I am sort of a loner. Not because it’s cool or rebellious, but because I really don’t want to hang out with you for very long even though I’m sure I’ll like you and yes, you’re smart and cool. It’s just the way I am and always have been. I prefer my ratio of solitude to socializing to be stacked toward the former. Which is not to say that I hate people or anything, it’s just not really for me on a mass scale. Individuals are fine and quite capable of being great and amazing, but when you start getting a group of them together the potential for stupidity goes up exponentially. That’s why I prefer to do these things alone. I can do whatever I want whenever I want to do it without having to deal with anyone else, and I don’t need anyone else to provide me me with any silliness as I am quite well versed in the Art of the Antic. On my own I can camp where I want etc. Hiking trips in the past with other people, as wonderful as these people may be, have typically left me wanting to just be left alone. For this trip I’d already decided to go out with my brother in June to hike the Sangre de Cristo Mountain Range (the part of it near Westcliffe, CO where Crestone and Humboldt Peaks) and then he’d just leave me for dead out in Colorado. This initial leg of the trip was originally conceived of being myself, my brother Daniel, and a couple other guys my brother knew, so when it turned out that it was only me and Daniel going on this little outing to mountains of Colorado I was overjoyed. For whatever reason the other two guys bailed out on the whole thing. It’s just as well for them and even better for me. The less the merrier, I say. I’m sure they’re all right guys but it’s just too chancy. There’s just too much potential for too much talking.
Daniel showed up around 7.30 in the evening on Wednesday and we proceeded to load the car. All I’d done all day long is get all my stuff put away for the months I’d be gone and made sure I’d have all the junk I’d actually need for the hike. I’d packed a couple of boxes with all of my extra gear in case I decided to swap anything out, anything broke, or I had a change of heart about either carrying or not carrying a particular item and these went into the back of the van along with our packs. We had plenty of brownies and snacks for the drive through Kansas and plenty of money for gas since our folks had given us a little just to make sure we had enough cash to get us at out there and my brother, perhaps, back. The plan was to drive all night and basically start hiking up into the hills upon arrival. Not the most intelligent of things to do and certainly inviting for things to go wrong; being too tired to hike, for one thing. And of course there’s the altitude sickness. But my attitude at this stage in the game is that this is my brother’s vacation and he’s been looking forward to it since he got back last year, and I’ve been looking forward to another long hike since last year.
Daniel drove first and I don’t blame him as I can only imagine what it must be like to have such little time in the year to spend freely upon doing stuff like this. He reeked of anticipation. I feel fortunate to have been able to take the time to go on my trips and adventures. It’s not without a certain price, but so far it has all been more than worth it. We sped toward Colorado as the sun outran us to hide behind the horizon and I took over the wheel a little bit later around 11 o’clock. Daniel had been at work all day and I felt at least one of us should get some rest, and I figured it should be him. Besides, I love driving. Environment be damned, I should’ve been a trucker. I smoked my cigarettes and drank my truckstop coffee all night long as my ears popped from time to time, reminding me that, flat as it might seem, we were going way up in altitude, and I was going to stay there for some months. Even careening across the Plains for hours we weren’t quite in Colorado yet. Kansas, as big and flat as it is, doesn’t seem to take as long as you’d think to drive through. Granted, five hours is a long time, but when comparing the differences of Missouri to Colorado, the differences seem so vast that it makes five hours seem kind of short. It feels sort of like two different worlds.
I got us into Colorado Springs around 4 or 4.30 in the morning. It was unclear to me what the highway I was supposed to take was and how I was even supposed to get to it. I woke Daniel up and informed him of this. I also told him that I’d been up for about 22 hours now and I could use at least a few hours of sleep and a good breakfast in Westcliffe before hitting the trail. He took over the wheel at a 7-11 surrounded by “dispensaries” covered in pot leaves. I guess pot heads have now gotten so lazy they can’t even successfully score a bag of pot and would rather have their names and ailments documented by their new friend the government who suddenly says it OK. I don’t care what on Earth you do with your life. Smoke pot all day and night, it’s fine by me. But seriously. Every dude between 21 and 45 in that state now has chronic back pain, chronic anxiety or whatever. It’s enough to turn the state into a public health crisis. Sure, legalize it or whatever, but I just felt like the whole situation is more or less pathetic. You want some pot? I can get you some pot.
