tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70788421502192126052024-03-06T01:34:54.181-07:00M. Wilks' Outdoor BlogMorgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-55603380435293860882009-10-09T10:19:00.012-06:002009-10-11T10:52:56.466-06:00The Colorado Trail: Aftermath and Continuation<div style="text-align: left;">Robyn and I finished our hike on July 23. We were very happy to finish the trail, but sad to see that part of our summer come to an end. Being out on the trail for 25 days together was a great experience that we are excited to repeat at some point in (near) future. It was great to meet Keith. We will surely have more backpacking experiences with him. He is already dropping us hints about the PCT!</div><div><br /></div><div>We moved to Boulder two weeks before starting our hike. When we finished, we were able to properly take the time necessary to explore Boulder. Of course, that meant finding as many trails as possible. I got back into running straight away and we both spent a good deal of time hiking. Oh yeah, the town of Boulder itself is also quite cool.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6byFelddf_L2sXGtQSTEmFWPXPy3WawOnp3tGbHSHPbfKbC8Kn4-GFpu_kslMnXuvr7_df4zONQNcNz3Jo4JF_JzuHU5nKafyll105jd4dSG1kyjqLyDYfJzOOXlCIZLMK0O9gfZ7jhZ/s200/IMGP0363.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390642948563748018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Robyn coming down from Bear Peak</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: -webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">We drove back to Durango on August 1 to pick up our dog, Cassie. She had stayed with my parents for the summer while we moved and were on the Colorado Trail. It took her several days to get used to her new home, but she is enjoying her walks in the forest on the Shanahan Trails and her frequent trips in the car. She has also been going to rowing practice with Robyn and riding in the motorboat with Robyn while she coaches. Cassie loves the water!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dytJumlWho-Y46LOIxygyj30MVc8gtorbxNMuXczml1ZEnI6frhdCeV44eGJgubyTqMMQR38CK6bgwPucpteg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Cassie in top form!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>School started for Robyn on August 10 and for me on the 17th. She teaches special education at a charter school in Arvada and I teach math at a private school in North Denver. Getting used to commuting 30 minutes each way to work was quite a task for both us. We had come from a boarding school where we lived on campus for 2 years and a summer camp where we lived on the premises for 1.5 years. Robyn is also coaching rowing in North Boulder and taking a graduate course at CU Boulder in special education; she is one busy person!</div><div><br /></div><div>Both of our bodies held up very well on the Colorado Trail. However, with our return I promptly injured myself several times. The first occurred on an evening trail run a week after starting school when I tripped over a rock. I was wearing my racing flats and hit my foot into the rock and went face first into some rocks. I was scraped up on my hands, but ended up with a small fracture of my fifth metatarsal (outside of my foot). That required a trip to urgent care to get a splint, which I actually ended up taking off right away because it was more uncomfortable than anything.</div><div><br /></div><div>After two weeks off, I participated in a short 4.5 mile trail race in Eldorado Canyon that I had signed up for months earlier. I had run one time before and my foot felt good, so I thought I would give it a go. The run was great, except I caught another rock while running full out downhill. I was wearing my racing flats and broke the fourth toe on my other foot. I got some great scrapes from this fall!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjceemCGo90ILUARUFg-p1pq6YcB-2f7g0n7i_3uhs1okjcoI-tXt2TegL_xgGSVcvgAiOlp5NMql9PRc3IzRe9H30o2cmd0E9ABKkuohHc2vN5Lg0xG0z9Vdx1P4qCegrqn0dnw2l8d7MC/s200/IMGP0416.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390642958088678370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:11px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Ouch! Broken fourth toe!</span></span></div></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:11px;"> </span></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, three weeks later, I am back to feeling pretty good. I went on two runs earlier this week. The first run was in the pouring rain at White Ranch Open Space Park in Golden and the second was an early morning run along the Shanahan, Mesa, and Bluebell Trails in Boulder. I tripped again on the second run, but didn't break anything! I don't know if I should be happy because I didn't really hurt anything this time or concerned because I keep falling. I'm actually listening to Tom Petty's Free Fallin' as I write this. It seems like a trend...I need to break this one! </div><div><br /></div><div>Two weekends ago we hiked up Buffalo Mountain in Silverthorne. It was a nice hike, complete with a quick-building storm when we reached the top. We went up in the sun and came down in the hail with thunder rattling around us. It was another few hours of good fun!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFBYEcLnr1TrJZDAPv_5m3QzocXZB84d5Y3N2i94YDo4eZi1MBqnHj8d1lwcCEO8IUjwA0radFVfzvP1z8jkOX3IJOpPXwwR7Ebjqu6llmAd_3b4NNDrHnbHYLEHzu21ZbZhjLRaz9UUx/s200/IMGP0445.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390642974746195330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; ">Robyn hiking up Buffalo Mtn with Lake Dillon in the background</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_PKAqDnrvBvrDAuc4Txhsua7aUv5bNIjoAambhllQREgMoszl_SzOVbqIy6CM6Z3FVEBCjqDEARAT5MT5QgnveKgZzn7PAF32SWNBuZ8C9XniR8w72g4sqD25JuR5S6dYdLixmhlfayC/s200/IMGP0461.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390642981772793074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:11px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Morgan and Robyn hiking on top of Buffalo Mtn just before the first rumbles of t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">hunde</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">r</span></span></div></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></div><div>Robyn, Ash (Robyn's sister who is here visiting from South Africa), and I went climbing at North Table Mountain a few days ago. It was good fun to climb again. We chuckled about how little it took for our forearms to start burning! We're not in shape for that. I have been mountain biking quite a bit at White Ranch and around Marshall Mesa. We have also spent quite a bit of time hanging out at the park next to our house slacklining. We bought some telemark skis and ice climbing gear recently and are ready for a new set of adventures.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>We miss being out on the trail everyday, but the trail isn't quite out of our lives yet. I was asked to re-write the narrative parts of the Colorado Trail Guidebook last week by the Colorado Trail Foundation. It will be a very cool project resulting in a new, updated 8th edition due out next September. Robyn and I will also be representing the Colorado Trail Foundation at the flagship REI in Denver on Saturday, October 24th. Come on out if you are the area!</div><div><br /></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-37095497957975710112009-10-09T09:35:00.006-06:002009-10-11T10:47:13.096-06:00The Colorado Trail: Equipment List<div style="text-align: left;">I strongly believe in the lightweight philosophy of backpacking. Carrying light gear doesn't mean compromising comfort or safety. In fact, it can enhance both of these while in the backcountry. I find it is more comfortable to walk along a trail with 15-25 pounds in my backpack than 40+ pounds. Carrying a light bag lets you avoid the plods and staring three feet in front of your feet the whole time. It really can be enjoyable to walk trails with a backpack that has 5+ days worth of food and supplies. Knowing how to use gear for multiple purposes (sleeping pad doubles as a seat, backpack under your legs at night to avoid carrying a full length pad, using your sleeping bag as a warm layer in the evening rather than bringing a heavy fleece jacket, etc.) can make you more self-sufficient and confident in the outdoors. You don't need the whole kitchen sink!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglm2J-HPvw_KHPOomqWcF55Bwpyi5lwhlgbTPdxlHF4lPlPf3Vo8gPD_D_CgxcTbPu_JVAyCRRne3md1d2tBx3-4hSXFI3Chx5jsoASnIHhh0JwzdDWIYi5Sf4jwg4ekbNTeZTh4MtCAU-/s200/DSCN0859.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390630610479967394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Morgan's Gear List</span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Clothing: </b></div><div>Brooks Running Shorts </div><div>REI Convertible Pants </div><div>Smartwool socks (2 pair)</div><div>Patagonia Midweight Long Underwear Bottoms </div><div>REI Midweight Long Underwear Top</div><div>Patagonia Lightweight Wicking Tee</div><div>REI Midweight Fleece Hoodie</div><div>GoLite Poncho/Tarp</div><div>REI Boxer Briefs</div><div>Baseball style Breathable Cap</div><div>REI Fleece Gloves</div><div>Beanie</div><div>Nike Air Pegasus Running Shoes w/Superfeet Insoles</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sleeping:</b></div><div>GoLite 20 degree Quilt</div><div>Black closed-cell ensolite half-pad</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Backpack/Water Storage:</b></div><div>GoLite Infinity Pack (old model, straps and lid trimmed)</div><div>Deuter 3-liter Water bladder & one 20-oz plastic water bottle</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cooking/Water Purifying:</b></div><div>Tuna Can Alcohol Stove</div><div>16 oz Denatured Alcohol (lasts 6 days)</div><div>1-liter MSR Stainless Steel Pot w/Lid</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">Aqua Mira Water Purifying Drops (Part A and B)</span></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Miscelaneous:</b></div><div>Sony DCR-SX40 Video Camcorder w/8GB memomry card</div><div>Extra 4GB Memory Card</div><div>Mountainsmith Flash Camera Case (size M)</div><div>REI 2-Person Ultralight Tent (carried fly and poles, Robyn carried the tent body)</div><div>Leki Titan Trekking Poles</div><div>Homemade First Aid Kit</div><div>Credit Card/Driver's License/$40 cash</div><div>Princeton Tec 4-Mode Headlamp</div><div>Sunglasses</div><div>Colorado Trail Databook</div><div>Colorado Trail Maps (only the pages for the section we were hiking)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN23zVpoaTGKCzoeu9MgG637vkPYLTgWYkVfLGRzb9L-GYHqCj7dC_LBJBS1p1zVXGdxsH7bRxlaU5KeqaRcjRXfmSDimqu_YqQIuC25yptZ5Y9mhAB5vV4QDrqr5_RGqnC97FA0fe-h-F/s200/DSCN0713.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390630620587937202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-3657469676648057452009-09-25T19:05:00.026-06:002009-09-27T12:50:37.234-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 23-25<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8LhwAnJoWKzAYkfiXu29jRlk0DiD_oKEI0YU7Ru4qNGgsR1n5kbRgMa_l4LGMrc47f2RMcQof-SxFiArqvz7SuqhJJX14rnAUho7PwECjqw4KMIw1QPcIUDUhK88fcNdytt5cc0zO_kx/s1600-h/DSCN1082.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2l_GafNtQEnhNqaAQfSZvaCGN2_Cp8hqGM4NHoOz_fsyLJk73urIm9BQiOiQ8g2mdtHU_kcaFSuRhXZkGBftF8WThYbawhG0OA_EEZZxQJNZVHyrs5zd9LnF-XRIZKm5q8UfvzyJRdxH1/s1600-h/DSCN1076.JPG"></a><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreHtwz63rXmrI6iPNxl6qo_b-Vs_v68CSg3nPG8d8Z40Rdq9EesyHcvZt5sYfEp4dmjeXcD1HIbsVEulG-KX7KorucjScV6NEoosgec1ElJJp4YArXZDLwsqEqutvIUvJDqod0JXdy43C/s200/IMG_6616.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386186484948970626" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYhYGQrPqlfiYjxRzQWCuj9gk93N8FPhZV3Ykp5dyHrCxmkxvBA7uBsNBp5HCuRJOaBKZHuijmk3zy3F3NtHRLy6xe7l3VgC0XJJ1BjvIDevFlygJZlbshdzBeKPGbXZXIttEmwwPB0gL/s1600-h/DSCN1057.JPG"></a>The previous day, Keith found us a ride from our hotel in Silverton to the trailhead on Molas Pass at 6:15 am. Amazingly, she showed up. It probably helped that Keith's deal included $15 for her. The three of us always liked to get an early start, so we happily split the cost three ways and were out of town as the sun was coming up behind a huge bank of ominous looking clouds. <div><br /></div><div>The woman drove us the five miles out of town to where we had left the trail at the entrance to Molas Lake. Robyn, Keith and I all gave her a sincere thank you and looked at each other in preparation for our final three days on the trail. We were all excited for the next segment through the San Juan Mountains, but a little tired from the previous three weeks on trail. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJigt-CNO65ytcE7Kpr0R6uw6d01QJxL-jxM9Uq9ZuyB_pmLK7n5HexWx7Ec6e0RGTet43Chs9bdFx5TyYfO5-bQcReIlbx7cZVdpMDTxCLjjtbY4SmO5QpfAFwCQ_61is7I1hH4Vx3AG/s200/IMG_6615.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386203156276204386" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>After putting on our packs and walking across the street, we quickly realized something was not quite right. The trail had been clearly marked for 400 miles, but suddenly there were no markers in sight. We explored two different branches of jeep trail, but one abruptly stopped at a creek and the other was headed in the wrong direction. I took out our maps and realized our mistake. In our walk towards Silverton while finishing the previous segment, we had taken a right at the final intersection when we should have taken a left. The three of us decided the quickest way to find the trail would be to walk up Hwy-550 until we found the it closer to the top of the pass.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div>The trail was right where it was supposed to be. We found it just after a large bend in the road and laughed. Now we were ready to begin our final push on the Colorado Trail. We walked by Little Molas Lake, admired the view back towards the Animas River Canyon, and turned to the north. Even though the sun was up and poking through the clouds occasionally, I was wearing my light fleece jacket, gloves and beanie. Since we were going to be at or above treeline most of the day, I was hoping the clouds wouldn't build and bring thunderstorms. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The trail rolled along, climbing and descending through amazing patches of wildflowers. There were Larkspur nearly as tall as us, Carrots, Sunflowers, Paintbrush and Monkshood. I thought it couldn't get any better, but as we approached the Engineer Mountain Trail after several hours of hiking, fields of wildflowers opened up. I was taking photos and video every few steps as our surroundings got better and better.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxRXZzMzKnXktcjWxV8GRmoJoSeaFDaLKKagOdgqJhOpvzdaXqA0uNqnBE8KDbY7TkSaRIcJ8iqRefCrb8Jpg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Fortunately, the clouds were dispersing as we headed up the Rico-Silverton Trail and gained a pass just south of Rolling Mountain at 12,490 ft. Even though we were all well-acclimatised, the combination of high altitude and steep trails left us winded every time we gained a saddle. Even so, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment each time we crossed into a new drainage. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we came to treeline after descending a series of switchbacks, the three of us pulled off the trail to have some lunch. We were all feeling pretty good, helped along by each other, the scenery, and the pull of Durango and the end of the trail. Robyn and I had our normal lunch of a tortilla smothered with honey. It wasn't exactly filling, but we supplemented it with Cliff Bars, trail mix, and jelly babies. We were existing on a high calorie drip, steadily taking in food throughout the day. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyzo5G0o1VmbjilXW_uj_Nu-atjFiQbCXLjRWOnLmSlRdsYUMt6QkBhojZQ8rvMeBH5oPZJ25iyJTRxilIKjn7VVmPyhbpZrEpeOWI__gvaFKPPyI7pWYnrvKNZXkEMIPhTvauKDIa_iGf/s200/IMG_6634.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386201380878308018" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>The trail dropped 1500 ft. in the next three miles until reaching a bridge that crossed Cascade Creek. We all had re-filled water shortly before and began another ascent, preparing to cross our third saddle of the day. We were all spread out along the trail, walking at our own pace. I would stop every 10 to 15 minutes to make sure Robyn and Keith were still doing well. Without incident, they always were just behind me with smiling faces.