorado.  If something goes wrong - equipment problems, a cache stolen, injury - we don't really have a support system to come meet us and provide help. As she said today, "there are no surprise milkshakes or words of encouragement waiting for us at the top of passes."

As such, if we pull this thing off, it will be a true accomplishment and something to be proud of.

Campsite location Day 12.

Day 13 on the Colorado Trail - Silver Prince Creek to North Creek

July 14 - Silver Prince Creek to North Creek - 24.8 miles, 3,629 feet up, 3,743 feet down

I missed writing about this day completely last evening which should tell you a little bit about it. Harder days tend to preclude writing. We got up from Silver Creek Camp and hiked a fairly mellow section that popped out on a road above Princeton Hot Springs. Immediately we met cars...we were at another 14er trailhead and it was the weekend. We had a long road walk down, initially dirt, and then pavement. I guess permission to build trail in this section has been harder to come by.

During the walk down we found a spiffy lantern disposed of on the side of the road. It looked well abandoned, and since our caboose has very little light, we decided to stash it in the woods for our return trip home. That thing will be put to good use this winter if it's still there in two weeks!

Surprise, surprise...we came down the road and popped out right at Princeton Hot Springs and a nice grocery store. The hot springs held little appeal - we were plenty hot already - but we went a little nuts at the grocery store. We bought three blocks of cheese (one for each ration), beef jerky, Doritoes and ice cream. We hung out on the front steps of the store for awhile before loading up our now much heavier packs.

Elaine and I both have opted to go the ultralight route, carrying packs from the company Granite Gear. They are fairly minimalist, and while they work great up to around 30 pounds, they hurt a bit when it gets more than that. They lack a solid back (saving weight). Of course, in ultra-light backpacking you rarely go above 30 pounds, so it works out fine. That said, we were creeping towards that number on this portion of the trip, and the strain of the pack was noticable. I coped by reminding myself of the 60 pound-plus packs I'd carried at NOLS. Suddenly the 30 pounds felt svelte. Mental strength and a positive mindset - it's your best weapon out here.

We headed through a nice rustic subdivision under the Chalk Cliffs (that I must say my parents would love) before reaching Chalk Creek, cooling off at the stream and heading straight uphill. We met a nice man - probably in his late 60's or early 70's - who gave us a great historical overview of the area. We found out he's done the Mount Washington Hill Climb seven times. This gentleman is great inspiration to stay active throughout life...as if I didn't have enough with Elaine!

We moved onward on the Colorado Trail. The first part of segment 14 was quite mundane, featuring low sage brush lands with lots of cows. It was probably my least favorite part of the trail up to this point, and since I didn't sleep all that great last night, I wasn't mentally as strong as usual. When you're in a sort of grumpy state of mind this thing gets a lot tougher. Not many options out here though, other snap out of it. There are miles to hike and hills to climb.

There were big clouds building up all day. As we headed up a significant climb and into pine forests it began to rain. Tossed on the rain gear and kept moving forward. I tried my ridiculously light Camp Magic Jacket and Pant combo, as I haven't been too thrilled with the breathability of my rain coat when moving at high speeds. It worked fairly well. Not completely waterproof, but more breathable, so probably in the end it balanced out moisture-wise. Rain gear is one of my least favorite things - rarely does it work that well. I find I'm either too hot or it simply doesn't do much to keep off rain. Perhaps I'll just start hiking in pure neoprene and call it good.

This day will be remembered as the roller coaster section of the Colorado Trail. It was a series of endless ups and downs. We'd climb a ridge of one of the 14ers and then bomb back down to a creek over and over and over again. Personally, I find this type of hiking much harder than a steady grade climb. It's a beat down.

We came to the bottom of a creek bed and saw a faded sign, taped to an aspen tree, announcing that we had now hiked halfway to Durango. It was comically unassuming. I've heard the Appalachian Trail has a massive monument announcing the halfway point. As trails go, the Colorado Trail is still a baby, and personally, I kind of like it that way.

There is something about hiking 242.5 miles that makes you feel good. Honestly, I didn't think I could do that. Or maybe, I never even considered it. I remember reading about Thomas Jefferson, and how he encouraged young men to walk instead of ride horses, believing it built physical strength and mental fortitude. How far we have regressed from Jefferson's time. Walking hundreds of miles is a foreign as going to the moon.

Perhaps I'll write a letter to Obama, imploring him that the right thing to do to get this country back on track is have our people walk. Instead of sending our kids to college and having them go $100,000 into debt for an education many of them don't even really want, have them walk. Hell, have the adults walk too. Let's get our people out of this stupor of technology. Let's get them walking, moving those bodies, using their minds to survive. Hell, let's start with Mr. Obama. I like the man, and he seems like a good president, but he also seems like he'd benefit greatly from a 500 mile walk.

Elaine and I have already discussed what we're going to give our kids on their graduation: there will be no new car or fancy phone. Nope, instead they're going to get a fully funded trip on Appalachian Trail (or PCT if they are so inclined). They'll get good pack, sleeping bag, a light tent for the bugs in Applachia and four months worth of food. Sound boring? Hell no. In addition to learning to eat, sleep and travel in the wild, they'll be more fit physically and mentally than any of their other graduating classmates. They'll have total freedom - they can stay out as long as they want, sleep where they want, far from home or parental control. The Appalachian Trail is a veritable freeway of thru-hikers. Instead of internet driven relationships where analysis of every word in a text message is given the deepest consideration to impress the opposite sex (or same for that matter - it's 2012 for crissake) - they'll actually have to show they can maintain a conversation, cook a good meal, provide shelter, and do the things that humanity has had to do for the previous millenia until the past forty years or so. Wanna get the girl? Cook her a good meal after a 25 mile day as a horizontal rain falls and 30 mph wind blows, all the while maintaining good humor and keeping her laughing. It'll be a hell of a graduation present.

Moving on. Ironically, despite now being on the downward half of the 480 mile thru-hike, the trail went straight uphill from the halfway point sign. And then down, and then back up, and so on, for hours. Near the end of the day we got passed by a group of British thru-bikers. They were very nice folks, and I admit I felt a twinge of jealousy when they mentioned they'd just roll into Salida tonight and get some Mexican food and a warm bed, especially as the skies grew seriously ominous and the rain started trickling down again.

We came to a place we had hoped to camp, but found it occupied by about 20 weekenders, so onward it was. We were quite tired, so when we found a little creek (thank you rain) and a large patch of aspens, we decided this would be our resting stop for the evening. Alas the grove was filled with cow patties, but at this point in time we didn't care. I was hurting pretty good tonight, so started dinner as Elaine grabbed water. Ate dinner and curled into the bags for a night of rest.

