tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12197056544888638682024-02-21T11:14:34.789-06:00A Modest FollyHiker nonsense along the Colorado Trail and its environs.Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-68478190159371237692011-01-19T12:42:00.000-06:002011-01-19T12:42:45.270-06:00Durango to Kansas City (Sunday August 1 - Wednesday August 3)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Sunday morning was awesome. The ride out of the woods and my ordeal with the Park Ranger complete, I was glad to have a cigarette and looked very forward to hosing myself down. Calixte and Benjamin are fantastic people and very generous hosts. When I emerged from the shower I was accosted by the smell of Calixte making all of us pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. It was simply delicious! It was so hard to eat slowly and talk. My body was, to me at least, notably thinner than when I’d left Salida about 2 weeks ago. The last 200 miles of the trail had been particularly punishing. Calixte was on schedule to run out the front door at around 10 o’clock. She was headed for a farm in Santa Fe. New Mexico was, for her, the Promised Land. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’d first met Calixte in Brooklyn, New York not long after I’d got back from a few months of writing and foolishness in New Mexico myself. She’d mentioned to me that she was wanting to get to New Mexico for some kind of hippie experience out in the desert, and I, of course, am all for it. I bought her a copy of Edward Abbey’s <i>Desert Solitaire</i>, something I’ve made a habit of doing for any friend who cares about the desert and our Wildernesses. Next thing I knew, she was off and she never came back. The next time I saw her was at a mutual friend’s wedding in Texas just a few months ago in May. Conversation got us around to her living in Durango, me saying that I’d be in Colorado, her saying that she and Benjamin were hoping to move to Santa Fe in September, and, to get to the end of this, that I’d have to try to stay with them when I passed through. Benjamin had just had his first officially published piece in <i>High Country News</i>, and that, to me, makes him a celebrity.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The bed of Calixte’s pickup was loaded up. We managed to tie it all down so that nothing would fly out, and we put a tarp over the whole thing so that if it did rain on her way down yonder nothing would get too wet. It was a gorgeous morning, sunny and breezey and warm. Clouds were sitting on the mountain tops like heaps of gray frosting, and I was glad to not be up there anymore. Around 10 o’clock or so she sped off, leaving me and Benjamin to our own devices.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I had my little map of Durango that told me where the laundries were, where the P.O. was, and all that sort of thing. I found where the cheapest laundromat was and went to the grocery store to get a pint of ice cream to eat while my few clothes spun around in the front-loader. I ate my ice cream and read <i>The American</i> some more. If I have one thing to achieve in Durango, it’s to get out of it by spending as little money as possible. I bought enough groceries to get me through the next few days, mostly bagels, eggs, bacon, pasta and chicken. I also got some big bandaids to cover up my ankles. There were missing a layer or two of skin from yesterday’s 30+ mile hike and I just wanted to cover them up. I was walking around town in my camp sandals now, really happy to not be wearting those shoes which were in a notably different condition than they were a few weeks ago. I went back to the house and all along the route I could not find my tobacco. I knew it had to be here because Benjamin had had some. Good man, smoking man’s cigarettes. I called up Benjamin to ask him where on Earth I could find some of this premium stuff, and he gave me some tips. It is amazing how much walking around an addict will do to find a fix. But I finally found it. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I got back to the house and Benjamin was busy typing away on his word processor. It’s a priviledge to know someone who’d rather do something than talk about doing something. He was working on a new story and I wanted to get out of his hair, so I went out on the town. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">So here I was in Durango. I had my way out of town planned for Wednesday afternoon, and had to figure out how to get to the airport. There’s no bus service or shuttle of any kind, and a taxi would cost about $30. Let’s just say that this would have been a sizable percentage of my holdings, rendering it a non-option. I figure I could walk there with not much of a problem. I decided I had to sell off what was left of much of my hiking gear. Some of this was for the cash-factor, but some of it was compounded by other sensibilities. I really couldn’t afford to check any luggage if I didn’t need to do so, and most of what I’d be checking would have been nearly junked anyway. I made some flyers with everything priced to move. My sleeping bag was disgusting and would have best been incinerated, but it ended up in someone’s trash barrel in an alley somewhere.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I wondered down main street that afternoon as it sprinkled off and on. I went into bookstores, coffee shops, all my usual haunts. I also found a guitar store that sold some very expensive guitars. I may be a broke-ass, but I know quality. I sat and played guitar for a good hour or so, trying to help in the selling of this fine hand-buillt instrument made in Colorado, USA. No takers today, so I’ll be back again tomorrow to bug them. They don’t mind. I’m not playing Bob Dylan or Annie DiFranco songs or anything. The day was winding down so I went back to the house, stopping to get a beer at the gas station on the way. Me and Benjamin sat around and watched a couple hours worth of Star Trek (The Next Generation, for those who care). I’d never really seen any of it before as sci-fi is not my thing, but I did enjoy it. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Benjamin had to get up in the morning to go to work. He works as a carpenter’s assistant making furniture and has to be there early. I can sleep through anything and assured him to not tiptoe around me in the morning as I was so grateful to be on a couch anyway. I slept a nice and dreamless night. My theory is that if I go to bed having fully exausted my imagination that day and have not let anything nag at my nerves or subconscious I don’t remember my dreams. Is this true? I don’t know, but I rarely do remember them.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next morning I hit the library, trying to get my stuff on Craigslist in addition to the fliers that had been posted. I was also in a pickle trying to figure out how to get to the airport. It was about twelve miles away from central Durango and, as my flight was in late afternoon, figured I could walk it if I had to. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It is very difficult to go from living and experiencing the woods and deserts on a day to day basis for a good length of time to then be thrust into living amongst the buildings, pavements, and electrical wires of town and all the people who are there as well. It is tough to find a place in a town like Durango (not too big, not too small) where a guy like me can sit and read a book and not pay too much money for a coffee or beer. Tourism is the lifeblood of Colorado’s economy, and that affects the lives of the people who live there, too. I know that they all have to go somewhere, and I am good at finding these places. They are the places that look uninviting, dirty, or violent. Typically, they are not. I was finally lucky enough to have found one of these places.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I walked into the bar around 5 in the afternoon, hoping to hit a happy hour, quench my thirst, water my spirits, and pass some time before going back to the house to make dinner. I sit at the bar, order whatever the cheapest beer is really feel at home. This is one of the last bars in America you can smoke in (give us our Freedom!) because they raised a fuss when the ordinance was initially passed to abolish the practice. They don’t take credit cards yet, but will begin doing so later in the year. I myself like to run a cash operation. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’m still sort of a mess, visually speaking. I’ve only got my hiker clothes on, what’s left of them. I’m glad to have a second shirt without holes in it. My shorts have a rip in them from when that tree attacked me. I’m wearing my sandals around town to give my wounded ankles some breathing room. I’ve got a bag of food to contibute to tonight’s dinner and a book to read and what’s left of my journal, the liberated pages of <i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I sit at the bar, minding my own business, and a woman sits down next to me who acts like she’s been there all afternoon. Very quickly I learn a lot about her. She’s in her 50s, but the magic of the Bottle has her feeling 30 or so. She wants to dance and I decline this invitation. Even if I liked to dance, the ring on that finger tells me not to. She just wants to have fun, I understand, so I’m not mean to her or anything though I am cautious. Whenever I’m in a town where I don’t live I behave as though I were a guest. Interact with the locals, sure, but don’t get too involved and never take sides on anything. We do talk for a good while, she being fascinated that I just walked to Durango from Denver. She goes to do some dancing or play some video poker or something, and the whole bar shuts down as a couple of guys in BMW hats come in the door. Guys with perfect teeth and brand new hiking boots and really clean clothes. The atmosphere shifted completely. There’s just something about guys like this, older guys with lots of money and expensive motorcycles who talk too loud who walk into a bar like this. No one else is happy anymore, people start to leave, and I leave as well. I am hungry.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I make dinner that night, talk with Benjamin, find out how Calixte’s doing down in Santa Fe, eat a bunch, watch some more Star Trek, and so on and so forth. The next day or two is spent in prep to leave, meaning going to the P.O. to mail a box back to Missouri, planning how to get to the airport (I’ll get to that in a second), and trying to not be too down about leaving this Big Backyard for Texas. I do manage to find $20 lying around in the grocery store, get a new notebook for 33 cents, and end up with nothing to take on the plane but my daypack full of whatever would fit into it, most importantly my journal, camera and books detailing this whole trip. Everything else either got shipped or left behind.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The day of departure comes and I get up early to see Benjamin off and thank him immensely for everything. I eat what’s left of my food and go down to the bus station to wait for the bus that won’t get me to the airport but will get me close. I might have to walk 6 miles, but as long as the rain holds out it won’t be too bad. I’ve got my trail shoes on again, but the first thing I’m doing at the airport is pitching them in the trash. The bus drops me off and I find the road that leads to the airport and start walking. I stick my thumb out whenever a car does pass, which is sort of rare. Eventually a guy picks me up and I retell the gist of the trip and he loves hearing about it. Another nice guy indeed, and he gives me a couple of yogurts and an an orange out his cooler and shoves $20 bucks into my fist to help me get something to eat at the airport if I want to. My protests as to this extent of his generosity went unheard by him.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I waited for the plane in this tiny two-terminal airport with everyone else wanting to get to Denver. The lady I’m sitting next to reeks of whorish perfume and is from Dallas. She’s talking to a rich fella about her rich husband and how hard it is to be rich in Dallas. I really don’t want to be around people like this. I actually don’t like people like this. The plane itself is delayed by lightning in Denver but eventually we take off. We get into Denver at the same time my flight to Kansas City is supposed to depart, but due to lightning all over the Denver region every flight is delayed at a minimum. I rush to the gate only to find out that it’s been cancelled. I go up to the smoking lounge for some respite before heading to wherever it is you go in situations like this to sort yourself out. As it was, the line to the help-desk that services the entire airport is hundreds of heads deep and full of indignants who want to get everything for free due to this outrage from the weather. Something about me enjoys this weather even though I find the human method of dealing with it incredibly annoying. Every flight out of Denver at this point is cancelled and I finally get booked for a flight the next morning at 7 AM. I go up to the airport bar for one last cigarette, and reduce myself to some McDonald’s, the only thing that’s open. It’s about 2 in the morning now. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I go to my terminal, find some newspapers, and lay down with my bag of clothes for a pillow and the sports section draped over me for some sheets. My alarm goes off at 6 in the morning, I go have a cigarette and some coffee up in the bar and get on my plane for Kansas City. It lands just fine and without any incident. The folks pick me up and just like that I’m back in Kansas City and headed, somehow, to Texas. Part of me feels like I’d made a mistake, leaving Colorado. But I’ve got a plan to get back and plenty of work left to do, mostly scribing the trip out for myself, my few friends, and anyone else who would care to read about it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It was an amazing trip, and now it’s over.</div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-53499489367269152692011-01-04T18:13:00.000-06:002011-01-04T18:13:52.157-06:00Silverton to Durango (Tuesday July 27 - Sunday August 1)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I woke up the next morning and pack by daypack for a hitch into town. I’d finished my book and needed at least one new one, and my journal was about full, to boot. I left my tent and pack behind in my reasonably well-hidden campsite off the beaten path and got to the highway. It’s about 4 miles into Silverton, if I recall correctly, and I didn’t want to walk the whole way on this little highway if I could avoid it, so I started thumbing. There wasn’t much traffic, but I eventually got a ride with a fella from Durango who dropped me off at the main intersection in town. Fortunately, again, Silverton is tiny and quite manageable. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I spent a day in Silverton, looking for new books, the post office and a buffet. I think I forgot to mention at some point in this jumble of sillyness that, in addition to all of the other ridiculous stunts I managed to pull on this trip, I left my cell-phone charger in Salida. While I was in Creede I’d manage to get ahold of John at the hostel who offered to mail it to me at the P.O. in Silverton. The post office didn’t open until a little bit later, and some asking around helped me find a breakfast buffet being run out of a hotel on the main drag. I went to the hotel and asked how long the buffet was open, and decided to go back to the post office so I could at least, hopefully, charge my phone while I ate. I got all my stuff from the P.O. and went back to the hotel to eat until I burst. I never did manage to burst, but I got my money’s worth. I charged my phone, made some phone calls and then found the local library to do some internetting. They had a shelf of books for sale in the little lobby (this is a tiny library, like most of the ones is town of this size, but their value is huge. Not just to me, but to the townspeople as well, obviously.) and I found a couple of books that looked good and paid the .25 cents for each one at the counter. Henry James’ <i>The American </i>and some Faulkner short stories. I left the library and went through town and got some postcards and I traipsed along and found a little cafe to have some coffee while I did some writing. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I went to the outfitter to snoop around and found another book on a rack of used paperbacks (this time for the outrageous price of .50 cents a pop) and decided to go ahead and hedge my bets and get one more. This one being, humorously, Ken Kesey’s <i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. </i>I did a little more ambling about town that afternoon, finding the Silverton Brewery and enjoying one of the best IPAs I’ve ever had. I talked with a guy there about the region, about the stupidity of the train (he lives there and can’t afford the $75 per person to let his kids ever get to ride it. That’s pretty pathetic of whoever’s in charge of that racket), and the awesomeness of the Silverton Brewery.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">On my way out of town it starts to rain and I head to the grocery store to stock up for the rest of the hike and to get something to eat for dinner. Pitifully, this store is just another racket where everything in it is vastly overpriced and seems to be run by some kind of cult. I go to the gas station for groceries and tobacco and ask the guy where people who live in town get their food, and he says they have to go all the way to Durango as it’s more cost effective to drive the multi-mile round trip than to go to the so-called grocery store in Silverton. Thank you, Mennonite grocers (or whatever your weird cult is), for ruining the quality of life for the locals.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">There is no rolling tobacco anywhere in Silverton. I’m going to be forced to smoke ladies’ cigarettes, the filtered kind that suck all the vitamins out of the tobacco. Silverton is not working out for me in many ways. In the end I get some burritos to cook over a fire at the gas station and some fig newtons and anything else I can think of to pack out. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I walk out of the gas station as it continues to sprinkle and stick a thumb out to get back up along the highway to my campsite. Gloriously, the first car picks me up and takes me up to the turn off nearest to my campsite. I get back to my camp in a hurry to try to beat the rain so I can get a fire going to cook my burritos. I throw some stick in a round of rocks and get one going quick enough to get it started and grab my aluminum fry pan and olive oil and get ‘em going. Dinner is a bag of Fritos and burritos. Not my idea of a good meal, but at this point it’s all about the calories. The rain picks up as I’m finishing dinner and I get my dishes cleaned up as the fire sizzles out from the rain.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’m in my tent, eating what’s left of the Fritos and begin reading <i>One Flew Over…</i> It’s an easy read and I’m flying through it, following quite easy the insane logic of a man who’s willfully in a mental institution. At this point, it’s not such a hard thing to relate to. An assessment of my own state is thus: I am tired, hungy, and ready to get to Durango. This has easily been the best hiking trip I’ve ever done, but it’s taken its toll and I’m looking forward to the end of it. Not in a bad way, but finances are on my mind as is my health. I still feel good, as my health goes, but I know that sooner than later I’ll be underweight. There’s still some fantastic area to go through and I do look forward to it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I wake up the next morning and shove off, going through Molas Pass and beyond Molas Lake. I go along several miles and start ascending up beyond treeline again as clouds form yet again. It has rained a lot on me, and it’s been very tough. That’s also why for this last segment there’s just not many photos it rained all the blasted time. As I get up nearer to my first pass of the day I take a break on a rock and notice a man off a little ways up on the hillside with a bucket collecting rocks. I figure it’s some guy looking for gold or silver or some kind of odd thing, and as I get closer I ask him what he’s up to. “Oh, just doing some trail maintenance. I’m not some nut or anything.” We both laugh and I tell him you just never know around here to which he readily agrees. I thank him for his work and move on up the pass and go by more trail workers who are all busy at it. This is something that I’d really like to do some day.