Salida to Creede (Wednesday July 14th - Monday July 19th)

For whatever reason, it felt like a long way up this time.  I like to think it was due to the sheer weight of what I was carrying, but I know enough to admit that it was because I’d stayed out until two in the morning and got up at six.  That’ll do it every time.  I had to make it over the Continental Divide again, and my destination was one of the few water resources that seemed to be available.

This particular camp site was just off the main trail several hundred yards, but water wasn’t available for another few hundred yards downhill.  It was a beautiful stream, and this area is very remote.  The further south and west I get the more wild it becomes (stays?) and the fewer people I ran into, not that I’d been running into a lot in the first place anyway.  It was pretty chilly and the wind was high.  I found a small grove of trees to camp under and applied my bug spray to ease the misery of all the mosquitoes.  I’m glad I finally found a spray that seems to repel them rather than attract.  I walked down to the stream through little groups of shooting star flowers and bones to get my water.  I’m really tired, so the slog back up is pretty hard.  I build my campfire and use an old rusting sheet of steel (don’t know where this stuff comes from, but every now and then there’s just stuff out there decomposing, slowly, over the course of time) to help block the wind.  A couple of deer graze over in the open field not far from where I was, and it’s tough to explain, but I am somehow aware that from here on out the trail is going to be fun and difficult and this is just what I was wanting to get myself into.  

I thought I might run into Flax Seed, but he seems to have moved further on.  It’s fine by me as after spending so much time in town I really welcome some quality alone time.

There is a sense of isolation, though not of loneliness.  One thing I’ve come to understand is that just knowing a little tiny bit about what you’re walking through makes you understand some very important things.  For one thing, we’re not visitors out here in the woods and we are as much a part of this planet as the rocks, flowers, and critters.  To know the animals, flowers, and rocks is to know your neighbors and your neighborhood.  We can try to remove ourselves from all of this, but I have come to feel that many of our psychological problems and angst have been caused by our removing ourselves from our true home.  To go out into the wilderness and into anything natural (as we define it) is to actually go home, and not so much to get out of the house.  Out here it is a self-cleaning machine.  In our cities and towns, this is just not so.  I wish I knew more about botany and geology and all the rest.  The more I know about these things, the more I am able to interact with them and the more I understand, in a very real sense, that I am not a foreigner here but a part of it.

I get up the next morning and head off.  I’m trying to get to Baldy Lakes.  Even though I hadn’t been out of Salida for too long, the heat from the day and all the dust had made me pretty dirty, and I was looking forward to a nice dip in the lake.  For me it was hot hard work.  The lake I was trying to get to was down a side trail and it looked like it was going to be about a quarter mile down and according to the topo it was going to be steep.  I really cannot underscore how amazing this part of the hike was becoming.  Yes, the trails are there, as they have been even before the Europeans arrived, but there was not much else to indicate human endeavor.  I don’t recall much by way of trail blazes or even signs of camp fires.  Not a lot of people come out here, at least it looked that way, which makes it an ideal hiking experience.  

I finally came across the side trail down to Baldy Lakes and got going.  I was hungry and every time I’d stop to rest or do anything at all the mosquitoes would find me and start to chow.  I got down to the bottom of the trail near the lakes, sat down, and sprayed myself with my bug spray and did a little roaming to find that perfect site to pitch my tent.  I did my chores and sat down on a rock, getting ready to find some firewood for my camp fire.  In the silence I heard a peculiar buzzing sound.  I thought maybe my camera was going haywire or something.  It sounded like I was under a power transformer but that was not the case at all.  I was down in a mountain valley surrounded by mountains.  I looked up to see if it was a giant bug hovering, but what it was was the most dense cloud of mosquitoes I’d ever seen in my life, all hovering about 15-20 feet above the ground.  Wow.

I wandered around a little bit, finally looking for firewood.  It was not yet dusk so I had some time.  Baldy Lakes is gorgeous and I recommend you go some time.  I’m not sure of the geology, but it looks like the lakes could be what was left of a glacier, or it could even be just melted snow pack (which is certainly was at this point, I’m referring more to the formation of the area).  Out on the lakes I saw no signs of fish, which was sort of a drag, but as for signs of other animals there were plenty.  There were bones everywhere and I felt like I was in a graveyard.  Big bones, like deer and elk, were abundant.  Entire spinal columns with rib bones the size of broadswords.  There is no way out but up, the perfect place to wait for dinner to come by if you’re a bear or mountain lion.  The rocks were black as coal and they were big as well, possibly basalt.  The water looked like oil as it was so clear that the color of the lake floor was shining through.  It all just glistened.  