Another all over the place night - rain starting and stopping, blowing sometimes, coming down vertical at others. Lightning and thunder cracked a few miles away until about midnight, creating a relaxing yet stressful atmosphere at the same time.

The varying weather makes tarp use challenging. When the tarp is set up high, it's nice and airy, but horizontal rain gets in. When the tarp is set up low, condensation builds up, but we're protected from the elements. It's an imperfect set-up, or perhaps our skills are just imperfect.

That's what I'm discovering more and more. We as a society - and by extension Elaine and I - have come to rely on equipment more and more, and our brain less and less. There is always a way to figure this stuff out. A tarp seems less than ideal in bug country, but the solution is simple: set it up on a ridge with a breeze away from stagnant water. Our matresses are incredibly thin. As such we have to pick our sleeping place carefully - we find soft patches of moss or pine. It requires a little more thinking and planning, but it's worth it when you strap on a 25 pound (or less) pack versus a 50 pound pack. Thing is, we're still rookies at this game.

Oddly enough we have not seen bears on this trip. Through research I think I've figured out why. Bears are attracted to food. Elaine and I almost never camp at established sites. Indeed, we often don't even eat at our campsite, instead electing to eat dinner at 6 or so at a nice creek and then hiking a few miles away, slapping up the tarp and settling in for the night. Bears gravitate towards established campsites and known sources of food. By stealth camping, I think we can avoid issues.

I got up a few times over the course of the night to adjust the tarp, but other than that it was a restful night after probably the hardest day I've felt physically on the trail. Elaine crushed it though - her knee is all good - and she's ramping up for the southern half of the trip. Truth be told, it's sink or swim out here...I'd better too.

Campsite location day 13.

Day 14 on the Colorado Trail - North Creek to Green Creek Shelter

July 15 - North Creek to Green Creek Shelter - 17.5 miles, 3,809 feet up, 2,293 feet down

I felt quite tired this morning after last night's storms, but there was no time to rest as we needed to at least get near Marshall Pass - a very high Continental Divide crossing - before the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in. The weather has completely shifted from a week ago...we've gone from drought to monsoon overnight.

Immediately upon departing we headed through perhaps the most magnificent stand of aspen trees I've ever seen at a place called "Lape Meadow. This would be an absolutely terrific place to expore in early October. These are some of the finest leaves anywhere in Colorado.

We headed down anothr big ridge from North Fork Creek and then back up some of the finest built trail we've encountered yet. It had a nice manageable grade, was smooth and just flowed. My friend and old IMBA co-worker Tony Boone lives around these parts...he's well known as one of the finest trail builders in the world. I wonder if he played a role in building it?

There are lots of weekenders out on this Sunday morning. My goodness the stuff they bring out for a little weekend camping trip! RV's, ATV's, coolers, fishing gear, stereo systems, tables, chairs and so on. It's a bit much in my book. It seems this scene is always accompanied by a yapper dog in their presence - it kind of feels like Stella is royalty by comparison.

We headed under some large powerlines and across an old rail line to Highway 50. To me, this is the true division between the north and south sections of the Colorado Trail, and a marker of some significance. We crossed Higway 50 and noticed a bunch of cars and vans waiting for thru-hikers - family members who were there to provide support, encouragement and food to their family on the trail. It was honestly a bit of a tough moment for both of us, but especially Elaine as I think a 0.1% side of her held out hope that maybe her family would be there to greet us, but alas it didn't happen.

We walked in silence for quite some time, but were soon brought back into a cheerful mood by something called the Fooses Creek Trail, which joined the Colorado Trail for this section up to the divide. For some reason my 2003 bike crew skipped this section, and that was a serious mistake, as this was some of the nicest trail we've encountered yet. It was incredibly lush - there were ferns on the ground, which reminded me of the forest where I grew up in Vermont. We lived in a house under a huge grove of lodge pole pines that whispered when the wind blew. Beneath the towering trees was a bed of thick, beautiful ferns where  I spent a lot of time exploring. This section of trail reminded me of home.

The route continued through pine and aspen forests, fields with flowers and rippling creeks. We passed a guy who lost his two dogs on his day hike. We eventually saw his dogs further up the trail, running around all crazy-like while he was calling at the top of his lungs. It was a real gong show to be honest and left a sour taste in my mouth. We're pretty lucky Stella sticks so close by and doesn't pay wildlife, other dogs or people a second notice. Heck, a squirrel could run three inches in front of her nose and she's just like, ah, whatever. She's no wimp - she was part of a sled dog team in her previous life and is missing one of her fang teeth, I'm assuming from a fight. On the rare occassions when she has been charged by overly-ambitious dogs she - with almost scary efficiency - has them on their back whimpering as she pins them. Yet she never bites them. I've seen her pull this trick with dogs twice her size. The conflict is over, without exception, in about two seconds time. Yet she never shows any aggression towards another dog unless seriously provoked. In regards to wildlife, she ignores deer, moose, coyotes, elk, rabbits, marmots, squirrels...you name it. She simply doesn't care. It's a real luxury for us on the trail.

We hiked onward. We were coming to decision time. Clouds were building up rapidly just as we reached timberline. The choice was to stay in the woods and wait it out or go for it and hope for the best on a long, exposed traverse above timberline. There were still patches of blue in the sky and we hadn't heard thunder yet, so we opted for the latter. Our goal was to at least try and make it to the Green Creek Shelter, two miles away.

The huff up to the divide was brutal, made more so by a crowd of bikers heading down the same section and the fact that we had opted to wear our sweat-inducing rain gear. We gained the divide, shedded the rain gear, and made our way south. It was fairly clear but there was no time to waste...clouds were building in a towering fashion in every direction. Nevertheless, this was beautiful trail and there was a certain euphoria to being on top of the continent, above timberline, moving fast and light.

The hike to the shelter was a relative cruise. We were happy to find the shelter - a three-sided lean-to - unoccupied. After some hemming and hawing we decided to spend the night here despite only hiking 17 miles today. I figure we're exactly 40 miles from our cache at Cochetopa Pass, and should be able to make that fairly easily in two days time. A good nights rest and a shorter day, not to mention lighter packs as a result of food we eat tonight, should certainly help out in the upcoming section, which is notorious for having almost no water.

As if to confirm our decision a massive rain and lightning storm moved in and hasn't stopped for the past hour. We're glad to have a dry roof tonight before moving on. It's downright cozy, and it's a good part of the thru-hike experience. These type of shelters are everywhere on the Appalachian Trail - every ten miles or so - but this is actually the only one not only on the entire 485-mile Colorado Trail, but also on the 3,000-plus mile Continental Divide Trail. The walls are carved everywhere with names of thru-hikers like "Raven," "Nomad," and "The Eagle." Next to their names are accomplishments - "AT 2003, PCT 2004, CDT 2007."It's a part of thru-hiking history, a veritable hall of fame.