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I make my way around the hills and finally get to a great campsite underneath some trees with a ready-made firepit along the gurgling Cascade Creek. I take the opportunity to make the most of the break in the weather and take some pictures of flowers, and take many of them. Good thing, too, as this would really be my last opportunity, weather-wise to do so. This area is beautiful with many many different flowers and a waterfall, the water itself clear enough and far enough away from any horses to where I feel I can drink it straight without treating it. I get my fire going and have my dinner as it starts to rain some more. I hunker down to read and write. At this point I’m out of journal space and am tearing pages out of Kesey’s efforts to turn them into an effort of my own. I finish the book before finally calling it a day.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I get up the next morning and go around the bend and pass by a guy sitting on a rock completely exhausted. Sometimes you see people doing the oddest things, made even stranger by their location in the world. It starts to rain early again today, and this whole area feels completely wild, like I could be an explorer in uncharted lands or something. It’s a very tough region to get to, and it’s not hard at all to imagine people who’ve been here for thousands of years exploring the area. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The rain keeps on steady as I’m coming up a hill to another pass. I see a guy sitting hunched over himself underneath a tree and I ask him if he’s okay. He’s not okay, actually, but he does not complain about his condition. He keeps throwing up and can’t keep any food or water down, but he’s not sure why. He’s been out here many times, and his theory is that he got up to altitude too quickly, even though he does live in Colorado already, albeit along the Front Range which is considerably lower in altitude than where we were. I get over the pass and to my next campsite, marveling the entire time at the whole thing. The San Juans are just huge, so huge that there’s some debate over if it’s not actually more than one range of mountains. Regardless, it’s massive, and it <i>feels</i> massive to boot. I make my camp in a grove of trees, tired of being wet. I search all around for firewood and finally get enough to make it worthwhile. The sick fella finally shows up, and we talk about cows, horses, people, Montezuma, Aztecs and how his car is parked not too far away and that he feels like he’s really got to get there even if he just sleeps in his car. I feel like he’s making a good decision, as difficult as it is for him to keep going. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">He leaves and I start my campfire, looking forward to another night alone in the woods, this one among my last for the journey. I’m having my dinner and reading a book (I’ve now onto <i>The American) </i>when I’m startled by someone walking up the trail towards my camp. It’s a dude named Wyatt, and he offers me a can of beer that he no longer wants to carry, a beer which I gladly accept. We talk for a little bit and he decides to push on a little further. I’m in my tent reading a little later on when I’m once again startled by a passer-by. This one is Mark, and he offers me another beer, of which I again gladly accept. He asks if he can camp nearby, and I’m glad to have him as company. He’s a good guy, and we get the fire going again and sit around and talk for a good while, about what lays ahead for me and what he’s got coming up. He’s done this trail before in both directions and absolutely loves it. He’s completely hooked. I understand.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I get up the next morning, and Mark is already up and about and takes off before I do. It’s wet and raining everywhere. My goal for the day is Taylor Lake. I’m hoping to get into Durango on Saturday afternoon as my friend Calixte is leaving for Santa Fe on Sunday morning, and it’d be a shame to not see her after all this. The hike, though drizzly, is still a wondrous thing. It is very easy to imagine the Indians developing these trails, much easier than anywhere I’ve been before. I can’t overstate the awe and splendor of it all. I know that up ahead there’s an exposed ridge walk I have to get over before I can get over the final high point of the trail and then finally descend into Taylor Lake. I’m walking along at a very high altitude as it drizzles. There’s no water along this section, a thing I was aware of, but had heard about a cache of water left by a kind-hearted soul in Durango familiar with the potential struggles inherent in this section. I hear a knock of thunder in the distance, quite sure that it’s straight where I’m headed. I sit on a log in a small grove of trees, hoping that it’ll pass. It’s only ten in the morning, and it’s an easily doable distance to the lake, but not in this weather. The rain never stops, but I still have to keep moving. I continue on as it rains, the trail turning into a river as rainwater runs through it, seemingly in both directions. My feet are wet and I’m hungry. The temperature is cold, and with no sun to keep me warm, moving along is really the only option I have. I know the final ridge I have to walk is very exposed and above treeline, but I’m not sure exactly where the trees run out and I don’t want to get stuck camping out exposed again, not when I’m this close to Durango. I keep moving on, my shoes squishing like a sponge as each step forces water out of each one and lets it all back in as my stride shift from foot to foot. Around 2.30 in the afternoon I call it a day. There’s no way I’m going to get over the ridge today in this weather, and what I could really use now is some food and rest.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I pitch my tent and crawl in. I get warm and doze off. I wake up later, around five o’clock, and it’s still raining. I start eating anything that doesn’t need to be cooked, not caring anymore if I’ll even have any food left for the last day of my hike. At some point the rain abates enough for me to open up my tent and cook just outside of it. One thing constantly on my mind is bears, as this is certainly bear county. You can tell by the scat left along the trail. I’m still smart enough to not leave food in my tent and, even in the rain, make sure I hang my food a good distance from me. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I read a lot more of <i>The American </i>and sleep sleep sleep. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I wake up the next morning very early, around 5.30 or so. At this point I don’t take for granted that it’s probably going to start raining at 10 in the morning and the only thing keeping me from getting over that final ridge is my own dilly dallying. I pack up quickly, put my soaked shoes and socks back on and hoof it. I go higher and higher over the hills. I have 3 ridges to get over before Turquoise Lake, and I don’t really know how many miles it actually is before I get there. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I go and go, higher and higher and am eventually out of tree line and coming up to the first saddle. The willow bushes are thick and there’s bear scat everywhere, and I know that willows are favored places for bears to hang out. I make all the racket that I can as I get near them and as I go through them. The trail is right along the edge of the cliffs and it’s an amazing sight down the sides of these ridges as I go along. I’m coming up to the next ridge and am gaining the second saddle. As I keep moving, I see water vapor rising up along the cliffs and forming little clusters of clouds beneath me. I do anything but slow down now. It could turn on me at any minute, and as I go the fog rises quick like smoke, curling around itself as it licks the tops of the mountains before continuing on into the sky.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I am now on what I think is the third and final ridge, the one that will get me over and down off of this plateau and down near lake. Over in the distance I see another ridge, and I begin to think I’ve lost count and that I have to go all the way over there and ascend even higher than I am now. It is now cloudy over head, and the plumes of vapor are thicker on my left now. I stop for a second and turn around to know what going on behind me, and not even a hundred yards back the entire area is covered in a dense fog/cloud system. I fear that any second now it’ll gain on me and I’ll be up here on this ridge in the heart of a cranky thunderstorm. I’m all but running now, trying to escape this. I get over the ridge and start going down the saddle a bit fully expecting to go over that next ridge way over there when I get to a trail junction. To my left through a break in the clouds I can see Turquoise Lake, and I’m stunned and infinitely relieved that I made it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I start going down the side along the trail and take some time to say hello to a family out for a little weekend trip. I keep going, past the lake and get to the trailhead here. Suddenly, the clouds have vaporized and it’s nice and sunny. My shoes are still wet from not being able to fully dry out so I sit on a pole near a little parking lot to eat something (anything! What on earth do I even have left?) and see a guy in full camo carrying some kind of massive instrument over his shoulders. I ask him what it is and he tells me how he’s a hunter and he’s scouting for elk before hunting season starts. He tells me that he saw me going over the ridge just ahead of all the clouds and that he’d never seen anyone move so quick. We have a good laugh about it all and I get going. Something inside of me tells me that I have to get all the way to Durango by nightfall. It’s all downhill from here.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’m very very tired at this point. That last part was a doozy. I start the massive descent. The first part is brutal and it’s a lot of broken shale along the side of a steep ridge. I just keep moving on. I pass a majestic waterfall and eventually get to the river that runs through and down into Durango. I have a lunch spot determined where I plan to eat my last batch of potatoes, and I finally get there. I sit down and get everything unpacked, have a smoke and get ready to make my lunch when all of a sudden the weather turns and it starts raining again. I skip lunch, having no real option, and just start moving. It’s really raining now, and there’s thunder and lightning and I’m just glad to be unexposed. Of course, lightning can still get you, most notably by hitting a tree near you or something along those lines. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I slog on through all of the weather and at one point as I’m rounding a corner I get a big whiff of pine, and as I make the turn I see a tree, shattered not long before by lightning and laying over the trail. Timing is everything. I go on, passing Gudi’s Rest, and by now it’s dusk and I only have few miles to go before finally getting to the end of the trail. I take a moment to call my friends in Duragno, hoping that they I can see them in the morning before Calixte take off for New Mexico. We make arrangements for Benjamin to pick me up in the parking lot at the trailhead at 7 in the morning. I want to camp as close as possible so as to not be late for the rendezvous. By now I’m tattered. My clothing is in shreds. My shirt is full of holes and my pant torn from a very aggressive stick jutting out of a tree. I’m brown, from both the sun and the dirt, and my ankles are chafed to a horrible extent from being forced to hike so aggressively downhill in wet shoes, the dust from the trail making a kind of cement around them. But I feel good. I feel great!</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">By now it’s dark enough to be hiking with a headlamp, and I eventually make it to the end, and come to a parking lot. I inspect the area to make sure that there’s no other parking lots where Benjamin might expect to meet me. I hike back up trail a good ways and find a decent campsite.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next morning I get up at six o’clock and take my sweet time breaking camp. Around 6.30 a park ranger comes by as I’m stowing gear and asks me how I slept. I tell him I slept fine, and tell him about how I just finished the trail. He keeps asking me odd questions, this little do-gooder, and because I have to go soon to meet Benjamin, I ask him flat out if I’d done something wrong. He tells me that you’re not supposed to camp within 8 miles of the trailhead and that there was a sign back at Gudi’s Rest that says this. I tell him that I saw no such sign at that Gudi’s is only about four miles back anyway. He goes on to say that there’s a hundred dollar fine for violating this rule and that there’s a zero-tolerance policy on it. In short, all of the yuppies in Durango want this part of the trail to themselves and don’t want homeless people or anyone else bothering their gas-chugging SUVs with their Thule or Yakima things on top of them. I tell him this doesn’t matter much to me because this is National Forest, not Durango Forest and I don’t really care if the rich folks hate the non-rich enough to pass an unconstitutional ordinance or not. This is for everyone, regardless of any so-called laws passed. I give him my ID and tell him he can give me a ticket if he wants but that I’m not going to pay it. I’m pretty mad at this point and am seething to have come so far to end up in this situation a few hundred yards from the very end. Ultimately he relents and tells me he’s just going to let me off with a warning (a warning! Ha! Not only is the USFS, but this is not a zero-tolerance policy at all. This selfish policy is clearly designed to further marginalize people, as far as I’m concerned) and so I finish packing up get to the road to wait for Benjamin. At the road I see a sign that says there’s a campsite a mile up. I yell over to the ranger asking if I could’ve “legally” camped there last night and he says “oh yeah, you could’ve camped there just fine.” A waste of tax dollars if there ever was one. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">At seven o’clock Benjamin shows up and we go back to their house for pancakes. In the car I see some rolling tobacco. It’s nice to have a non-ladies cigarette and I can feel my blood fully absorbing all of the delicious vitamins. The hike is over, but the trip ain’t done.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1HhHyCFfaokIJ2rLGy4WW748Hw6tNJ2tta0gWuU4XFcgwTm2djPK3FiEZqRODs_XqY_XUMDeIyO2kHc1Xg_llSVbqkPQMU2nwwDwFTsxAwVLc1-fY_fcZqUs0NFJ7sN0jZBnkKOZfT3u/s1600/SDIM1262+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1HhHyCFfaokIJ2rLGy4WW748Hw6tNJ2tta0gWuU4XFcgwTm2djPK3FiEZqRODs_XqY_XUMDeIyO2kHc1Xg_llSVbqkPQMU2nwwDwFTsxAwVLc1-fY_fcZqUs0NFJ7sN0jZBnkKOZfT3u/s640/SDIM1262+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Out through Molas Pass</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Subalpine Larkspur</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOf9UQ32yhQoTmoVfUSXMFaGc08YoPb54Y6sBrICPVn3V2i6tmr4kxo1coiqxGQaqf1LjpZ13D3FPg5WXGLpzPqJIpuVf2CdCZpeB1ffvxGipnTIcAMxljiG3YkoSUTDv-ML8mfwe09vbJ/s1600/SDIM1270-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOf9UQ32yhQoTmoVfUSXMFaGc08YoPb54Y6sBrICPVn3V2i6tmr4kxo1coiqxGQaqf1LjpZ13D3FPg5WXGLpzPqJIpuVf2CdCZpeB1ffvxGipnTIcAMxljiG3YkoSUTDv-ML8mfwe09vbJ/s640/SDIM1270-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>?</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Huq5RHjmzRqKmMyvhm19XhDKjpIfob795obAd30u3LbT9z7pi6X4gjZdlwvmWMHQoZpTuy1ROH4v-zH8lyx3HK3ouY0LBGxXh-3o_6PnsCI5j-Q_5ylY5W4I1XF496117TvL1JS37ZnC/s1600/SDIM1272-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Huq5RHjmzRqKmMyvhm19XhDKjpIfob795obAd30u3LbT9z7pi6X4gjZdlwvmWMHQoZpTuy1ROH4v-zH8lyx3HK3ouY0LBGxXh-3o_6PnsCI5j-Q_5ylY5W4I1XF496117TvL1JS37ZnC/s640/SDIM1272-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Don't know exactly, but I'm guessing it's another Aster.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Dusky Beardtongue</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69x72PTC4qPn1I84061bEVKbQUjwBLVGdEndhqb7dClrN2kyOhf809gddpzMTFlSL-oxeHdAEMRDAh9VD4dzLsPTdRGl5apb-JzbPJwusj0-OXty_AS7WJJtQFIwIsRlWf3_Vl8ZafVfQ/s1600/SDIM1278-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69x72PTC4qPn1I84061bEVKbQUjwBLVGdEndhqb7dClrN2kyOhf809gddpzMTFlSL-oxeHdAEMRDAh9VD4dzLsPTdRGl5apb-JzbPJwusj0-OXty_AS7WJJtQFIwIsRlWf3_Vl8ZafVfQ/s640/SDIM1278-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Yampa</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuIL3XMvIrJ2fLYUEKW0UDYxH6Wl0xvUhyR-UlvxCaTGIFmjCHVWWra0jimWq_lMNGvJIIyaI3Xa0hIGumpCygeBCUG2T7H8UW3gTpS34ec-aMrHCWjHbgpTtl8yCoO1BtQ6N7Zq2rGpv/s1600/SDIM1280-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuIL3XMvIrJ2fLYUEKW0UDYxH6Wl0xvUhyR-UlvxCaTGIFmjCHVWWra0jimWq_lMNGvJIIyaI3Xa0hIGumpCygeBCUG2T7H8UW3gTpS34ec-aMrHCWjHbgpTtl8yCoO1BtQ6N7Zq2rGpv/s640/SDIM1280-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Caraway? I think?</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My favorites, some kind of aster. They always look like this. They're not dying, they just don't care.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sS9yNPMzrRmIRoKictzRbIAEtUM8XpV9RLhDR3s87JNDcDZooeDqdzB34V27Lhkbw3FrNn6KpaE4Gnvgnlc2CZ8hE8q-lJEWXdrimUH-9gufGbAvdhk85IY92drvOngAozYV2pHql_M3/s1600/SDIM1299+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sS9yNPMzrRmIRoKictzRbIAEtUM8XpV9RLhDR3s87JNDcDZooeDqdzB34V27Lhkbw3FrNn6KpaE4Gnvgnlc2CZ8hE8q-lJEWXdrimUH-9gufGbAvdhk85IY92drvOngAozYV2pHql_M3/s640/SDIM1299+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Near Cataract Creek</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Cataract Creek</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaLZqRoklprL8r1krv2b4HdwKiFLUQ-hAywlImuEZEq2e6YdWYdfoOvI1hwyh10K8FpaeT21ugDgs2M7uGu0k__U5FwFSXkTSTYODpeblDaYuRAF2ISWvdCWPRl2yPuiRb4Qj0i_f4J48/s1600/SDIM1308+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaLZqRoklprL8r1krv2b4HdwKiFLUQ-hAywlImuEZEq2e6YdWYdfoOvI1hwyh10K8FpaeT21ugDgs2M7uGu0k__U5FwFSXkTSTYODpeblDaYuRAF2ISWvdCWPRl2yPuiRb4Qj0i_f4J48/s640/SDIM1308+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me smoking a Lady's Cigarette and looking fine</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Waterfall</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Exploded Tree</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-1516758125072774942011-01-04T13:33:00.000-06:002011-01-04T13:33:18.886-06:00Creede to Silverton (Thursday July 22 - Monday July 26)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I took my time in Creede. I lived at my little campsite up on a hill outside of town and kept trying to put more weight on. I ate like a horse every night and I ate good food with huge portions. I enjoyed Creede, but wasn’t too sad to leave it behind. I spent a good bit of effort trying to plan my escape route without paying for a shuttle back up the way I came. I did not want to walk up a blasted road, a long road at that, to get back up to the point I’d descended in first place. The weather in Creede was quite rainy and even unpredictable. The way it usually works is that it rains in the afternoon if it rains at all. This is due to water vapor rising up in the morning from the valleys and lowlands as the earth warms up and then cooling as it hits the cooler mountain air and then it rains. Thunderstorms are not unusual, and this seems to be caused by the mountains themselves causing a collision of cooler air on one side and warmer on the other. Again, I could be wrong about this but it seemed to be that this was the way it was working. However, it had become erratic; raining in the morning, raining at night, intermittent sun… It wasn’t making much sense. Monsoon season was not technically upon us (this has to do with moisture coming in from out of the Pacific regions and colliding with the air from the desert to the south and plains from the east, all of this in the mountains) but, again, this usually happens in the afternoons. Much of the rest of my trip, it turned out, was going to be rather wet.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Anyway, I’d finally come by an alternate route called Miner’s Creek Trail to get myself up to the CT. The area just after San Juan Mountain and it’s assosciated valleys is Snow Mesa, one of the largest mesas in all of Colorado (the largest? I don’t recall) and it is very high up there and about 4 miles long with nowhere to hide should a storm come through. Needless to say, I wanted to do this part earlier in the day and hopefully avoid any inclement weather.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I set off from my campsite early in the morning and washed my feet off with a bandana and some dew that had collected on my rainfly overnight. I hadn’t showered in a while now, one not being available in Creede for me to use. I waited for my rainfly to dry in the morning sun, packed everything up, and then walked a along some old roads that went further into a valley a little further along the one I’d come down into Creede. I get to the trail and start moving along. A strange part of the world, this one. There’s the occasional semi-permanent home off in the woods, a broken-down ranch with a couple of horses, things like that. I continue on up into the hills along a road that’s bound to become more trail like. I pass an old abandoned mine with its yawning mouth and metal fence of broken braces with its constant exhalation of air that must have been no warmer than sixty degrees in temperature. I walked up to it, out of curiosity, and can swear I heard noises coming from its guts like you’d expect out of a horror movie. I freak out at these things (I have good fun with it, though) and as such got a little spooked and ceased my inspection. I don’t know if the chill I got was from the air or my imagination.