</div><div><br /></div><div>While taking a short break at a creek just below the saddle that would lead us to Bolam Pass Road, we noticed all the rocks in the creek were stained white even though none of the rocks around us were that color. The three of us were all familiar with common water quality problems like giardia, but this environment and the impacts of mining also created another serious issue called acid mine drainage. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are many abandoned mines in Colorado that have lots of pyrite, a mineral that is made up of iron and sulfur. When this mineral is exposed to air and water, a chemical reaction occurs that produces sulfuric acid. As the sulfuric acid builds, it lowers the pH of the waterway and can cause major problems with aquatic life and stream-side vegetation. If the problem is pronounced, it can make the water unfit for human consumption. It is this buildup of acid that is also responsible for the white coloration of the rocks. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uBsm3D9EucA56hcIsErkn9a5gs8hb7rNUjSmUVy3H3Ik0VWeE4_Id4T45oSztJeuRxR2xmfRmZHcEGoMgK1Q7h0We7fSVWXtwPdQMCYjd1hMwkPbHorcZ1jV8Yli8QUPcW6Z1rI0zTPj/s200/DSCN1060.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386201994290210818" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>When we reached the saddle, we had great views of Lizard Head, a prominent 400 ft. tower outside of Telluride. While lounging and enjoying more snacks, thunder rumbled overhead. We were above treeline near the highest point in the area. It was time to get moving. </div><div><br /></div><div>After walking by Bolam Pass Road and Celebration Lake, we made our way to our fourth saddle of the day, this time below Hermosa Peak. It was only 3 pm and we had covered 22 miles. The three of us knew we would have to cover more miles to put ourselves in position to finish the trail two days later. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is always nice to finish a day with a gentle downhill stroll to a campsite along a creek. This didn't happen for us on day 23. We knew we needed to get over Blackhawk Pass to find a water source for the evening, but didn't realize we would be making a climb of 600 ft. in six-tenths of mile to gain the pass. Normally, this wouldn't have been a huge topic of conversation, but at the end of a 28-mile day with more than 4,000 ft. of climbing, we were not thrilled to be going up again. Then, when we dropped into the Straight Creek drainage, there was a large group of high-school aged students right where we wanted to camp. There was nothing left in our legs, so we found a reasonable spot to camp well off the trail several hundred yards from the group.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITdNhDXgksACxR-PBVR32pLAHmjgW4A9w_RTbTiahZoH3h5Cyfr6CaHa3GPgUWLqWLNDVoUITc31OjwEkrdI4NZ6ht5GFTWPaIxXBIgB560It0Z1xq8ttcXYCGAutwM_vxIOPXe0w4ue7/s200/IMG_6644.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386202289550348770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>While setting up camp, we all noticed the lack of mozzies. Swatting wildly at regular intervals to kill them had become something of an evening ritual for us while eating dinner and preparing camp. This was one ritual we were happy to have a break from. Robyn and I cooked risotto over our tuna-can alcohol stove, joked with Keith about our nice climb to finish the day, then headed to our tent for another great sleep. </div><div><br /></div><div>After breaking camp by 6:30 am, we walked 1/2 mile down the trail and re-filled our water bottles and bladders at Straight Creek. The guidebook and maps indicated it would be our last water source for 20 miles until coming to Taylor Lake. The three of us all took one gallon of water, the maximum we could each carry. We figured we would be at Taylor Lake by 3 or 4 pm. </div><div><br /></div><div>The trail dropped steadily for the first few miles. Just before reaching Hotel Draw Road, we ran into a group of ladies who were out on the trail with several llamas. They were Durango locals and gave us the inside scoop on where to stay and where to eat. We were getting close.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOV915ux5Z2Z1SA6LCIqyU09ztgHyx3W8Y2_1qFcVyivPLOWx86RWNSGJVo6iwl8lGEfufAHxelfdZ3HbM-9Oz52D9S__tTdgEVgCPDGouGUvydgHCB0XrFdIN6ZiOFVxSUlL6H-r0JAdj/s200/IMG_6646.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386210763242987810" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>The trail rolled along, passing through some recently logged areas. We would walk through a logged section with no cover for several hundred yards, then enter a wooded section for about the same length. When we stopped for lunch around 11:30 am, the clouds had enveloped us and were starting to rumble overhead. The three of us were happy to have a break to see what the weather was going to do before heading out into another open section. Just before sitting down, I noticed a slight twinge in my right shin. My left shin, also known as Bertha, had hurt for nearly a week earlier in the trip. I hoped this new pain would disappear during our down time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I were munching on our trusty lunch of tortillas with honey when the skies opened up. Pellets of hail hit the ground one at a time at first. Within 5 minutes, we all had our rain gear on and were huddled under the branches of some small fir trees for cover. Thunder boomed around us occasionally even though the lightning was still in the clouds. The three of us had learned our lesson earlier in the trip about moving with thunder nearby. We were not going anywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>The three of us figured the storm would pass as all the others had done. We were not quite right about that. I was reclining on my pack with my poncho covering my whole body and actually fell asleep for a while. After an hour and fifteen minutes of waiting, a patch of clouds opened up and the hail stopped. We hadn't heard thunder for fifteen minutes, so decided to move on. We were all getting a bit cold and knew movement was the best answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail climbed steadily for a mile and came to a series of switchbacks. After reaching a bench with an expansive meadow on our left the clouds opened up again. This time we were not lucky enough to have dry hail pellets. It was raining full force. Again we took shelter under some fir trees to wait out the storm. Within 5 minutes, we saw several flashes of lightning and accompanying thunder. The storm was right over our heads. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR02HQ0jxlWEbHmQVwHBLSn6pRa0gsKctjd22il1NvHJ39lLCNpFfb-sn2PwaLqEs4EXODQrtpqw1la-fu83OWioHLKUsmPvHihDfWo1p1PsPOqdDQvH9QkQtLy9Khu_UAlJF4WNV4fMl4/s200/IMG_6648.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386188365704456610" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div>We waited for the storm to pass for another hour. We all felt antsy, knowing we had only covered 15 miles for the day. Unfortunately, the next few miles along the Indian Trail Ridge were above treeline and very exposed. The guidebook warned that this area could be dangerous during afternoon thunderstorms. Our antsyness had to wait.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div>At first, rain dripped from the hood of Keith's rain jacket and our ponchos. After an hour it was pouring off of us. We were all getting cold and the storm wasn't moving. It was only 4 pm, but we collectively decided to put up our tents so we could stay dry.</div><br /><div>Our tent was up in a few minutes and we were in our warm clothes within 5 minutes. Keith setup his tent just as quickly and was already beginning to make tea. Robyn and I reclined and tried to make light of the situation. This was only the second time we were really delayed by storms over the course of 24 days. We were bummed not to be moving, but knew we had been incredibly fortunate with the weather. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was only one thing we could think of while sitting in the tent. Food. Our thoughts and conversations always drifted towards food after several days on the trail or during breaks. This was the longest break we ever took on the trail, so our natural inclination was to eat. At 4:30 we began to cook ourselves dinner. We figured a full stomach would help lift our spirits and warm us up.</div><div><br /></div><div>By 5 pm the rain stopped, but there was no way we could make it over the Indian Trail Ridge and down to Taylor Lake before dark. We read that section was a great hike and didn't want to miss the views by hiking it in the dark. The three us were also not sure the storm was done. As our quonia cooked, I walked back out onto the trail to see what was up ahead and came to an intersection. To the right was a side trail for views. I decided to scurry to the end of it to see if the storm was passing. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I reached the end of the side trail, I could see the outline of the high San Juan Mountains to the east. The clouds were below me and above me which created a spectacular vista. I snapped pictures and video for several minutes, then headed back towards our makeshift camp. I knew the food would be waiting.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyXrUH6l_cRU5Ygv8_VGIfNM52TDwsXGKFJQ5Eev6fpPQMIOd4fwGDsHhVzmH2MiTCnhUVMGlwFVCAkgwNFow' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>After some talk, we decided to setup camp right where we were and call it a day. It was our shortest full-day in terms of distance covered. We knew that meant the next day would be long. The three of us only packed food for two and a half days on the trail from Silverton to Durango, so we didn't have enough to split the remaining 30 miles into two days. We would have to cover it in one go. The three of us also had to be careful to conserve our water. Each of us had about a liter and half left. That would have to see us through the night and eight miles of hiking in the morning. </div><div><br /></div><div>We were awake early to clear and cold skies the following morning. Keith, Robyn and I had become very efficient at getting out of camp. The excitement of the final day filled all us with energy, but we knew we had lots of ground to cover. There was no time waste. We were on the trail by 5:30 am. </div><div><br /></div><div>My shin was quite sore as we walked along. I knew that would make the day especially difficult given we would be descending nearly 6,000 ft. I couldn't figure out what I had done to aggravate it. I thought by this point in the trip my body would be well-adapted, but knew I couldn't dwell on it too much. There was lots of ground to cover and I would have plenty of time to rest after reaching Durango. Since I called my other shin Bertha, I decided this shin should get a name that started with a "B." Bartholemule fit the bill perfectly.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2l_GafNtQEnhNqaAQfSZvaCGN2_Cp8hqGM4NHoOz_fsyLJk73urIm9BQiOiQ8g2mdtHU_kcaFSuRhXZkGBftF8WThYbawhG0OA_EEZZxQJNZVHyrs5zd9LnF-XRIZKm5q8UfvzyJRdxH1/s200/DSCN1076.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386186494482731186" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>By 6:30 am, we had passed an intersection with the Grindstone Trail and were above treeline. When we saw how exposed the terrain was, we were all content with the decision we had made the previous day to huddle down and wait out the storm. We would have been walking lightning rods on the ridge during that storm. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we reached a gap in the ridge, we heard some commotion to the west and saw a herd of elk moving into the forest several hundred feet below us. This was the first herd of elk we had seen on the entire trail. They bugled below us and were gone before we knew it. We all had huge smiles plastered across our faces. The sky was clear and we were seeing some wildlife. Things couldn't get any better.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div>Things did get better. While walking along the ridge, we saw two more herds of elk. We had gone from seeing flashes of elk in the distance to more than 100 in a matter of an hour. Robyn and Keith took pictures while I filmed them, hoping the bugles would be caught by the microphone in my camcorder. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz8gHozt9AxU9Faj-6kFYT3lTVw-E8AACbZOVD3-dTeinDhqst9sZVXsuTDAjtD7ruVVclzYTYtUkKdEMRWzw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>When we made the left turn down to Taylor Lake, I took the last sip of my water. We were all fortunate the weather had improved so much. The three of us would have had a major dilemma</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8LhwAnJoWKzAYkfiXu29jRlk0DiD_oKEI0YU7Ru4qNGgsR1n5kbRgMa_l4LGMrc47f2RMcQof-SxFiArqvz7SuqhJJX14rnAUho7PwECjqw4KMIw1QPcIUDUhK88fcNdytt5cc0zO_kx/s200/DSCN1082.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386221300302005426" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div> if we woke up to thunderstorms because we would have been short on both food and water. We would have had to re-trace our steps for 15 miles to get water, but we would have ran out of food. That was a situation we were happy to avoid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bartholemule hurt with each downhill step, but I was able to keep moving forward. After we treated water from the outlet of the lake and began the 1.5-mile walk to Kennebec Pass, we crossed paths with a group of ladies out for a day hike. When we told them we came from Denver and were finishing the Colorado Trail today, they quizzed us with a barrage of questions. One of the ladies gave us a homemade energy bar that tasted great. Keith, Robyn and I all felt pride in what we had done while discussing it. It was nice to share our experience with people who were genuinely interested in what we had done.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trip wasn't over yet, though. We still had 22 miles to cover and it was already 10 am. On our way up to Kennebec Pass from the trailhead parking lot, we saw another herd of elk and I saw a coyote run across the trail. I couldn't believe we were seeing so much wildlife on our last day when we had seen so little perviously. It felt as if we were being rewarded for our patience.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our descent into the Junction Creek watershed was not as steep as we thought it would be. The trail was well graded and easy to walk. We motored along at a good pace and covered the 6.5 miles from the pass to the bridge at Junction Creek in just over two hours. We started making predictions when we would reach the Junction Creek Trailhead and the end of the Colorado Trail. The three of us all agreed we would be there between 5 and 6 pm. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHR2RvEk1msU0FSIlkdysC06GbTHsOz8Hl73NxZ4KsKAnPIaTb2Ma4OMjyuGClOVqoA0shYKHx0XOD-9aWcadQ4C9y6PlnUUlSTmDPL3FYLYGIwxa1GHsq1R1y86WZe0LlaZRcyXazCReM/s200/DSCN1085.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386208788250362850" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div>I felt ambivalent as we made our way closer to the terminus of the trail. After reaching the top of an 1,100 ft. climb over the next four miles, we could see down towards Durango. I felt great about what we were about to accomplish - nearly 500 miles of walking through our new home state. I was ready for a nice shower, clean clothes, good food, lots of sleep, and water that I didn't have to treat with chlorine. The end felt like it was coming at just the right time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even given the fatigue I was feeling, the pain that Bartholemule was bringing, the anxiety caused by waiting out lightning storms, and the stench from wearing dirty clothes everyday, I knew that something very special was ending. I loved being out on the trail with clear, easy to define goals. Every day I knew I would be out walking with friends and seeing some of the most amazing mountains in the world. Robyn and I had made it together with no major problems. Our relationship felt as strong as ever, something not all couples experience after an extended period together in the backcountry. We had made a great new friend in Keith, someone we would keep in contact with and perhaps meet again for another adventure. There were lots of other great people we had met like Mike and Debbie. I was sad knowing this would all be done when we checked into a hotel, changed into our clean clothes and ate at nice restaurant.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpt3QysbfUO3im5qaCW-lXoJA7szh_BeytYEhyILFyZ8JRgc2PY3y3oXBxdpo-Uhfq63gSbciBArOclZS4wHnDJnalB8YW0iN37ym1opOey7VmI_ys0p-ABTYde_rH943DSTerJ6rmtUK/s200/DSCN1092.