But I digress. I woke up as the car slowed down and the sun beamed through my eyelids turning the whole world red then blue as I opened them and waited for the rods and cones behind my retinas to allow for color correction. And then there they were. Such big hills with plenty of snow along the tops. They look so comfortable and humble just sitting there. All these years they’ve been growing, and are still growing. Eventually they’ll be as small as the Appalachians, but that’s going to take a while. The sun was at our backs and bouncing off the side-view mirror into my face as we drove into the mountains at 6.30 in the morning. I ask my brother to just pull over outside of a breakfast joint and just park so I can get at least another half hour of sleep. This takes a couple more turns over some curiously place speed-bumps than I want it to, but eventually we do park and wait.
We go to the diner-ish place in town and I get a final large breakfast. We sort of left the planning of any itinerary a little loose on purpose to account for any whimsy we might face and therefor don’t know how many days we’ll spend out at a time, and breakfast is such a wonderful meal. I finish my biscuits and gravy and slurp of my coffee and then we go get our fishing licenses at the hardware store next door and drive back into the mountains, away from Westcliffe, very excited and very very tired. We park the van at the trailhead and get our gear together, stow everything as well as we are able in the car and get ready to hit the trail. I get a picture of myself “before” the hiking begins. This might not be the Colorado Trail, but as far as I’m concerned this is all part of my Colorado Summer Adventure. Daniel wanted to hike up Venable Lake Trail to the lakes up there which are at about 11,500 and above tree line. We head off and within 5 minutes make our first wrong turn and end up going up Comanche Lake Trail instead. I admit that I had a strong feeling we were going up Comanche but since I didn’t really care I didn’t push the issue, nor did I really want to backtrack.
Half of the point of the trip to the Sangres, for myself, was to use it as a gear-testing hike. I was using a new pack and didn’t have an opportunity in Kansas City to really take it out and adjust it to suit my body or hiking needs. I had to make a lot of stops to make adjustments to the way the pack sat on my back. This is a cumbersome process, for sure, and I’m glad my brother was patient with this. It took a good little while. Even so it’s always nice to have an excuse for a smoke break.
We’d decided that since we’re on the way up Comanche Trail anyway the best thing to do is just camp at the lake up there for the night. It’s a good ways up and just below tree line. Tomorrow we’ll hike up the rest of the trail as it ascends up to the Comanche Peak approach trail and then we’ll take Phantom Terrace around the western side of the mountain range and hike along the ridge before descending into Venable Lakes. All of that sounds great, but in the meantime I need to get to Step A of all this.
My memory is sort of fuzzy of the hiking part of day one. I was functioning on a few hours of low-quality sleep and all of the energy I was spending was being done at higher and higher altitude and with each step I took and it was becoming more and more exhausted. Eventually my legs turned to jelly and I really could not go much farther. Daniel was somewhere up there and I knew it couldn’t be too much farther because otherwise he’d be up and over the mountain. Fortunately, my legs gassed out with only a few hundred yards to go and with some struggling I managed to find a good place to pitch the tent.
It was awful windy up there even though the area we were in wasn’t too exposed. We were blessed that day with gorgeous weather; cool, sunny, and dry. Even though it was only around 5.30 or so when we hit camp I pitched my tent and basically went straight to bed. I’d never been more tired in my life, at least in a mental/physical combo, and I was worthless as a conversationalist or even as a sentient being. The wind was really too high for a fire anyway. I hit the hay.
The next morning was beautiful and I was very happy to have slept all night long. My appetite was pitiful and so there was no point to even trying to have breakfast. Clearly, the altitude was effecting me but at least I wasn’t sick or having headaches. It’s sort of ridiculous to just run up into the mountains so quickly without letting yourself acclimate, but oh well. My legs didn’t ache but they didn’t feel strong. The air is so much thinner than what I was used to that doing the simplest of things was exhausting. I mean, pumping water was a serious chore. It sounds silly, but I’m not kidding. I ran out of breath just pumping water for the first two days.
View of Comanche Peak (13,277 ft. alt.) from Comanche Lake
We packed up and got ready for our climb up and through the pass to hike along Phantom Terrace. In reality it’s not that big of a deal, but the challenge was to ourselves. It’s way up there at around 13,000 foot altitude and we were carrying all of our gear. We are Lowlanders, and for us it was a struggle. The trail itself wound up the mountain and went through lots of snow. The very idea of gaining 100 feet in altitude to have to go down to get around the snow safely is excruciating. You really never want to do a climb twice just to get around an obstacle. The ice axe came in handy and I dug little foot holes out of the snow to walk straight across. It takes a little time, but it’s fun and a lot easier. It’s nice to be prepared for such things. Makes you feel competent.