The thru-hiking scene is such a small segment of America it's almost insignificant. Yet it makes me happy to know that there is a small yet important segment of our population who are choosing to take to the trail and walk. Adventure, self challenge, appreciation of the natural world and exploration still exist - albeit in small doses - in a society that really places little emphasis on these things. It gives me some hope for our future.

I'm psyched to cook dinner, take a nap, listen to the rain fall, write, read and settle in for the night with my wife, the most amazing woman in the world.

Campsite location day 14.

Day 15 on the Colorado Trail - Green Creek Shelter to Baldy Lake

July 16 - Green Creek Shelter to Baldy Lake - 26.5 miles, 3,950 feet up, 4,193 feet down

The Green Creek Shelter sits on something called the Monarch Crest Trail, which is a very popular route with mountain bikers and moto-riders. While most of the Colorado Trail is closed to motorized use, we were now entering a long section of the route that was not. As most folks who know me can attest, I've never been the biggest fan of motos. I think they are loud, smelly, and don't really balance well with a wilderness experience.

That said, last night Elaine and I had a really nice conversation with a couple moto riders. We were cooking dinner outside the shelter and they were finishing up a day of riding before heading back to Salida and home to Denver. They were great. We talked about ultra-light backpacking, and one of the guys seemed really interested in hiking the trail. We showed him our cook system and our dehydrated food, and we talked about what they experience when they ride all day. All the riders we met out here were cool - they killed the engine on the bike if they weren't actually riding and they were incredibly polite.

I'm not about to go buy a moto myself, but it was an eye-opener for Elaine and I. They were good people, and I get the feeling they genuinely liked being out here and appreciated the place. All I can do is respect that. It's good to get other perspectives, as it helps you grow as a human.

We were up at 5 am this morning. It was a very cold, damp morning after the rain last night. I wish I'd worn my gloves hiking - my hands got cold! As we headed across the tundra from the hut, we saw a herd of five or six elk running. It was a couple bucks and a handful of babies. They are so alert here - they see us from a half mile away and don't linger. Their motions, powerful and quick, in the dim morning light is simple awesome and majestic. They look fit - I hope they survive the autumn hunt.

We filled up our water at a spring before Marshall Pass that, according the Colorado Trail databook, was our last water for 12.3 miles. I think we fear running out of water, and that makes sense as the entire state was in massive fire danger and in a drought when we left. Water was, in many ways, my single biggest pre-trip concern. Alas, weather patterns have shifted and it's downright wet out, but our fears linger. They say you carry your fears in your pack. I guess we are quite afraid of running out of water, because without fail we arrive at camp with at least a liter left over. A liter of water weighs two pounds, and Elaine and I now had four liters each. The extra weight was a burden.

It was a tremendous morning. I love the dampness and mist oozing off the ground and plants as we move across the land. It adds a dramatic effect to the hike. Through the mist we saw a couple legitimate cowboys saddling up their horses for a day on the trail. We headed over to Marshall Pass, a historical railroad crossing from the 1800's, before heading up a rolling trail that headed southwest. We had tremendous views of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east (Blood of Christ). This country feels more wild, and that makes me happy.

Early in the day we realized we were having a good day and moving quite well, so we decided to target Baldy Lake on Sargents Mesa - the island of water in the middle of this veritible desert - as the day's finishing spot. I think we crossed a threshold today. The hike went exceptionally well. It feels like our muscles are now toned, our minds stronger and we know what we're doing. The temperatures were cool which made the water thing a non-factor. We ended up dumping much of what we carried. Elaine saw a coyote on a large beautiful open section near the top of the mesa.

We passed a couple of Continental Divide hikers heading north. They were glad to get out of New Mexico, which from what I've heard isn't a favorite among most CDT hikers. They seems shocked that we were able to hike 20-plus miles a day with Stella. It seems like a lot of folks out here consider a dog a hinderence, but honestly she adapts the best of all of us. When we stop she sleeps. When we see water, she drinks. She doesn't do laps, she doesn't get phased by anything. She is bred for endurance and multi-day trips. Dogs of her breed do the Iditarod. She's very skilled out here. I suppose a lab or a poodle might not do so well though.

Late in the afternoon we passed a mom with two teenage boys. They were from Denver heading, like us, to Durango. What a cool combination...a middle aged mother with her two older sons. You see all types out here on the trail, and that's good.

We dropped into Baldy Lake after 11.5 hours of hiking. It was misty, blustery and foggy down there, and the ground was white with hail. There were a lot of campers at the lake - well, a lot being three! This is the only water source within ten miles in any direction, so it's understandable. There were also U.S. Forest Service employees trolling the lake to see if any fish survived the stocking from last year. They suspect they did not. The lake is extremely scenic as it is nestled in an alpine looking basin. Looks are deceiving however, as this is not a healthy lake. It has no inlet or outlet, and is full of leaches.

We lost another stake this evening, the first since day one. I've never seen this before but we actually drove it through a trees root system and couldn't get it back out again without snapping it. As the rain fell, we enjoyed a dinner of pasta and red sauce and a desert of fantastic Nederland toffee. I may have to buy myself a box or two of this stuff when we get home...no more of this rationing stuff!

All in all it was a great day. We're 14 miles from our cache at North Pass Cochetopa...I hope it's still there. We also got within 200 miles of Durango today. There is a long way to go yet, but were steadily getting closer. I'm excited - in a few days we reach the much anticipated San Juan Mountains.

As we were hiking today, we discussed the importance of hiking in the bigger scheme of things. I think I've always felt a certain guilt for the life choices I've made. I mean, I work in a gear shop and am far from wealthy. Like many of my peers, my family comes from some esteem...generally east coast in origin with successful careers. My uncle was a lawyer, my sister is a successful fundraiser, my father went to West Point and had an extremely esteemed career as a diplomat. It's a lot to live up to, and truthfully, I haven't.

And yet, I think there is importance to this path. I won't lie...even as a kid, when we would go visit relatives in Connecticut and other eastern enclaves, I stuggled. It felt, well, stuffy. I felt trapped. Thank goodness for my parents and our travelling ways. They were and still are real adventurers, and I thrived in that environment. I don't know how I would have turned out if I'd grown up in the traditional world of Connecticut. Given my penchant for hyperactivity and even depressive thoughts when I feel trapped, I don't think it would have turned out too well.