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I kept going further and further along and it got dense really quick. After a little bit more I realized I’d already taken another wrong turn and headed back, a little irritated with myself to have wasted so much time. I backtracked a bit (much easier going back than going forward in this case!) and got back on trail. I know this is the right way because the huge sign that said “Miner’s Creek Trail” with an arrow pointing in the direction I had not gone was right there for the whole world to see. Oh well. I passed a slew of fools in RVs, mostly from Texas, who were parked off the road, sitting in their air-conditioned mobile homes watching TV and enjoying nature.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I finally managed to get to the end of the road where there was a small creek and the actual trail started. I got some water, fought off the mosquitoes and was happy to finally be back into the woods.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Not many people use this trail. It was a lot of fun, though, winding about up and over hills, crossing back over the stream, where fascinating white cliffs jut out of the sides of the mountains as I gain in altitude. Most of the stream crossings were bridge-less and so fording them was mandatory, but the day was sunny enough to where I dried out in good time. The further along I got, the larger the boulders sitting in the middle of the valley floor became as the mountains, in due time, fall down around themselves. I finally got to a good campsite location and determined that I was about 4 miles from the way I’d eventually ascend back up to the ridge and run into the CT and get up to Snow Mesa. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">There was something about this area that felt truly remote. The trail wasn’t beaten in like most trails are, just enough to let you know that you’re not lost yet. Being so close to the stream that was running through the valley I was curious to know if I’d see any bears or other things going down for a drink as dusk came around, but I didn’t this time. While pumping water, the handle from the pump broke, rendering it useless. I was glad I’d got the iodine tabs now, but cursed that I’d have to carry this broken thing all the way to Silverton.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I wake up the next morning a little bit anxious. I had to get myself up to the ridge still, and then across Snow Mesa in one shot. I got further and further along the trail as it became more and more difficult to see where I was supposed to be going as the trail eventually petered out. Basically, I was at the end of the line. To the left of me was a wall of rocks and straight ahead was a mountain. I examined my map again and cut across to the right, thinking I’d hit a trail of some kind that would lead me around this impossible route and up along a path that must have surely been along the face of that huge hill. Fortunately, I was right, and I soon found myself in the last grove of trees I’d see for miles. I had my lunch to get the energy stored up and set off. I still couldn’t see a trail, but I knew where I was going. I headed cross-country and into the pass that finally led to Snow Mesa. I could see a trail off in the distance, marked by poles and featuring CT blazes, and so I set off on a trajectory past a small lake and then ran into the official trail and began my trek across the expanse.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">This landscape was magnificent, and no pictures could capture its scale. I felt like I was in some chapter of <i>Blood Meridian</i>, if it had been set in Colorado. Straight ahead there was nothing but a rolling flatness. To my left the whole thing just fell off like you’d found the end of the Earth. To the right, mountain crests not much higher than Snow Mesa itself, but high enough to make you wonder what was going on on the other side, weather-wise. I kept a close eye on these things all day, watching wisps of clouds form over these peaks and hoping that they didn’t decide to join forces and begin a lightning show. Occasionally, a sprinkle would drop onto me and get me to moving quicker. The clouds formed slowly over me, but at a very high altitude, and it was eventually, after moving very quickly now, that I descended out of the mesa and into a crevasse and finally back below tree line. I took a little break, snapped some pictures of stuff and headed toward Spring Creek Pass.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I ran into some fellas who were just getting back from a journey and they gave me a bunch of free granola bars and one of those Mountain House dinners. I ate all of the granola bars at a picnic table and tried to determine how far I wanted to get before camping that night. I got going and eventually came across a very small creek coming down out of a little grove on the hillside. I hauled my stuff up near the grove and pitched my tent far enough away from it so that if lightning did hit one of them and it fell over it wouldn’t land on me. I went back up into the grove and found a great little place to build a campfire, cook my dinner, get warm, and do some reading. I’m still on <i>Tom Jones</i>, but I’m rapidly nearing the end. Good old Tom and Sophia! What will become of them? How will it all turn out?</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I got up early that morning, ate my breakfast and was off by 7.45. Today is another incredible part of the trail, with the majority of it being way above treeline, the trail itself ascending to over 13,000 feet without even going over a mountain, just going around them. There were three different saddles to get to before it was all over. You go flat out for a long distance, ascend up and over a ridge to get into another saddle, go flat for another few miles, and then do it again. All day long the weather is threatening to annihilate me, but holds off and holds off. I lose track of how many saddles I’ve hit, but it doesn’t even matter now. The clouds are clearly setting up for a show and I’m heading closer and closer to the front of the stage. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I get over the last saddle (Carson Saddle) and finally start the descent. I could not have been more relieved. It’s starting to hail and beat into me as I go down. I get to a point where I think I have time to stop and put on my rain gear. Hands freezing from the wet and the wind, I put on my gloves and rain gear and just keep moving. All I know right now is that then only place I know of where I can camp is a ways off. I keep going down and the trail cuts back across this wonderful valley. Yes, it’s beautiful even as I’m out there in the rain with all my junk on my back. I finally get a break in the rain and sit down on a rock. I haven’t slipped and fell this entire trip, but I nearly did just a minute ago. Honestly, I got distracted by all the Columbines which seem to really enjoy watching me go by, wandering what the rush is. I suppose they’re right and have a smoke on a boulder and take a breather when I hear some racket down in the willow bushes. At this point I’m thinking it’s a bear and just sort of wait to figure out if it is or if it isn’t. Turns out it’s some people. Ha! Anyway, they set off and I give them a ten minute lead to avoid passing them immediately. This part of the trail runs along the mountain and it’s pretty steep down the side. With all the rocks being wet it gets pretty slippery, too. It starts to rain and hail some more and I get up to move along. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The hail is really coming down now, and I can see up ahead that there’s another bit of elevation gain and some pretty hefty exposure. There’s no lightning, at least not yet. I pass the couple who’d set off earlier, and they’re hunkered down off the trail with a poncho covering the both of them. I suppose it worked for them, but it’s not really much of a shelter. Besides, it could rain all night.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I make it to the pass and get over it and back down the other side with no incidents. The trail winds around going back in the “forward progress” direction and I know I’m close. From up above I can see a little lake, and I know I’m almost homefree. I don’t like the idea of having to set up my tent in the rain, but it is early yet and I figure I’ll dry out overnight. I get to the lake and as luck would have it it actually stops raining for ten minutes as I get my whole camp set up and throw myself into it. Immediately it starts raining again. And it rains a while longer, and then it all turns into hail. And it hails off and on all night long. I make it futher into the saga of Tom and Sophia with their societally discouraged love, but due to the weather don’t get to have dinner tonight. I snack on things that don’t need cooking, but a hot meal of any kind at all wouldn’ve been great. As it was, I was camped out at 12,600 feet and was happy that it was only freezing rain and hail, not thunder and lightning.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next morning it’s sunny and I can feel some heat beating down through the tent. Not much, but enough to undampen the spirits and give me some hope that I won’t have to trudge throuh the rain all day long. I emerge and see that there’s still pellets of hail all over the ground and plenty of ice on my tent. I can’t pack it up right away, but I do tear it all down and hang it over a willow bush to hopefully dry a little faster from the radiating sun. I do manage to have a hot breakfast in the cold, but I’m used to all the cold by now.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Today was nice. Enough clouds to block a lot of the sun and keep me from feeling like I was being microwaved. I pass through Cuba Gulch and into Minnie Gulch. It’s a blast walking through this part of the world in this fashion. As I get near the last pass I take another break. At this point in the hike I can’t eat enough food to get satisfied, and yesterday’s little adventure didn’t help matters out. I am hopeful to get out of all this above-tree-line business and get to somewhere a little less threatening to sleep. Finally, I get to Stony Pass. There’s a cabin known as Miner’s Cabin quite a few miles ahead where the trail descends back into a valley along Elk Creek Trail. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I pass through a huge flock of sheep (mutton) and proceed along this massive area. I meet an older guy who’s out studying wildflowers. He seems to have misplaced his trekking pole somewhere, unfortuanately, but the two of us manage to find it in a place where he had, he correctly surmised, gotten down on the ground to get a closer look. At this altitude all of the flowers are alpine and teeny.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Being pretty dang tired at this point, I have lost my ability to accurately assess how far I’ve gone due to not being able to feel how fast I’m moving. I pass a couple of lakes, but not the ones I’m looking for, and keep pressing on. It’s late afternoon now and I’m eager to get to where I’m going. Over to the right, massive mountains are emerging into view. Mts. Arrow and Vestal. Over them is a massive storm system full of lightning and, presumably, thunder. This is still a long way off, and even though lightning can really travel I’m confident I’m a long way away from it. I keep going, pass by another couple of lakes and finally get my bearings. I’m about 4 miles from the end of all the exposure and Miner’s Cabin, but it makes zero sense to head straight into that storm system. Foolhardy, even.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’m hungry enough to call it quits. I pitch my tent several hundred yard from the lakes and between a couple of massive rocks in hopes that if there is any lightning it’ll hit the water or the rocks, but not me. I go to the lake to fill up my Nalgene, and it is all so completely shallow that it’s difficult to fill it close to full without disturbing the bottom and getting too much sediment in there, too. Not to mention, there was strange life swimming around in there. Very tiny little things. This is exactly what the iodine is supposed to kill.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I have as much food as I can consume and am happy to be in safe spot. No rain or anything at all, and no signs of it, either. It’s chilly as dusk descends and I am anxious to get back to Tom and Sophia and all the rest. I figure I’ll be finished with the book tomorrow night!</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I hole up in my tent as dusk begins to slide in, enjoying my book. All of a sudden rain begins to patter down on my tent. I sit up just a little, hoping, hoping that it’s not going to become what I think it’s going to become. But it does. Moments later a shock of thunder booms out overhead and the wind picks up, the rain falling faster and turning to hail. In no time at all the area is dark as night, hail beating furiously on my little 2 ½ pound tent, the wind coming from all sides from under the tent fly, lighting striking all over the place, and I can see it all through the gaps in my tent where I have the rainfly gapped out from the netting to create an air flow.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I have not yet found a way to really describe this experience. It is a very strange thing to be laying there on your back, seeing bolts of lightning bright enough to flash through your tent overhead as it shatters the darkness. The ensuing clap of thunder is instantaneous. The initial boom is followed by a roll which seems to start out high in the sky, pummeling and shredding the air as it makes its way down to the earth, it’s pitch descending into depths which are inaudible and only able to be felt as the earth rumbles through your back as you lay there completely helpless. This happens endlessly, and before one shock is over another one or two have already begun, the wind screaming like a banshee, the hail drumming in the darkness, and the lightning absolutely everywhere, the earth drawing out the energy from the ions in the sky. I knew where I was and had no delusions about it. I understood that it was possible I could die up here, and my most sincere hope was that if I did get hit by lightning that I would not survive it. I thought of my tent with its single metal pole acting as a support right over my head and running the length of my body. My pack was covered up about 40 feet away, and I was simply hoping that the lightning would either hit the lakes several hundred yards away, or if it hit me that it would pulverize me into dust. I’ve had a few experiences in my life that have had me on the brink of death, and a calm comes over you and you just relax. For myself, I’ve been fortunate and stubborn enough to have lived a great life in my 36 years, and if this was it, then so be it. I laid back, frighteningly calm and also horribly anxious, and enjoyed this spectacular display, and can really only ultimately describe it as being the greatest rock and roll show on earth. I started writing in my journal, thinking this would distract me up to the point of impact. I haven’t had the guts to reread it yet, but I do remember the gist. For whatever reason, I want to share it with you, so here it is, exactly as I wrote it:</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>I’ll get to the day in a minute. Right now it’s 7 o’clock and I’m in my ten and there’s a huge thunderstorm. It’s terrifying. The noise is incredible and I expect the hail to break through my tent. There’s lightning everywhere, thunderclaps the size of the hands of God Himself, and more wind than I think a tent of any kind could endure. There’s nothing I can do but wait it out, but it does seem to be getting stronger and stronger. At least the distance between lightning and thunder is a few seconds, but that’s not much solace. I don’t know what to do but smile like a fiend and distract myself with this writing about it.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>The ground outside is turning from green to white as hail continues to cover up all of everything. I’d pray about it, but even if there is a God up there this is what he wants anyway, so let’s get it over-with. I’m not going to beg.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>I can only hope that it’ll end soon.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>It seemed to come from out of nowhere. I ate dinner and sure it was cloudy, but I did not see it coming. I’m not too close to the ponds and tried to get as low as possible, but what can you do? This is hiking along the Divide. I hope it does hit that lake and kills whatever those weird creature are living in it that I’m now drinking, albeit they are hopefully dead from the iodine.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>The worst of it seems to be over though it’s still raining. I see the occasional flash of lightning, and can still hear the thunder - the pitch starting out high and then, after holding the note for what seems like forever, glissandos down to a thundering rumble of notes so low it is nothing more than a barrage of percussion, like an orchestra consisting only of drums that are inaudible but produce only quaking. Sort of like a lot of my favorite music. A huge thump and rumble with splashes of melody. A very beautiful and terrifying experience. I can feel the earth shake under my back as I lie here motionless, trying not to be noticed by the musicians. I am left in a state of calm yet nervous relief as the show comes to a close and, like all of my favorite shows, I hope for no encore, just to be left with myself to let the electric feeling subside. Damn. Best concert ever. More wattage and drums were used in the 10 minutes I just experienced than anything I’ve ever been able to experience. It’s off to the left now, moving along with its performance, using the entire range of mountains as a stage. What’s left of the hail is doing a little tap dancing on my tent to its own peculiar rhythm.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">After it was all over I did my journalling, did some more reading, and eventually went to sleep. Perhaps it does sound pitiful or hyperbolic, but it was simple insanity with no rhyme or reason to any of it. The past several days it has been difficult to stay “smart” and dodge the lightning, but you got to get lucky in this life, too. What an amazing world we live in.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I woke up the next morning to the sun shining. It was very cold and I could see my breath fogging as I recalled the entire previous night. I thought a little bit about what the day had in store, and was certainly pretty excited to get back underneath some trees. I should be able to camp just outside of Silverton today and there are rumors of an RV camp where I can get a shower. I haven’t had one since Salida, and that was about 12 days ago.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I headed further along the Divide, and eventually came to where the CT and CDT split from each other, the CT heading running along Elk Creek Trail toward Silverton. I was happy and relieved to be going down into the valley, its stream rolling through the rocks. I could see Miner’s Cabin and was relieved to realize that I had not come this far last night as there was not only no roof over the thing but nowhere to camp anyway. The ravine/gorge/whatever it’s called was pretty narrow and there was no place to really camp anywhere along the trail for a good many miles. I see a small group coming up the trail, a family it seems, and I sit down on a rock to give them the right of way.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The first to arrive at my perch was a father and son, and we chatted for just a little bit about hiking and all that sort of thing. It was turning into a warm and sunny day, and for my part I was still pretty high from knowing I hadn’t been roasted alive the night before. A few minutes later the mom and daughter showed up to join the rest of the fam. I did my best to look the father in the eye when I was talking to him, but I hadn’t seen a girl in a very long time, and I felt stupid to know that my eyes kept going back to Pretty Young Thing. It didn’t help that she decided to strip down into her shorts and tank top right in front of me in a display of youthful elasticity. It was agonizing, and I know she knew it. Absolutely brutal. I left them and continued further, my mind thinking of the shower that awaited. I passed a lake where there was an excellent view of Mt. Vestal and Mt. Arrow, the peaks that just the day before were being pummeled by the weather.