My exploring showed that someone had been there and had built a shelter out of fallen pine trees and branches.  Spooky?  Absolutely.

I had my dinner and went down to the lake to refill my water bag for the next morning and to perhaps wash myself off a bit.  The mosquitoes were calling it a day as the sun was going down and it was starting to cool off.  Dusk comes early in the valleys, and it was pretty much dark but there was a little sliver of moon to help out.  I turned on my headlamp at the lake and saw something in the water move.  A fish! But it wasn’t a fish at all, it turned out.  What was happening was that the light from my headlamp was irritating all of the leeches that lived in the lake.  And there were many.  Such strange creatures, these little gray blobs of intestines and teeth.  I’m really glad I didn’t go swimming.

The next morning I climbed back up to the trail.  It was an odd day as it wasn’t really very far in terms of miles covered, but it did do a good bit of up and down.  And it was getting really hot and water was pretty scarce.  I’m still not sure what the mosquitoes were doing everywhere.  I got to a plateau called Sargeant’s Mesa.  This is a beautiful scene.  It’s tough to explain what it’s like as photos can’t capture so many elements of Experience.  The whole area looked like it could have been back in Missouri as it was essentially a huge prairie with forest around the edges.  But the altitude is what makes being there so much more impressive than a photograph.  It feels completely different.  It feels remote.  I’m not sure what it was that made me enjoy it so much, but I didn’t even take one picture of it, understanding that there was no way to capture it, at least not with my photographic abilities.

Water was becoming increasingly scarce, but not to dire, merely spaced out a lot.  I just had to carry more than I really wanted.  I like to drink a lot of water.  I was headed to a creek that seemed to run consistently and was coming off of the Mesa when I ran into an old friend.

His name is Apple, and most anyone who’s done the Appalachian Trail in March has met him.  He sets up a big tent (here it was not his big tent, just a simple tarp) and provides food and drinks for hikers as they pass through.  He’s what’s called a Trail Angel and they are always a surprise and always appreciated.  He fed me lots of hot dogs and beer and we talked about the AT, the CT, and the Colorado Divide Trail.  Apparently, it was a rough season for many on the CDT as I’d heard stories of water shortages in New Mexico.  Apple told me a story about a Frenchman hiking along the CDT in N.M. who had to be put in the hospital because he went for about two days without water and nearly died of dehydration.  

I made my way to the road crossing and was planning on camping on the other side.  I was excited for tomorrow as I’d be entering Cochetopa Pass and be along a creek after I made it through.  It’s a huge day and you really need to go about 20 miles over a very exposed and arid part of the world to get there.  Also, I’d be entering the San Juans, a mountain range steeped in mystery and splendor.  It’s a massive region.

I woke up the next morning and got hoofing.  I must say that after I made it I felt that I’d earned it.  I woke up before 6 in the morning to shove off.  It was very hot and dusty and it hadn’t rained in many days now, and the trail at this point was mostly country roads.  There were dust devils taunting me along the way and I missed a turn through a cow field but managed to figure it out pretty quick and flipped back around.  After 10.30 in the morning, the whole earth was boiling.  I kept a close eye on my water and even though I was tempted to try a few shortcuts, non of them went by water anyway so I just played it safe.  Every now and then you’d pass some water but it was usually full of cows standing in their own piss and, yeah, I used a water filter, but I needed a new cartridge for it anyway and knew that this would kill it.  It was a vast expanse, and I had to push for miles under the sun just to get to a tree to sit under for a few minutes.  My water was low so I just pressed on.  Every now and then a cursed RV would pass by leaving a long wake of dust behind it and I pulled a bandana over my face to avoid breathing in all of that dirt.  Eventually, and after much effort, I hit Cochetopa Creek, and it was beautiful.  I set my tent up immediately after drinking all the water I could guzzle from this creek.  There were a few guys fishing further down the creek, and I was glad to have gotten here at a decent hour.