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386209102932265762" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>The end of the trail came quickly. We had walked from an alpine, tundra environment down through fir forests and into pine forests as we neared Gudy's Rest and the second bridge over Junction Creek. When we made it to the bridge, we told Keith we only had 1.6 miles left when we really had 2.6 miles left. Keith knew it wasn't right, but we got a great response from him. </div><div><br /></div><div>We all walked along in our normal fashion. I was out in front, followed by Robyn, then Keith. We reached a large boulder with cairns on it that were set up by people who we presumed had finished all or part of the trail this summer. We added another for the three of us.</div><div><br /></div><div>We passed several hikers and, before we knew what to say, were standing at the trailhead sign and the end of the trail. The three of us had started on the same day within an hour of eachother and finished together 25 days later. There was nobody there to congratulate us or throw a big party. We took photos, a few last bits of film, and congratulated eachother. We walked to the end of the parking lot and found a ride into Durango within 10 minutes. Before we knew it, we were being driven down the road at 30 mph. Our life as backpackers moving at 3 mph on The Colorado Trail was now our previous life.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyx3L7DgWvUXJOpNUjtxAWI1HgNlClXBkiMI_Slf6XjsntsUSH-4hvPU_RT_IA5Vf0WYj91cT5_hzfOF298vw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The woman who drove us into Durango was unbelievably friendly. She dropped us off on the main street after taking us to several hotels that were already full. Keith and I figured she was close to offering us a room in her house to stay in, but we would not have been comfortable with that. Keith found a hotel room first, then we found one across the street. After showers and a quick call home, we went out to eat a Mexican restaurant. They treated us like kings after Keith told them what we just accomplished. They even brought us a dessert of ice cream and fudge on the house that was way too big for us to finish. We took the trolley back to our hotels and planned to meet up the next day before Robyn and I were to head back to Boulder. Robyn and I were asleep just after the light went out, knowing we had just walked across an amazing state that we could now officially call home.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLy4DTqPTvgKAcz56TWEbA1U9db8zTEb0ylOTBUAEfklpgz6Jq9sEH16K2DQe72NbTJV5GHd-yqpnPM_b7CnHTniUIABnDjjzFSV7jYeH-22IHck5IFyYJQa3X0HyRYmlQRvawxGiJM69/s320/DSCN1094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386191779783007298" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /> </span></div><div><br /></div><div>Still to come...Final thoughts, life after the Colorado Trail, and gear lists.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-52564658565045494132009-09-20T11:37:00.017-06:002009-09-21T00:07:05.474-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 19-22<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQl7X7tP8rcUPuL_jeuO8gaMYYH1JlMqYn1tinIcgANYuFK2Gdp47F9PgnuU1ynUWow07AyW8w1oz4ENU2ROoQbx4peGseJ3MMm44LIAwIEyVXSA7faVmyIV-cwfhwL8SKLygTnqHt5Mi/s1600-h/DSCN0970.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Whenever I camp in a day-use only area or sneak into a campground in the middle of the night without paying, I am always a bit nervous that I will wake up to see the area partitioned off with crime scene tape and rangers waiting to take me away. OK, maybe they would just ticket me, but it is still something I worry about in those wee hours of the night when I wake up momentarily after rolling off my sleeping pad or hearing something outside. Fortunately, I have never been caught, and this morning proved no different. After a breakfast of cold cereal in bed, we were back on the trail by 6:30 am.<br /><br />The three of us had another big day planned. We would start at Spring Creek Pass and make our way to Coney Summit, the highest point on the Colorado Trail, then drop into the Pole Creek drainage where we would find a place to camp. About 10 minutes after leaving camp, we came to a junction with a map and a sign below that said "You Are Here." It was good to know we were there.<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZOR534kIKmhBao0oLPMezZfAUxohQvkaUZeXFsqcdy48AutjY0kWvhhnHXjQCdylBlq35KSb9-naLRlX5d2pHkRQ-aZsLFPDQ4VdLaZTP34ZCAUvQarHeyGaVSzoRGxQF3CQGTdwk25c/s1600-h/DSCN0896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZOR534kIKmhBao0oLPMezZfAUxohQvkaUZeXFsqcdy48AutjY0kWvhhnHXjQCdylBlq35KSb9-naLRlX5d2pHkRQ-aZsLFPDQ4VdLaZTP34ZCAUvQarHeyGaVSzoRGxQF3CQGTdwk25c/s200/DSCN0896.JPG" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />In the first 6 miles, we climbed more than 1000 ft., saw a huge flock of sheep with two watch dogs and crossed Jarosa Mesa, another completely exposed stretch of tundra above treeline. The trail on Jarosa Mesa was nonexistent, so we walked from cairn to cairn. We all occasionally looked back to the east and could see Snow Mesa moving further and further into the distance, something all three of us were very happy about.<br /><br />The trail climbed several bumps along the Continental Divide with spectacular views of the surrounding San Juan Mountains. As we made our way towards Coney Summit, the wind picked up around 10 am. Whenever I saw that we were coming up to a gap in the ridge where the wind would really be howling I would take my hat off. I knew if I didn't, it might soon be flying down the mountainside with me trying hopelessly to chase it down. There were several climbs where I would turn my hat backwards when we went into the wind and turn it back forwards at the next switchback. The three of us looked pretty comical leaning into the wind, trying to make headway towards Silverton.<br /><br />We reached Coney Summit, elevation 13,240 ft., just after noon. We actually didn't even know that we were at a summit. It was more like a little bump on the ridge with the distinction of being the highest point on the 485-mile trail. Trying to keep our sense of humor and find a sheltered place from the incessant wind, we didn't celebrate on top for long. We dropped down 800 ft. in the next mile to Carson Saddle. On the way down, we had to walk a steep, loose section of 4x4 road that we all kept slipping and sliding on. It was time for a break.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw_LVrhJ62ZGYeCxypsjqwPxTlU0JQ46lTEUsKYl1HDgjl9o7W3nJU4kksC8gWSbM3MHPOmpFT84LrkV5E_lw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />The mining remnants in the San Juan Mountains are everywhere. There are old structures from the late 1800's and early 1900's that are still standing even though this part of the Rocky Mountains is notorious for having ferocious winter storms. There are many mountainsides that were once obviously mined with piles of loose rock everywhere. However, the most amazing remnant from the heavy mining times is all the roads. There are dirt roads criss-crossing these mountains in the steepest, seemingly least accessible locations. It is unbelievable to sit above 13,000 ft. and look down on alpine tundra with so much infrastructure from a time past.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_iO5N9DRoMl5A9djPzoq2WGB4jQVKmTyeFWR4bFGqwmECrNSTV5gbPRKjNg0oqn7JpidCCkoTPJN7-D3dhj0yTpe8VIzNJlJMbkBFOdwToHR1oHlwNUQc22-zcznEqCzUoyNWJL-KW6gU/s200/IMG_6559.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383705987270954258" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When we left Carson Saddle, the trail climbed up a valley and over an unnamed pass at 12,920 ft. The valley was one of the most spectacular that we had ever seen. There were wildflowers and grasses, huge mountaintops with gendarmes (pinnacles) of volcanic rock, and expansive views of the mountains to our east. We floundered just below the pass for 20 minutes, taking in some nice afternoon sun, joking around with each other, and enjoying the experience we were having. I was wishing this could last forever. More miles called though, so we were soon up and heading down into the Pole Creek Drainage.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After crossing the pass we also crossed the imaginary line marking 20 miles for the day. Robyn and I were feeling good, our bodies adapting well after nearly 3 weeks on the trail. However, this was the point in the day when Keith's foot would start to hurt. When we reached a trail junction with Pole Creek, Keith decided to try the one shoe-one sandal technique. Even though I felt terrible for him because he was hurting, I couldn't help but laugh when I saw him walking down steep, narrow, rocky trail like this. He was incredibly tough and amazingly good-humored. Nothing seemed to ever get him down, not even having to hike with one sandal and one shoe. He was going to make it to Durango. It was great being able to hike with him.<br /><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwVGGQb5fl_uo_emwPlG5R8vofwP7_L9UvF2DCpWtc6nxJm4eASkEf1EZhHju6QI8imohmMGNrkLlpc3yZQUA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The trail dropped down towards Cataract Lake, then turned back to the west after passing a small, unnamed lake. We considered camping there, but decided we could put in a few more miles. Keith decided the one shoe-one sandal method wasn't working, so he put his other shoe back on. Robyn and I both laughed with him.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />The trail dropped and passed several good campsites with nearby creeks, then headed out along a scree slope up towards another pass. We were all confused. The guidebook pages Kieth had photocopied and the databook all said we should be dropping all the way to Rio Grande Reservoir. That was to the south, but the trail we were on was headed to the west and rolling up and down.<br /><br />After talking things over and looking at the sun getting closer to the mountainous horizon, we all decided to head back a quarter mile to the last good spot we saw to camp and figure out what was going on there. While we cooked dinner and gathered water, I looked at the topo maps and found we were headed in the right direction. The trail had split away from the Pole Creek drainage. The confusion came because the guidebook and databook said we were supposed to go down the Pole Creek drainage. I was confident the map was right and the books were wrong. We figured there must have been a recent re-routing of the trail and the maps were up-to-date but the guidebooks were not.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixo7qr0eBWHAEJYdGn_1NVrWHEBbfm8ZlXZ2KKvm_Adpdh9PefKsXaSgda986xykp6L_GoZrf1PGMtvyL35MP14h9P2j3Igu7_UXXagam8Neq4FOY6Bgbc2DeNUIyfPAdQYmnLT6MYOyXh/s200/IMG_6567.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383708011975232674" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />The next morning brought more beautiful blue skies. We quickly reached the crest of the pass we were looking at the previous evening and contoured around a small peak. There were cairns everywhere! Many of them were bigger than us. We all agreed our premonition that the trail had been re-routed to avoid the big descent to the reservoir and big climb back up to Stony Pass was correct. I took pictures next to many of the cairns, impressed by the determination and dedication put in by trail crews to make them.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGP6BfVs3vobyAJf587EAvrEQcu1RvvuQQ-Vz6Sgs9aKzsDfrDyPrLpeQ2wtI8dLlBiuaSjjO0cvPUg0qOw0jTM_CWkFaC6zVfX5ER4DhNuLeQaZbLgXSL7tRTy_U0L2NBEjk6sAvts44/s200/IMG_6576.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383708452447321602" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">While dropping down to the middle of a drainage, we came across a group campsite with about a dozen tents scattered about the tundra. The group was there doing just what we thought was happening; they were working on the Colorado Trail trough this new section. Keith, Robyn and I were all relieved to get an official word we were on the right trail. They described to us that the trail followed the Continental Divide for the next 7 miles to Stony Pass. In addition to avoiding the descent to the reservoir and big climb to Stony Pass, this new bypass also avoided the multi-use trail going down to the reservoir. They said the old Colorado Trail through Pole Creek was not very enjoyable. We were very grateful for their efforts to make the trail better.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The ridge walk didn't prove easy, though. We would climb, then descend, then climb, then descend. The trail was steep, rocky, and occasionally nonexistent. However, there were always cairns to follow if the trail wasn't there. When we stopped to enjoy the surroundings, as we often did, we were amazed with the colors in the mountains, the wildflowers all around, and the perfect mountain weather. Things were looking good.<br /><br />There was a small bit of trail magic after passing Stony Pass. We all grabbed some candy from the bucket hanging off the side of an old mining structure and signed the guestbook. Like the past few days, the wind started to pick up around 10 am. Since we were above treeline, there was no way to get out of it. We all just put on wind breakers and kept moving forward.<br /><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQl7X7tP8rcUPuL_jeuO8gaMYYH1JlMqYn1tinIcgANYuFK2Gdp47F9PgnuU1ynUWow07AyW8w1oz4ENU2ROoQbx4peGseJ3MMm44LIAwIEyVXSA7faVmyIV-cwfhwL8SKLygTnqHt5Mi/s200/DSCN0970.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383713822258745538" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Arrow and Vestel Peaks came into view as we walked across another mesa above 12,000 ft. We all looked ahead towards Elk Creek, knowing there was huge descent in front of us. The topo map showed the descent as a series of switchbacks all crammed together. The guidebook described it as nothing short of spectacular. We were all excited.<br /><br />After cresting a small rise, the switchbacks came into view. They zigzagged down an amazingly steep slope. There was a group of people at the top of the descent and as we approached them we saw they were forest service workers fixing trail signs. They had packed their stuff in with llamas and were working on making sure the trail junctions were clearly marked in the area. Keith put down his pack to get a snack before heading down Elk Creek and realized one of the sandals he kept strapped to the outside wasn't there.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghABsnu2Z40gnz8fsXieWS4ItC5O7ZWTkIQUJXCok9b4uq4r6oF4UmMjxUK1VQxDnJhMpcPy5z3PWC02EAjgIdq99vhE-ZXwfm0NXyGrI2YNomyXEzIJiaSFPeiISl-7iNdBHTWWswSkFm/s320/DSCN0985.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383705557198680770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"Oh no, I must have dropped my sandal!" Keith exclaimed with the rangers right there. I cringed when he said that, wishing he would not have said that in front of them. She chuckled at him and said she wouldn't make him go get it or fine him for littering. Keith got lucky, even though he was unlucky to lose his sandal. The ranger offered to ship it to him if someone found it and delivered it to the lost and found box at the Forest Service office. For a moment, Keith thought it was a good idea and gave her his business card. Then he realized he lived in Oman and shipping for a single sandal would cost much more than several new pairs of sandals. The meeting was funny, if not a bit tense for a moment and a little awkward.<br /><br />The drop down Elk Creek was spectacular, just as the guidebook described. We made our way down the switchbacks, then past an abandoned mine shaft and cabin and down the drainage. We came to treeline after 30 minutes, the first trees we had been in since the early morning. It was nice to get out of the sun. However, as soon as we sat down, flies were all over us. It was the first encounter we had with flies. We didn't like it, so we got back up and kept moving.<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWhNW6Z_Zy9MiSHObZY6JyuJJpDf-2P6vO2ib67yY6LJBpujBp0KSCaWG-RU461_UQxk8T71gZlnoNVRq5BAKqR5wF9S8gLlnr-ri5rZo0QvD4tlh-6Owe9dlBJkOjZtBYB52uAJZ0tuw/s1600-h/DSCN1005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWhNW6Z_Zy9MiSHObZY6JyuJJpDf-2P6vO2ib67yY6LJBpujBp0KSCaWG-RU461_UQxk8T71gZlnoNVRq5BAKqR5wF9S8gLlnr-ri5rZo0QvD4tlh-6Owe9dlBJkOjZtBYB52uAJZ0tuw/s200/DSCN1005.JPG" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That afternoon we hiked down the whole drainage, eventually crossing the railroad tracks of the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad and finding a good campsite along the Animas River. We had dropped 3500 ft. in 7 miles since meeting the rangers and losing Keith's sandal at the top of the Elk Creek Drainage. We had passed several hikers in the last few miles and were extremely happy to be 4 miles from Molas Pass, the place we would catch a ride into Silverton the next morning.