I think back to when I was a kid, and what things from my relatives stuck with me the most. Well, I have lots of ancestors who were really successful in a traditional sense, but you know what sticks with me the most? I have a grandfather on my mom's side who used to swim across Hudson River everyday and lived till 90-something despite being a chain smoker. I don't think he was particularly successful from a career standpoint, but he's the most inspiring to me of the lot. I've seen photos of him - he has blond, all-over-the-place hair like me and he's thin and wiry like me.  I think about him sometimes. I wonder if he was a roamer at heart too? I wonder if we would have gotten along? I wonder how he would have like the Colorado Trail?

As far as my parents go - well, they did many amazing things. And yet, when I look at photos of them, there is one that sticks out. It's my mom and dad running in an Orienteering race in Norway. They look happy as can be, and they look incredibly strong. They did well too - apparently they were crushing the competition in the race, heading for certain victory, when they made a wrong turn. I know the feeling, I've done it before.

The point is, I think these are the things that can inspire kids. The acts of daring, the acts of heroism. Maybe Elaine and I hiking across Colorado is stupid, but maybe it's not. There is, in a sense, a heroic element to it. Honestly, this adventure is just the start. Mark my words and see if I'm a liar in five years time. Believe me, we want to be great. But we can't do it the way it's been done before. It has to be our own forged path. Follow the passion, and success will follow. Right now, that passion is the trail.

I suspect the relatives in the east must shake their heads and wonder what it is we're doing, but I'm starting to accept that this is who I am, and maybe it's not such a bad thing. Actually I think it's good. Maybe our kids and grandkids and great grandkids will look back at us and be like - wow - they crossed mountains, they hiked trails, they traversed the freakin' Rocky Mountain, the Sierras, the Appalachians, they roamed the wilds of Alaska - maybe it will inspire them, like the distant swimming relative and my parents did for me. Maybe Elaine and I are doing something permanently to the Vardamis and Filer clans - we're taking them back from the civilized to the wild. Maybe that will be our legacy. And maybe, in the long run, that will be seen as a big step forward.

Day 15 camping location.

Day 16 on the Colorado Trail - Baldy Lake to Cochetopa Park

July 17 - Baldy Lake to Cochetopa Park - 23 miles, 3,173 feet up, 4,682 feet down

Up once again at 5 am, this time prepping and tearing down camp in silence as we had neighbors by the lake. It was cold - it felt like autumn - this morning. As we hiked in the dark out of the Baldy Lake crater a fog rolled in and cocooned our morning walk. This is supposedly one of the less appealing parts of the Colorado Trail, but because of the fog it was simply wonderful. Alas, we didn't make great time this morning as I was shooting many photos. Incredible beauty this morning, like a scene from a dream western movie. As I told Elaine, "this is the kind of place that only exists in stories."

There were lots of elk tracks everywhere, and Elaine spotted the perfect spider web, the image of which would be perfect a future project I'm working on. Alas, I snapped it trying to shoot the photo. Drats. Maybe another will emerge somewhere on the trail. Regardless, the woods were full of magic today.

After the fog blew away, we got down to business. I finally could see why many dislike this section - it's a series of endless ups-and-downs, and steep ones at that. It feels like somebody took a motorcycle and rode straight up and down every ridge in the area. How sweet a benched trail would be here (we later talked to a C.T. trail crew further west. Turns out a benched trail is in the near future here...they have permission to build it next summer!).

We passed a bit of trail artwork that I must send to the old crew...a bike constructed from elk bone. Very cool, if not a little creepy! I do think sometimes that I might like to return to this trail and ride it unsupported on my single speed. Not in a race and not trying to break any records. Just an adventure by bike.

We ran into a guy wandering near the top of a mini-summit who went by the name "Apple." He told us the "trail angels" were an hour down the hill with soda and cookies. Wow! He was a really nice guy who reiterated the "Stella is small" sentiment so prevelent out here. Apparently he sets up this aid station to help Colorado Trail and Continental Divide Trail hikers. He's out here all summer long, doing this to help hikers, compensation free.

Down the hill we went. We found an unoccupied tent in a field with coke and cookies. I had no problem drinking a coke at 10 am, and must have eaten two dozen cookies. There was even fresh, cold water for Stella. We hung out for half-an-hour, eating and drinking and reading the sign-in book. Lots of fellow adventurers have crossed this place. We are kindred spirits.

We finally dragged ourselves away from the tent and down to Highway 114.  I remember the boys back in '03 coming down this section in a blazing thunderstorm - wet, cold and haggard. This year it was sunny and warm. At the highway we passed a large, loud crew of thru-hikers who were being supported by vehicle. At every road crossing they had friends and family pick them up and drive them to each town, where they ate, showered and slept in a hotel room. Quite a difference from our journey. Despite their luxury, I wasn't jealous. I actually felt rather proud about our self-supported style.

We crossed Pole Creek on the other side of Highway 114, and it was flowing nicely with water, a stark contrast from two-and-half weeks ago when we dropped off the cache and found it bone dry. We found our cache - a military ammo box - with little trouble. Took a bit of time switching out garbage for food and headed down the trail.

The initial part of this section climbed a very gradual railroad bed that would make for excellent mountain biking. This was another section our crew from back in 2003 skipped, and I have to wonder why. It's some of the better riding in the entire area, certainly better than the hellaciously rocky and straight up and down trail on the east side of 114.

We passed the big group (they had passed us while we were at our cache) camped in a strange place - two miles in and in a totally dry location. I'm a bit perplexed why you would hike only two miles after a town day...you are usually quite strong on these days. We moved across the lonely land to Cochetopa Pass Road.

Cochetopa Pass is a historical location. This is where Bill Williams meant to lead the Fremont Party back in 1848 on their search for a viable crossing for a transcontinental railroad. It's too bad he took a wrong turn and the party ended up stuck in neck deep snow in the La Garita mountains, finally resorting to cannabilism to survive, because Cochetopa Pass doesn't look too bad. I read a book about the expedition when I was 12 years old or so, and it's cool to finally be here. Tomorrow we should get a good look at the area where he did lead them and where the expedition turned into a gruesome fight for survival.

We got some very suspect water from Arucala Creek. The creek was completely surrounded by cow patties and was, in some places, bubbling with a strange ooze. Even Stella refrained from drinking from one particular pool. There were lots of gophers around, and Stella broke her "don't pay attention to anything but the trail" rule by occassionally giving them a half-hearted chase.

Clouds moved in and we rolled deep into the Cochetopa Hills. We walked through a valley with a minor creek flowing through it, surrounded by low, haunting hills. It feels like we are very deep in the west now and far from home. It's hard to believe we've come this far by foot in just 16 days. Humans have the ability to do great things - I think we've just forgotten how. Denver seems very far away.

Stella looked particularly wild after trudging through deep mud. Her paws are black, and her fur ruffled. I'm making a point to keep her close, as in this part of the country they shoot coyotes first, and ask questions later. She has enough resemblance to a coyote that it's a concern.