The struggle was immense. My legs were no longer jelly, but my wind was still pretty bad. You’d think, being a smoker, that I’d be used to the sensation, but no such luck. Needless to say, the feeling of attaining the ridge was one of triumph. We enjoyed our victory over our weakness and loitered for a bit. The weather was beautiful. Sunny, not too hot. The breezes that emanate from the valley as the warm air hits the cold air of their mountainous counterparts were mild and easy. No threat of rain, lighting, or being blown off the ridge.
View of Comanche Peak nearing the pass to Phantom Terrace
Phantom Terrace was a great walk. Easy and level. You could see the San Juans across the valley floor. What are they, sixty miles away? They seem closer and farther away all at the same time. They are my destination for the summer. The culmination, in my mind, of a summer spent in the Colorado Wilderness. We made our way along the pass and then descended into Venable Lakes. The snow here was still abundant and hanging over the lakes and covering the trail as we made our way down. The wind was quite strong and, being as we’d really only just started our little trip, the feeling of being very tired stirred from its slumber and made its presence known to me yet again.
View down the western side of the valley between Comanche and Venable peaks along Phantom Terrace
Descent down Venable Creek Trail at its junction with Phantom Terrace and Venable Pass
Pumping water was still exhausting. My appetite was non-existant. My desire to smoke cigarettes was even rather awful. It was too windy for a campfire, but it was of little matter since there were no trees nearby as we were a few hundred feet above them. It was, by all accounts, still early. I was still quite tired and fatigued and started putting up my tent. Calamity #1 struck moments later when a huge gust of wind came bursting over the lake and caught hold of my tent as I was holding the pole. This gust was sufficient enough in strength to snap the pole in my very hands. The mosquito netting of the tent got friendly with a nearby willow bush and the bush, being a rough lover, put a couple of holes into the netting for its effort. I was able to wrestle the tent into some semblance of being in my control. I had a moment of panic, not being too sure what to do. I remembered that I did have a splint for the tent just in such an emergency. Duct tape kept the splint in place and also worked as a good patch on the netting. It would turn out that duct tape on mosquito netting is a great solution and this would end up holding strong for the entire summer.
I hit the hay. It was probably only about 6.30 or so, but I was just beat. The wind was strong and cold and the noise was soothing. Later that night I woke up to a flashing of lights. Honestly, I didn’t want to look. I knew it wasn’t a UFO (really, I did know this because there’s no such thing as UFOs) and could only be lightning but I didn’t hear any thunder so I didn’t know what to make of it. I opened up my rain fly and looked up to see only stars everywhere. It felt like I could see the end of the Milky Way. The flashing disturbed my moment of reverie and I looked over to see that yes indeed there was a gigantic storm just one mountain over. Lightning was everywhere and you could see it landing on the mountain. I have this fear of being hit by lightning. It’s really only because I have consistently made fun of people who get struck by it as deserving their fate. It’s an easy enough thing to avoid, really. I tend to feel that, for the most part, if you get struck by lightning you got it coming to you. And here I am camping out in the wild above tree line with a lightning storm one hill over. I would hope, at least, that I would make it more than two days out here before my stupidity caught up with me.
It was a little tough to get back to sleep but I pulled it off. I sleep so well when I’m camping even if I find myself terrified before I actually fall asleep. I like the cold air. It’s quiet above tree line and I really end up feeling rested. I woke up in the morning, alive, and would’ve done some fishing in the lakes, but if there were any fish in there they were dead. There’d been no activity the night before on the water and none this morning, either. For that matter, there weren’t even any bugs up there for any fish to eat. It was cold and cloudy and not quite drizzly. Daniel woke up and we broke camp. We decided to head back down the trail and go get a hamburger and a beer in Westcliffe. Fun was being had, but a hamburger and a beer with a few games of pool did sound nice. Besides, we were basicallly in an oozing cloud and it was condensing and misting all over us.
Venable Lake in the morning
I was feeling much much better in my legs and my energy was approaching that of being normal. We cruised down the trail and passed a couple of fellas who were hiking up the trail. It’s not really a good idea to wear sweats and t-shirts in this kind of weather as it will never ever dry, but I figured these two guys weren’t really going to be going up too far or staying out too long. Besides, people who are full of unsolicited advice are irritating and I know that I don’t want to be that guy. The important thing is to have a good time and learn from your experiences. Hopefully Death does not follow you up the mountain or meet you as you arrive.
We got to the car. I was a little damp because I hate putting on my rain gear. For this trip I was wearing wool for every piece of clothing I had on except for my pants. Today was one of the sixty days out of the year that it’s not sunny, so it seemed like as good a day as any to head into town.