<br /><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxQkQfOrtFmcvgQsdlfmnTqZAhZvJq4s_t3gdbsd0bIe_2NfOU_WOGpCbCncseWLq7ALIy9zMbQmtFlLsND8A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Robyn and I took turns watching the stove while the other went and rinsed off in the Animas River. Keith was sitting on a rock next to the river, cursing at his clogged water filter. I was happy to have Aqua Mira water purifying drops. I have always hated water filters - heavy, slow, and prone to clogging. Keith was impressed that the Aqua Mira drops didn't have an aftertaste after giving up on his filter for the evening. In this case, we were living better through chemistry.<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTV-y0E-Yg1QecujUqY9SS9MSQgvCwU4Q7kbHC0aAOdujLA0t_dJMdPVxDruyr5WvZl1Ym9D77NaLxPeZf716bVi3jeYgazQwdhEkwXCz59Vr-Pil6dM9ajokXCoxfnJwbWzqOr2JshaJw/s1600-h/IMG_6604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTV-y0E-Yg1QecujUqY9SS9MSQgvCwU4Q7kbHC0aAOdujLA0t_dJMdPVxDruyr5WvZl1Ym9D77NaLxPeZf716bVi3jeYgazQwdhEkwXCz59Vr-Pil6dM9ajokXCoxfnJwbWzqOr2JshaJw/s200/IMG_6604.jpg" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After eating dinner, one of the hikers we passed a few miles from the river showed up at our campsite. Her name was Debbie and she was also a school teacher. She had hiked the first half of the Colorado Trial the previous year and was finishing the trail this year, going from Salida to Durango. Debbie offered us some of her extra food and had dinner. We all chatted and ended up in hysterical laughter at one point. The four of us were all overtired. It was time to take a day off.<br /><br />Keith, Robyn and I were out of camp by 6:15 am the next morning. Debbie was still in her sleeping bag as we wished her luck and told her we would likely run into her in the small mountain town of Silverton. She planned a more leisurely morning and figured she would get into Silverton around noon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The three of us crossed the bridge over the Animas River, then made our way up the well-worn, well-graded trail nearly 2000 ft. to Molas Pass. The climb went quickly as the town pulled us closer and closer. Whenever a town is near on a long-distance hike, it acts like a magnet. When you get close enough, it will just pull you along regardless of how tired and sore you may be.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcI1xuseco3wSCkI3kEY6G624ahjXZ3q6wGTRx0yMGZMb1Vmhb6Y9H_VQQKGQ1XWpict4PYNJuO7A1m3g5hZft5xdxRAG2pS61nV4v5LWZqPZeketwMBOiToTYAM1Iweh_1kRcZ8fS3VGs/s200/IMG_6607.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383704897493897074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />After an hour and a half, we made it to Molas Pass and Hwy-550. Robyn immediately stuck her thumb out and Keith and I hid behind her. Within 5 minutes we had a ride. The woman who drove us down to Silverton was headed over Red Mountain Pass to climb Mt. Sneffles. She surely could have out-hiked and out-climbed any of us.<br /><br />Robyn, Keith and I were all beaming when she dropped us off. It was so nice to be in a town after 6.5 days of hiking. We all had a breakfast burrito and lounged in a local restaurant called the Steam and Steel Cafe. It was delicious. There was a hotel nearby with an apartment open that the three of us split. After showering and changing clothes, we all felt like new people. Our resupply boxes were waiting at the post office. We were glad to have made it to town before it closed so we could get an early start on Monday morning but we were all ecstatic to have most of Saturday all of Sunday in town.<br /><br />Later that afternoon, Keith found Debbie. She was staying at the same hotel as us. The four of us went out to dinner at a local pizza restaurant and ate until we couldn't eat anymore. Robyn and I overestimated our appetites, ordering a large pizza each. This time we could only eat half a pizza each at one sitting. We took the rest of the pizza to go, though, knowing we would be hungry again soon.<br /><br />The next morning we struggled to get out of bed, but couldn't sleep past 6:30 am. Our bodies had gotten used to waking up with the sun. I watched the British Open on TV, unfortunately seeing Tom Watson lose his lead and eventually a playoff to Stewart Cink. After that, I spent most of the afternoon napping.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That evening Debbie came over and we had burritos for dinner. The four of us enjoyed each other's company and stories. It was always great to meet new people on the trail. This time that new friendship carried over into town but we knew that this evening would likely be the last time we would see Debbie. Keith, Robyn and I planned to hike the final 73 miles from Silverton to Durango in 3 days while Debbie planned to do it in 5.<br /><br />The trail, and our adventure, was in full gear. We had made the push to Silverton from Salida and all of us had arrived in good spirits. However, as we hung around Silverton and took in the moment, we began to realize that our adventure was also nearing its finish.<br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS41nbqkwtEtKAI58NXM1IWsjjZsLCQv_kSXk8vtxoGfiJmGmfdqQirsHlVDOWmj1fu888Nshyphenhyphen5BvBYT6pe9B2pwz1s5C5hTQ79pq7bBskrq-F-aML1G_vtkX3kWvqK7GOhy4HMn8VzLLF/s1600-h/DSCN1024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS41nbqkwtEtKAI58NXM1IWsjjZsLCQv_kSXk8vtxoGfiJmGmfdqQirsHlVDOWmj1fu888Nshyphenhyphen5BvBYT6pe9B2pwz1s5C5hTQ79pq7bBskrq-F-aML1G_vtkX3kWvqK7GOhy4HMn8VzLLF/s320/DSCN1024.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br /></div></div></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-34646576757974710342009-09-12T07:46:00.000-06:002009-09-13T15:34:19.350-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 17-18<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3sg9yfYsTGNJCYxTfz66LvaYeVPCH8vQzZvOPG5xVapAHspO610nmtDOJ89218GCopzxPKzXCDI3S2zUhUm7Clasi1X0gWEM9ToynarWvRl7qS2H-crCOmyAcYyHqn-FfDnkTTGihBAJ/s1600-h/DSCN0880.JPG"></a>Mike, Keith, Robyn and I all woke up to blue sky on our 17th morning on the Colorado Trail. The previous day had its ups and downs and a great finish at Apple's Trail Angel Camp, but we didn't quite cover the mileage we had hoped to. If Robyn, Keith and I were going to make it to Silverton in 4.5 days, this needed to be a day where we put a bunch of miles behind us.<div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3sg9yfYsTGNJCYxTfz66LvaYeVPCH8vQzZvOPG5xVapAHspO610nmtDOJ89218GCopzxPKzXCDI3S2zUhUm7Clasi1X0gWEM9ToynarWvRl7qS2H-crCOmyAcYyHqn-FfDnkTTGihBAJ/s1600-h/DSCN0880.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3sg9yfYsTGNJCYxTfz66LvaYeVPCH8vQzZvOPG5xVapAHspO610nmtDOJ89218GCopzxPKzXCDI3S2zUhUm7Clasi1X0gWEM9ToynarWvRl7qS2H-crCOmyAcYyHqn-FfDnkTTGihBAJ/s200/DSCN0880.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380807399002941314" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a><div>Keith and Mike were out of camp 15 minutes before us. After walking down Lujan Creek Road, we caught them while they searched for the trail after walking a half-mile down Hwy-114. We eventually found it across the highway on the other side of a large pullout. It was not a very well-marked intersection. The trail continued into a dewy meadow and passed over Lujan Creek.</div><div><br /></div><div>After turning to the south, we came upon a styrofoam cooler on the side of the trail. Trail magic again! This time there were sodas waiting for us, but none of us drank any because it was still chilly outside and we had our fix the previous evening. The trail steadily climbed an old, abandoned logging road to a cul-de-sac and climbed 250 ft. in 0.2 miles to a saddle. It was a short but steep section. Whenever a trail gains 1000+ ft. per mile you can count on some chinscraping.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Keith hiked along with Robyn and I down Forest Service Road 876 while Mike walked alone a bit behind us. As we talked about our itineraries, we realized that we would have to pick up the pace a little. I had originally planned on making it to Silverton on Saturday evening, but thought it would be a good idea to get there on Saturday morning so we could get our re-supply from the post office before it closed at noon. To make it, we really had to high-tail it. I figured we needed to cover 30 miles today to give ourselves a small buffer heading into San Juan Mountains where the terrain would be much steeper and mostly above treeline. Keith had never hiked 30 miles in a day before, but was excited by the opportunity.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJXn3qX5ZmeKwLtBfZQbPaxSUsBnAArhvC-qetGzR2zfvuGbM73iIgBVpDRQEJVhC_NjG1DmYr9cA4jXBeQw34_-l-dGlbp2FZU_xxDeecN59XljqLSLQrE62Fw3KJGHJ8F1NoIMPMwhx/s200/IMG_6475.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380797812611693026" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>Mike caught us soon after and the four of us walked together talking about anything and everything. The trail, which was currently on a dirt road, rolled through sagebrush with spectacular fields of wildflowers. There were paintbrush, bluebells, sunflowers, penstemons, asters and geraniums all around. When it came up that I played the banjo, Keith figured we should have a duel with him on the guitar. It would have been fun, but I'm sure he would have left me in the dust. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgELZvv_YorOxUgXFxXlrLC3bd_uHK0Zf52fbu1RZ-JqKB-7nFXm5qRmqaJ79sQ1bqPCRwbRCKSvJSjgLP8Y98V6IGvjE7uEAXsUFOx8VrGMQMfjbcZUrynhQV8exg7xirMvRzssmjTPZ/s200/DSCN0833.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380787028767474274" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><div>Walking along the edge of Cochetopa Park towards Saguache Park Road, Robyn and I noticed something rather funny. Keith's pack was not sitting squarely on his back, but angling rather dramatically to the right. We teased him mercilessly. Whenever he looked back at us, we made sure to act like we were filming or taking pictures of him. Most of the time we actually were! Eventually Keith got the pack straight, but not before we all had a few good laughs. </div><div><br /></div><div>The views around us opened up dramatically. There were mountains in the distance, but the landscape around us was nearly flat for the first time on the entire trail. We took a break under a lone tree for 20 minutes so we could have a snack and get out of the sun. Eventually we got back on our feet and continued down the road until meeting Saguache Park Road. The four of us had covered 15 miles before noon.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij34OLq7Ph7X098pneR9kRjDuJ8XQ7c-1sT4w3JPWGyi0UfduGhbOO0kO_oSFy4BFuoux72YPuWbn1K-Ltj_zSaXXZIuf0-NPQ62BszZ5RPr6Szqe-EFrlGGCitMA183g8yrVVssYlUqFX/s200/DSCN0835.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380787814050800898" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>All of us were looking for a water source and hoped Monchego Creek would be flowing. It was flowing slightly, albeit across the dirt road with cow patties all around. None of us were that low on water to even consider drinking it. After taking a right turn, the trail rolled up and down for the next several miles through sagebrush and intermittent fields of wildflowers. Mike decided to stop for a break before Ant Creek and wished us luck. His plans were to stop in Creede two days later and he didn't really want to cover big miles on any one day. We didn't think our paths would cross again.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Colorado Trail Guidebook said this was one of the least scenic sections of the trail and we would be happy to get through it. I disagree. Even though we weren't in the mountains, the views were expansive and the flowers were in full bloom. The trail wasn't very steep for the most part, allowing us to stretch our legs and walk at a nice pace for most of the day. The toughest part of this section was the heat and lack of drinkable water. </div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihwjfNxc1voZGtAp2T1-HBfITIAHMTEos4mWrXg-3oqlGopUikMYpQTVCTixN-lQuYwINoCI1eAbUuPaFRgwFZ0CWVycSEo4izeKH3F2-JhOqH0k_6ZETNjdlU5S8jFBypgJhB86o-vBm/s200/IMG_6487.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380787040581190498" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div>Two hours after passing Monchego Creek we approached another saddle. While talking to a couple on the trail, Mike walked up from behind us with a wry smile. His break didn't last long when he realized he needed to keep moving to avoid running out of water with no supply nearby. Robyn and I walked together ahead of Keith and Mike up to the saddle and down the other side. Shortly before reaching Cochetopa Creek, we both took the last sips of water we were carrying. Our timing was spot on.</div><div><br /></div><div>While coming down the hill to Cochetopa Creek we saw a family that had driven in to spend the afternoon fishing and playing in the water. I felt a certain sense of pride having walked all the way here from Denver while they had driven in. Robyn and I went upstream of them and lounged by the running water. Amazingly, the mozzies were nonexistent. We re-filled our water and gave our clothes a good clean.</div><div><br /></div><div>Keith came walking towards us with a huge grin on his face. We figured he was happy to see the water, which he was, but he also had a funny encounter with the folks downstream of us. While he was walking down the hill, a woman with the family was changing on the other side of the car from Robyn and I. That side of the car, though, was the side Keith could see. The woman shouted that a hiker was watching her and how embarrassed she was. Keith laughed. He knew she was being paranoid and that it would become another good Colorado Trail story for us. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3kFdg2DSFkKx-yTRRMY_qbIJx9P-nkJUOIvU6u9jIzFMLwFZAY0vhsztuOS3xwcj9KeclF44n0nESuV8jZgVI_YJVwx8DWVMf4sgZjGE8-O2IOMo4Ma2fIHcy4fLGtWthZFCxTU9aqvc/s200/IMG_6491.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380787806822051490" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>When Mike came down the hill the three of us were sitting in the grass along the edge of the creek joking about how the woman might come after Keith. We lounged in the late afternoon sun for nearly an hour, enjoying the time off our feet.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were more miles to cover, though. Shortly before we crossed over Cochetopa Creek on a series of wooden planks, Mike pulled off the trail to setup his camp. This time we wouldn't see him again. We all wished each other good luck. Keith, Robyn, and I were bummed not to have him along anymore, but we knew we had made a good friend. People say that a day spent together on a trail like this is like spending a month together in the real world. You get to know people really well, really quickly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw0gRvcOAsp_rokkGjux4-7YXx_Ox3abtnW8bM1Henj7plcBmmD6m5YnN9_xFW_YfJ3wQd4PenHY6MOV6wrYA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The walk up Cochetopa Creek was pleasant, but the three of us were getting tired. When we reached the Eddiesville Trailhead and found a great campsite nearby, we stopped to camp without hesitating. We covered more than 30 miles. Keith was smiling, maybe from the accomplishment or maybe because the day was finally over. I think it was a little bit of both. </div><div><br /></div><div> Robyn and I always split our camp tasks. She would set up the tent and get water while I would cook dinner. We usually had everything set up and dinner ready within half-hour. That evening we had quinoa with veggies and slivered almonds. It tasted unbelievably good. We both ate enormous portions followed by half a bar of dark chocolate.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuc3GU5B8KXbhfpmCeDfTe2IzQFrAt-jEyYycH7KQ-voa5qua8jQ2q-_RtRTw-QhuLBc0oC0BgzJ2bIhgrN67wQyPTzrnEvLUfpREQGNxtVTS3W20RyXzItT8n6HFO5tDciOCFFq7pZXe/s200/IMG_6498.