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">There’s a train that runs from Durango to Silverton, an old narrow-guage train that is suitable not for travel but for tourists. It is very expensive and used to be owned by the municipality or something like that, but is now privately owned and completely useless for legitimate travel. Tourists get off at the stop at Elk Creek Trail and go hiking and camping. I’m moving pretty fast now, able to smell the shower just a few miles off. I still have to do a major elevation gain to get out of this valley and back up to where Silverton and the RV park is. There’s a lake there where, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go fishing later on. I sit down on a rock just before my last climb and have my lunch. Provisions are getting low again but I have enough to left to have a decent meal tonight and get to my drop box tomorrow. I’m hoping to find another book or two as well, since I am going to be finished the the saga of <i>Tom Jones</i> tonight.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It’s cloudy again as I get to the RV park, and let me tell you, this was an interesting experience. I took off my pack and sat down at a picnic table outside of the office for a minute before knocking on the door to find no one around. I waited for a bit and eventually a fella showed up and started loading stuff from the garage into his pickup. Coolers, tools, odds and ends. He’s a tall, thin man with a weather-beaten face and his hair pulled back, his prison tattoos bleeding out over his arms as the sun has melted them into blurriness over the years. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">There was a woman who was asking the guy in charge about staying at the park for a night, and he told her “it’s fine by me. I’ve had it with this place. I’ve been running it for five years and as of today I’ve had my last gun pulled on me. Hell, I’d have probably been shot myself if I hadn’t made it known that I had my gun on me as well. So, sure, go ahead and stay here.” </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">“But we made reservations online,” she said, seemingly oblivious to everything he’d just told her as he continued to pack his truck.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">“Yeah, that’s the only way you can stay here anymore. You can’t even drive up and pay to stay here. Got to do it all on the internet. There’s lot of problems with drugs coming up from New Mexico into Silverton and as we’re right off the highway these people drive by, see a business just off the highway and see it as an easy mark. I’ve been robbed enough and have had guns pulled on me too often. Today, they got pissed that we’d run out of ice and drew out on me. I’m not going to get shot over ice.”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">She seemed incredulous and I just sat there, wondering if my chance at getting a shower was over.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Eventually she went away and me and the guy got to talking a bit. I don’t know if anyone else has this happen to them, but it has happened often to me where people, complete strangers, will just start telling me how they feel in an uncensored way not suitable for television. We got to taking for a bit, and he filled me in on the details. He used to live in New Mexico a while back and did some time in prison for his efforts with motorcycle gangs and cooking drugs and so forth. He’s left it all behind him, but he’s perplexed about all of it. He espoused his ideas about the Reservations, the Wets, and how it’s all such a disastrous situation as the sovereignty of the Nations pretty much makes it impossible to stop the flow of meth into the entire region and it’s just ruining lives. The RV park has turned into a refuge for animals (the human variety) and thieves (also humans) and how the entire area has turned into a shit hole since he first came out here many years ago. For his part, he acknowledges his own errors and has been playing it straight for a long while. He talked about the government and the ruination of everything. For my part, it’s hard to not agree with him on the majority of his points, choice of descriptive terminology notwithstanding. Anyway, I got nothing against this guy at all. I tell him I was hoping to get a shower, and he gave me the tokens to do so without charging me a cent.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I showered, using my bandanas as wash-rags and towels. I felt 100% better and, sadly, a lot lighter. I was really burning up my reserves, physically. I thanked the guy and went back a ways to where I knew there was a decent place to camp and then be close enough to the road to, hopefully, get an easy hitch into Silverton the next morning. I didn’t want to be too close to the RV park and any troubles that might emanate from it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It started to sprinkle a bit later that evening, and I was happy enough to be clean and get a fire going well enough to cook my dinner. I finished <i>Tom Jones</i>, a wonderfully told tale, and rested up. I wanted to get into Silverton early, get my business done and be back in good enough time to take a “zero” before setting off the next day. This had been a very wild ride.</div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjuAfro8gcZEQYPjAAwChQelV8ltvJMr0BpE_aDx5IngBbLtmFOOqJk0RdzgmQLtN4CuWeu_aHOS3bSZ2yXqj3fL_4HyascgXm6UcpYZ3j41mR6LoskZD8d_DXvlqTBowiQ9iVft4ftKL/s1600/SDIM1179+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjuAfro8gcZEQYPjAAwChQelV8ltvJMr0BpE_aDx5IngBbLtmFOOqJk0RdzgmQLtN4CuWeu_aHOS3bSZ2yXqj3fL_4HyascgXm6UcpYZ3j41mR6LoskZD8d_DXvlqTBowiQ9iVft4ftKL/s640/SDIM1179+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>A spooky mine shaft</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingj9jOzqij5hMTx0I9F3whvl0hXv64lTD-bj0Km2RLSnZ2mFq32B6mKTS-kfVY2wOKXkDYodqwlvWNu1Ft_bqbVPX9SzjWZOATr5qKQru4lMTqBFqIlwQzqJ_ehTlIRMvRrX1T4YZduCp/s1600/SDIM1189-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingj9jOzqij5hMTx0I9F3whvl0hXv64lTD-bj0Km2RLSnZ2mFq32B6mKTS-kfVY2wOKXkDYodqwlvWNu1Ft_bqbVPX9SzjWZOATr5qKQru4lMTqBFqIlwQzqJ_ehTlIRMvRrX1T4YZduCp/s640/SDIM1189-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Rosy Paintbrush (remember? There's several different kinds of these, and not all of them are red or pink)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegJsywYk5bgiGeJP3UsiFhYAzg3BfzSknYkkY_u6ylOC-FCNqFeifMGWOiGaq41WNq2yKmvr_GuiH0sTmcAoVPtdAU5cw9Xx4LIm8G3Rvb3KS_iMvCBEvJCeHUsmZp3kdat1jUpW9hk3q/s1600/SDIM1191+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegJsywYk5bgiGeJP3UsiFhYAzg3BfzSknYkkY_u6ylOC-FCNqFeifMGWOiGaq41WNq2yKmvr_GuiH0sTmcAoVPtdAU5cw9Xx4LIm8G3Rvb3KS_iMvCBEvJCeHUsmZp3kdat1jUpW9hk3q/s640/SDIM1191+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>It's blurry, but I do find it a fun picture to look at.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1XLor703HvboL94BYO1EC92MtYIvAYZu6YJB_vZ9Cet7Uk1YFtU_tVnczsWipBKB3g0U-ZhP4Xt3bKI_tGg8topBqr8xh8AtdnUIBT7Jsg2FdfgWM_KOleizDHOhDulr6eofYhuRxsbD/s1600/SDIM1196-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1XLor703HvboL94BYO1EC92MtYIvAYZu6YJB_vZ9Cet7Uk1YFtU_tVnczsWipBKB3g0U-ZhP4Xt3bKI_tGg8topBqr8xh8AtdnUIBT7Jsg2FdfgWM_KOleizDHOhDulr6eofYhuRxsbD/s640/SDIM1196-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Little Red Elephant</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaj3aTTcVapv-NgHHQKz9lweHvzwPtEXHzxvpNKGHCjrRDQgyp1Dm922Vz6icVspnZ0VnTXiwfAATCaUzaHbquXcs3ZsCUzt-SYES4XUwVZvxkjjIO9eynZbpullLjF34qD-i3V01BYe1z/s1600/SDIM1198+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaj3aTTcVapv-NgHHQKz9lweHvzwPtEXHzxvpNKGHCjrRDQgyp1Dm922Vz6icVspnZ0VnTXiwfAATCaUzaHbquXcs3ZsCUzt-SYES4XUwVZvxkjjIO9eynZbpullLjF34qD-i3V01BYe1z/s640/SDIM1198+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Rock outcroppings along Miner's Creek Trail</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXz4xh1GxhJgxs-62gCuKMXm6lJmSXEHHVXDX3-2byMgafb1dfsD4ZhEY9a9tLb0aye_ke8tE-jHTy42DUZaZiDT05wdGuefcwHxhddwLDyuCQPHZOvw7pKeeNf1xk8zPJsiKKJ-fMHsps/s1600/SDIM1199+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXz4xh1GxhJgxs-62gCuKMXm6lJmSXEHHVXDX3-2byMgafb1dfsD4ZhEY9a9tLb0aye_ke8tE-jHTy42DUZaZiDT05wdGuefcwHxhddwLDyuCQPHZOvw7pKeeNf1xk8zPJsiKKJ-fMHsps/s640/SDIM1199+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJmz5awxKsJDWgrvij1V03iVpcamORUcFrtQYIqN7Xpizv_tNSPOV8rLvG_r7arHQ77wCinIYb4rw6aonMs4jeb78NaUQLx8_BwRqiFwIRpkzjnU3Ia7j7HEe-d_o6gwhH5iTh2CfpEdm/s1600/SDIM1201+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJmz5awxKsJDWgrvij1V03iVpcamORUcFrtQYIqN7Xpizv_tNSPOV8rLvG_r7arHQ77wCinIYb4rw6aonMs4jeb78NaUQLx8_BwRqiFwIRpkzjnU3Ia7j7HEe-d_o6gwhH5iTh2CfpEdm/s640/SDIM1201+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>At the "End of the Line"... Snow Mesa is over that cliff somewhere.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXdqr-wyth8N5_FCiQ5L_UyFRk8PyhO4mvBCNsHJVQFz1Ln0ontb-iW2r9wPEfIyHKEyJG8_IHuWcHBnBwGjUutma4pzoOVx8ezimprlJgK26g06tR-KoA_5jT0-ya1Cg-NFCgNeMhWZZ/s1600/SDIM1202+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXdqr-wyth8N5_FCiQ5L_UyFRk8PyhO4mvBCNsHJVQFz1Ln0ontb-iW2r9wPEfIyHKEyJG8_IHuWcHBnBwGjUutma4pzoOVx8ezimprlJgK26g06tR-KoA_5jT0-ya1Cg-NFCgNeMhWZZ/s640/SDIM1202+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I finally get through the pass to Snow Mesa.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ6hf5wSyO8TfxlEXaHfkZVr91Y-NTiCW0TcYMslvi81z0yBnkdbBKxE5wrgCvM2RTZTXfLQDxle9CQSmqNovTBwFJAnwvIWYGFsDPc6dEobD3N3nXlYv9wageTj4L2UWE7orzhmbaJU_/s1600/SDIM1207+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ6hf5wSyO8TfxlEXaHfkZVr91Y-NTiCW0TcYMslvi81z0yBnkdbBKxE5wrgCvM2RTZTXfLQDxle9CQSmqNovTBwFJAnwvIWYGFsDPc6dEobD3N3nXlYv9wageTj4L2UWE7orzhmbaJU_/s640/SDIM1207+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>to the left of Snow Mesa (the end of the world...)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Forward along the mesa</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqCSUViRB2XS9-Y4CtO6yfNZ0XGx7edtDYCu_lcMftetuc3Gt-Y9UYFvKE1wDFlrpewltp5-NkAFgO0hTx1bnJI0pCusi-SYv9NfJAwTAlSTuMxmTwqtldnLrTTpNJvsGwoucI1IieSmH/s1600/SDIM1209+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqCSUViRB2XS9-Y4CtO6yfNZ0XGx7edtDYCu_lcMftetuc3Gt-Y9UYFvKE1wDFlrpewltp5-NkAFgO0hTx1bnJI0pCusi-SYv9NfJAwTAlSTuMxmTwqtldnLrTTpNJvsGwoucI1IieSmH/s640/SDIM1209+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>To the right along the Snow Mesa.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The next day along the last saddle as the storm prepares for my arrival</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The next day, a gorgeous walk through all of these various passes and valleys.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>In the dead center of this photo, you can see Mt. Vestal to the left of Mt. Arrow. Not long after this, storms clearly formed over these peaks.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The day after being left to live a little while longer and finally entering Elk Creek Trail.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Miner's cabin, up on the hillside to the right of the trail.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzY9zE0GPeYBO6tRE0u5kgbsCdot-NOi0tiBSzGMir1-vaJzjkHMnR-cDaH8d_Gi6hpnccyFmKX5wccRv9mF7LLmNJEqFvJ3jhanFmaS56NpVe3BVo_w0Qcg11Yhlem3KtjToWWB4KfP4/s1600/SDIM1255+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzY9zE0GPeYBO6tRE0u5kgbsCdot-NOi0tiBSzGMir1-vaJzjkHMnR-cDaH8d_Gi6hpnccyFmKX5wccRv9mF7LLmNJEqFvJ3jhanFmaS56NpVe3BVo_w0Qcg11Yhlem3KtjToWWB4KfP4/s640/SDIM1255+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mts. Vestal and Arrow from a lake along Elk Creek Trail.</i></div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-44734951368719513142011-01-02T22:57:00.000-06:002011-01-02T22:57:03.930-06:00Salida to Creede (Wednesday July 14th - Monday July 19th)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">My exploring showed that someone had been there and had built a shelter out of fallen pine trees and branches. Spooky? Absolutely.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Anyway, stop eating free-range beef.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: center; text-indent: 28px;"><i>***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.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Rosy Paintbrush (there's several different "paintbrushes", this one being my favorite)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Languid Ladies (aka Tall Chiming Bells)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I couldn't figure these ones out</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Baldy Lake (one of a couple)</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOEnyRJaCZPybT9Tb6PscEumCTIbPpNHMtFUXKJm8EwGR-AOIXbIHXRpCO9-5LbFfk4YvnKx7-5MWImtRvTDvkuF0X6MSxtlAY6qvfa3M_Yex3Kahp2Wc3xgrKW6fYbt-QgYVPAQ9FCwD/s1600/SDIM1077-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOEnyRJaCZPybT9Tb6PscEumCTIbPpNHMtFUXKJm8EwGR-AOIXbIHXRpCO9-5LbFfk4YvnKx7-5MWImtRvTDvkuF0X6MSxtlAY6qvfa3M_Yex3Kahp2Wc3xgrKW6fYbt-QgYVPAQ9FCwD/s640/SDIM1077-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>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. </i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Bistort, or Snakeweed. I have chosen to not call them Giant Q-tips.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Heart-Leaved Arnica</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Not quite to Sergeant's Mesa</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Common Aster</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Another Cinquefoil</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Another Arnica</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>White Geranium</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnTM58jrqsbsWOvweTvVgeKWEjnLeROA29rK-R6RKuFWyCYNw8Zuz0-4esWpkTZuX_RuFkxw85TzXVaNdopErznMA8p7evJy3600RwIdGAClh8pDU5Yz-i2G7GoOet9jXQcHphSO166AN/s1600/SDIM1109-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnTM58jrqsbsWOvweTvVgeKWEjnLeROA29rK-R6RKuFWyCYNw8Zuz0-4esWpkTZuX_RuFkxw85TzXVaNdopErznMA8p7evJy3600RwIdGAClh8pDU5Yz-i2G7GoOet9jXQcHphSO166AN/s640/SDIM1109-copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mariposa Lily</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Camped out alongside Cochetopa Creek. Note the moon way up there. It was pretty grand.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>This is the actual price of supplying free-range beef to wealthy city people.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>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.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Walking away from San Juan Mountain.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>These rock formations are in the pic just above, if you couldn't see them.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Across the valley. San Juan Mountain is further to the right, just out of frame.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Creede's Main Drag.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The picnic table of leisure.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-64137257955649159832011-01-01T15:48:00.002-06:002011-01-01T15:48:38.740-06:00Salida to Creede part 1 (Sunday July 11 - Wednesday July 14)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I sort of got holed up in Salida a little bit. I did make it to the post office on time to get my box and was grateful to receive a birthday card from some friends in Kansas City (thanks to Kim, Nathan and Dan!) with one of those prepaid visa cards. But somehow I messed up my drop boxes and got the wrong maps. Frustratingly, I’d been buying maps I already had in boxes that were to come later. Most people don’t find the need to use maps on the CT, but I think maps are neat little things and what’s more they give me the option of using different trails to get to the same destination. Additionally, I was hoping to do a cluster of 14ers that were pretty far from the CT, and certainly the maps would be useful for this. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">My first night in Salida the hostel was full, so I set up camp on the other side of the river (the Arkansas River) near the railroad tracks where the Sangre de Cristo mountain range sort of begins. I’d been pretty good at keeping in touch with folks on this trail as I wanted to let them know I was okay and doing fine and was actually alive. I went and had a calzone at the pizza joint in town where a nice hippie-artist guy gave me a cookie, and then I did a little wandering and was just taking it a little slow. I found some postcards then had an ice cream place at the ice cream place, sat on a bench in front of it to eat my Huckleberry Ice Cream and write my postcards, and then got a call from Monica and Ben (from Manitou Springs) who told me that they were not too far away as they’d been fishing that day and said they were wanting to come into Salida to hang out before heading back to Manitou. What could be better?</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">We met at the ice cream place and wandered around the little town and ended up going back to the pizza place I’d already been to and then we ate a lot of pizza and breadsticks and had some beers. I told them how the trip was going so far, how it was really only about half done and they told me about their fishing trip and that life in general was pretty swell for them. It was a great summer evening in Colorado with the sun oozing down behind the hills and the mountain air being, well mountain air. It’s always great to see your friends, especially in these unexpected circumstances. I hope they all know how much I appreciate them.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">We said our goodbyes and I wandered around to find a bar and have a beer. I went into this place called the Tenderfoot Tavern where the DJs were playing a very odd mix of country and techno. Not mixed together, but alternating genres every other song. All the people would get up and dance during the country stuff and then sit down during the techno. It’s a fine line and a great distance between being eclectic or just confusing. I got talking to a local biker guy named Uncle Pete who was a nice guy indeed. We were sitting at the bar which is one of those where the bartender’s work area is actually lower than the rest of the floor, and as such the bar itself is only a couple of feet off the ground. Basically your sitting on footstools. I suppose this means that someone has less distance to travel to hit the ground if they pass out while sitting there. I dunno. I had a couple rounds of PBR draws and some Evan Williams on the rocks before going back to my little camp site. It was a rough introduction to Salida, but it was all improving and I was really starting to like it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I woke up the next morning, packed everything up and went to Cafe Dawn (the coffee shop) to do some more reading. I did some reading (yes, I’m still on <i>Tom Jones</i>. It’s a huge book, gimme a break), did some writing, and was just waiting around for 11 o’clock to walk over to the hostel. I saw the hippie-artist who’d given me the cookie and we chatted for a bit. I ended up talking for a bit with a woman named Maya who was a real neat gal and we discussed various mountain plants and other things. She was in the giving mood and offered me some soap that a friend of hers had made and talked about a cabin she went to a lot that was in the Sangres just north of Venable Lake. Not long after, Elijah stumbled up and I went to the Safeway around the corner to get some razors and other things. I got back to my stuff to meet Elijah, got a nice big hug from Maya and a recommendation on where to catch the next World Cup match and made my way to the hostel.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I met one of the proprietors, Kimberly, got all signed in and claimed my bunk before showering and cleaning up. I got the laundry in the machine and hung it out on the clothes line before running off to Benson’s to catch the game.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I got to there a little late but only ended up missing the first fifteen minutes of the match. I was fortunate enough to get my customary seat at the bar and ordered a beer. On my right was a guy named Tim from Australia and on my left was Katy from Louisiana. The match was great and I had one cheap PBR for the first half and then had a smoke with Katy at the half. The score was zero zero after some great play. During the second half Katy found inspiration she bought us each a shot of Jameson as I enjoyed my second beer. She’s a good chick and was staying with her aunt in Salida as she did her playing around in Colorado. The game itself went into two fifteen-minute overtimes, and what this meant was that I had to have another beer and I also got me and Katy another Jameson. Spain finally scored with about 4 minutes left to play in the second overtime (much to my relief) and all in all it was a phenomenal game! I said goodbye to Tim and Katy as the bar cleared out and thanked Duffy the bartender.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I went back to the hostel to get my laundry off the line and play some of that guitar I’d seen sitting in the communal area before going to the library to try to get some photos up online for folks to see and managed to get just a bit done before it closed.