Cochetopa is interesting and beautiful, but it did make me rethink an aspect of my life where I had clearly not been aware of all facts.  I’d read about it and seen it before, but not like this.  You see, there were cow patties everywhere.  This means that there were cattle feeding in this beautiful area, and systematically ruining it.  That evening I went fishing in this beautiful valley and caught a couple trout and even saw a beaver.  I was hoping to see other animals as they came down from the mountains to drink from the water, but I didn’t notice any.  It was a wondrous night with moon waxing at half and dead center in the valley’s rift.  It’s also worth noting that deer flies are now in abundance, but they do go away after dark.  They’re mean little things and they bite chunks of skin out of me.  The bug spray I have seems to have no effect.

I woke up the next morning to the stupid sounds of cattle blaring.  It was early.  I packed up and moved on.  This whole cow thing is annoying and just stupid.  If this is what it is to have cheap free-range beef then I want nothing more to do with it.  Keep them in close confines in filthy buildings for all I care.  This is something I certainly cannot directly support even though all of us subsidize the cattle industry whether we want to or not.  It’s a shame what has become of these animals, or if they can even be called animals anymore.  They have had all animal instinct bred out of them.  They have no resemblance at this point to anything that could have ever been a wild animal, and this is what seems to happen to things that we domesticate; animals, plants, and people alike.  The animals, like our dogs, horses, and cattle have no sense of self-preseveration left in them.  Wild horses are a much different animal than the inbred things we use to run races or pull plows.  They require constant care from us humans and get sick easily and consume more resources than they can give back.  Dogs, well that’s obvious.  Compare a house dog to a wolf, coyote, or fox.  Look a wild canine in the eye and it’s simple to see the difference.  Dogs don’t even have their pack mentality left to them.  They are loyal, but not to each other.

Cows are not smart and anyone who says differently is also not smart.  You could walk right up to one and brain it if you wanted to, and I, like others before me, am in favor of an unending Open Hunting Season on these animals grazing on public lands with no bag limit.  It’s not the poor beasts’ fault, it’s the people, but it’s really too late for that.  We are as silly as the Hindus, the way we regard them.

Anyway, stop eating free-range beef.

I was about to set off when John showed up on his motorcycle.  I’d met him the day before and he’s a good guy.  Just out and about in the hills for a few weeks to do some fishing and stuff.  We talked about things both dear to us, such as good writers and all things outdoors.  I took off, dodging the numerous cattle and making my way into Gunnison.  The cliffs of the mountain were white and topped with  these little hills that I imagined to be the seeds of mountains, but I understand that this is all that time and weather has left of them.

I made it to Eddiesville Trailhead and was tired and thirsty and worn out.  Another very hot day, and the flies were eating me alive.  My haste in the morning forced me to skip breakfast, and that was certainly a factor in how I felt.  I got to the Stewart River where I tanked up and took a rest near a decent campsite where I thought I might have lunch.  At this point, my water pump is really struggling and it looks like going into Creede is not such a bad idea.  Take a breather and get a new filter for the thing.  Back in Salida, I’d heard only good things about Creede, and the idea was pressed upon me that I should go there since I’d actually be pretty close.  

I sat down at the river (this one’s pretty small, to give you an accurate picture, more like a stream) and soaked my feet, beat off the flies, and washed my shirt and socks out.  I put my shirt and socks on a rock to dry in the sun and put my tent up under a tree to take a nap away from all the flies.  It’s sheer agony.  

I get up a little bit later and build my fire for dinner and to hopefully keep some bugs at bay.  I get a lot of good rest this day and look forward to tomorrow.  I’ll be going deeper into the mountains and will have an opportunity to climb up San Juan Mountain.  I’ll be with a few hundred yards of it.  I’m not sure if I’ll be going into Creede the next day or waiting until the day after.  We’ll just have to see.

I got up in the morning and got moving toward San Juan Mountain and Creede.  I don’t know what happened, but my primary hiking shirt is riddled with holes.  I ponder over this oddity to this very day.  I can’t figure out what happened.  It was fire, and I don’t think it was insects.  I’ll never know, I guess.  This hike is awesome, and it’s so fun to hike up and over the passes and get to look along the valleys.  As I got closer to the mountain, the weather was not bad at all, but it was also sort of weird.  I got a little closer and it started getting cloudier and cloudier.  I stopped and looked at it and considered it but decided to pass.  I know I’ll be back and that this hill isn’t going anywhere for a long time.  As I go down the other side it starts to rain and the wind picks up.  I put on my rain gear and move along a little faster, wanting to get off the exposed side of things and back near tree line.  Eventually I get to a trail intersection, and to the left is Creede.  It’s not too late in the day, and so I decide to start walking the many miles down and into Creede.  Maybe I’ll get a ride from someone.