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380796982217006210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>Day 18 promised to bring more challenges. When we woke up, I was a little nervous to see clouds in the sky before 6 am. Usually that meant thunderstorms were brewing. The day started at 10,32o ft. and the trail would climb to the saddle of San Luis Peak at 12,600 ft. over the course of the first 9 miles. We were entering the San Juan Mountains, the most rugged and remote of all the mountains in Colorado. </div><div><br /></div><div>After only a few minutes, we crossed into the La Garita Wilderness and were met with imposing views of the mountains ahead. The San Juan Mountains are well known for their rugged beauty and rich mining history. There are only a few towns scattered about the 12,000+ square miles that this part of the Rocky Mountains cover, including Creede, Lake City, Ouray, Silverton and Telluride. In the late 1800's when mining was in full force in this area, there were thousands of prospectors who lived here hoping to strike it rich. Silver, gold, copper, and lead were all found in this heavily mineralized region. Now, though, tourism is the driving force behind local economies with only small-scale mining operations that are very widely dispersed.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLIDgAv7V413OzFx_YpHFyBvnWN3WK8h3u-Ut9NuFC-vw0S6-2Ncf6EStx_HKfCnXg6__h0mYo36Im4OyIEbsEtOlH5SzDZtXOq7Mv_mbvf7Gtd3_cKrl2FfhN2dBHy2FfNhl9Du3RJvpj/s200/IMG_6508.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380787052168331426" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>The climb up to treeline and the saddle of San Luis Peak was not as steep as we had feared. Our bodies seemed to be adjusting to the daily routine of hiking for 10-12 hours. Bertha hadn't bothered me at all in a few days and Fred and Nigel were not annoying Robyn. She was still dealing with Normalena (her left knee) on the downhills, but even Normalena was not as intense as a week before. We were feeling very good about this positive trend.</div><div><br /></div><div>The clouds were still lingering as we climbed up and down the mountain ridges. We would drop down several hundred feet on steep, rutted trails only to climb up seemingly steeper, more rutted trails. Even though we were all well acclimated, we frequently had to stop and pant to try to catch our breath above 12,000 ft. It was great fun. </div><div><br /></div><div>The views around us were amazing. San Luis Peak, a fourteener, stood just above us to the north. Mountain peaks rose all around with red tops stained from iron and green slopes of grasses and shrubs. We continued on. Up, up, up, then down, down, down. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwyj-FRYIWr47w8daWu_YX0EdzZBw1B-RbaY4-1TWg6-9iipeylG3ji-cASqBTaVe0Iy1Oy-L1CT7BPqjYZsg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>After crossing the West Mineral Creek Trail, we looked out at an open ridge and knew that we would be fully exposed to the weather for the next few hours of hiking. Snow Mesa lay further ahead, a fairly flat 3 mile expanse of tundra at 12,280 ft., with no easy escape from storms. The clouds looked semi-threatening all day, but nothing had happened yet. We decided to go for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The three of us moved well in the alpine terrain. I hiked out in front, followed by Robyn, with Keith close behind. We normally hiked in this order and usually there was a bit of separation between each of us. Each of us had a comfortable pace to walk at and breaking that pace to stay close to one another could be quite tiring. </div><div><br /></div><div>The trail climbed to a saddle the turned to the south where we walked along a flower-covered plateau. Eventually we reached another saddle at a junction with the Old Skyline Trail. The Colorado Trail veered to the west and down to Snow Mesa.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1CG4IuNn3NXj5UDx_-aHm8p56RQNYPmze03M-77IOskQMszxxD_L5kaFCTZHstk7Ja62P6TA4zZFuvexgluZC_6bER-CJChnL3Z60GlbuYdWV9iwHHxtcTV6sQiRfdNtcQIP7INUOBG8/s200/DSCN0891.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380797502432859666" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>Snow Mesa began as a flat, vast grassy expanse with mountain views in the distance. A towering cumulus cloud lingered to the east. Every time I looked back to make sure Robyn and Keith were doing well, the cloud seemed to be moving in. Fortunately, it stayed far enough away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, the wind did not stay away. It blew into our faces mercilessly. The only way to combat it was to put our heads down and keep moving forward. The mesa was actually not entirely flat, dipping rather steeply in and out of small drainages. The 55 minute, 3-mile walk proved to be the most unpleasant of the entire trip. We hardly spoke a word to each other and had no way to get any respite from the wind. All of us were glad, though, that we didn't encounter a thunderstorm out there.</div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I were waiting for Keith at the edge of Snow Mesa as he crested the final rise. I filmed him as we were both laughing, completely worn out. Keith thought we were enjoying ourselves but was relieved to find out we both didn't have a good time on Snow Mesa. He later admitted he had pictured the three of us cruising across the mesa side-by-side enjoying the early evening together. That didn't end up happening, but we all made it safely across and kept moving forward.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx7eyMYkOV8nSoyNRlLFfjKdCV_aeX03V714Gf1hOhbm_5D14KNo7x_xRX09gVkQlJoCJAYb3UTk5wvsD6UNQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Keith had developed some blisters over the previous days and was having problems with his foot each day after about 20 miles. The walk down to treeline and Spring Creek Pass was a welcome relief for Robyn and I, but Keith was not in good shape. His foot was searing in pain. He ended up borrowing Robyn's trekking poles for the 2-mile, 1300 ft. descent. All three of us were ready to end a long day.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzBfvvnr2RIX6uJErQ9Em4gqjmHBRXWp471s3uM4rPKo1cIGAFY77jkOcVfvWDgcQ-LgoyPNMHRqPEZKx_GpG7vzsp31QvOI3jPtv3a5QP_ptfOrNs_L4UOzvhPACfkASBZOR4n4oPCsB/s200/DSCN0859.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380804694480054498" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>We could hear cars long before we could see them, but when we made it to Spring Creek Pass we all smiled with jubilation. The parking lot across the highway said the area was for day-use only even though our maps and guidebook indicated it was a campground. There were obvious campsites behind the parking lot. We had nothing left in our legs and there was no more water for several miles, so we put up our tents behind some trees and enjoyed our dinner on the nearby picnic benches. The three of us were all sound asleep before the sky was completely dark. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxMR9psYb_g4bwQSw_yYiSn-Q_rJSIFj1YyJ6nMm9qXKCdePIu61EEJ2LbYu_Sa9tIylPLaVupk6ohv1eSaBA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-46641117880606104992009-09-06T08:42:00.001-06:002009-09-10T17:40:39.559-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 15-16<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxSUd2IJwkTBgHpaXVfgPEMcDvgFPIjLE7INBhh2W3FX6zR3ntnysTZyDZedVQ_nPlC8TQtvzn3jqsld0JeGJvyiRHj6X0ubQbd5g5WdFhlCg7upGMm9kbo6Pw1ohfuQ8FwVHgldo8fPn/s1600-h/DSCN0839.JPG"></a>Robyn and I were out of the hotel and walking the three miles down Hwy-50 to the Colorado Trail at 6:00 am. Catching a ride didn't look promising. In the first mile of walking we only saw a half-dozen cars coming down from Monarch Pass. When we were at the hostel in Salida, there were several CDT hikers who suggested we walk the CDT from Monarch Pass along the Continental Divide rather than the Colorado Trail up South Fooses Creek. Both trails met eventually, but they said the CDT would be much more scenic.<br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwNfnH18Da7eiP1fCvRDHEbObZXtkTpPRP-7luQd2KcQsbvh5WwVhVXicWDnbAr8w5YZopinoWyynoopRXiQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>We decided against it. Our goal was to hike the Colorado Trail, and we would stay on that trail regardless. Anyway, how could they know that the ridge walk would be better if they hadn't done both?</div><div><br /></div><div>While Robyn and I continued down the road, a white SUV came up the hill and pulled off into a pullout just in front of us. He had actually passed us while going downhill and turned around to come pick us up. He was a college student from Durango planning to meet a friend in Buena Vista to hike up Mt. Antero, one of Colorado's 54 fourteeners. We were ever grateful to get a lift for the remaining mile and a half to our day's starting point. After getting out of the car, we both wished him luck and happily returned to the trail.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3pz-x1mOcDD20rzFRPSOcNT25ukhKDkgKeIUssEEeo4hDDLjKJDg6Qa5E8eLKd1C_AykzlgxfMuLuH7ZPRQSgC-mla7VAvGWJcayUZNxIrm81mTMy2WpgJvSHKKxMEJd3JkeF-Vi23D1/s200/DSCN0818.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379849484239447954" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>Our plan leaving Salida was to get to Silverton in 6.5 days. This was ambitious. It meant we would have to cover more than 20 miles per day with lots of climbing and time above treeline. Our packs were heavier than they had been since the very first day of the trail with all of the food we needed to carry. The weather needed to be good so we would not have to run off ridges in lightning storms. Our bodies needed to hold up, something they had just barely been doing the past few days on the trail. However, we figured if things were not going to plan, we could bail out early and go to Creede or Lake City, two small mountain towns not too far off the trail in the second half of the section.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first 8.5 miles of the day gained 3100 ft. in elevation, taking us to the Continental Divide. We had both dreaded this climb, thinking our heavy packs would weigh us down. Fortunately, though, it went by fairly quickly with beautiful fields of wildflowers and a gently graded trail until a steep 700 ft. climb in the final half-mile to the ridge. There we joined the CDT and expansive views of the Monarch Crest opened up around us. Small alpine forget-me-nots and phlox carpeted the tundra landscape. Puffy cumulus clouds were scattered through the sky, holding promise of a fair-weather day. It was a great spot to sit down for a few minutes and enjoy everything around us.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxecM6iQkwS_ORAC2a9qwLR9kaXU5DJwKD6xINIbFikPZE5UgTnDOpq9N5GH81f00qXpCeBxQLj3NrBEkki' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>As we had a snack and took pictures, several mountain bikers came by. They asked us about our day, then about our hike and our plans after they found out we were hiking across the state in one push. Most of the CT hikers they had met were section hikers, meaning they would do a 50 or 100 mile section at a time and come back the following year to complete another section. The bikers were out for a day ride, and the they warned us that there would be many more mountain bikers along the trail during the next few hours.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnfz6IIO8ooBqTZz_GnC6KWSOjMFWzXr6dg6bZnJWdF7tFxlervFOj_fMrAA28iGgON2z0kR9p1otLw3vYVhtW6jqKzha699Fj9GKHcX_TYJod4i6f5w2mVV2MQUuBxiydyIOXdmvzzif/s200/DSCN0815.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379578279953354642" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>Both Robyn and I are mountain bikers. We mountain biked the Kokopelli Trail and White Rim Trail with groups of high school students. Lots of our time on weekends during the school year is spent mountain biking. Usually we don't mind seeing mountain bikers when we are out hiking, but this time was a bit different. Over the course of the next two hours, there were more than 50 mountain bikers that would suddenly come upon us from behind, wait until we got off the trail and pass us. Most were courteous and called out that they were approaching, but the few of them that were tearing down the trail and slamming on their brakes 10 feet behind us gave them all a bad name. The ridge walk was amazing, but looking over our shoulder every 10 seconds to make sure we were not going to get run over by a mountain bike got old quickly. </div><div><br /></div><div>Reaching Marshall Pass after 14 miles of hiking was a welcome sight. Most of the mountain bikers had branched off the trail shortly before this, and those that remained were few and far between. The sky had clouded over and rain was falling lightly. We were both happy to be in the trees and not above treeline as we heard thunder overhead. We found an inviting place to sit down, take shelter, and have lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Three different trails branched off from the dirt road at Marshall Pass. I got up while Robyn prepared our lunch of tortillas drizzled with honey to figure out which trail was the Colorado Trial. I saw a confidence marker on one of the posts, then saw a lone backpacker with a red rain jacket coming up the road the opposite way we came from. He looked familiar. As he got closer, he waved. Amazingly, it was Keith. I was dumbfounded because he was not on the Colorado Trail and he was supposed to be a day ahead of us.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxSUd2IJwkTBgHpaXVfgPEMcDvgFPIjLE7INBhh2W3FX6zR3ntnysTZyDZedVQ_nPlC8TQtvzn3jqsld0JeGJvyiRHj6X0ubQbd5g5WdFhlCg7upGMm9kbo6Pw1ohfuQ8FwVHgldo8fPn/s200/DSCN0839.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379852965830663058" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 200px; " /></span></span></div><div>While having lunch with us, Keith told us his partner had decided not to continue hiking the trail. That morning, Keith's nephew drove from Denver to Salida to pick him up and drive him to the Marshall Pass Trailhead. Keith didn't start his day until noon and missed the turnoff I just went to look for as he was putting his rain jacket on. It had been an ominous start to the second half of his adventure, but he was still in good spirits and extremely happy to see some familiar faces. We decided to stick together and enjoy each other's company along the rest of the trail since we had very similar itineraries.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail gradually climbed above 11,000 ft through thick stands of fir trees. Just before reaching the junction with the Silver Creek Trail, we met up with two other thru-hikers named Damion and Mike. After introducing ourselves, thunder began to rumble nearby and we saw several flashes of lightning. We took cover as rain started to fall and the storm moved directly overhead. There was a clearing nearby and there was no way we were headed out into the open with lightning all around.</div><div><br /></div><div>The four of us waited around for half-hour, making light of the situation and comparing our experiences thus far on the trail. Mike was from New York and had been hiking for three weeks. Damion had no permanent home, but was most recently living in California. He had also been on the trail for three weeks. They both were easy to talk to and get along with. Sitting under the trees talking and snacking while waiting for the lightning to clear was quite enjoyable.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the lightning and thunder appeared to have passed, we were all on our way again. Damion quickly turned off to head down the Silver Creek Trail where he had planned to camp. We never ended up seeing him again. Mike, Keith, Robyn and I continued on, hoping to cover another half-dozen miles before calling it a day. The clouds loomed ominously overhead, but no more lightning came as we walked along the Continental Divide. </div><div><br /></div><div>Seven Creek was obviously the place to camp. When we arrived, there was another couple already camped along the creek and a solo hiker nearby in the meadow. It was a backpacking party. Robyn and I had not camped with more than one other person for the previous two weeks, and now we suddenly were in close quarters with four other hikers and one more nearby. We all joked around with each other, talking about our good times and misadventures on the Colorado Trail and other trips we had done. The party was a blast.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyQa9vxAkL87uYkQ1quQYKcltr1yvpjTtWRAfwBhFvhcf0F0Al3prRUvroOJqHFUKHEZOW-1bUyhnYpfPoVag' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, Mike and Keith were out of camp by 6:15 am and Robyn and I finished our morning routine of breakfast in bed and packing by 6:30. The air was chilly for the first hour as we hiked along the canyon bottom. We were both wearing long tops, long pants, gloves and beanies. The trail climbed from 10,280 ft. to 11,080 ft. in just over 2 miles, giving us a good morning wake-up call. When the sun came over the ridge, the temperature warmed considerably and we took off all of our warm clothes and put on sunscreen. The land we were walking through was definitely one of extremes.