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Back at the hostel I was playing that guitar again and just enjoying some down time in a town that I was really enjoying. Very easy going with good people all around. A young couple showed up at the hostel and they were from Missouri, too, oddly enough, and there names were Brennan and Lindsay. They were out in Colorado on a trip and Brennan was into the whole fishing thing as well. They had arranged to go rafting the next day but we made tentative plans to go fishing should the mood strike us after they got back. Another dude, Johnny, was cycling across the country from San Francisco to New Jersey. A fun guy indeed.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">That night for dinner I made a huge pasta dinner with spinach, tomatoes, garlic, and onions with an apricot from Lindsay and a cheap cherry pie. The bunch of us had a great evening together as it thunderstormed outside and Lindsay made microwave smores for everyone and Elijah managed to stylishly break a plate in front of everyone including the hostel owners in the main room. I had things to do the next day and was hoping to find the map I wanted at the outfitter so I made it to bed and slept like a baby does when it has the firm conviction that life is good.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next day is mostly me just taking it easy. The outfitter doesn’t have the map I need but they think they could have it tomorrow as it’s on order. I went fishing down by the park in the Arkansas river as kayakers and other water enthusiasts played. I got a haircut at Larry and Larry’s (yes, both of them are named Larry) and ate a bunch of food. I’m feeling great, and it’s nice to have some rest before doing the part of this hike that I’ve been looking forward to the most since before I even started.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next day the map still isn’t there so I wander all over town going anywhere I can think of that might have a map of this particular area. I hit the USGS office, the USFS office, and even Wal-Mart. Nothing! Shoot, and I’m really looking forward to leaving tomorrow. I talk to John that night (one of the hostel owners) and he tells me I don’t even need that map because I’m not missing much information. I take his word on it and make plans to split in the A.M.! I meet up with Elijah that night to hang out with this cute chick Katy who’s a vendor at various hippie concerts around the country. She’s more than a cut above the majority of hippie-types and isn’t one of those who just wants you to give them stuff. No, she’s pretty neat and she’s taking off the next morning to go sell some stuff at festival. For some reason I think she worked in textiles, but it may have been jewelry. I forget.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I get to bed late that night and get up early the next morning. Me and an older guy who goes by the name Flax Seed were getting shuttled back to the trialhead by John. I eat all the rest of the food I can’t carry with me and say goodbye to the family that’d been staying there. I can’t say I was sad to leave the hostel as I really wanted to get back on the trail, but I can say I’ll be back. That whole place is just awesome. I met more people than I’ve mentioned, but it all may come out over the course of time.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">John showed up to take us to the trail and all of a sudden Flax Seed decides he needs Cranberries. Kind of odd, to think of cranberries as being a necessity. We wait outside the Safeway for ages and he finally comes out and we take off. A beautiful morning for being outside, for sure. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">My goal is to get all the way to Silverton for my next stop. That’s a long way with some rough terrain. But for me the only place I might be able to resupply is in Creede and it’s a long long way off trail. Besides, I’m tired of being in towns now and just want to stay out in the woods as long as possible. My pack weighs a ton from having so much food. Yuck. And it’s going to be up up back into altitude. John drops us off and I get going.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>Note: I didn’t take any pics of Salida so don’t think I forgot to post them. There’s plenty more coming up.</i></div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-39355573888664298112010-12-31T21:04:00.000-06:002010-12-31T21:04:32.438-06:00Leadville to Salida via Leadville and Buena Vista Part 2 (Wednesday July 7th - Saturday July 10th)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">Okay, so I admit I panicked for a second. I mean, I’m about 8 - 12 miles (I don’t really recall) from Buena Vista and it’s a few minutes from being dark and, as fate would have it, it’s starting to rain again. I quickly pitch my tent before the rain decides to really start coming down. There is a privy/toilet thing in the parking lot so I go sit under that for some shelter while I just think about things. I’m stunned that I didn’t get a phone number. I always try to trade phone numbers with people so that we can all be in touch just in case something untoward happens. Something exactly like this. No cell reception anyway, and I know that they’re heading off in the direction of Boulder, they’d said, and I expect they’ll be there later tonight anyway. I just have to accept that I’ve made a boneheaded move and have to just relax, stay calm, and not make another one. The humor here is that I’d skipped ahead a little bit to make sure that I can get into Salida by Saturday to get my mail drop instead of needing to spend an extra day (and more money) there. Money, that’s the thing that kills me most here. I know right now that those boots are gone and that I’m not going to get them back tomorrow and that I’ll have to somehow get into town to buy some new ones. What can I say? Idiotic, yes, but it was certainly a day I wouldn’t trade for anything. Such is how it goes. I was hopeful that they’d notice at some point that the things were in the back of the truck and flip back around to get them back to me, but I knew for certain that they were underneath a tarp where their shoes were and it was highly unlikely that they’d want to put them on.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">So I got a decent night’s sleep and woke up the next morning bright and early. I was hoping to catch a hitch, but needed to be prepared to hike all the way into town with a full pack on my back and my camp sandals on my feet. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I must’ve walked a full 4 miles before I got a ride into town. There really wasn’t much traffic, for which I do applaud the area. I knew the outfitter I wanted to get to and where it was located, so that wasn’t a problem. The fella who gave me a ride was an old lumberjack/mountaineer who lived up in the mountains and was driving down into town for some work. A really neat guy who still sounded like he was from Vermont or New Hampshire even though he’d been out here for decades. He climbs in the Alpine Style (I’m not going to go into it, but look it up if you’re not familiar with it even though it has no bearing upon the story except that it makes him cool) and was a man I felt to be just fascinating. Living a simple-in-principle life doing what he loved and lived for. He dropped me off at the main corner in town. I thanked him and made my way up to the outfitter. I’m really glad that these towns are small.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I understood the outfitter to open at 9 o’clock but got there around 8, just to be sure that that was the right time (sometimes information changes) and to also ensure that this wasn’t some weird kind of day off. I hid my pack behind a bench behind the shop and walked back down the road to The Evergreen Diner I’d noticed was open and had a big mess of Biscuits and Gravy ($2.99 before 8.30 I think… Something like that) with some coffee and sat outside (it’s only polite to sit outside when you’ve been living mostly outdoors for weeks. Really, there’s not point in making a point of one’s stench. Even though I do have to say that I somehow didn’t smell awful, and I figured out why later…) and wrote in my journal some more before 9. The Evergreen is a weird place, and it’s exactly my kind of place. One adult working and about 5 young teenagers running the joint. I think some of them might even be called ‘Tweens, to use the new term. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I got back to the outfitter just before 9 and got a new pair of trail runners to replace the boots. I wanted to be back on the trail by noon to make some distance and make up for a lost morning of hiking, but also felt that since I was in town I should make the best of it. I went to the library to do some internetting and then found some postcards and a coffee shop to do some writing before getting a hitch out. I tell you what, but the coffee in Buena is quite good and they even have their own roaster in town. A nice town indeed. I dropped the postcards off in the mail box and walked back to the corner I’d been so kindly dropped off at several hours prior and stuck a thumb out, prepared again to walk the whole way back if need be. As it happened, the first car picked me up.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">Another interesting and kind stranger. This one was an older guy who was a self-proclaimed gem hunter. He wasn’t rich or anything, at least not materially, but he sure enjoyed his life living out of his jeep-type-thing with his dog Switch. We chatted a bit before he dropped me off at the trailhead. I bid him and the dog adieu and made one final and timely use of the toilet facilities before hitting the trail, phenomenally, by noon. Even I was impressed.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">This day was very cloudy and rainy. What that means, to those of you who don’t like to read, or more likely, find my writing stifling, is that there is just no way to take as many pictures as you’d like. For one thing, it’s raining, and secondly photos of things that are pretty are much improved by having light to bring out the colors. It’s a shame, too, because this day there were flowers just about everywhere. Much of the trail at this point turned into road where religious freaks have decided to build structure in the mountains in an effort to, oddly, enjoy them. I can’t decide if these are good intentions or lusting after money. Either way, I wish I’d live long enough to see the day they all erode back into the dust and rocks.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I finally made it out of the maze of roads that went by Princeton Hot Springs and found the right direction to the trail (an actual trail, I’d like to say). I sat down at the trailhead to get an idea of how far I wanted to go, and for me this is determined by water sources. There was one more about a mile up, and then some sporadic possibilities a few miles further along. An older couple who were waiting for their daughter or someone to meet up with them came around and we chitchatted for a bit. Oddly, they’d met the weird guy from Seattle with the two dogs. They concurred that he’s an odd fellow indeed and they felt that he was asking them, in a curious and roundabout way, to board the two dogs for him. What a nut.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I made my way further and passed a stream not long after and decided to keep on going as it was still sort of early and the weather was breaking nicely and the sun was beginning to lay low in the sky. Not long after this, it got cloudy again. What I was really trying to do was climb Mt. Shavano the next day, and to do that I had to get a lot closer than I was now. Tomorrow would be Friday, and the day after that I wanted to be in Salida by noon to get my mail drop. Fortunately, my delay in Buena had been a blessing as I was really loving my new shoes and they were causing me no problems at all. I liked them much more than my boots and found myself fortunate to make the switch.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I continued on. It got later and later, to the degree that I thought I might have to stop and dig my headlamp out to keep pressing on safely, and I was fortunate at this point that there was no rain or abject weather. I finally made it to a creek just as dusk was over, and I stumbled into what would have been the perfect campsite for a nice quiet evening. It was still a perfect campsite, but there were lots of people there. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">But they were grand folks. They were a Scout Troop from Dayton, Ohio who were out for a good time. I introduced myself to them, and asked them if there was a place nearby where I could make camp, and they said there was a good site or two up the hill where the other adults were and that I should make myself at home. I set my pack down, pulled the raincover from over the top to access my tent and other stuff and looked for my headlamp that, amazingly, was not there. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. I thought it might be in the storage net in my tent, so I borrowed a headlamp from a troop leader and pitched my tent and it wasn’t there, either. I went through my sleeping bag and it wasn’t there. It wasn’t in any of the pockets in my pack; it was just gone. I thanked the guy for the lamp, told him I’d run into a blunder, but that I’d be fine. I picked my pack up to carry it up to my tent as I did so my headlamp fell out. Unbelievable. Somehow it had slipped out of the pocket I always kept it in and fell into a gap where my pack cover was bunched underneath the pack. Well, it’s a goofy sort of a thing to do in front of a bunch of other people, but I really like that headlamp. I declined the option to tell them about leaving my shoes in someone’s truck</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I made a quick dinner and got the water I’d need from the creek for the next day and hit the sack. <i>Tom Jones </i>just keeps getting better and better.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I got up the next morning and packed all my gear up as quietly as I could so as to let the others slumber as late as they wished. I knew they were only going about 5 miles that day and were planning to hike up Shavano the next day. I was trying to get there today and had about 7 or 8 miles to go before I’d even be at the trailhead. I had my breakfast and got moving.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I got to the trailhead, secured my pack to a tree, got my daypack ready and got going. The ascent up the trail to tree line is a lot of fun. It’s also sort of confusing. You have to go through some really strange wooded areas and the trail sort of disappears half the time. But that’s what maps are for, and I, for the most part, knew not to go in the majority of possible directions. Creeks are awesome for establishing location. I felt like it took forever to get to treeline, and that after I’d got there that it wasn’t that far to the peak. I’m guessing that treeline goes up in altitude as you go further south in latitude, but I’d like to look that one up before stating it as fact. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I was pretty tired from hiking so far in the morning just to get there, especially after the silly day beforehand which turned out to be a big-mile day of around 23 miles or so, I think. But I was determined and the weather was favorable so far. A few clouds, but none of them too dark or ominous. It was just before treeline that I met the biggest moron I was to meet in my life in the outdoors, and quite possibly anywhere.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">It was an older guy in his 50s, I’d say, who was a tad flabby, but I’m certainly not being judgmental about his age or his condition. In fact, I like to see people who are older out doing stuff that’s physical, and I also like to see the not-in-shape people not sitting on couches eating potato chips all day. But this is merely a physical description. It was after he opened his mouth that it all went downhill, even though I suspect myself of casting an aspersion or two considering his use of a GPS device. The top of the mountain is the highest part. Every time. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">He and I chatted a little bit and I told him I was going to get to the top of it if the weather held out and that I hoped to be there by 2 o’clock which was in a couple of hours from now. This was not unreasonable considering that I was almost at treeline anyway. He told me that such a time was impossible and then proceeded to tell me that he was with his son who was a terrible mountain climber and was having a hard time because he was fat and out of shape. He then went on to tell me about himself. He’d moved his entire family to Quebec to study French in a native environment, which is sort of like moving to the depths of Wales to study English (no offense to the Welsh or the Quebecois, but they know what I mean, here. I don’t think the way I talk is suitable for someone trying to learn how to make themselves clear in the English language, and I know this because I’m so frequently having to repeat myself and enunciate in a counter-intuative way. I’m just saying, is all). He then bragged about how he’d moved the family to South Africa to study (I kid you not) race relations or diplomacy or something akin to the idea of working for BP to study marine ecology. I imagined to myself that he left South Africa after he was run off of his plantation, diplomat though he was. Sometime during this oratory of diminished ability, his poor, overweight, depressed son arrived which was timely as his father was becoming impatient at the prospect of my leaving before he was able to further berate and humiliate his son in front of a stranger, a thing which he had rehearsed many times and spewed before me in a caustic spray of misused academic jargon and the occasional francophonic tidbit. If any human being deserves immediate death, it is this man, and poetry declares it will be done in some ingenious method by his son as he seeks to be free of this horrible paternal bond. Best of luck to you, my friend, and godspeed.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">Again, I digress. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I continued on up the mountain. I met a couple of people coming down as I was going up, and saw a few people who I think might’ve made a wrong turn as they were going in the wrong way and kept looking back in a way which seemed to indicate bewilderment as to why most people were not going in their direction. Shavano is a fun climb, and only moderately difficult. It’s a lot of loose shale, but a beautiful geologic formation in an equally beautiful range of mountains. The botanical life was different than it had been and there were new flowering species (new to me, of course) that I hadn’t seen yet. It was getting a little overcast, so I kept up the hill as photos were not going to turn out anyway. I got up to the ridge and proceeded to climb. I really enjoy climbing over rocks. I just think it’s fun. No good reason for it, it’s just fun. Shavano is kind of like a giant pile of rubble. As I study geology and look back on it I think I understand why, but that’s for a different time for me to get into. After scrambling and keeping a close eye on the clouds as they build up and creep closer I finally made it to the top. Another beautiful experience. Those rascally marmots were everywhere, and even on the hight point of the mountain was a lovely deposit of marmot scat. I find it funny.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I sat up there for a while, wondering if I should walk over to Taubegauche (another 14er connected by a ridge to Shavano), but decided that it would be pushing my luck to do so. It was sprinkling on me now and it was very cold, and I just didn’t want to chance it. Besides, I already somehow knew that I’d be coming back here at some point.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I made my descent and got lucky again with the weather. The sun broke through the clouds in time for me to take some more pictures of stuff. I saw a mountain goat doing nothing on the snow pack that was in the couloir, and I just proceeded to have a nice leisurely stroll through all the rocks. I managed to find my way back through the maze to my gear and ran into a familiar face from my ascent. His name was Elijah, a fellow Missourian. We hung out for a bit and chatted and I decided to set up camp just down from him a ways. He told me about a hostel in Salida I should go to, and also told me about a hiker box full of cokes and stuff down where the trailhead hit the highway. I thanked him, wished him well, and told him to expect to see me in Salida.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I woke up the next morning nice and early as I had to get 7 miles to the highway and then hitch into Salida about 15 miles (?) and then get across town to the P.O. before noon. I got to the trailhead around 10.30 and it took forever to get a hitch.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">I finally got a ride from someone with a rental car who was more or less lost. He asked me if I knew where I was going, and I said I was certain that it was on this highway in Salida, not any other highway. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though, just a little off. Nothing threatening or anything. I can’t even remember what we talked about, but I do know that I listened more than talked. I don’t really understand what it is about me that gets people to just start confessing the strangest things about themselves to a total stranger, but it happens a lot.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;">Anyway, he drops me off on the sort of lame side of town where all the cheap motels are and I get out my town map and figure out how to get to the post office. I am now in Salida.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: left; text-indent: 28px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The clouds descend upon me yet again after leaving B.V. Here I have about 7 miles to go today.</i></div><br />