We headed up a steep hill and into the woods where, after a little recon, we settled on a campground with lots of soft pine beds. The tarp went up well, the mac & cheese tasted wonderful, and the big rains held off for once.

It was another good day. I will miss this life when this journey is over.

Day 16 campsite location.

Day 17 on the Colorado Trail - Cochetopa Park to San Luis Peak

July 18 - Cochetopa Park to San Luis Peak - 27 miles, 4,701 feet up, 1,985 feet down

We're spending the night camped beneath 14,014 foot San Luis Peak. Needless to say, it was epic, royally awesome day. We were up again at 5 am, and it was good we were because we quickly entered to a potentially very hot area - the exposed, flat area known as Cochetopa Park. At 5 am though, it was 38° and simply perfect for hiking.

This is officially cattle country, as the patties are fresh and steamy in the morning air. There was incredible sunrise on this cold morning walk. I suspect this place is bitter, bitter cold in the dead of winter. There is lots of evidence of how the cattle world has impacted the land - barbed wire everywhere and lots of cow loading stalls they use before taking them from these pastures to slaughter.  I don't envy a cow's life, but if one had to be a cow, it might not get much better than this...a splendid high alpine meadow to graze on all summer long, literally right on the Continental Divide.

We passed a number of people today. First, we passed a father and daughter who have been lead frogging with us since Marshall Pass. We get up earlier then they do, but it seems they hike right till dark. They are moving in style, with a nice light Big Agnes Fly Creek 2 tent, Granite Gear packs and an obviously light load. They're not particularly friendly however, and I think they may be getting slightly annoyed that we keep snagging the better campsite before they get there. I guess the early bird gets the worm, no?

We also passed two northbound CDT hikers who looked thoroughly lost. Finally, we passed a largish camp of hikers just emerging from their tents at 7:30 am. This trail is getting too crowded - morning rush hour traffic is heavy out here in the Cochetopa Hills.

We headed up a divide and then into another valley called Sagauche Park. Parks here are not like parks in the city - they are essentially massive plains ringed by hills and mountains. This valley didn't just have evidence of cows - it had the real deal, in spades. There were cows everywhere, staring at us and Stella as we passed. We had a bit of an unfortunate incident with a calf who seemed hell-bent on running right through a barbed wire fence to avoid us. They are strange animals, not built for speed or agility, but for eating. They look silly compared to the real wild animals out here. We saw a three-legged coyote moving quickly and silently through the sage brush. The leg was likely lost in a trap, more evidence that this is cattle country where predators are not wanted.

We headed through a maze of roads and were thankful to finally leave cattle country and enter into a wonderful grove of aspens. We traversed another divide to the serpentine, Montana-looking, Cochetopa Creek. Getting here was a big accomplishment: this creek flows directly from the La Garita Mountains. Instead of the cow infested pools we'd encountered since Marshall Pass, this was clear, flowing mountain water. The dry spell is over.

We sat by an oxbow in the river, drinking, eating and rinsing socks before heading up the long valley that is the gateway to the San Juan Mountains from the east. There are lots of beaver dams in this valley, and in many ways it closely resembles the Lost Creek Wilderness area we hiked through two weeks ago.

Storms were moving in rapidly, and with them deafening lightning, so we took cover under some pines. Lightning is a tricky one, and I find myself getting a little more bold as the trip progresses. There was a time when I'd duck for cover with strikes ten miles away. Not so much anymore, as I am starting to learn the nature of these clouds, but these were directly on top of us and a big valley is a poor option in such conditions.

After 15 minutes or so we decided it was safe to proceed and made our way to the Eddiesville Trailhead. At the parking area we saw a fantastic Ford E-500 - a 4-wheel drive van that would be a heck of a vehicle for our roaming ways. It's becoming clear that Elaine and I are not quite ready to settle down yet...we have some very defined, big goals we're talking about that we want to do first. They lend themselves well to a more mobile lifestyle. 

We left the trailhead and headed up the San Luis Pass trail and straight into the La Garita Mountains. This is a significant moment, as it signifies the beginning of the final phase of this journey - the San Juan Mountains. The La Garitas - which means "the lookout" Spanish - are a sub-division of the bigger San Juans, sort of like the Green Mountains are to the Appalachians. We were just a few miles as the crow flies from the place where the 1848 Fremont party likely had to resort to cannabilism, and I can see why. Unlike the placid Cochetopa Pass these were real mountains - jagged, steep and snow covered, even in late July during a drought year.

As we began the gradual climb up this 3,000 foot rise it began to rain. More coat frustration - we put the coats on and it stopped raining, then took them off and it started raining again! As mentioned earlier, rain gear frustrates me. We headed higher still, into forests that have been ravaged by beetle kill. This area has the worst beetle kill I've seen in the entire state.

We headed up still until a massive blast of lightning struck the summit of San Luis Peak, no more than a couple miles from us. That was a wake up call. We set up our tarp and waited it out in the woods for 45 minutes as the rain and hail pummeled down. I find rain, tarps and lightning mesermizing, and we all ended up taking a nap as electricity snapped around us.

The rain abated, as did the lightning, so we packed up and headed up to a final crossing of Cochetopa Creek that sat right at timberline. We had hoped to camp here, but found it occupied. The curse of the 14ers hits once again...even though this is the most remote 14er in the entire state, it still has many more people than the Colorado Trail.

We filled our water bottles and decided to head up and give the pass below San Luis Peak a solid look now that the storm seemed to be breaking up. We ate dinner on the very fringe of the smallest trees before open ridgeline, watching the skies and a herd of deer on the other side of the ravine. The skies were clearing up relatively well, so we made the commiting decision to head up to the pass below the peak and set up camp. The trail was soaked from the rains, but we made quick work of the final section as the alpenglow engulfed the tundra.

After 20 minutes we reached the pass. We set-up our tarp in the low position, as the wind could be whipping up here. We're certainly pushing the limits of the tarp tonight. We ate the final pieces of the Nederland toffee and caught the last rays of sun on the high tundra. We're snuggled in tight tonight under this thin sheet of nylon. It's cozy and feels like home.

It was a bold day. Elaine was the initiator of most of the decisions and that was cool to see. She is developing some excellent mountain sense and instincts.

I wonder if it will drop below freezing tonight? I suspect it will. Tomorrow, it's up San Luis Peak and who knows where else, mountain gods willing. Tonights sunset was spectacular. Just as it reached it's orange and red zenith, the birds erupted in chatter. It's as if they were saying, "bravo!" To be a bird on the tundra seems like a good life - certainly better than that of a cow.

Day 17 campsite location.