</div><div><br /></div><div>We continued uphill for another mile and a half until crossing Sargents Mesa at 11,600 ft. The trail crossed in and out of meadows with wildflowers beginning to bloom all around. Robyn and I continued hiking along, following the ups and downs of the trail as it ran along the Continental Divide. After two hours, we found Keith and Mike sitting at a trail junction. Baldy Lake was a half-mile off trail, but was the only water for the next 4.5 miles. Robyn and I both had nearly two liters still in our packs, so we continued on. Keith and Mike had slightly less water, but figured they would be fine and followed behind us. </div><div><br /></div><div>At 11:30 am we stopped for lunch. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. The mozzies came out as soon as we sat down, even though we were miles from the nearest water source. I draped our tent fly over my legs to protect them and everyone else put on long tops and bottoms. After setting up our defenses, we ate and talked about the upcoming parts of the trail. The sky, which had been sunny all morning, suddenly darkened as a massive black cloud blew in from the east. We decided our break had been long enough and pushed forward. </div><div><br /></div><div>Within 15 minutes of the cloud blowing in we were being hailed on. Robyn and I stopped to put on our ponchos and sat under a tree for several minutes until the hail turned to rain. Always thinking of forward motion and covering our daily miles, we continued on. As we approached the summit of Middle Baldy, elevation 11,680 ft., I turned back for a moment to let Robyn catch up with me. We were still in the trees, but thunder was churning overhead high in the clouds and I thought we should be closer together.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Boooooom!" Light flashed around me as thunder exploded all around us. I dropped to the ground and threw my trekking poles (lightning rods) as I instinctively covered my head with my arms. Robyn and I were both on the ground, shaking. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Take off your pack - it has metal in it," I told Robyn. We put our packs under a small fir tree and ran 20 yards down the trail to a well-covered area. Robyn and I sat down between some trees under the overhanging branches with our ponchos fully covering our bodies. Lightning struck all around us, followed immediately by thunder. We were both terrified, sitting in near silence trying not to let rain seep under our ponchos. Robyn told me she saw the initial lightning bolt touch the ground just behind me while I was waiting for her. I took a deep breath and hoped the storm would pass quickly.</div><div><br /></div><div>After 30 minutes, Keith came tiptoeing along the trail, antsy to keep moving and get warm. Robyn and I were not going anywhere. Lightning was still all around us. We convinced Keith to hang out for a few more minutes before crossing over the day's high point. Both Robyn and I were getting cold, so I walked back to our packs and got some warmer clothes. It was still raining hard and thunder clapped, so I hightailed it back to our waiting spot. Minutes later, Mike walked up the trail, also getting cold and ready to move on. </div><div><br /></div><div>The lightning continued to strike, so we all sat and waited. After an hour and fifteen minutes, we saw a patch of clear sky opening to the north. Ten minutes passed with no thunder. We were all shivering, so we decided to move on. Mike and Keith initially led the way, with Robyn and I just behind. They stopped momentarily at a clearing in the forest. When I got to them, I kept going. I felt it was safer to keep moving and head downhill than stand and wait. As quickly as the storm moved in, it moved out. There were still clouds in the sky and the trail was wet, but the rain, hail, and lightning were gone. We all took a collective sigh of relief. I had never been so close to getting struck.</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCUcf39zcIX6z1yaT38kyIFV5RpLPZfOZ99amYW-OQdt9VPUj7Fi3KfQKrSRPBzYiFyozQinB39bpRnX1OPq74JOX2z5C7SHb9w4dbe5P7iRGo-qWpu3ExoWV06xZ_goeIJa3gSxQxRat/s200/IMG_6463.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379843781084433010" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div>We walked along the Continental Divide for most of the day with clouds coming and going. There were a few brief periods of rain and thunder rumbled nearby occasionally, but nothing as threatening as before. Near the end of the day, several dirt bikes passed us, spraying mud up at us as they went by. We had read in the guidebook that these were originally dirt bike trails, but we all wished they wouldn't ride so aggressively in these muddy conditions. There were several downhill sections that were severely rutted in the middle, making walking very awkward.</div><div><br /></div><div>Twenty miles after we started the day, we began a long descent towards Hwy-114. Mike and Keith were both ahead of us again as we stumbled down the hill. Robyn and I were both feeling the effects of the lightning-caused adrenaline wearing off. Just before reaching Lujan Creek Road, we saw a large tent to the left of the trail. Keith suddenly popped out of the forest with a huge smile on his face. "It's trail magic!" He exclaimed. Robyn and I both looked at each other and figured it must be a good thing.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLDxF0-B_tQBbcoCP3xOvBd3Aoy2TRbqnsmsarQbsJxN5taYeHIDSKLYZyIs_NkmNVyWaSZ1bU7yiG71A75xDUJy5oYDN1npdl2D05UV9E56elDGGPRFiTWYLP_pMwg5SaNneax3sB4iu/s200/IMG_6465.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379583068810732738" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The tent was set up for the use of thru-hikers of the Colorado Trail and the CDT. There were lounge chairs, a propane double-burner stove, sodas, water, and lots of food including hot dogs, basmati rice and a variety of candy bars, chips, and candy. After I filmed for a few minutes, I went into the tent and found Keith reclining in a lounge chair drinking soda and Robyn eating oreo cookies. This was hiker heaven. We didn't get to meet him, but later learned the whole setup was put together and maintained by a man simply referred to by his trail name of Apple. </div><div><br /></div><div>We joked around for a bit, took some pictures, then joked some more. None of us could get enough of the lounge chairs. It felt so good to sit and slouch. Somehow, Mike had walked right by the trail magic. We figured he was headed down the trail and thought this was someone's car camping setup. Minutes later, though, as we were talking about how he was missing out, he came ambling back up the trail with a huge grin on his face. Mike realized what he passed when we didn't catch him after he waited for us at a nearby junction. He was embarrassed at first, but that quickly passed. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyRengKoEuBtyevTL9OOy4aP_jIpYUUZJ2Z2KxP7wh2waHUZ4-ey7vTc1AawSRxAWtJ5fo6AB0lEiAShCiEpQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>The evening was fantastic. We were all in high spirits after dragging for the second half of the day. Bertha (my left shin) was feeling much better since leaving Salida as were Robyn's friends - Fred, Nigel and Normalena. Other than normal fatigue, we were starting to feel better physically. We both really enjoyed having Keith and Mike along with us. There was not a single place in the world either Robyn or I would rather have been than on the Colorado Trail, lounging next to our very own dose of trail magic.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6Kxj31zUf6a46XmDQ1nWLu6NELm-f-CkvmvYrwGHEv8OZ-lndNYGaMaZ4OPeNeSbe96zWm0db7-1Te21FUzd18AVHEvXw4Zvt9WdxO1yecnF6Wm5UEzkE0g9lwKo-tvcez0V1dYur79s/s200/DSCN0823.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379580230247475442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-73174589248427644802009-08-31T20:42:00.000-06:002009-09-02T20:43:38.031-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 11-14<div style="text-align: left;">Each morning since Bertha joined me, I would get out of bed and gingerly walked around for a minute. I always hoped that somehow she would have found something better to do than continue to pick on me. So far, though, Bertha was hanging around. Since she wasn't getting worse, I figured the best thing to do was keep moving forward.</div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I were out of the cabin by 5:45 am. After thanking our coffee percolator for a well-cooked dinner the previous evening, we started the walk back up the road to the underpass on Hwy-91. While coming into Twin Lakes the previous day, we stuck our thumbs out trying to hitch hike the mile into town. Walking down a road with traffic whizzing by is not nearly as pleasant as walking through a flower-filled meadow or over the crest of a mountain pass. We had no luck the previous day, but that didn't deter us from trying on the way out of town. <div><br /></div><div>Miraculously, the third car that came by stopped for us. However, after we drove off, he was so busy telling us about his plans to hike up Hope Pass that he drove right by the underpass and our trail. We asked him to stop, but he said he knew the trail was just a bit further up. After another 30 seconds, he pulled the car over, came to a stop, and let us out next to the power plant, oblivious to the fact he took us too far. We thanked him rather begrudgingly, turned around, and walked 15 minutes back towards Twin Lakes to begin our next segment.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiulyIQNpBdGPv7TA6_WWnhK_Y3e29mnay9dxo8-Xh2NGzdwbV0vf2FI-WD1pYoTtdk4IVKVSJSKXeaU6iqkGvsPWjx2RVfD0q5ckSUGolW7bnUHmt6ZliZ7V4BSp4EgoKxJzS3fyTlPeEw/s200/DSCN0798.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376950091877071938" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>The Colorado Trail around Twin Lakes nearly is just that. Robyn and I walked for more than an hour through sagebrush near the north edge of the west lake, then made a full 180 degree turn at the lake's outlet and headed back in the other direction on the other side of the lake. A circumnavigation of the lake looked likely, but we eventually turned uphill and headed up a nearby ridge. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nearly every time we took a break, we could count on one thing. We could also count on that one thing every time we set up camp, or every time we had a meal. That one thing, actually, was more like a few hundred things. Mosquitoes. Robyn called them mozzies. They always seemed to be there. After hiking 23 miles and just wanting to enjoy the sunset, there they were. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. When we wanted to cool our feet off in a nice, peaceful mountain creek, there they were. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. We tried some lavender bug spray, but it only seemed to work when it was still wet. After drying, there they were. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Several locals told us it was the worse mosquito season they had ever seen. There were times when we each felt as if our bodies were just one big bug bite.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a steep downhill to Clear Creek, we began a series of climbs and descents while headed due south on the trail. We entered the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness Area, aptly named because the first men who climbed these peaks named them after their university alma matter. The trail gained 2700 feet in 4 miles to gain a ridge off of Waverly Mountain, abruptly dropped 1200 ft. in the next 1.5 miles, then climbed 1400 ft. in the following 2.5 miles to gain a ridge off Mount Harvard. The trail felt like a roller coaster. It was rather difficult to build a rhythm in our hiking because as soon as we would feel good going up, we would be cresting a ridge to head back down.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzXXGjXtaHVSZAE_4FjI7vuUb2MN99OVh7fc8n3xkSDlG9MM60HI0VabKddHgw8U1Hnr0oe4ldH83-jnMRF' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>That evening, after 26 miles of hiking, we made it to Frenchman Creek where we had decided we were going to stop for the day. There was another backpacker camping along the creek already, but he encouraged Robyn and I to set up our camp nearby. We had a nice conversation with him, but were amazed to hear what he had to say. </div><div><br /></div><div>The previous year he had hiked from Denver to Twin Lakes and this year he planned to hike from Twin Lakes to Silverton. We never did figure out why he wasn't trying to get to Durango to finish the whole trail. What astonished us, though, was the fact he was trying to cover his proposed route in 14 days in a single push without re-supplying. He was carrying 14 days worth of food in his pack! Robyn and I were trying to avoid carrying 3 days worth of food at a time because food is heavy. Most people count on eating two pounds of food per day, and that is if you pack well with calorie-dense food. We never did see his pack fully loaded, but we presumed there may have also been a kitchen sink and a small library stashed in there. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I looked at my pack, which had a base weight (weight minus food and water) of about 10 pounds, I felt very good about following a lightweight backpacking philosophy. Our backpacks were made by the company GoLite and weighed less than 2 pounds each. I normally just use a tarp for shelter, but on this trip we brought a very lightweight tent, mainly to protect ourselves from mosquitoes. My sleep system consisted of a one pound sleeping quilt rated to 20 degrees Fahrenheit and a Ridge Rest sleeping pad (which I had cut up earlier to make padding for our shoulder straps - it was working exrememly well). Robyn had a light, down sleeping bag and a short Therm-a-Rest self inflating pad, together weighing about 3 pounds. We carried aqua mira water purifying drops to avoid the weight and hassle of a water filter and ponchos to keep us dry in the rain rather than full rain gear. For warmth, Robyn brought a GoLite down jacket along with a mid-weight fleece and long underwear. I only brought long underwear and a lightweight hooded fleece. When I got cold in the evenings, I either draped my sleeping quit over me or went to bed. Both of us were wearing lightweight synthetic socks and running shoes. </div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Being a bit of a gear head paid off while we were on the trail. Even though we were both having aches and pains, we were moving well. In fact, we were several miles ahead of our itinerary. The following day, our 12th on the trail, began with 6.5 miles of downhill to the North Cottonwood Creek, then climbed 1600 ft. in 3.5 miles to a ridge off Mt. Yale. The views south along the spine of the Sawatch Range and the Collegiate Peaks were unbelievable. Our roller coaster continued as we descended 2800 ft. in the next 3.3 miles. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwof_Lfb5QFkX-LuHrelXmbTlREBRxtvFbgFiLsSlR7FwVAmN_-RkH61-i9v8XTThLndMJ1i2ktWLvGZSFlOw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>After a quick snack at North Cottonwood Creek and passing Rest Stop, the CDT hiker we met earlier below Kokomo Pass, the trail rolled along for the next dozen or so miles in a southeasterly direction. The wildflowers continued to be amazing and the clear skies overhead were a welcome sight. By 3:30 pm, we had covered 24 miles and decided to continue on until reaching Chalk Creek. Earlier in the day we had seen several trail registers where Keith had signed in and left us notes wishing us good luck. We knew he was ahead of us, but not exactly sure how far. Robyn and I both hoped we would eventually catch him so we could share more stories.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last 6 miles of the day were on roads. There was a dirt road for about a mile, then we walked a paved road with moderate traffic for about 4 miles. Those 4 miles felt like 10. The views were not great, cars were whizzing by, and grass seeds kept sticking into my socks when I walked on the dirt just off the highway. This road walk was a major low point for both of us so far. It didn't help that it was the last sixth of our first 30 mile day. Bertha was especially sore on the pavement, probably exaggerated by the fact we were both ready for a nice horizontal rest. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mt. Princeton Hot Springs is a big draw for backpackers on this section of the Colorado Trail. Robyn and I have never been big fans of hot springs in general, though, so we kept walking until we turned off the black top onto CR-291. As we passed a family playing frisbee in their backyards, a huge swarm of mosquitoes that must have been programmed to attack thru-hikers swarmed around us. Even though it was still quite warm out, we both frantically put on our long pants and fleece tops. Robyn put on her head net and I pulled my hood as far over my forehead as I could. We continued moving forward, but at a speed closer to a run than a saunter. </div><div><br /></div><div>The family playing frisbee only 100 meters from us seemed to be enjoying the evening, not engaged in full-on battle with the mozzies like we were. The children didn't even have shirts on! We figured they must have been covered in 100% DEET, something Robyn and I both try to avoid. Since it is a neurotoxin, we both would prefer to wear long clothing to protect ourselves from mozzies rather than apply that to the largest organ in our body.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly after, we made it to the Chalk Creek Trailhead. We opened the Forest Service trail register and found, to our surprise, that Keith and Tom had not signed in yet. In the course of the day, we had managed to pass their last stopping point. Robyn and I both figured he had stopped right here and would be passing through in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwTQ04v_7csAD5sWvdkPyz2l5QS2nrYDG2Zfkv_W1VGT8VmLEJ4liJoafDrbhLPb20P8h-xHd8UZ_q7Ax7w_a5q2ofwt_Poj9yOLKABsqReIAUzsCTZByFtonovYj5SZH1VCDSiNiXvR1/s200/IMG_6424.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376951635572538498" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>We were correct. At 6:15 am, while we were taking our tent down, we saw Keith and Tom walking towards us on the trail. The four of us chatted for a few minutes about the past few days and what our upcoming plans were. Only 21 miles lay between us and U.S. Hwy-50 where we all were going to head down to Salida. While Robyn and I planned to take the next day completely off, Tom and Keith would keep pushing on. </div><div><br /></div><div>The trail rolled up an down for most of the day, reaching its high point while intersecting the Mount Shavano Trail at 9880 ft. None of us even considered going up this fourteener that climbs 4300 ft. in 3.5 miles. Instead, we all were focused on Salida. Robyn and I talked about food most of the afternoon. In particular, we talked about pizza and just how much of it we planned to eat. Even though we were eating well on the trail, there was just no way to keep up with the calories expended when hiking 25 miles per day and sleeping outside. The town was near and we were feeling its pull.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSIvUGL5NKNtu-6o1tsMxJUkTz7Fu79odVlSOjwXR9U6SI1H2lZ3oC7EfV4Alx_XJ-R0pYtYaMir6fIcG1UsobeRGLTq5tPpjjzG3cT7DY2q0irTSSbSpSu2mq1PZpWbWu0-xlC262NIO/s200/IMG_6429.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376962744263324146" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></span></div><div>For most of the day, Robyn and I hiked separate from Keith and Tom. However, we frequently took breaks and the two of them would catch us and we would all talk in good humor. The company and camaraderie was appreciated. At one point in the day, just before we had lunch around 11:30, we came upon a couple who had a llama hauling their gear for them. I had seen seen pictures of llamas in the backcountry before, but this was the first time I got to see it. It looked like slow going though, since the llama stopped frequently and didn't move much faster than one mile per hour.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By the end of the day, Bertha we actually beginning to show her first signs of improvement. I could walk and think about other things than my shin for the first time in 5 days. However, Fred and Nigel were bothering Robyn and her calves began to tighten up. She was forced to a shuffle as we crested the final hill and dropped down to Hwy-50. This was the most worried I was about her so far. I knew we had a zero day coming up and she had been dealing with other aches and pains, but the next section of the trail covered some very remote, inaccessible mountains. The only thing we could do was see if some down time and lots of pizza would help.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxj_2PwtYF4a3gATqyPIszYkQDix6uyt1udaGf5h8-sYfz-dYrUtcQptFWv4fwBPxuxgjwIOxz_AAs27XZp6Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>When we made it down to the highway, I stuck my thumb out to the passing cars. There was no chance we were going to walk the 13 miles to Salida on a major road. Fifteen or twenty cars passed right by. After Keith and Tom walked towards us across the highway, Keith told me to get out the way. He said Robyn should be the one with her thumb out trying to get a ride. Not surprisingly, he was right. The first car that passed pulled over and picked us up. We all laughed and again wished each other good luck. This time it seemed rather unlikely we would cross paths again since they would be 20 miles ahead of us after our upcoming day of rest. Tom's wife was on her to pick them up and take them into town. Keith hoped to find us after we told him we would be staying at the Simple Hostel in Salida.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unbelievably, the family that picked us up was staying at the hostel. Charlie and Melinda and their son were in town for a few days before heading back to the east coast where he was a teacher in Massachusetts. They were incredibly friendly and courteous; none of them even mentioned anything about how bad we must have smelled. </div><div><br /></div><div>After making it to town and checking into the hostel for one night, Robyn and I went to the outdoor shop in town to buy some new socks. In addition, Robyn bought a pair of Superfeet insoles, something I already had in my shoes. We both hoped that they may help silence Fred, Norman and Normalena and her calves that were just now starting to relax. Later, we had our pizza - one large each. There were only two or three slices left over, and I ended up eating those two hours later while using the computer at the hostel. We had a great stay overnight, falling asleep before 10 pm. </div><div><br /></div><div>The following day was spent moving as little as possible. The beer festival was in town, but unfortunately that meant the hostel had no room for us. I found a place to stay back up near the trailhead called the Monarch Mountain Lodge. The owners of the hostel, feeling bad that they had to turn us away, actually drove Robyn and I the 15 miles up the mountain to the lodge. It was incredibly generous. We were bummed to leave their hostel and would highly recommend it to anyone visiting Salida. </div><div><br /></div><div>We spent that afternoon napping and watching movies. Robyn did a load of laundry, but had no spare clothes so she waked around the hotel in her down jacket and bath towel asking random people if they had any spare quarters for the washing machine. It was a sight to see. Keith said he always wanted to anchor time on days off. Robyn and I both felt that way. While we loved being on the trail, taking a day off our feet felt so good. Soon it would be morning, and we would begin heading towards the San Juan Mountains which many hikers had told us would be the most scenic and most challenging of the entire trail.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJ8kjR6q8YkPzOAmJz1HApd1-g3iVuZfQZbG7hYDzdvM7y0RFIdnpyeoEqNnZPAZCPy_Vyli6kUbL8HX7biYA_beDgrhcfM-LTvZhfOAmtCXfRyr7TznFLTXfamimyNOr4WkTssN15o0Z/s200/DSCN0810.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376963680115949778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-23457180444702404522009-08-30T10:01:00.000-06:002009-08-30T14:28:41.492-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 8-10<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQIlrZ9NAeE96pjrcYV70aPJSGF30K0xQNj-HO759EkwUss5GwMr6X6GhFuPXi9KP0t2jxukHlW3ulpjwDiTUw5QpnBzZMf-o9QTE36o7omlI4RsoySv0cHroLjnSGTHh95Wr_CQmHDwf/s1600-h/IMG_6342.jpg"></a><div style="text-align: left;">Logically, taking a day and a half off after hiking from Denver to Copper Mountain should have refreshed and re-energized us. Somehow the opposite seemed to occur. We got back on the trail at 6 am on July 5 and felt uncomfortable with our packs right from the start, fidgeting and trying to get them to fit just right. My hips felt bruised and sore from my hip belt, making walking the first few miles very uncomfortable. Both of our heads felt hazy and our throats were dry. The only way to get back in the rhythm of hiking was to keep moving forward. Eventually things must get better, we thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two miles in, things got slightly better for me. We walked by the Copper Mountain Golf Course and when I found myself on one of the tee boxes early in the morning, I thought some golf might do me good. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx1Y3mKmwoMpC5W1g4W600VkkkkJaE8bY4cxRbfM8hvUekg9Ooklahvk_Z03uqQvLUDBVn2iijRR4hs3QAv3Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Robyn and I shortly thereafter began a long, steady climb that would take us over 12,000 ft again, but this time we would stay up above tree line for more than 3 miles. With the early morning low clouds and rain, we were both a bit concerned that stronger rain, hail, strong winds, or maybe lightning would be waiting for us. I kept looking around at the clouds, trying to convince myself that it all would work out.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dh9ajC6O8FcuDzC3T9N5EyCJJrmWz68Kr7ROLYjUDOJWZATL8iwpMkgUyBaWrQspTqpIUPkGZH4FsgtzP_dPkrMv-LF5Elnq2FXlG6Q3IpgnMloM5SSx_HISuPWzo9HX6PlwMQIZd9M3/s200/DSCN0782.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375816462300317266" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>After 2,000 ft. of climbing, we saw a hiker coming down towards us with a small daypack on. He introduced himself to us and pointed up to his friend heading in the other direction. It was Keith up ahead! We had taken different days off but were right on the same schedule. Tom, Keith's friend, was headed back to Copper Mountain where he would drive his car around to Tennessee Pass and pick up Keith. It was nice meeting him, but Robyn and I were both excited to catch Keith and see how his climb over the Ten Mile Range had been.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLznaAsoZzd08l-SOW3Jb9o913P-ZvG3csvVIy8s7EfRVsK5T9rPkUjtenyQPEsYuDoXIMrZjsWapYy0DvN7T91XZm36Vz2GiY9HBCxGREqdEeDiT-D41wGpj6IoWxUSACD_Cx7oZK8Tu/s200/DSCN0784.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375816091831906914" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div>We passed Searle Pass at 12,040 ft., then walked through intermittent patches of snow and rock-hopped several small creeks. Keith was in view most of the time in front of us, but judging distances above tree line is always tricky. I thought we might catch him in twenty minutes from when we first saw him, but we never seemed to make up any ground, regardless of how fast we moved. The trail rolled up and down over the next few miles following posts driven into the tundra with Colorado Trail confidence markers on them. </div><div><br /></div><div>We crested Elk Ridge, the highest point of this segment at 12,280 ft., and dropped down to Kokomo Pass and the headwaters of Cataract Creek. As we descended, the clouds quickly darkened, and before we knew it hail was beginning to pelt us. Robyn and I both put on our ponchos, then our gloves as our hands started to get cold, and moved as quickly as we could to stay warm.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrj_jjzd9mNb0mip6ad00tfMsJ-B5KiMRmYpaQJEgCwjBmTogkdWgxDjVKYXibDtEHFamdrlT6OkUbnygQY8SQyeTCFzzIO-mnWhRJUfu0WRA4-dR1T0fqTrXOYPAU3S3K25TVRqHPz6E/s200/IMG_6321.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375817531554138290" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>After 15 minutes, and Robyn telling me I looked like a wizard with my poncho on, the hail stopped as quickly as it began. At the time, I was wishing I was a wizard. My right shin started to feel a bit twingy as we crested Searle Pass. By now, it felt like I was being stabbed with each downhill step in the lower part of my leg. I hobbled quickly down the mountainside, trying to keep up with Robyn and thinking of what I could call my shin to begin the dissociation process.</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div>When we were nearing tree line at 11,600 ft., Keith called to us from below to tell us to stop and read a plaque we were closing in on. We read it, and the sober reminder that bad things happen in these places was re-instated. The plaque was in memory of an 18 year old boy who had died. We presumed from the location of the memorial, that he had been struck by lightning or fell from a mountain. </div><div><br /></div><div>We met Keith in the trees, took off our ponchos, and settled in for our first significant break of the day. While we caught up and enjoyed each other's company, a Continental Divide Trail (CDT) thru-hiker ambled up from behind us. His trail name was Rest Stop. He began the trail from Mexico to Canada in the south, but when he got to Colorado, he decided to flip-flop. Rest Stop got a ride to Wyoming then began hiking southbound on the CDT. When he gets back to the border with Colorado and New Mexico, he will flop back up to Wyoming and finish the 3100-mile trail in a northerly direction.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once Rest Stop took off down the trail, Keith noticed me carefully positioning my cold water bottle over my lower shin. He told me he once had shin splints, and the only thing that helped was rest. Obviously, that was not what I wanted to hear. I had also had shin splint pain before and knew that the only thing that had helped was rest. However, I wanted to ignore that and hoped that my shin would improve as quickly as it deteriorated. I kept smiling, but worry was creeping in. I was hurting, and Fred, Nigel and Normalena were bothering Robyn. Somehow, Robyn's normal bad knee, Norman, was feeling fine in the midst of all this. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was only one thing for me to do - give my shin a name. I thought and thought because the name had to be just right. The morning golf round came to mind, and the perfect name came about. I would henceforth know my shin, not as my own, but as Bertha.</div><div><br /></div><div>Keith quickly pulled ahead of us as I stepped gingerly on the downhills. He was headed all the way to Tennessee Pass to meet Tom, some 11 miles distant, while we didn't have a set end point for the day. We wished each other luck, once again not knowing if we would cross paths another time. Within an hour rain had started to fall and it picked up to a downpour. Robyn and I pulled off the trail and soon after decided to set up our tent and take an afternoon nap. It would be a good way out of the rain and a nice break for Bertha. We hoped Keith was staying somewhat dry. He had no choice but to continue since he only had a daypack.</div><div><br /></div><div>We napped for four hours, then had boiled sweet potato bean soup for dinner, and hiked several more miles. For a few minutes there were violent flashes of lightning and booming thunder in the mountains to the south as we passed by Cataract Falls. Robyn and I spoke little as we quickly moved through the wet meadow grasses, but our tension faded away as the clouds broke apart and rainbows filled the sky. After passing Camp Hale, a historic World War II army training barrack for the 10th Mountain Division, we camped on the hill to the south and enjoyed a good sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmDsidxlGT10ULktUskbhd4KkSp9b87UQ5EhKql4lYOjw_h3tS21hlyH9M7OARYYVHhX-yBbPrG_LwJ3LCqg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The next day brought a different kind of excitement for me. David Horton, a professor of exercise physiology at Liberty University in Virginia, had left on his attempt to set the speed record on the Colorado Trail 3 days ago. Horton, an ultra runner, had run the Appalachian Trail (AT), the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and the race across America from California to New York. He set the record on the AT which has now been eclipsed, set and still holds the supported record on the PCT, and was third in the 3,000 mile race across America. Horton's plan for the Colorado Trail was to cover the 485 miles in just over 8 days. I was looking forward to seeing him come by and kept looking over my shoulder.