We went to the more-or-less Irish bar in town and had a burger and a couple of PBRs. It was my luck that today happened to be the day for the US vs England match in the World Cup. A bunch of foreigners were there, too. There was a big TV in the back of the bar on the other side of the pool table and we sat at a table and munched away. If you didn’t get to the watch this particular soccer game you missed out on one of the worst performances in the history of professional sports. The game managed to end in a tie which is much more of an embarassment for Jolly ol’ England than it was for the Yanks. I don’t see how the England goalie will ever live down a passed-ball goal. The US played pitifully, too. I’ve rarely seen worse defense. It’s almost like the concept was lost on them.
Well, we finished our beers and paid the bill and discussed what to do next. I asked a couple fellas in the bar where you could go fishing in a place where there were actually fish that were also alive and twice I was told Goodwin Creek. Sounded good to me, and with a little coaxing I convinced Daniel it was a good idea and off we went.
We parked the car at the trailhead and made a couple of adjustments to what it was we were doing. I had finally gotten my pack into optimal condition and so now I had all that weight on my legs and off my shoulders and back. We headed down Rainbow Trail and even though it was still a bit overcast the rain had stopped. We rolled on down the way with myself keeping up the rear and as Daniel rounded a corner I saw him, just moments later, come back towards me. “Jonathan! There’s a bear!” he whispered. “Well, don’t come near me,” I said. My humor was ill-timed. He was clearly a little nervous, and not unreasonably so. I went up so we’d be near each other in case this was to be our collective doom. We clacked our poles together and the bear, not more than 30 yards yards away, actually seemed to find us interesting. This was not good. We each picked up the nearest rock as we made noise and the bear, happily, decided we were no longer worth it’s while and lumbered off. I tell you what, the bears out here are big. Very good size. We made haste along Rainbow Trail until we hit the junction with Goodwin and proceeded up into the hills. It was only about 800 vertical feet over the course of 3 miles or so, so we’d be there soon enough. The map showed a flat-ish area where the creek crosseed the trail and this seemed like a nice place to spend the evening.
We got up to a clearing after huffing and puffing our way higher and higher. A little bit of investigating led us to a fantastic campsite just off the creek. We made camp, built a fire and enjoyed ourselves. Memories of the bear and optimism of all the fishing we’d do in the morning occupied our campfire chat. Again, I slept like a baby, and I was feeling more and more acclimated.
The morning was very cold. There was frost on the tent and so I took my wilderness kitchen over into the clearing and sat on a rock and made my breakfast and hot tea. And so it was that it was simply beautiful. The sun was rising over the grove of pines as snow fell around me. Patches of yellow flowers (Prairie Goldnebeans) held command over all activity in the vicinity. It’s a great sensation, the radiation on your face as snow hits its. Hot and cold, sort of like that old McDonald’s effort known as the McDLT but much better. I figured Daniel would want to be woken up and it turned out that I was right. We both agreed that this camp site was among the most perfect camp sites in the world and decided that we would just play around all day and stay there again that night. Hiking is fun, but there’s no reason to leave this behind.
Morning alongside Goodwin Creek
Prairie Goldenbean
We decided to hike up through the woods along Goodwin Creek to find that perfect fishing hole. My little fishing kit was pretty awesome and fit into my day-pack with no trouble at all. In it’s own way it seems like a waste of time to try and describe what some of these locales look like. Part of it has to do with what it feels like to be hiking through them, and another part of it has to do with what it feels like to actually be a part of it. The latter is the best feeling for me. The rules of the civilized don’t apply out here. We are able to be free. That’s the feeling. The creek winds through a flat area and over the course of eons it has worn it’s way through the dirt and rocks making a maze. The ground had been eroded down about four or five feet deep and what was left was these huge mounds with massive tufts of grass on the top of them. Like giant mushrooms. To get through it you have to hop from one to the other until you can get to wherever it is you want to go. Sometimes you have to backtrack. Often you wonder if the mushroom you’re landing on will hold your weight. Otherwise, down in the creek you go.
We parted ways at some point, each of us on our own search for the ideal fishing spot. It was sort of like bushwacking for the most part. A lot of hopping and scrambling over logs, trying to find a place to cross the creek as it became unpassable from whichever side I happened to be on. I was taking a very long way around a bunch of dead trees and bramble when I came across the most magnificent flower. It was sort of like finding the holy grail. The treecover was pretty dominating and here this little flower was, the only thing in the area bathed in sunlight. I could tell that I only had a minute or two to try and get a good picture of it. I grabbed the camera, set it all up and managed to get three pictures of it before the moment had passed I knew that any further effort just wouldn’t turn out. The ones I did manage to snap didn’t really turn out so good anyway. It was a Venus' Slipper; a very interesting flower to be sure. You’ve really got to see these things to really behold them, but that’s true for all of this stuff. I had no way of knowing that I’d only see one of these one more time over the next few months.