Day 18 on the Colorado Trail - San Luis Peak to Spring Creek Pass

July 19 - San Luis Peak to Spring Creek Pass - 23 miles, 5,020 feet up, 6,601 feet down.

This day started as well as a day can - with a morning dawn patrol climb up a 14er. We woke up in the dark, with just a sliver of orange rising over the horizon, and headed straight up the ridge that eventually ended at the summit of 14,014 foot San Luis Peak. This is living, indeed I believe things like this are what us humans were meant to do. It was a grand start. The sun rose brilliantly over the Cochetopa Hills, the Elks, The Sawatch, and we were fortunate to be on a ridge that likely caught the first sun rays of any location within 30 miles.

The climb to the top was straight forward, and as the sun rose higher, we enjoyed summit euphoria. Hiking the Colorado Trail is not about hiking 14ers, but to be on top of such a majestic peak at dawn, with the love of my life and nobody else is indeed a euphoric moment. As we headed back down, we passed the couple who camped at the headwaters of the Cochetopa, looking almost incredulous that somebody had already been up there and it was barely 6 am. The guy in the lead looked like he was fuming, and the girl gave us a rather acidic "congratulations" as they passed. I think we surprised them, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like our style on this one. We headed back to camp, packed up our gear and headed off before they made it back down.

We encountered exceptionally varied terrain on this day, from high alpine mountains, to Lord of the Rings-style rock walls, to massive, flat plains at 12,000 feet above sea level.  The latter...I have never seen anything like it in my life.  The San Juans are one of the finest mountain ranges in the world. They are towering and dwarf the Front Range. As a skier, it's hard not to fantasize about these mountains in the winter. The avalanche chutes here are massive, and while they would be scary when they ran in the winter, they seemed to be the preferred habitat of deer in the area who feasted on low lying branch.

We headed over San Luis Pass proper, where we passed two guys in their young 20's. They told us they were from Topeka, Kansas and had just finished a re-ration round trip to the little town of Creede. Ouch. There are difficult re-rations, but to choose Creede as your destination for this seems masochistic. There is no paved road to hitch on, and it's a 20 mile round trip hike to and back. Like I said, ouch.

We were not really sure what our plan was for the day. Truth is, we're quite a bit ahead of schedule, and since we have a campsite reserved at Molas Lake on the 23rd, we kind of need to slow it up a bit. Problem is, we're in a pattern and breaking it is almost harder than hiking 25 miles. We eventually decided, to hell with it, we're going to go our normal pace, take advantage of the good weather, and head to our cache at Spring Creek Pass.

We left the alpine mountains and entered a rocky cliff ravine near two trails named, humorously, "Rough Trail" and "Tumble Trail." Rough and tumble. Seeing as how no trail existed beyond the signs, I suspect they do indeed live up to their name.

We passed a large crew of workers digging in the dirt. They were volunteers for the Colorado Trail Foundation, and they were redefining the bench of the trail. The Colorado Trail is 100% volunteer built, and if we are around next year I think we'd both like to give back by dipping a shovel into the dirt. We passed their empty camp, which on the open fields gave a feeling more of Mongolia than Colorado.

We entered one of the most bizarre places on the entire journey. Snow Mesa is a perfectly named place. It's flat as a plate, and sits entirely above 12,000 feet. Before today, I had no idea it existed. It's oddly beautiful, yet...well...boring at the same time. It was actually quite hot, shocking for 12,000 feet - evidenced by the loud snapping of grasshoppers. Elaine tells me you can tell the temperature by the amount of times a grasshopper clicks. The more clicks, the hotter it is. Alas, they click so quick there was no way to count (let alone decipher) the sounds.

We relaxed for a little bit at a very stagnant lake with all sorts of pre-historic looking bugs in it. I must say, the water quality of the mountain lakes and streams in the San Juans is not on par with that found in the Indian Peaks.

We trudged across the endless, flat plateau. To the west, massive thunderstorms were building yet again. I was feeling a bit weak today - I think I need a bit more food. It feels like everything enters me and is intantaneously burned for energy. It is a state of perpetual hunger.

We finally reached the edge of Snow Mesa and dropped down a steep, rocky and hot ravine to Spring Creek Pass. We filled up bottles in the creek, and, after a quick search, found our cache undisturbed. We cooked dinned and buttoned the hatch on the tarp as a massive thunderstorm rocked Snow Mesa. I hope those kids from Topeka are OK...that would be a horrible place to be in a big storm. The San Juans are proving to be stormy indeed.

This has been a huge four days. We've travelled 100 miles from the shelter on Marshall Pass to Spring Creek Pass. I know we need to slow down, but it's harder than it might sound. To leave the rhythm and patterns of the past four days is painful to do. It's easier to hike 25 miles than it is to sit around.

Campsite location day 18.

Day 19 on the Colorado Trail - Spring Creek Pass to Worm Lake

July 20 - Spring Creek Pass to Worm Lake - 22 miles, 4,744 feet up, 3,658 feet down.

After hiking more than 100 miles the past four days, we both were feeling a bit groggy this morning. There is the physical side of it for sure, and the biggest thing right now is that we are constantly hungry. It's been building for awhile now, but it's become a significant issue since we've come to the highest elevation part of the trip. We are ravenous, and we are bottomless.

I think we're struggling a little bit with the mental side as well. We're quite a ways ahead of schedule. Before the trip began, I booked a night at the Molas Lake campground, as they have showers and food and they are perpetually sold out all summer long. For awhile, when Elaine's feet were acting up, there was a real concern we wouldn't make it on time. Now we have the opposite problem - we have four days to go 53 miles.

It may seem ridiculous, but when you get in a groove out here it's hard to stop. I love our pattern right now - wake up at 5 am, hike for a couple hours, down a breakfast bar, hike steadily till 10 am, snack, hike another two to three hours, snack again, and then hike till we feel like stopping. I guess we could just skip Molas Lake, but we hate to waste money, and we also then run into the issue that we are booked in Durango on the 26th and are going to run into this issue for the rest of the trip. In the future, I'm going to forego reservations and just take it as it comes.

Groggy though we were, it was a beautiful morning. This segment from Spring Creek Pass to Stony Pass was my favorite part of a Colorado Trail bike ride I did with a handful of friends back in '03 or '04. It's high, it splendidly scenic and it's wild. Actually, I would argue that might have been my single best day of mountain biking ever. It was good to be back, this time on foot.

The initial jeep road up this section was exceptionally slick, and I almost took a bad digger that would have left me coated with a thick, clay-like mud for the rest of the day (and beyond). It would have been a lousy way to start the day but fortunately it didn't happen.