Creede is an old mining town, along the lines of Deadwood.  It still sort of feels like that.  It’s small.  There are remnants of mines everywhere, and ruins of past mining operations and formerly permanent camps.  I got a ride into town with a nice family from Texas and they dropped me off on the main drag where they were going to have some ice cream.  I found the liquor store as a beer sounded nice and I was in dire need of some cigarettes.

The guy at the Busy Beaver (aka, the liquor store) didn’t sell smokes, so I went across the street to get some.  I went back to the guy at the liquor store and asked if it was okay for me to drink a beer outside on the picnic table, and he said “Well, it might not be actually okay in the legal sense, but I have no problem with it.  I do it all the time.”  This is my kind of guy.  I sit outside and have a beer and make some phone calls and smoke.  I’m feeling good.  

I go to the outfitter to look into the water filter and they don’t have one but should be getting one in a few days.  Creed seems alright to me, so I decide to camp out on the other side of town and do some exploring and rest up.  I feel like I’ve burned a tremendous amount of calories since I left Salida.  I bum around town a bit, go to the grocery store to get some food for the evening.  I sort of do this for the next several days, camping on the other side of town.  In the mornings I go wash off in the bathroom at the park in the middle of town and get breakfast, go to the library in the high school to do some internet and so forth.  I’m not sure how on earth to get back to KC after my hike, or where I’m even going to live after this trip is done.  Money is certainly getting tight.  I manage to find a cheap ticket from Durango to KC, and get the goahead to head down to Texas in the fall.  I run into Flax Seed as he’s getting out of Creede, and I play guitar in Courtney’s shop in the afternoons for the next couple days, pass on the water filter and opt for some simple iodine tablets (money was a factor here) and after some consideration of route and looking forward to heading further into the San Juans, I get it all sorted out.  

***Another note about photos, particularly as it pertain to flowers.  I do understand the invaluable use of Latin for botanical names as it provide an umbrella language by which we can talk about a particular plant and overcome the inevitable ambiguities of using their colloquial identification when talking about the same thing.  But I love the different names for the same plant that various cultures and regions have used, and I have most frequently chosen for myself the name which I find to be the most humorous or imaginative, if given an option.  I call them what I call them (I'm not inventing my own names), but I do also attempt to fairly note a more common name if I've become fond of an odd one.  I have chosen to forsake noting the Latin name, for the time being, not because I fond it obtuse, but rather because I feel like I would be projecting and understanding which, at this point, I don't really have.  I hope this sits well with you.

Rosy Paintbrush (there's several different "paintbrushes", this one being my favorite)

Languid Ladies (aka Tall Chiming Bells)

I couldn't figure these ones out

Baldy Lake (one of a couple)

Either a Blueleaf Cinquefoil or a Redstem Cinquefoil.  One thing I've learned is it that it's not the flowers that make the plant, it's the plant that makes the flowers, and as such you must have all of the plant to identify it.  I'm leaning toward Blueleaf, but I'd need to be able to clearly see the leaves and structure to be sure.  

Bistort, or Snakeweed.  I have chosen to not call them Giant Q-tips.

Heart-Leaved Arnica

Not quite to Sergeant's Mesa

Common Aster

Another Cinquefoil

Another Arnica

White Geranium

Mariposa Lily

Camped out alongside Cochetopa Creek.  Note the moon way up there.  It was pretty grand.

This is the actual price of supplying free-range beef to wealthy city people.

That's San Juan Peak.  It looks lame, but you have to realize I'm actually reallly close to it already.  I still didn't go.  Those clouds on the left could've done anything, and it started to rain moments later anyway.

Walking away from San Juan Mountain.

These rock formations are in the pic just above, if you couldn't see them.

Across the valley.  San Juan Mountain is further to the right, just out of frame.

Creede's Main Drag.

The picnic table of leisure.