Venus' Slippers
I finally found my fishing spot. I sat down on the log that was jutting out over the creek and put my rod together. Here the creek got a little wider and deeper and so it pooled and moved much slower than usual. I looked down and saw at least four of the most beautiful trout I’d ever seen. Cutthroats. The only native Colorado Trout. People make a bigger deal of that than I think is necessary. To me the big deal is that they are amazingly beautiful and completely wild.
It’s interesting the way fish behave in creeks and streams. In order to stay still they pretty much have to always be swimming against the current. The current slows down in certain spots more than others, and the bigger fish will push the smaller ones out of the way for wherever it is that they deem to be their spot. All I had to do was drop a fly in front of this spot and get the trout to see it and hopefully it’d be curious enough to want to eat it. I caught about 4 fish that day. I kept the biggest one and wrapped it up in a wet bandana and carried it back to camp. My work for the day was finished. I tied the fish up and put it in the creek so it would stay cool and alive for as long as I wanted it to. I didn’t know where Daniel had gone off to, but had a sneaky suspicion he took the scenic route all the way up the creek to the lakes. The good part here is that I knew he knew how to get back without a map because the trail went all the way up there.
I sat around the campsite, got the fire going to keep the bugs away, and got caught up in my journal. After a while I began to get a little concerned that Daniel wasn’t back yet. I didn’t want to go looking for him because I didn’t know what I’d do if he actually was injured, and if he was lost it didn’t seem that I would be able to find him. Just about then I look over and see him coming up the trail. Yeah, he’d hiked all the way up to the lakes the hard way. There was a little bit of trouble with his fishing pole and as such he hadn’t caught a fish. That’s too bad, too. I was glad he was all right. I was also glad I didn’t have to leave camp. I restoked the fire and got it going. It was dinner time.
I went down to the creek to tend to my catch. I cut off its head and gutted it and carried it back to the fire in my pie pan/ fry pan. The thing had so much life in it that it was still flopping around. Truly an experience to make you appreciate what our food is and where it comes from. I salted and peppered it and got some potatoes going in the meantime. Even fifteen minutes later and covered in olive oil it was still wriggling. I put the pan on the fire and let the sizzling begin.
Daniel observing my campfire gastronomics
I am known amongst some for my love of good fish. Among the fresh water species I do prefer trout over the rest. But this cutthroat was simply phenomal. So oily and fatty. Absolutely divine. Daniel and I sat up chatting until it got too cold and then we hit the hay. Tomorrow’s our last day out here together as he needs to drive all the way back home. There’s no reason to come all the way out here to go back home exhausted unless you want to. Just sit back and enjoy it. Of course, it’s tough to enjoy it if you don’t enjoy your own company, and I think we were enjoying just about everything. I admit, I was glad to get a few hours to myself that day. I was looking forward to all the solitude I’d get to enjoy, but so far the company was very enjoyable.
We took our time breaking camp that morning. There was no reason to hike any further as the next day was a day of much driving, so it was decided that another hamburger was in order. We hiked out, got into town and had another burger and all the rest. We drove out to try to find some creek to fish in, but for some reason or another bailed on the idea. We ended up at the big lake (DeWeese Reservoir) near town, but it was so windy that fishing wasn’t even really enjoyable even if it was possible. We had a great day and a great trip. Wouldn’t do it any differently. We slept in the van, got up with the sun and got a move on.
Daniel enjoying the sunset at DeWeese Reservoir
It’s odd, knowing that a chapter is ending. It’s a great feeling knowing that it’s lasted for the perfect amount of time. Not too long or short. That’s how this trip was. We rolled on out of Westcliffe and the Sangres toward Colorado Springs. I was staying with a couple a friends in Manitou Springs for a few days before I made my way to Denver to start hiking the Colorado Trail. This was a great trip to do prior to that, I was sure. We got into Manitou about 9 o’clock or so and found ourselves a little breakfast joint. We had our burritos and coffee and then Daniel took me to my friend’s house and I finalized my pack as this is what I had to live with for the rest of the summer out here. I bid him farewell and he bid me the same. I may not have been alone for the trip but, as it turns out, being with someone you like and care for and who feels the same about you is a close second. I found the secret hidden key to the house and took one of the few showers I’d be getting for the next several hundred miles.
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