This section of the trail is a mish mash of trails, jeep roads and no trail at all, simply cairns on the tundra. We're not in Boulder anymore, evidenced by the "Kill Nancy Pelosi" inscription on the trailhead bathroom wall. Pelosi is a California congressional representative who fights hard to designate areas Wilderness, and is always getting involved in environmental issues. Alas, Wilderness is a hot button item in the west, not so much because of mining or forestry, but because it closes areas to motorized use. Personally, I'd choose to designate the whole country Wilderness and have everybody hike and live out of tents (slight exaggeration, but not by much), but not everybody shares my view. Indeed, we're in a part of the country where many don't share that view.

The trail climbed through pine forests before emerging onto a plateau called Jarosa Mesa. It wasn't long before we started hearing "baahing," and then, as we came upon a huge open meadow, saw a herd of hundreds of sheep. They were domesticated sheep, and as I scanned around the herd I saw shepards, siloutted against the morning sky, staring our way. These are the legendary Basque sheep herders of the western mountains. It's a little known fact, but there are pockets of immigrants from the Basque region of Spain who live in the highest mountains in the United States and herd sheep. It seems like a good life, albeit a hard one I'm sure.

The shepards are a stark contrast to the scene in the Cochetopa Hills, where cattle were left to graze unattended. This is probably my biggest beef (pun) with the cattle industry. Ranchers lease huge tracts of land from the BLM for a price most of us could never dream of, to graze their cattle, and then complain vehemently when natural predators on these wild lands - wolves, bears and coyotes - prey on their herds.

The solution seems simple to me. If you don't want your cows to get eaten, then be out here with them! The sheperds protect their sheep. Why can't the ranchers protect their cows? That's the solution. Yet we haven't see a single rancher tending to their cows. Instead, the cattle industry clamors to kill every last wolf, bear and coyote in the west, citing money lost from predator kills as the reason. This attitude is like taking a nuclear bomb to kill a gnat. Simply put, if the Basque sheep herders can watch their sheep, the western ranchers can watch their cows. Or, they can accept the fact that this is wild country, it's public land that they lease for pennies on the acre, wild animals live out here and cows will get eaten every now and then.

The sheep made a massive rukus as we passed, yet Stella, who I leashed to avoid the ire of the shepards and their massive white sheep dog, passed with nary a whine. She is a really good dog. Impecibly good. I imagine one of my old dogs in this situation, Sasha. She would have simply gone insane. She was a good dog too - all dogs are good dogs - but it's a wonderful luxury that Stella is as calm and good as she is, as it allows us to take her on pretty much any adventure.

Sometime in the mid-morning we decided to scrap the plans to have a short day. The weather was clear, and we've already learned the San Juans can be scary as heck during thunderstorms. The storms last longer out here and are more intense than anywhere else I've seen in the Colorado Rockies. With that decision came relief...we could just hike.

The trail descended the mesa before climbing some steep wooded terrain before emerging on a tundra ridgeline that constituted the highest portion of the entire Colorado Trail. I was having lots of memories here from that ride years ago with Whit, Steffan and Jack. It was a good day, but this was a better day!

We came to a rise that we thought was was Coney Peak, the highest point on the Colorado Trail at 13,271 feet. It was a steep, dramatic climb to the top of a small peak. It may sound cliche to climb a mountain and feel elation, but that's exactly what I felt. I think there was a full circleness to the whole thing. That day back in 2003 was a really, really good day...one of the best of that old life. Yet a lot has happened since then, and I couldn't help but be psyched by how far I've come since.. Climbing that hill today - it felt like I was back again, only this time much better. This time I got to share it with Elaine. I feel stronger, wiser, kinder and happier than I did back then. I have love and a partner who shares my passions and dreams. Climbing to the top of that hill today...that was a big moment in my life. In a sense, it closed the door on any remnant of a harder time in my life.

Obviously the significance of Elaine topping out on that hill is huge as well. It's hard to believe how far she's come since 2007. I'll be honest...since we've left Marshall Pass, she's been the protaginist on this Colorado Trail expedition. She is exceptionally talented out here, and she's a damned fast and strong hiker. I'll have to work to keep up with her in the coming years, and I'm psyched for that challenge because it's so good for me too. The key to staying young in my book? Marry a younger woman who you love (or young in soul)...her spirit will keep you energized and you will keep moving. You'll stay fit, you'll eat right, you'll do the things you need to do to stay raging for a long time. You have no choice! You owe it to her, and to yourself. And the critics will be easy enough to swat off, like the last lingering flies hovering by a window sill in mid-September. As the famous poet Robinson Jeffers has inscribed over his house...Bien faire et laissez dire.

There is no question about it - we want to have a family - but there are other things we want to do as well. I think it's becoming somewhat inevitable that the triple crown - the Pacific Crest Trail, the Appalachian Trail and the Continental Divide Trail - is on our horizon. We've caught the bug. Being out here is so good. Not only is it good for your body, but it's good for your mind. It makes you dream big, but bigger than dreaming, it makes you formulate plans to put those dreams into action. With the skills we're developing, both in the outdoors and at work, combined with the strongest love I've ever seen and a genuine sense of teamwork we share, I believe we can do pretty much anything.

The reality is, if we want to have a family, we also need to do things like hike the triple crown, ski Denali and write the best damned books in the world (and many other things we've discussed) now. Not in the next twenty years, but in the next three years. This is our time to do these thing, to be great for ourselves and each other so when we have a family there will be no regrets. When we come to that part of the journey, we want to be absolutely present, and we want to do it as well as it can be done. 

From the peak we saw massive mountains in every direction. Below up to the north was the Lake City valley and picturesque lake surrounded by towering summits. It looks more Switzerland than Colorado. This is the heart of the San Juans. These are, I will argue, the most magnificent mountains in the lower-48. The ski lines in every direction look simply incredible. This land - it's the heart of it all and it absolutely inspires. It is the best part of Colorado in my book.

And now the humorous part of it all. After all the self-reflection I was feeling on the top of Coney Peak, it turned out that we weren't even on Coney Peak! That was a few ridges beyond, and was actually quite anti-climactic...barely a roll on the divide. I prefer our personal summit much more.

And then the contrast. As we headed down to Carson Saddle we were greeted by throngs of ATV riders. While the moto riders on Marshall Pass seemed like passionate outdoor users who possessed real skill, the ATV riders looked silly, like tourists who don't belong out here. They laughed at our haggard look, and it's just as well. They reminded me of the characters in "Call of the Wild," the southlanders, who tried to take a dog team to the north and get rich but instead just fell into a frozen lake. Riding ATV's takes little skill. The first and only time I rode one, helping to pull flagging on a mountain bike course up in the Yukon, I was able to go 50 mph on rough trails with zero effort. They're a cheap thrill, but they have consequence. The land is badly scarred in this part of the San Juans by the use of ATV's.