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<i>A break in the clouds as dusk draws nigh</i><br />
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<i>Still a ways to go...</i><br />
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<i>On my way to Shavano Trailhead a pair of elk scared wits out of me by tramping through this grove of aspen.</i><br />
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<i>Looking down into the couloir as I ascend Shavano. Kind of hard to tell how steep it is.</i><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Look up at the summit as the clouds roll in.</i></div><br />
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<i>Here I'm on the final ascent. You can see the dip here where you walk up and then take a right to go up Shavano. The peak you see here (I'm unsure of the name and don't have my maps with me) actually looks fun as you can ridge walk a lot of this area.</i><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>From the Summit</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>That's Mt. Taubegauche from the summit of Shavano. It looks a lot closer than it really is (remember, you have to come back, typically) and the clouds were enough to put me off going there.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mt. Antero from Shavano</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>On top of Shavano, a Marmot toilet.</i></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Possibly the prankster</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Purple Fringe (Purple Pincushions)</i></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiTtWST6Ijtmee6_gOodEMb2XXnvySVK-UBFaTKbYT63fXraObstXDt7brlsQACRnna-HGRxDM9oH56fzM3KG9B-vbwGcdINvc-_JZg9pTmdmhNvpFL8qajh2Um2l-a-WiojRj6X9FMxS/s1600/SDIM1038-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiTtWST6Ijtmee6_gOodEMb2XXnvySVK-UBFaTKbYT63fXraObstXDt7brlsQACRnna-HGRxDM9oH56fzM3KG9B-vbwGcdINvc-_JZg9pTmdmhNvpFL8qajh2Um2l-a-WiojRj6X9FMxS/s320/SDIM1038-copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Optima; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; text-align: center; text-indent: 28px;"><i>Alpine Thistle (Frosty Ball - seriously) These things are huge and I'm glad I never fell on one.</i></div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-39719541706234042762010-12-31T18:01:00.000-06:002010-12-31T18:01:27.803-06:00Leadville to Salida via Leadville and Buena Vista Part 1 (Saturday July 3 - Wednesday July 7th)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I get out of Leadville later than desired, but do make it way back up into altitude before dark and set up a nice camp. I'm a little bit excited as Mt. Massive and then Mt. Elbert are on the the Bagging List. I have a nice solo evening. It can take a day or two to feel like you're really back on the trail. It's an odd feeling. Sort of an odd tiredness due to having to deal with humans and our humanness. I wake up on Sunday and get through the pass. It's quite refreshing, being surrounded by mountains again, and it’s a wonderful sensation that you get heading deeper into the wilderness. Today I plan to get near Turquoise Lake and do some relaxing and fishing. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">It was an odd day. I met Swap, a CDT hiker, and some weird dude from Denver with a dubious career choice of being a Personal Developer. I don't understand how anyone could think that a person who’s chosen Developing Others could be a qualified guide to Life, but I guess some folks are just that perplexed. I get to the trail head that connects to the CT near Turquoise Lake and rush through all the people and cars. I want to get a few miles in and get away from all these bodies and perfumes. It smells like French harem out here. It was feasible for me to really push and get to the Massive Trailhead, but decide to just have a short day tomorrow. I want to be well rested for the climb. I pass a really good creek, go a little bit further and find a good place to set up camp for the night. It's early yet, only about 3 in the afternoon, but this way I can go fishing and enjoy the 4th.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I peruse my maps and find a shortcut to Turquoise Lake. It's an old Snowmobile trail that hasn't really seen much use. I tramp down towards a dirt road hoping I can find a shortcut through the trees and down to the lake. I am fortunate to see another fine example of a Venus' Slipper Flower, a sure sign that there's not a lot of traffic on this route. I get to the road and cut back to find the creek as I was sure it would lead to the lake, and it certainly does. Turquoise Lake is big. There are plenty of people out today, but not a crazy amount. Lots of people fishing. After some trying of different flies, I finally caught a nice big Rainbow. I wrapped it up in a wet bandana and carried it back to the creek by my camp where I kept it in the ice cold water to stay alive for a little longer. I got my camp set up for dinner and got a fire going. I went back to the creek to clean my catch. There is something truly amazing about catching your own dinner. It's a lot different than fishing for pure fun, as you have to consider what you'll do if you don't actually catch anything. It makes you appreciate the food chain of which we're all a part. This process of killing something to eat reinforces in me an appreciation of Life. It also makes you appreciate Death who can come knocking at any time. But I digress. I made dinner and slept like a baby that night.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">The next morning, an odd thing happened. I woke up slowly as I didn't have too far to go. I just needed to get to the Mt. Massive Trailhead which wasn't that far away. I crawled out of my tent to fetch my food bag, and then, I'll be damned, I somehow got lost. What a curious sensation and such a boneheaded thing to do! I turned around and saw nothing of familiarity, just a giant rock that I kept coming back around to. All I did know was that I could not see my tent and was not really sure how I got to where I was. I am not kidding when I say that I could not be more than 100 yards from my campsite, but had no recollection of what direction it was in. I stopped and stood still. Not stopping is the error that many people make when they are lost. They panic and start wandering around and this usually just makes the situation a lot worse. I think, upon hindsight, that I wandered by this same rock a couple of times before I realized that I was doing something wrong. Anyway, I listened and noticed that I could hear the creek running, knew that I was on the North side of the trail, and knew that the creek intersected the trail. I walked toward the creek, went down to the trail and then back to camp. I was suprised at exactly how lost I'd been! I must have wandered about a quarter mile off. Stunning. I managed to find my food bag (right where I left it), had some breakfast and mozied on.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I got to the Mt. Massive Trailhead in good time. I went beyond it not too far (it starts off from the CT anyway) about 200 yards and looked for a decent place to camp. I found an old cabin that was really not a cabin anymore at all, just a few logs that made a sort of boundary. It was quite close to the creek so I pitched the tent in the decaying structure and made ready for a nice relaxing afternoon and early night. I chatted for a bit with a few other hikers who were at the creek, filled my water bag, washed out my shirt and socks and went back to my campsite. I hung my shirt out to dry in the sun along with my socks, put a rock on each one so the wind wouldn't blow them away and decided that it was as good a day as any to change the undees out for the fresh set. I got my drawers up just in time as a mom and her kid came plodding down the trail. One of these days, I'll get busted.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Moments later I hear a dog down by the creek, realize it's Boggy ("Boggy stay!" being spoken made it obvious) and I went down to see Bridget, Boggy and her friend. We parted ways as they were camping up along the side of the hill beyond the creek a bit. From time to time Boggy would come visit to make sure I was doing all right. I was doing just fine. I sat down to a nice meal of quesadillas, sausage, and potatoes and did my reading of <i>Tom Jones</i> and writing for the day. Tomorrow is the day of climbing up Mt. Massive, and that seems like a great thing to do on my birthday. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I got started up Massive pretty early. Beating the weather seems like a good idea to me. I got up there a whole lot faster than I thought I would. It's fun in this environment, meeting other people. Most of us are quite different, but I like knowing that others feel the same way I do about our mountains. They might be lawyers, bankers, or scum-of-the-earth politicians, but if they don't come out here to enjoy these things then there aren't very many options of keeping them wild without some kind of drastic measure. Essays and protests are futile. It take the use of one’s senses to come to one’s Senses.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I get up to the last false summit of the mountain and there's a whole crew of teenage boys and their worn out camp leader up there. They'd sent a couple of other kids over to the real summit to see if it was the real summit. "Of course it was," I said. "It's higher, isn't it? I'll see you over there." There was still some quality snow pack up along the ridge, but nothing as bad as Pike's a few weeks prior or the Sangres before that. The skies were a beautiful cascading blue, changing tone from the horizon to straight overhead with no smog as far as the eye could see in any direction. This was a vastly different experience of a mountain than Pikes. That mountain has been ruined. And for what? A lousy doughnut shop owned (or at least operated) by Aramark, a Fortune 500 company who clearly has our collective best interests in mind. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">So I sit on top of the big hill for a while and have my cigarette and get one of the boys to take a picture of me. It's great seeing kids out in all this. Sure, they all have their cell phones and so forth but even then they are all really enjoying that they are right there, sitting on top of the mountain with each other, all of them having made the long walk together. I bask in the sun in the crisp air and head back down as seating gets scarce as I want to make room for the new arrivals. The weather is beautiful and I want to get as many wildflower pictures as I can on the way down.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">There were so many flowers! I took pictures of every different one I could find, even though many of them weren't "model-worthy", but these things are each and all beautiful to me. These brave little nuggets of life among the rocks, the rocks splattered with lichens and mosses (also brave). Such a great, relaxing and simple system.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I get down to camp and break it all down to move on to the Mt. Elbert trailhead which is several miles down trail. The idea is to get to camp, get a good night's rest and hike up Elbert tomorrow. Today was so exhilarating and so much fun, and I want to do it all over again. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I find a nice campsite along a stream a mile down from the Elbert trailhead. The map seems to tell me that after the point where I'm at now it just gets steeper and I don't want to have to hike beyond the trailhead tonight. I'm near a good stream and would love to do some fishing before it gets too late. Besides, there’s no reason to carry a good catch too far if I don’t need to.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I go fishing for a little while and catch three browns (brown trout). I put 'em all back as they are sort of small and I have plenty of food anyway, I suppose. Browns are very skittish and very hard to see as they are the color of the creek bed. They panic at every little anything and flit back to where they were hiding if they’d been tempted out for some little morsel. They seem to prefer the reeds and stuff along the banks. I go back to camp, make my little fire and build a bench out of a log and a few rocks. I do my writing business and am anxious to get back to the Old Man in the House in <i>Tom Jones.</i></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I woke up early again, packed my day-pack and set off for Mt. Elbert. This day was much foggier so I hightailed it to the trail junction. I was actually a little further away than I thought I'd be, but oh well. The fog was a little daunting, to be honest, and I passed a good number of people on the way up as all of us were wanting to get to the top of this, the highest mountain in Colorado (but also one of the easiest to climb). I took a smoke break at tree line and pondered the fog issue. True, it wasn't dark out so I had good reason to believe that the weather was not all clouds on the other side, but I didn't know how dense it was or what might be happening on the other side. It was really neat, though. I promise myself I'll turn back at the least hint of lightning and I really do mean it. I have no problem camping out again for a day to do it again tomorrow. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">A couple of people are coming down the trail and I ask them if the weather's okay, and they say it's beautiful on the other side of the fog and that they'd gone up in the middle of the night to be on top before the sunrise. I bid farewell to the Gray Jays and get going and after I wade through the fog it really is simply beautiful. It's a grand thing, being in between the clouds and being able to see it all for so many miles in either direction. I look over at Massive and there's a huge cloud system over it, making me really glad I didn't try to do that one today. In fact, there were clouds everywhere, scattered all about, but none here. Pretty lucky.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Three false summits (at least!)! They say it's two, but I call it three. I got to the top of this fun little climb and it's rather spacious. I chat with others, take their pictures for them and just loiter up here and enjoy the lack of oxygen to the brain. It's just fun like I've never really had before, at least not like this.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I notice the clouds coming up from the other side of the mountain and starting to form around me and so I decide it's a good time to take off. Sadly, there weren't a lot of opportunities for flower photos on Elbert, and there were a few I was really hoping to see again. I will, I will. By the time I got to the primary decent from the top ridge the clouds were coming in pretty quickly and I decided to make some safe haste. I cursed my need to go to the bathroom and took advantage of the last rock big enough to hide a person before getting down to tree line.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Of course, there were plenty of people still going up as I was going down. It's too bad, I know, that so many of these people are on vacation, one of the few times in a year that they get to leave their jobs and doldrums and do something like this, and that it is frustrating to think of getting pushed off by the rain after huffing and puffing as far as they'd come. A few people asked me if they should keep going, and what do you tell someone asking a question like this?</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">The rain was really starting to come down now and thunder was starting to roll through the rocks and up my legs with all of it's booming and awesomeness. It's not getting killed by lighting that scares me near as much as the prospect of surviving it. I'm moving as fast as I can without running or risking a bent ankle or falling down even though one of my poles' locking mechanism is all of a sudden (of course) acting up. So now I'm carrying a dead pole and using the other to stabilize myself and trying to not get too wet as I am now within a few hundred yards of tree line. I'm gaining on a couple of girls and catch up to them just before we all get to tree line. I stop for a second to pull my rain jacket out of my napsack and catch some psychological relief as I at least feel safer among the pine tree lightning rods. I'm hoping to hike all the way to Twin Lakes today whether it keeps raining or not. I mean, that's just how it works. I introduce myself to the girls and they introduce themselves and we chat for a minute or so. Lindsay and Brooke. They're on a road trip through Colorado on the way to California. </div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">We start leisurely down the trail, me to my campsite and they to their truck, and they ask if I'd like to go into Leadville to watch the world cup game. It turns out that today is the Germany/Spain match. I'm not a hiking purist and like to consider myself more of an adventurer and flexible enough to know a good time when I see it. I pack up my camp in the rain and meet them along the road and off we go, me sitting in the bed of the pickup as the rain slackens and we motor into Leadville.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Ah, Leadville. We went to Tennessee Pass Cafe (something like that) which I'd been by before, naturally, as Leadville's main drag is only about 5 blocks long on one street. We sat at the counter and had some food (A Reuben, if you must know). I'd noticed on the way into town that it wasn't that far to Buena Vista and they were talking about going there today anyway. Don't ask me why, but I wasn't looking forward to doing the Collegiate Peaks. Sure, there's some mountains I want to climb there but I just can't shake that they're all named after these fancy Ivy League schools for what amounts to no good reason as far as I can tell. If they had Mt. Community College I'd at least feel that there was an even shake going on, but no there's not (and no, Mt. Missouri is not named after the University, but the river or something else like that. I mean, I didn't look it up, but I have no problem stating this as fact.) I tell them I'll give them gas money if they want to give me a lift to Buena, and they say sure, to just buy them a beer and it's all square. The game was awesome (Spain won, some of you may recall) and eventually we sped off toward Buena Vista, the destination being the Cottonwood Hot Springs. I'm looking really forward to this.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">We get to Cottonwood Hot Springs in the late afternoon and the lady at the counter gave me a free towel and let me charge my phone while I was there. These Hot Springs are quite a deal for the money. It's something like $15 for access the whole day, and it's a nice relaxing atmosphere. It's not a bunch of yuppies, or hippies, or nudists, or churchgroups. Just a small handful of people enjoying this water that comes bubbling (well, it’s not really boiling at this point, but it is gurgling and so forth) out of the earth that has not been chlorinated and is naturally unsulphured. Eventually we take off and head into Buena Vista for more food. We end up at a Mexican joint and get our meals to go and eat in the parking lot. My shorts are wet as I didn't have swim trunks, and I'm really hoping they dry before it gets dark.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">It was getting late and the girls needed to hit the road so they took me up to the trailhead where we'd say our goodbyes. I thanked them for everything and was profoundly happy to have met some genuinely nice people. It can happen. I got all my stuff out of the truck, exchanged email addresses and then took a group photo as I waved goodbye to them and watched them roll out of the little parking lot and into the final moments of dusk. What a great day: Mountain climbing, hitching rides, soccer games, hot springs and good food.</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I wondered what I was forgetting and looked down to see that I was wearing my camp sandals. I'd left my hiking boots in the truck. Dammit.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>On the way up from Leadville</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Over the ridge the next morning</i></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>From the same point, different direction</i></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dinner</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I've still not bothered to find out what this really mean, but I think I understand it</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>View UP from my campsite</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me being ornery around children on top of Mt. Massive. For some reason, all the kids liked me. I think it's because I made the adults nervous and told the kids funny stories.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>On top of Mt. Massive and looking over to the false summit</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Fairy (or Alpine) Primrose</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>King's Crown (or Roseroot)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Alpine Sunflowers (or Old-Man-Of-The-Mountain)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Pinnate-Leaved Daisy, I think</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mt. Massive from the ascent of Mt. Elbert</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Clouds rolling in around the summit of Mt. Elbert </i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me being a goofball and general bad example on Mt. Elbert</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Thunderstorms over Mt. Massive from Mt. Elbert</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Riding into Leadville with Lindsay and Brooke</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>At the Cottonwood Hot Springs</i></div><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me and the girls say farewell</i></div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-91414209085772461942010-10-16T20:49:00.000-05:002010-10-16T20:49:35.769-05:00Breckenridge to Leadville (Tuesday June 29 - Saturday July 3)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I packed up and split Breckenridge by noon on Monday. I get through a beautiful pass and hike along a beautiful ridge that lasts for many miles along the Ten Mile Range. I am up there for a long time as clouds continue their cloudy activity, but fortunately no storms develop. I finally hit the trail junction and head down into the trees. I meet a hiker (Bridget) and her dog (Boggy). I camp down the trail just a bit. It's nice to have some decent company. Bridget makes us coffee in the AM and as we have to pass through Copper Mountain Resort anyway we eat burgers but not after getting yelled at for shortcutting through a golf course. We head up up up towards Janet’s Cabin (part of the Alpine Hut Series…) and find a really good campsite and call it a day. As we loiter, a couple of maintenance guys (Willie and Skip) pass us on their way up to Janet’s and invite us up for beers that night. Willie explains what Janet's Cabin is (it's not, as I had supposed, a crazy old witch's house) and shows us an arrowhead he noticed that was right at his feet. It rains all evening so we stay put, but we do visit the Cabin the next morning and talk with the boys and have some tea. Pretty neat stuff, the Alpine Hut Thing. A lot cheaper than you’d imagine. They're all part of a system of huts, and one of these days I'll cross country ski the circuit, I hope. The Cabin itself is about 100 yards below tree line. We bid adieu and ascend further up to the pass and pause to enjoy the view and take pics of flowers. This area is near where the 10th Mountain Division was during WWII (see the movie <i>Fire On the Mountain</i> for more info). The hike down from the ridge was awesome and there was, somehow, a snake way above tree line. Go figure. We camp by a stream rolling down the hills. The next morning Bridget/Boggy and I say our goodbyes and I begin tramping into Leadville to pick up my mail drop. Before I make much progress, it starts raining pretty heavily and I stand beneath a lonesome grove of trees to wait while it rains. A car sees me and stops to ask me if I needed anything, which I didn’t, but I thanked him just the same. I take care of some Wilderness Business and conclude it just in time for this same car to come back around. That was really close. He’s a very strange and skinny guy from Indiana and talks a lot, which is normal for people who tend to get lonesome I've noticed (to talk a lot, that is. Not necessarily to be skinny). I get on my way and pass by some sort of prison structure and head up another big hill before descending to the highway to hitch into Leadville. By now the rain is all but over. A fella from Kansas who is a White Water Rafting Instructor gives me a lift all the way to the P.O. I pick up my box, dump it into my pack and head to the hiker hostel which is full but I still get to take a shower. I opt to camp in town up the hill a ways and then leave Leadville the next morning. Leadville is an awesome town with very few yuppies/rich people. There’s a view Mts. Elbert and Massive (among others…) from anywhere in town. Nice and small (very walkable) and cheap with good coffee shops, an awesome bookstore and a good outfitter. Some kind of miracle happens during dinner (spaghetti and so forth from the kitchen of Wild Bill, Proprietor) at the hostel and I end up staying at the hostel anyway in my own room with a TV and DVD player. Leadville was good to me, and the trail is getting more and more fun the further I get into it. I eat burgers (yes, after dinner) and visit the oldest Saloon in town that night and talk with a German mountaineering dude who is a much more noble American in Spirit than most of the people born here… I spend the next morning trying to find a watch in town and it takes a very long time (I decided I needed a watch because the one I had was broken and I was wanting to climb Massive and Elbert and needed to assure myself that I got up early) but do finally manage to get my stuff together and am hitching out by early afternoon. The guy who gives me a ride goes the wrong way, flips back around and actually drops me off in a worse location. I walk over to the proper highway myself and start thumbing again. A firefighter with his son gives me a lift and we talk about fireworks and forest fires on the way to the trailhead. In the real world, the working class and rednecks are more likely to give you a hitch than any yuppie with a bike rack on the trunk or one of those (no doubt empty) Yakima car-top carriers on the roof. This is my experience and I'm not really sure why though I do have my theories. Anyway, I finally make it to the trail head around 3 in the afternoon.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Heading up to the Pass</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>A CT blaze... Not as many of these as you'd think</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Closer to the Pass...</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Through the Pass...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9u3bgJtHseI22EAbI60ypMn8QzMbZ8N0S5RSu2icmeROpFrIDq_ECme9CntygQyp0hTRD0shaFRnhgDTfXD0cp143FGz431DKbSBXG-4-xPn-S3m2GHMEvG-ujSm6aKFm-R4r3Cvv_e4/s1600/SDIM0692+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9u3bgJtHseI22EAbI60ypMn8QzMbZ8N0S5RSu2icmeROpFrIDq_ECme9CntygQyp0hTRD0shaFRnhgDTfXD0cp143FGz431DKbSBXG-4-xPn-S3m2GHMEvG-ujSm6aKFm-R4r3Cvv_e4/s640/SDIM0692+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Along Ten Mile Range...</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>And some more...</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Out of Copper Mountain and back up into the Hills</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>As long as we're all smiles... Brigette (the human girl) and Boggie (the canine girl)</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>On the way up towards Janet's Cabin et al.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Looking back down from whence we came from the campsite</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Janet's</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYObVJfwntLMKUf8I-K1vJCZH8Drn01fzkjqn8jbl4qFolOzLpGi6a7-WKWSiGbGZmckwaTztbCK1Dwlm9uNb66zbmiPziEvx0mCHpSyp5pG23a6gHHp6B2AcODF-qYsb_VIMzFUSJEuE1/s1600/SDIM0710+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYObVJfwntLMKUf8I-K1vJCZH8Drn01fzkjqn8jbl4qFolOzLpGi6a7-WKWSiGbGZmckwaTztbCK1Dwlm9uNb66zbmiPziEvx0mCHpSyp5pG23a6gHHp6B2AcODF-qYsb_VIMzFUSJEuE1/s640/SDIM0710+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Looking back at Janet's as we approach another Pass...</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>and again...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-XGFROl_frMiXQt1aIt7WyjBUTuuR9hLDcGjBuKnSsDawA7dEdbCgmMLGBzbEUX3YaxkNE6pEWQj-cn0oB8hfMFbpRai07z3k-UrokJyrthEV6AeG33Ud6_04G_hi_V-miCrTqDn-D0L/s1600/SDIM0713+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-XGFROl_frMiXQt1aIt7WyjBUTuuR9hLDcGjBuKnSsDawA7dEdbCgmMLGBzbEUX3YaxkNE6pEWQj-cn0oB8hfMFbpRai07z3k-UrokJyrthEV6AeG33Ud6_04G_hi_V-miCrTqDn-D0L/s640/SDIM0713+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>and again.</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Nearing the Pass we cross a little bit of water</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3YY3G8XT2g2en0BxlGeGr-tM1TO1XqU68oRlDWPO_EI_BPRfzcnLtME0HXCk7Pv-U-so4lnWv6RkN3C4Gm0QWcpPm-YeuqRrlITXTSuKlHTH8hIXg59ER-fJURlS7dgekdOLnlz8e-78/s1600/SDIM0716+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3YY3G8XT2g2en0BxlGeGr-tM1TO1XqU68oRlDWPO_EI_BPRfzcnLtME0HXCk7Pv-U-so4lnWv6RkN3C4Gm0QWcpPm-YeuqRrlITXTSuKlHTH8hIXg59ER-fJURlS7dgekdOLnlz8e-78/s640/SDIM0716+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Looking back down again...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzAEgCPaXQxTi6vHe4ffeA2-BYlLLsZ-i25u5IlcZezyDV2i4OwUby8jmfPgc92WoAU_4LlHaaiA73BimYKXOB6KyzmHRFzHb__tLUJDEq7uDfYHrDiFFr7HsIIe_6QsrLF6NZBNi4scc/s1600/SDIM0719+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzAEgCPaXQxTi6vHe4ffeA2-BYlLLsZ-i25u5IlcZezyDV2i4OwUby8jmfPgc92WoAU_4LlHaaiA73BimYKXOB6KyzmHRFzHb__tLUJDEq7uDfYHrDiFFr7HsIIe_6QsrLF6NZBNi4scc/s640/SDIM0719+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>And one more Time for good Measure</i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mountain Dryads</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWFIRPMSfnKG4Oda7RmUR0XAIfwYp5m9WbGq43LEphOatJxRi7DDyFzzBLDgfgrY-PjzQSEt0T5cEljkvT-oFS5z6ANF16Upr-CA45pXpSU9yyXoC52bQhpIp_1wnCC75gFIWIxGhyg-r/s1600/SDIM0727+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWFIRPMSfnKG4Oda7RmUR0XAIfwYp5m9WbGq43LEphOatJxRi7DDyFzzBLDgfgrY-PjzQSEt0T5cEljkvT-oFS5z6ANF16Upr-CA45pXpSU9yyXoC52bQhpIp_1wnCC75gFIWIxGhyg-r/s640/SDIM0727+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I'll get back to you on this one</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDyKMyExqrYLtO-043lPcDgkiJZ-6NaHY7KQh3y6v_fAnxuhUaWmVYYElBKnN4NFzNu2Oq00IG29LeMzilCxIPdEA6jSZeflBszYv_G6eD__BSYYS0zc6i_wgSVcgR3ikiQ13949TwA1U/s1600/SDIM0729+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDyKMyExqrYLtO-043lPcDgkiJZ-6NaHY7KQh3y6v_fAnxuhUaWmVYYElBKnN4NFzNu2Oq00IG29LeMzilCxIPdEA6jSZeflBszYv_G6eD__BSYYS0zc6i_wgSVcgR3ikiQ13949TwA1U/s640/SDIM0729+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Buttercups</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAac6mR3gYeS8EGEsqX8vgTjnEyBq6S0JzA_A6xHO_ZzbaSo45dzSKWYJZJ5O-brsW5Ium2L_fvgqHEKew-9Elu1GLDziA_kwcaetqkTXz8DC5s7DE3exBsoMDi7KS4SAXUX2WQ9POaZj/s1600/SDIM0743+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAac6mR3gYeS8EGEsqX8vgTjnEyBq6S0JzA_A6xHO_ZzbaSo45dzSKWYJZJ5O-brsW5Ium2L_fvgqHEKew-9Elu1GLDziA_kwcaetqkTXz8DC5s7DE3exBsoMDi7KS4SAXUX2WQ9POaZj/s640/SDIM0743+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPGYB97jo9wsrjuQO8iHmDBKwBxwAF4H5rQUPSqrMQEvignGpXm2cPJHM-oIvChb2MbR_tBem_QEr0GWrH4YgSlXmJRGdtgA4ywBpL48RMooF6GXM4jqjD-8JsoThE2BO7nRgiVKXSsHH/s1600/SDIM0748+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPGYB97jo9wsrjuQO8iHmDBKwBxwAF4H5rQUPSqrMQEvignGpXm2cPJHM-oIvChb2MbR_tBem_QEr0GWrH4YgSlXmJRGdtgA4ywBpL48RMooF6GXM4jqjD-8JsoThE2BO7nRgiVKXSsHH/s640/SDIM0748+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Daisies (Asters)</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXVTF6iQKaVortCgGcqVTPBxL3h4iICdISApPrUQUiW-RV52iiOD5x6-HiqmBiEsE_T50nyCDfAVuZc4PdHivLzjvSlPcR-8eE3udHnBQqYfPoEju3i6Au3zWItofb68PBDo4FxRf9P3c/s1600/SDIM0757+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXVTF6iQKaVortCgGcqVTPBxL3h4iICdISApPrUQUiW-RV52iiOD5x6-HiqmBiEsE_T50nyCDfAVuZc4PdHivLzjvSlPcR-8eE3udHnBQqYfPoEju3i6Au3zWItofb68PBDo4FxRf9P3c/s640/SDIM0757+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>To the left of all this is where the 10th Mtn. Div. did their thing</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_6p71zpBl7i3jLf8CIGyKkT-_mGFwVWTNLgttKe-30ygWskGQRPVQ4KxUZxOqq6lBWxV9HKWfePKTedIJ4BApkkLtnTiOY4-fE-zWe-0gahJtai8yIvzm2HkDpu9kvXo_eNMkQIxveMz/s1600/SDIM0760+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_6p71zpBl7i3jLf8CIGyKkT-_mGFwVWTNLgttKe-30ygWskGQRPVQ4KxUZxOqq6lBWxV9HKWfePKTedIJ4BApkkLtnTiOY4-fE-zWe-0gahJtai8yIvzm2HkDpu9kvXo_eNMkQIxveMz/s640/SDIM0760+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <i>More of the Same</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75QNhnBKAULIcdHK_uekzBkStZBAFU8yjxJo6uaxJp50wqRRVSwSnZv7BLwVq9767iVPPDWHd2JfPMOzS6UEwrz9PdqfXZFaoRVzDHHOCl57MZPlQk2SJDRcxVkh5hv_R2EmGPOeowtUo/s1600/SDIM0764+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75QNhnBKAULIcdHK_uekzBkStZBAFU8yjxJo6uaxJp50wqRRVSwSnZv7BLwVq9767iVPPDWHd2JfPMOzS6UEwrz9PdqfXZFaoRVzDHHOCl57MZPlQk2SJDRcxVkh5hv_R2EmGPOeowtUo/s640/SDIM0764+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Descending back to Treeline for the day</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9OU1uvUfy_inLSI4O7BrttrbQcwCUUG8VUquy0dvCo_86lE3lz-JYJGw7HYvC1WHgjch0PF-FMYO1qxkmAT2pNnHyWUtRDXBfco44GEW9gQ7XZRuXJza4cR857iBWcwX9WX5WnFxfYYc/s1600/SDIM0768+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9OU1uvUfy_inLSI4O7BrttrbQcwCUUG8VUquy0dvCo_86lE3lz-JYJGw7HYvC1WHgjch0PF-FMYO1qxkmAT2pNnHyWUtRDXBfco44GEW9gQ7XZRuXJza4cR857iBWcwX9WX5WnFxfYYc/s640/SDIM0768+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>See ya Later!</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_QdYH3ZUEem1KGHkcLSyvp5vq3Dvhh6dVuSOFHvkZmIDzyfejpGjurbNcqbGq774mLuBQwuwBVeu4IQeddzcxwUzejs9VOkcLlSbHRIxwSzTRBBqfuIt9ynYQ0or6s_CgMoHMorMck22/s1600/SDIM0771+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_QdYH3ZUEem1KGHkcLSyvp5vq3Dvhh6dVuSOFHvkZmIDzyfejpGjurbNcqbGq774mLuBQwuwBVeu4IQeddzcxwUzejs9VOkcLlSbHRIxwSzTRBBqfuIt9ynYQ0or6s_CgMoHMorMck22/s640/SDIM0771+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Cops are evil indeed</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglactpBIaCsnafd4fWaVeyleVRikQG13l4stKW4PHr7FaAUZOmh2uYcA1nO_5Kt9n4jPuGFzmoJaqVXEGCJgsgjp6pPVh0XnCuJikHU3SKdK6Jgd_-63QzfOiKI2fQrSZ6Wj5HDxrKHBL/s1600/SDIM0773+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglactpBIaCsnafd4fWaVeyleVRikQG13l4stKW4PHr7FaAUZOmh2uYcA1nO_5Kt9n4jPuGFzmoJaqVXEGCJgsgjp6pPVh0XnCuJikHU3SKdK6Jgd_-63QzfOiKI2fQrSZ6Wj5HDxrKHBL/s640/SDIM0773+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Leadville...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafuilJWLPE_zv3jw9VmDKDzcpqu8k4e_CthTUm1ePBz03kcFgNDHwZQBH0AiRJCMVKUNwHTPprDcqa68dL55ltGRF-D11D4uI1gcN1i9ShNQMCQVuV_K31MjsZFHBJvDg56782aoZWb65/s1600/SDIM0774+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafuilJWLPE_zv3jw9VmDKDzcpqu8k4e_CthTUm1ePBz03kcFgNDHwZQBH0AiRJCMVKUNwHTPprDcqa68dL55ltGRF-D11D4uI1gcN1i9ShNQMCQVuV_K31MjsZFHBJvDg56782aoZWb65/s640/SDIM0774+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>...Leadville...</i></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgULqw7TxB8oy-vjARFpHl_xraHIbPOfgjvVYB7T7-2Z1pmbERd4ZCak7XNQy6pDZ3PkcBjaBSqg8iLPf5c4TB12J_zBGzy75o1P7nz5xGiyeVelCdE9NuMAEeAcIidBoW9Vk_n6Var9Y/s1600/SDIM0777+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgULqw7TxB8oy-vjARFpHl_xraHIbPOfgjvVYB7T7-2Z1pmbERd4ZCak7XNQy6pDZ3PkcBjaBSqg8iLPf5c4TB12J_zBGzy75o1P7nz5xGiyeVelCdE9NuMAEeAcIidBoW9Vk_n6Var9Y/s640/SDIM0777+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>...Leadville...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhOWk14VPc7T4L8ZZDeFVtSBmpAIXW1XnP4Vl98y6BzpjCccmvl_tAE7yYn3qFelZVe0ShzQ-zAnwGqLiRx-o6TkFDzL9JTDwg_EUQFT7ehqZ5mvkm54x0Yei3PpUwpazJJ9cUS_I9CH9/s1600/SDIM0789+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhOWk14VPc7T4L8ZZDeFVtSBmpAIXW1XnP4Vl98y6BzpjCccmvl_tAE7yYn3qFelZVe0ShzQ-zAnwGqLiRx-o6TkFDzL9JTDwg_EUQFT7ehqZ5mvkm54x0Yei3PpUwpazJJ9cUS_I9CH9/s640/SDIM0789+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>...Leadville...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJoxyLG9AY9JyDBGb1NhkKspOj-JrcLzkaGsTntzuzmCkH8M21y-vOoC7Gtq4MRbZTqSNYeMvVLJ6l0-ebquzxZC7kVlPONtdM6bpsuSl8JH3Sqc1Jwy2b2q90QcL1XyOloG1xJci_Oflt/s1600/SDIM0791+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJoxyLG9AY9JyDBGb1NhkKspOj-JrcLzkaGsTntzuzmCkH8M21y-vOoC7Gtq4MRbZTqSNYeMvVLJ6l0-ebquzxZC7kVlPONtdM6bpsuSl8JH3Sqc1Jwy2b2q90QcL1XyOloG1xJci_Oflt/s640/SDIM0791+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>...Leadville...</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGh3QiXvI-liYcU994UJMLYyRgOvCvTW2wszl5odpuO3SO9xP_2y3Wo9CPB0AJPvUVgWmvWGJopvQ2oszOhD5YrNmm4BT_ZWAsU3_xI0d8e5h56gcLKJPA9eDKcAdyb5Ryyf5w6Z0doSBj/s1600/SDIM0792+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGh3QiXvI-liYcU994UJMLYyRgOvCvTW2wszl5odpuO3SO9xP_2y3Wo9CPB0AJPvUVgWmvWGJopvQ2oszOhD5YrNmm4BT_ZWAsU3_xI0d8e5h56gcLKJPA9eDKcAdyb5Ryyf5w6Z0doSBj/s640/SDIM0792+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>...Leadville.</i></div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-9526432209515491442010-10-01T18:27:00.000-05:002010-10-01T18:27:02.094-05:00Denver to Breckenridge (June 21 - June 28)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>The Gist:</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><i>OK, here’s the deal. I can’t really put into words how awesome the whole trip was. Basically, I’m stumped. What I’ve decided to do is sort of list chronologically my notes on the whole thing in what I think is the right order. If you really want to hear the longer and more colorful narratives you’ll have to ask me to tell you these tales around a dinner table or campfire. I suppose what I’m actually trying to say is that if you really want to feel like you can experience this trail or any trail you should just go do one yourself. It would take me forever to try and really give you a mediocre description of the altitude and how the thin air gets you, how the bugs eat you alive, how it gets really hot and really cold, really wet and really dry and how solitary it is. The challenge is immense to both mind and body in a way that’s unlike any other recreational activity. </i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Denver To Breckenridge</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">My first leg was to last 7 days. Very hot and dry and water was very scarce. A big bear stumbled through my camp just as I was going to bed. Met a couple of oddballs along the trail and also a couple of cool people. I think I came across some kind of cult and made them nervous when I wandered to close to their gated community. People and lightning are the two most dangerous and unpredictable things that I know of. Mountain bikers and cyclists of all kinds are the bane of my existence and I loathe them all and wish yuppies would stick to shopping and ruining the lives of im/migrant workers instead of ruining hiking trails and speeding down sidewalks with their very expensive bicycles. My first crossing of the Continental Divide was a rather awesome experience. Lots of snowpack up in the mountains; a few weeks prior it was still unpassable, I was told. I found myself up into altitude very quickly and discovered that I really enjoy it. I cannot fathom why we would rather have free range beef than a mountain stream free of enormous quantities of cow shit. My boots were not breaking in at all and were never quite comfotable even though this problem solved itself soon enough. The Colorado Trail Guide Book and its companion Data Book are, for the most part, worthless. It was a fun and challenging section, but the best and most difficult was yet to come, so on hindsight it is hard to think too highly of it. Breckenridge is a joke of a town and is full of either underpaid workers or yuppies. There is also a large Dubro population (i.e, guys who call each other Dude and Bro a lot. These people tend to work out in gyms, wear crooked hats, and, for whatever reason, only seem to hang out with other guys). The post office in Breckenridge is unusually busy all of the time.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Day 2 was blazing hot because it was hot and there were no trees anywhere because of a fire that happened a while back.</i></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>A blurry but still interesting photo, I think, of a Wild Geranium</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042981002/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2SyXnJxDUocG0_MSANiRHOy22JLVZ22_iUMLNuxXPLVpqpmSRAocgEqye5ADI97NMm34ku-Oe9xAP-57D1NJJnEbIO7vZ3IjTAPnApqfYt5FhCSZgRmJtgET9j_20d9PHXxw2Xe96lO_/s1600/SDIM0614+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeyYlmnxtAHFLkyPTgk1VxVKJG4UVDXf4gIc3wz3S6r8sK35f685aZmvAG_6rSfKulKNDzCE60MvXJ52-nmA4zs9RvLbhyX84lG4WGIlDUg8KMWmTMZQPAdKT7CyYVXerPraCTw7-kwvx/s1600/SDIM0622+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeyYlmnxtAHFLkyPTgk1VxVKJG4UVDXf4gIc3wz3S6r8sK35f685aZmvAG_6rSfKulKNDzCE60MvXJ52-nmA4zs9RvLbhyX84lG4WGIlDUg8KMWmTMZQPAdKT7CyYVXerPraCTw7-kwvx/s640/SDIM0622+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>A less blurry Wild Geranium</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042369051/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Red Fairy Trumpets</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042344373/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoEhAss6pVOjnY8gsXwAvVAECS2hH58DjFxSX2cId9UKkHuwO8p4TGvb5BYLf3Shehp7x5wNrXMB4Oeyg-pdlCQyH_Uk4YCXUJPNr5nXsKn98wgCE1LDK_I4zwLXFOrYo_zWxSReAxogI8/s1600/SDIM0632+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoEhAss6pVOjnY8gsXwAvVAECS2hH58DjFxSX2cId9UKkHuwO8p4TGvb5BYLf3Shehp7x5wNrXMB4Oeyg-pdlCQyH_Uk4YCXUJPNr5nXsKn98wgCE1LDK_I4zwLXFOrYo_zWxSReAxogI8/s640/SDIM0632+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042401837/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Catching my breath and keeping the heart-rate up</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042413973/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I can't recall the name of this creek, but I camped near it.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042433115/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Yup, that's the direction I'm headed</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/5042434405/sizes/l/in/set-72157624950944673/">(view big)</a></i></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Lonesome roads...the only kind I ever travel</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://(view big)">(view big)</a></i></div><br />