After spending nearly 20 days out here and living on this trail, drinking from it's streams, suffering up it's hills and feeling it's beauty and power, we find ourselves becoming fiercely possessive of it. It becomes your home, and nobody likes to see their home trashed by carelessness.

I'm being overly critical of the ATV's. I wish, for a week, we could take the riders of those things on a hike. They might hate it at first, but they might love it too. One girl riding on the back of one seemed to be kind of looking over at us, almost whistfully. Her look seemed to convey the thought, "that looks like fun, get me off this thing."

We thankfully headed off Carson Saddle and onto trail again. The trail rose to a pass, and thunderheads were building rapidly. In all honestly, we probably should have taken cover and camped, but as lightning wasn't striking yet, we decided to head up and over the pass and hopefully make it to a small lake on the other side.

Elaine pushed a brutal pace to the top, alternating between exceptionally fast hiking and running, always fun on a steep loose hill at 12,500 feet above sea level with a 25 pound pack. It took everything I had to keep up with the pace. She later told me the adrenaline of potentially getting struck by lightning kicked in and any pain of moving so fast evaporated. If we'd skied the Elk Mountain Traverse at that pace we certainly would have been a lot quicker than we were! Like I said, she's madly talented out here in the hills, more than any girl I've ever hiked with, more than just about every guy I've hiked with too.

We reached the top of the pass and got frustrated by the trail that seemed to refuse to drop down off the ridgeline. The sky was exceptionally dark, we were starting to here thunder in the not-too-far distance and we didn't want to die. We decided to drop off the trail straight down a steep hillside to a big lake below. It was hell travel, through willows taller than either of us, falling, hanging onto bushes, getting scraped and bloodied. By the time we got to the lake, we were cooked.

Alas, all the ground around the lake was swamp land, which was frustrating, but the only way to make the situation better was to keep moving. We headed up a valley that reintersected with the trail at a small lake. This lake had solid ground, and despite the fact that it was full of millions of little swimming worms (the lake had no inlet or outlet), it did provide water. We set up camp, cooked dinner and hit the sack, trashed both mentally and physically.

Alas we were not that protected...there is no protected terrain up here...so it was extremelly disconcerting when the biggest thunderstorm we've seen on the entire trip decided to move in at 2 am and sit directly on top of us for a couple of hours. We huddled, curled deeper in our sleeping bags, and prayed.

Day 19 campsite location.

Day 20 of the Colorado Trail - Worm Lake to Stony Pass

July 21 - Worm Lake to Stony Pass - 9 miles, 2,152 feet up, 1,890 feet down

Today was the roughest day of the trip thus far for Elaine and I. Both of us are feeling very fatigued from the past five hard days, and essentially both our bodies broke down on the same day.

I will say our alarm clock this morning was exceptional - a nearby pack of coyotes howling up a storm. Alas, that may have been the highlight of the morning. We noticed the fatigue right off the bat, on the first climb of the day. The route was strange, with lots of steep up and down over the tundra with no rhythm. There was almost no trail, as the route instead traversed the tundra, following a series of rock cairns. When you're feeling lousy, this is probably the worst type of terrain you can encounter. Long uphills allow some sort of rhythm, long downhills are fairly easy...steep up and down just beats you up.

 

Moving slowly, we entered and area called Cuba Gulch. Cuba Gulch is one of the most spectacular basins I've ever seen, surrounded by steep, ringed, grey mountains on all sides.  I must look up and research the area north and west of Cuba Gulch - I believe sort of in the zone of the 14er Handies Peak - as these mountains are the finest in all of Colorado. Snow patches dot the landscape, the most we've seen on the trip yet. Winter up here must be of epic proportions. These are the biggest mountains in the state, if not in height, than certainly in vertical rise.

Cuba Gulch is home to many elk. There are multiple herds up valley and across the river to the west. What I would give for the uphill stamina of those elk! They are highly aware creatures...they sense us from at least a mile out and they don't linger. I suspect these instincts protect them well from the hunter's shot gun.

We were both suffering and stopped many times to rest. I think there are a number of factors behind our fatigue. We've had five big days in a row, averaging 25 miles plus. We haven't dropped below 12,000 feet in the past three days, and being at altitude seems to accelerate our appetites to an extreme level. We're not getting enough food - 1.4 pounds per day worked fine for the first couple of week, but in the future we'll need to up this for the third week, maybe to somewhere in the 1.7 pounds per day area. We both have an extreme craving for a burger...really fat of any kind for that matter.

Finally, we have not had a rest day since the trip started 20 days ago. I think one day off would do wonders for us, and in our reads of trail accounts from other hikers, this is very standard practice. Every hiking account I read calls for a town day every 7 to 10 days or so where folks rest up, eat copious amounts of fresh food, sleep, do laundry, etc. Because we're a bit nervous about hitch hiking with Stella, we haven't had one of these days yet. We're paying the price today. The human body needs rest at times.

In the end, we didn't even quite make it to Stony Pass. The skies were storming up rapidly, although honestly we've come to expect that from the San Juans and had we been feeling better we would have certainly continued. We decided to make camp around noon in a steep valley a little short of Stony Pass near a tiny brook. We'd hoped to be in a less exposed area with less risk of lightning strike, but protected areas seem to be non-existent in this stretch of the trail. Setting up camp was a slow motion effort, but once we managed that we spent the afternoon lounging, eating and washing. We're fortunate we are ahead of schedule, can take a ten mile day, and still be in good shape. The key now is just resting and giving our bodies a break.

It's not a bad thing, being bone tired. It's interesting to see what the body can do when it's in this state, and it absolutely becomes a game of mind over matter. Most Americans have a cush life - three square meals a day, temperature controlled homes and offices, jobs where you can sit all day long. Yet I'm not sure this is a good thing. There is research out there showing that the average human brain has shrunk a significant amount in the past 200 years, basically since the start of the industrial revolution.

There's something about roaming in the mountains that makes you think constantly, because there are always decisions to make. I would argue the thru-hiker uses his or her brain more, on average than a student at an Ivy League school. Certainly the Ivy Leaguer has to have a solid grasp on the sciences, on literature and a bevy of other subjects, but living itself doesn't take much brain power. The thru-hiker has to constantly make calculation of progress during the day, read maps, evaluate the skies, scan the landscape for hazards and make decisions that always determine success or failure, and in extreme cases life or death.

It rained off an on all afternoon and evening as we lounged in the tarp. As day settled into night, we heard strange whining sounds in the distance. What was it? I've certainly never heard that sound coming from an elk. Here's hoping for renewed strength tomorrow.

Day 20 campsite location.