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</div></span>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-4964338816616202492010-08-29T13:00:00.001-05:002010-08-29T17:19:09.200-05:00BOUGIES, BELLIES, BAGGIN’, AND A BUS: MANITOU SPRINGS TO DENVER (TUESDAY JUNE 15 - MONDAY JUNE 21)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Nothing too interesting happened while I was in between Wilderness Experiences. Thus I will be brief to keep your courage and interest in this narrative from falling into atrophy. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I have a few friends (Monica and Ben) in Manitou and I was lucky enough to stay with them for a few days before heading off to Denver. There was plenty of showering and food and good times doing mostly nothing. My stay in Manitou was comprised of trying to figure out how to actually get to Denver from Colorado Springs which, it would turn out, was a little tougher than I thought it’d be. Eventually I settled on Greyhound because that was really the only option, dreaded as it was. Other than that I did a lot of reading of a book (Henry Fielding’s <i>Tom Jones</i>) I found at the library and walked around as much as I could before it became too dull.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It was great seeing my friends but there’s really nothing for someone like me to do in a place like Manitou as it is like most cities and, as far as I’m concerned, pretty boring. A lot of yuppies and stuff like that, but with the occasional transient hippie and occassionally a something a little out in left field, such as the belly dancing get-together that happens on Fridays. That was pretty neat. In the end, however, it’s just not really my kind of thing. I didn’t even take any pictures while I was there. One thing that was on the agenda was to climb Pike’s Peak.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">We hit the sack early on Friday night and got up early the next morning, around 3.30 or something like that. Packs were put together and Monica made us all breakfast which was oatmeal but instead of oats it was made out of rye. She also made us all peanut butter sandwiches, but those were for later, not breakfast. We walked to the trailhead from the house and got there just as dawn was arriving. For some reason I was under the impression that the trail to the summit was around 8 miles, but the sign said it was a little over 12. That’s a long way to keep going up. The goal was to be at the top by around 2 or so, as Ben’s mom was going to meet us all and bring us back, and that now seemed like a very optimistic goal. We started walking.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">There’s a whole group of people along the Front Range who like to do crazy stuff like run up mountains for exercise. I saw many of them this morning as they sped past me on the way up and then again on their way down. At around 9 o’clock I figured out what they were running for as we made it to Barr Camp which is a great little campground at about 9,000 feett up. They have coffee, tea, and snacks for passersby and a bunk house for overnighters. I wish I’d known about this place as it seems easier and more sensible to hike up to the campsite the day before, get rested, and then go the rest of the way the next day. There were quite a few people teeming around either taking a break to keep pressing on or those joggers taking a rest before they ran back down. The folks who run the place are very good people. I talked with one of them for a bit and she said that there’s only maybe one or two days a year when they don’t have anyone come through. The Gray Jays are abundant here. These are weird birds who like people and are looking for a food handout from anyone. The proprieter of the site told us about a potential wrong turn that a lot of people were making up at tree line and said that if you missed it it was just a lot harder because you ended up missing a switchback. I had a smoke or two and then got going.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I got to tree line after a while and made the wrong turn that I was so warned about and adamant that I wouldn’t take. She was very correct that it’s a lot harder than the regular way. You more or less end up going straight up over a bunch of shale in a Two Steps Forward One Step Back approach to progress. I managed to find the trail again after a while and proceeded like a regular person would do it. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The view was pretty lame as it was really a view of Colorado Springs through a nice layer of smog. I’m not sure I ever got above smog level. A few hundred feet from the top a horde of morons on mountain bikes started coming down the trail. They careened towards the hikers and it was very very irritating. These pitiful bikes, rode by the pitiful themselves, are designed to be rode only downhill. I’d give some credit to those who rode up the mountain, but this was very very annoying. To my disappointment, not one of them fell head over wheels down to tree-line. And yes, I really wanted to see this happen to one of them.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The top of Pike’s is a very good example of how it is possible to ruin a mountain. A donut shop for all of the lazy people to have a snack in celebration of their automobile’s capability to drive to such an altitude. My friends had, I assumed, taken off as it took me a lot longer to do this due to my wrong turn down at tree line. I managed to hitch a ride (I know I know… I took advantage of the car thing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid) from some folks down to the bottom and got ahold of Ben and he came and got me. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">While Ben and Monica slept soundly, I went and got a burger and a beer to celebrate my bagging of this first peak of the summer. It was a very difficult climb, I assure you. It wasn’t really that fun, but there certainly was, for me, a sense of personal pride and accomplishment for sticking to it and going all the way. I had a whole bunch of 14ers marked for later in the summer while hiking, and I was wondering if I’d even do any of them. It was hard to tell. I wonder if I would have liked it more if I’d actually come back down of my own accord as this would have completed the actual completion of things, but I didn’t even consider this as a possible source of my discontent until well after the entire trip was finished. I do wonder.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The next morning Ben and Monica drove me to the Greyhound station in Colorado Springs and we made our farewells. I was lucky enough to get the last available seat on the bus and went to the diner to have some breakfast. Loitering outside of the station after some biscuits and gravy backed with some coffee, I ended up talking with a guy who was on the road going to different MMA events. He wasn’t really a martial arts person at all, he said, but just sort of scrapped. Even so he said he’d never lost a fight. He was meeting some guy who was a trainer as he was going to Denver for a fight.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Of course, the bus was late, as expected, by about an hour. Many many people were waiting for this bus that finally arrived and somehow most of them were not aware that they weren’t going to get on as it was overbooked per Greyhound’s business strategy. I ended up sitting behind a couple of guys from Texas who were in a great mood for being on a bus for what was probably days with a day to go. I could tell that they’d gone through lots of dip from the volume of spit in their Coke Bottle Spittoons. After getting through a car accident delay on the highway we finally made it into Denver. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">The delays had added up to an amount of time that made it sort of unreasonable to begin the trail that day. However, this was nothing to lament as I got to hang out with Sara and Nick, a couple of gooduns I’d met on the AT last year. I ate their roast beef, went to the Lake with them, and then discovered the wondrous world of Cici’s, an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet which costs $4.99. If you want to ask me if it was good pizza, I’d have to ask you to just think about that for a second. For what it’s worth, I loved it and look forward to going back to one. I slept on their couch and watched their TV before waking up nice and early to get to Chatfield State Park, enter Waterton Canyon and hit the trail.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Nick had to leave very early that morning to be at a job site somewhere in Kansas, so Sara was my ride. I stopped at the gas station for a coffee and another pouch of tobacco (I really didn’t want to run out before getting to Breckenridge which was seven days away) and together we managed to find the park. I don’t know how you’d get to this place without someone giving you a ride. I imagine a taxi would cost a fortune and I don’t recall seeing any buses out there either.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">It was about 8 in the morning or so. I made a couple of phone calls to a few different people to let them know that I was actually about to finally start this thing, and then, after a little bit of searching, found the actual trail and got to it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Thanks, friends, for all your help and kindness.</div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-33488600042932046922010-08-14T15:41:00.000-05:002010-08-14T15:41:32.666-05:00ALMOST ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS: THE EXODUS FROM MISSOURI (Wednesday June 9th -Tuesday June 15)<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.<br />
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<span id="goog_761943616"></span><span id="goog_761943617"></span></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4oqzKr5mjRGeL6vDLPEWJiUEcbnfjjxvGYA6fMH7A7KIPHOq9Q0xOtYQ6IBF75wDGnBEZ4Y8k8Xd_eqXTSbBijpSkW_cdgi9Ary_e2KTR7yLlLbRv0rqcbV2Ib8n3Vnclm5aaCVwdeWf/s1600/Comanchelake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4oqzKr5mjRGeL6vDLPEWJiUEcbnfjjxvGYA6fMH7A7KIPHOq9Q0xOtYQ6IBF75wDGnBEZ4Y8k8Xd_eqXTSbBijpSkW_cdgi9Ary_e2KTR7yLlLbRv0rqcbV2Ib8n3Vnclm5aaCVwdeWf/s320/Comanchelake.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891760164/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><i>View of Comanche Peak (13,277 ft. alt.) from Comanche Lake</i></div></div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPFf4YY4mp3lOC2fRuL5w9bWV5y9-OWeSg4CJZVpxIqxpfVJ2qQ2Mo5OSPgFwJOWp5IcN2T39qFq_iTpjLeX5bf683Wa2EE9HY5DeCJWVS6i3qN1fE9K0koQ89AtCmjDEYvWFBO3YApsg/s1600/upfromcomanchetopass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPFf4YY4mp3lOC2fRuL5w9bWV5y9-OWeSg4CJZVpxIqxpfVJ2qQ2Mo5OSPgFwJOWp5IcN2T39qFq_iTpjLeX5bf683Wa2EE9HY5DeCJWVS6i3qN1fE9K0koQ89AtCmjDEYvWFBO3YApsg/s320/upfromcomanchetopass.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891772996/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>View of Comanche Peak nearing the pass to Phantom Terrace</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXD11h5LExlCsMpTxJijE8vRjNaK-wzam1xvvX7Ugw5GS7nbHicfz61ljZtHs573nC1LRvex8c5CDZcc9fwgGU2UDH5TWChRj5zNtlOdWSQs5o1y53jQ4U1rKWYzqjnHt3LeOk-y1Tj-h/s1600/fromphantomterrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXD11h5LExlCsMpTxJijE8vRjNaK-wzam1xvvX7Ugw5GS7nbHicfz61ljZtHs573nC1LRvex8c5CDZcc9fwgGU2UDH5TWChRj5zNtlOdWSQs5o1y53jQ4U1rKWYzqjnHt3LeOk-y1Tj-h/s320/fromphantomterrace.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891774808/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>View down the western side of the valley between Comanche and Venable peaks along Phantom Terrace</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoldMOaBvAh51jmA_gzvwk8itA1gjmoVrQPxdy62joFGI2nc4kOskaZ0O_3PYnFYBRxfhxlIt4yTutBxVhpTr8XLWBN_R63HMPyBrbLt_KQON9AmTtKq_B9R13bPx-mpMizaaIbSC1fkH/s1600/descentotovenable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoldMOaBvAh51jmA_gzvwk8itA1gjmoVrQPxdy62joFGI2nc4kOskaZ0O_3PYnFYBRxfhxlIt4yTutBxVhpTr8XLWBN_R63HMPyBrbLt_KQON9AmTtKq_B9R13bPx-mpMizaaIbSC1fkH/s320/descentotovenable.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891182583/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Descent down Venable Creek Trail at its junction with Phantom Terrace and Venable Pass</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4psvVDqT6vRd7loei6w-1OtviMkZdX8YWaBa0xJI2SJU21v-pSBLJ0Bop_oIF-raVXNhy9Ha_xv3BU6FGH4pkggVevz0h8592HbN_Z7RWwUr3i5xu2PE3Xvk3PqKuUKbEgdI38XnRvuji/s1600/venableinthemorning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4psvVDqT6vRd7loei6w-1OtviMkZdX8YWaBa0xJI2SJU21v-pSBLJ0Bop_oIF-raVXNhy9Ha_xv3BU6FGH4pkggVevz0h8592HbN_Z7RWwUr3i5xu2PE3Xvk3PqKuUKbEgdI38XnRvuji/s320/venableinthemorning.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891193671/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Venable Lake in the morning</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAp6QHrOGS04Lywh8zUI0HnURoXGpba5o9tupg1DgRus2tnFnD-t6WiDjXzPbyOkpeRPJIgoAMGVmD_NEts1HHLPXSxnZindlZWURNg57gtg7SgZzRQb5ehAD_zTma0Qujii_lJr1WDNQ/s1600/goodmaninthemorning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAp6QHrOGS04Lywh8zUI0HnURoXGpba5o9tupg1DgRus2tnFnD-t6WiDjXzPbyOkpeRPJIgoAMGVmD_NEts1HHLPXSxnZindlZWURNg57gtg7SgZzRQb5ehAD_zTma0Qujii_lJr1WDNQ/s320/goodmaninthemorning.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891201205/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Morning alongside Goodwin Creek</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmXH43euvQUeJGUK9t8f3J953ax2K_ZxFty5jXdhL-94dCau-1UxAiQFpVNE7qbE1v_sLvUO6SeQsPPaCXCE-5y5iODhnEEaGhMedJkHbocgWsuDwaGGZNYFstobTA8rEnvmbMOHc0vMk/s1600/prariegoldenbeams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmXH43euvQUeJGUK9t8f3J953ax2K_ZxFty5jXdhL-94dCau-1UxAiQFpVNE7qbE1v_sLvUO6SeQsPPaCXCE-5y5iODhnEEaGhMedJkHbocgWsuDwaGGZNYFstobTA8rEnvmbMOHc0vMk/s320/prariegoldenbeams.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891204827/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Prairie Goldenbean</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTU83uMv-7lFKY9pKlMz2uxcWmh6Vrj6AahQbKiOLTdh2migPKNO5REbDhN4DS1U_2BZR1Ktsffctnd5dJCV79h-BAnDxQ2MTZfkb6kXDY-rLqAMxFzoMNNYPqbwhYZ1B28V8yL0XagOP/s1600/venusslippers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTU83uMv-7lFKY9pKlMz2uxcWmh6Vrj6AahQbKiOLTdh2migPKNO5REbDhN4DS1U_2BZR1Ktsffctnd5dJCV79h-BAnDxQ2MTZfkb6kXDY-rLqAMxFzoMNNYPqbwhYZ1B28V8yL0XagOP/s320/venusslippers.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891805870/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Venus' Slippers</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9dW-8VRFSJjLa1W8qBWL-Rdw0qZLkBh4wD2bS1KuCfyQqg1kTYC5PDBJMF8QVQTa7TwLiPtn3LkH2CweOdt6lgZwru1M6ZEsa2PHqJcYwbeUYmNgONJee_RRUlMNpR76HXqP52o3I8fX/s1600/daniel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9dW-8VRFSJjLa1W8qBWL-Rdw0qZLkBh4wD2bS1KuCfyQqg1kTYC5PDBJMF8QVQTa7TwLiPtn3LkH2CweOdt6lgZwru1M6ZEsa2PHqJcYwbeUYmNgONJee_RRUlMNpR76HXqP52o3I8fX/s320/daniel.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891810088/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Daniel observing my campfire gastronomics</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgnGzJFS1-2GU619MOxcO2IoEX8PLj_IqRqPYQ7scoxQk9rRYJKFHQwhCiLpWPBZBrWYWoGnKSCv0B-WWw3q31Lqmcojb182ca6A0-PQ0dewT-XlhoJcSqrv_UkQaWkMdhfN5WX9idlg4/s1600/daniellastday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgnGzJFS1-2GU619MOxcO2IoEX8PLj_IqRqPYQ7scoxQk9rRYJKFHQwhCiLpWPBZBrWYWoGnKSCv0B-WWw3q31Lqmcojb182ca6A0-PQ0dewT-XlhoJcSqrv_UkQaWkMdhfN5WX9idlg4/s320/daniellastday.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53027518@N04/4891219199/sizes/l/in/photostream/">(view bigger)</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Daniel enjoying the sunset at DeWeese Reservoir</i></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">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.</div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219705654488863868.post-33302183160139543272010-08-14T15:38:00.000-05:002010-08-14T15:38:04.008-05:00PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">Welcome, friends, to this account of my trip in Colorado along the Colorado Trail in the summer of ‘010. My name is Jonathan Chambers and I will be your tour guide. Here we have a tale of wild adventure of the Old West complete with gambling, prostitution, cheap whiskey, and guns. None of that is true, mostly, but suffice to say it was an extraordinary adventure packed with excitement and discovery, and one I will never be able to forget unless I get Alzheimer’s. I kept a pretty good journal on this trail and even as I sit back and recall it all my memories of it are still quite vivid. I hope that I have rendered it entertaining enough for you to enjoy reading it. The title of the collection is pretty accurate. I do a lot of ridiculous things, and even if I don’t manage to learn from them I do find them funny. Some of it’s downright embarrassing, and I have left nothing out even though it could bring shame upon me. At the same time, my foolishness was rather mild in the sense that I made it out alive and unscathed. Half the point here is that whatever motivation anyone could have for wanting to live in the woods and walk up and down mountains for two months is in itself sort of silly. But it’s so much fun and there’s no efficient way to explain it all. That’s why the entries for this are rather long. It’s for me as much as it is for anyone, and it is very much for my family, friends, and anyone who helped make the trip possible, of whom there are many.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">I’m going to diverge from the standard “blog” format a little bit and lump a bunch of days into the same segment for the most part. I think this’ll help keep it a little more clear. As cantankerous and coarse as I can be in my humor, I will, for the most part, refrain from language deemed to be R rated except where it is contextually relevant. I am a man of wealth and taste as long as your idea of wealth doesn’t involve having any money or your idea of taste includes a sense of decorum.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">In addition to writing a lot on this trip, I did my best to take the time to take pictures. I never really liked dealing with cameras and don’t even like having my picture taken. I can only imagine how a mountain or tree can feel about it since they are unable to move, at least of their own accord. Occasionally they’d fall over near me or drop a rock or two in my general direction, but their timing is poor and their aim is worse. I would also like to thank them for being patient with me. In the end, I hope the pictures I took will be pleasing to look at, though I am far from being a photographer. I did my best. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 28.0px;">So without further ado, here we go.</div>Jonathan Chambershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17505033312304802036noreply@blogger.com0