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMicpTk2jeS6JqGfVg0NlLFnhUJ1FiNM3GZif6ZA1QYAUov8FUNaFdAjoG-SkwuDPmqW9D0ZBINUBbgKt-OwGlnhysWdw1FflUwKmGbJOoiXMURnoRQHHHYNHKGH-9abG0cGLyTwexLbB/s200/IMG_6326.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375818815660942146" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 159px; " /></span></span></div><div>Just before we crossed Hwy-24, a popular spot for thru-hikers to hitch hike to Leadville for rest and re-supply, there was a food bin on the side of the trail labeled Trail Magic. I had heard about boxes like this filled with junk food and sodas for hungry hikers, but this was the first time I had ever seen one. We both looked through the contents of the cooler, grabbed a treat, and continued on to Tennessee Pass.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bertha was quite sore, so I wrapped a wet bandana around her to try to keep her cool. There was a bit of swelling and still fairly sharp, local pain, but the pain was not bad enough for me to want to take a half-day or go into Leadville. We had planned to go to Twin Lakes next, and that was what we still strove for. Robyn was fairing slightly better than me, but her three friends acted up occasionally. We both looked after each other and tried to make light of our bodies as they strained under the heavy day in and day out workload.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike Kenosha Pass, which we walked down to, we had to go slightly uphill on a forest service road for several miles to reach Tennessee Pass, the high point of US Hwy-24. When we eventually made it to the pass, one of Horton's crew members asked if we had seen him. We hadn't yet, but told him we hopefully would later that day further down the trail. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREzhntUR6qKdBkjFlZKBsMb9LTbZ4aYLzQGcSioD5q67K1XFo13vRyhVB7-vsyQqS9vSdNaYhlECswmH0kvVunryxY1ymmeBgn0h2TJjXj9O2rNDth8ktbgL2TssFKJ0O1mJiX8021FUe/s200/DSCN0791.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375816473978945826" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>Segment 9, from Tennessee Pass to the Colorado Trail TH on Forest Service Road 104, passed into the Holy Cross Wilderness and provided outstanding alpine vistas. We had great views to the Arkansas River Valley and after the trail turned to the south, we could see the unmistakeable bulk of Mt. Massive, Colorado's second highest point at 14, 421 ft. The wildflowers along the trail were spectacular, with species such as Alpine Sunflowers, Blue Columbines, Paintbrushes and Geraniums. After 18 miles of hiking, we reached another parking lot, signaling the completion of yet another segment. I was surprised not to have seen Horton yet, but a table laid out like an aid station sat in the shade. He must be on his way.</div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I stopped for dinner two miles after leaving the trailhead and perched ourselves on a rock. We had risotto again, and again we ate superhuman portions. Just as we were cleaning up, Horton and two of his friends came hiking by. For all the excitement I had for this moment, it quickly passed. They were hiking like anyone else. Horton had trekking poles, was moving at a good speed, and said hi as he saw us above him. I wished him luck. He had already covered some 40 miles that day and had another 15 or so to go, followed by more of the same for the next 5 days. It was very neat to se Horton, also known as "The Runner," out on the trails doing his thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a fairly steep climb up to the Sugarloaf Saddle, then an equally steep descent down to Rock Creek and the Fish Hatchery Road. Robyn and I pulled off the trail just before the Hatchery Road, set up camp, had some more chocolate for dessert, and were sound asleep by 7:30 pm. We had covered some 24 miles and climbed nearly 3,000 ft. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Day 10 brought sunny skies. Both Robyn and I were excited to get moving because we only had a half-day to reach the small town of Twin Lakes, where we would pick up our food box, get a hotel room or cabin, shower, and eat. We headed south all day, passing side trails for Mount Massive and later for Colorado's highest mountain, Mount Elbert. The views towards Twin Lakes soon opened up, encouraging us along. Before reaching the Hwy-82 underpass, we passed creek side meadows filled with Larkspur, Monkshood, Carrots, Mariposa Lilies and more Columbines. The flowers were incredible.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxLqnCq4WQen35de-9RxdPpPpDlUhSVKUBNf5MtW9iosFY3gCDjCnuKDwMEjE7MblVXu2kZbQc7uZckpXTP-g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>After a one mile road walk with no luck hitchhiking, we made it to Twin Lakes and found a nice cabin with a personal shower to stay in for the night. We went to the post office, and after several minutes of searching, found the box we had sent ourselves from Denver. It was nice to see it had arrived as the market had extremely slim pickings. After a sub-par lunch, we went back to our cabin, did laundry and took a short nap. Neither of us wanted to have dinner out, so we decided to cook extra quinoa. However, we had a brilliant idea to preserve our alcohol fuel and cook while in bed. We would use the coffee percolator to boil and cook our quinoa.</div><div><br /></div><div>An hour later, we were enjoying dinner and the magazines we picked up in town. We were both happy to be resting and enjoying the sunset from our cabin. A comfortable bed called and we were asleep by 8 pm. After 195 miles in the first 10 days, our bodies were on the verge of breaking down. Both Robyn and I knew that if any of our friends spoke louder, we would need to consider some more time off in Twin Lakes.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZS-ueJlOWpPLvv8XE0uixOKfWPc37pfTapJBBskAZ6Gdlvj43-auTZ2pF6_zseihSAc4ITGXyyaXZJSqu-LgGt-2fER9n3vbjcj9U7BNFXw_WwLgFp0DTwVlWyFzptyj79i9-40Vqc9Z/s200/DSCN0805.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375827078070151026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-41055934259856108512009-08-29T07:21:00.000-06:002009-08-29T17:00:59.618-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 5-7<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASabF06XVaaD6bpgudKpfT8bicukOVrlvVlBbvpSYJHYjUbYkXHbZz0xycxOro7lgNwiFXvg-N8I5lDgZi0JsyPFMIo_LfMdV1Lmg3bW-Dv0VcaX4ksFArzOgBRdi_cwVKRfKu39iuehl/s1600-h/DSCN0772.JPG"></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzRWiFFMEpDV_MPVKLPAQ67Lz58cbM4HfNTklEplyppKlsY8BPN5H5nCwpzy5DQad3t-ZOtZ39-JKrq3PX_aw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvVPaC1y0Zo0EEUv8O3L3bkWUvUqYPTZ_UKc31tqNw0Sz5aSmOWlDjmrg68JjM82UTomJ5Asp0uvYhfUa3IVukWD2OXpv7WzmnGvc3hMTquGn2CfGZTUMqbUyjXPAVK7mBT3-e85wMzWl/s1600-h/DSCN0763.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiTHVZ6Gbu462Zr9QEoQ70NCgW5STNaU3o8qAWXTS1HcRxkXLJ2pORJpsWnpfrenJtH77Gos80zzA0lmadokSFq89dfGHyut4bae4RHSmkVTZKJ0r3awAr9HOoOCOOSGlOEDCQuipaEEv/s1600-h/DSCN0753.JPG"></a>Keith woke up earlier than Robyn and I did on the 5th morning, but we were able to get out of our warm sleeping bags and tent by 6:30 to talk with him before he left. I interviewed him with the digital camcorder I was carrying and asked him the question Robyn and I both wanted to know. "If we ever were out of work and wanted to work as teachers overseas, would you hire us?" He laughed and responded with an enthusiastic yes, followed by giving us one of the few business cards he was carrying. Shortly after, Keith left and headed for the North Fork of the Swan River and Hwy-9 where he would take a day off in Breckenridge. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiTHVZ6Gbu462Zr9QEoQ70NCgW5STNaU3o8qAWXTS1HcRxkXLJ2pORJpsWnpfrenJtH77Gos80zzA0lmadokSFq89dfGHyut4bae4RHSmkVTZKJ0r3awAr9HOoOCOOSGlOEDCQuipaEEv/s200/DSCN0753.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375505909568144642" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><div>Today was the first day that we began to see a large number of trees that had been killed by the mountain pine beetle. The beetle, which lays its larvae in the tree and eventually kills its host, has been on a rampage in parts of Colorado during the past five-ten years. Entire stands of pines, particularly Lodgepoles, are literally being eaten alive. Now where healthy forests stood less than 100 years ago, there are thousands of acres of dead and dying trees. Fire suppression, which has led to stands of single-aged trees, mimic monoculture farms and make forests susceptible to disease outbreak. Slightly warmer winters that do not kill off as many pine mountain beetle eggs, pupae and larvae have let populations of the species grow unchecked. The disease that has showed up the strongest and seems to be on the verge of destroying the pine forests of an entire state is a tiny beetle, smaller than the size of a dime.</div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I eventually caught up with Keith while he was filtering some water in a small stream just before the North Fork of the Swan River. We hiked with him on the flat and downhill parts of the trail and pull slightly away on the uphills. However, Keith always managed to catch back up with us when we would take a break to put on sunscreen or record video. He was great to hang out with as he had interesting things to talk about and a great sense of humor. </div><div><br /></div><div>The morning went by quickly and we covered ground at a good pace. By midday we had covered 15 miles and saw the lush mountain town of Breckenridge below. After dropping down to Hwy-9, we bid farewell and good luck to Keith since we were continuing on to Copper Mountain before our first re-supply and day off. He was going to meet a friend whose wife would pick them up at the end of each day for the following week and drive them to a condo or hotel room so they could day hike, something backpackers commonly call slackpacking. We figured we may not see Keith again since he would be moving quite a bit faster without his full backpack.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDI4qjAD8rUcFmHGWd8FEJsnsW5uoFHoMlhtV3kwQl7EvJ7D1w5H8zt7hqJoW00sCw8RgfvP17v0P77FaDKYN9LQ0OgHClWIfKalAwRUy1FasPz-WXKoWoB1TMH2C-05DhUi9gqoqwNlOo/s200/DSCN0756.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375507038588860066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Robyn and I stopped briefly before reaching the Goldhill Trailhead to dip our feet in the river that ran through the middle of town and check our map. We had plenty of food for the next 24 hours before my aunt, who lived in Silverthorne, would pick us up in Copper Mountain and let us stay at her house to rest and recuperate. </div><div><br /></div><div>After quickly leaving Breckenridge and hiking through beautiful fields of sunflowers, that afternoon brought our first significant rain. Robyn and I had stopped for dinner at 3:30 pm because we were hungry. We figured time schedules for eating meals were overrated and we should just eat and take breaks when we wanted. At 10,000+ feet, though, it always took longer than expected for meals to cook since water boils at a lower temperature. We relaxed under our tarp listening to the rain while we waited for our quinoa to cook.</div><div><br /></div><div>That night brought more rain, some lightning and thunder, and heavy cloud cover. We camped near a tree cutting area along Miner's Creek and worried what the weather would bring for day 6. We only had 8 miles to go to reach Copper Mountain, but we had to go over the crest of the Ten Mile range at 12,440 ft. I definitely did not want to do this in a lightning storm. Our worries did not keep us up too long though. Robyn and I both fell asleep around 6pm and slept soundly 12 hours through the night.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxFPTobkymrBh6gccHYxe2ncX9f8H9LX9KbgDMA-FDGHtF_AHKqisUwYUvREwTbLTglGhNbhb9dSiEjvrOCzA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Day 6 began as day 5 ended - cloudy. Robyn and I were out of camp by 6:15 am, were above treeline at 11,200 ft. and were making our way through lingering snow fields by 8 am. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASabF06XVaaD6bpgudKpfT8bicukOVrlvVlBbvpSYJHYjUbYkXHbZz0xycxOro7lgNwiFXvg-N8I5lDgZi0JsyPFMIo_LfMdV1Lmg3bW-Dv0VcaX4ksFArzOgBRdi_cwVKRfKu39iuehl/s200/DSCN0772.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375514630427298354" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></span><div><br /></div><div>The going was quite fun even though we could both feel the lack of oxygen slowing us down on the steep uphills. The views back towards Lake Dillon and the town of Breckenridge were quite dramatic with the clouds scudding by us. The weather wasn't ideal, but there was no lightning and no rain, so we kept moving on.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvVPaC1y0Zo0EEUv8O3L3bkWUvUqYPTZ_UKc31tqNw0Sz5aSmOWlDjmrg68JjM82UTomJ5Asp0uvYhfUa3IVukWD2OXpv7WzmnGvc3hMTquGn2CfGZTUMqbUyjXPAVK7mBT3-e85wMzWl/s200/DSCN0763.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375505915482567778" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div><div>Eventually we made it to the crest of the range and could see down to the the Copper Mountain ski resort and town directly below us. Robyn and I followed the trail down, then down, and down some more. Eventually we had dropped 2500 ft in 5 miles, crossed one intense mountain biker pushing his bike up the steep single track and a few hikers before we walked a mile east along Hwy-91 to the nearest gas station where we phoned Lori to come pick us up. We finished our 8 mile day, our shortest yet by far, at 10 am.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was nice chatting with Lori as we wisked away towards her home in Silverthorne at 65 mph. The speed seemed amazing, but not overwhelming. We were only out for 5 and a half days, so we had not completely forgot how it felt to move in a car while one's body is not actually moving. I must admit, it felt great. After an hour talking with Lori and her husband Stuart at their house, we borrowed their car for the afternoon to drive down to Denver to pick up our car, return it to our house in Boulder, then drive back up into the mountains that evening.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made it back by 8 pm, but it was not without a bit of stress. In fact, it was the most stressful part of the trip thus far. When Robyn and I left, we were warned that the traffic may be bad since it was July 3 and lots of folks come up to the high country to celebrate the 4th of July. That warning proved very true. Fortunately we were going downhill first, but the traffic going up was ominously backed up for more than 20 miles outside of Denver. We had no choice to but to return via the same direction, so we knew we would be stuck for the evening in traffic. </div><div><br /></div><div>After we picked up our truck, which was sitting safely in the busy Waterton Canyon parking lot, we got caught in two torrential rain storms, one of which nearly forced me to pull of the road. We saw two accidents on the hour drive back to Boulder. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another task that we had was to mail ourselves an extra box of food to the post office in Twin Lakes care of general delivery. We decided at Lori's house we did not want to carry 7 days work of food to Sailda, so we would stop half way in Twin Lakes to resupply. This way our packs could be lighter and we could move a bit faster. We would cut the time to Salida down to 2 three-day segments rather than one 7 day push. </div><div><br /></div><div>What we failed to think of was the fact Post Offices close at noon on the 3rd of July, they wouldn't be open on the 4th, and the 5th (the day we were to start hiking again) was a Sunday. The post office in Silverthorne was closed when we got there, so our only hope was a bigger post office in Denver or Boulder. We managed to find a post office in Littleton (South Denver suburb) that was closed, but it had a self-service station where we mailed off our package. We were only half-confident it would arrive before us, but if it didn't we thought an extra half-day in Twin Lakes wouldn't be to our detriment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Driving towards the interstate to head back to Lori's after dropping off our truck gave me an impending sense of doom. There are not many things I enjoy less that sitting in traffic, and there was lots of traffic earlier. Miraculously, almost, we kept driving up the hill waiting to hit traffic but never did. I was quite satisfied that we had planned it well, but knew that we were just quite lucky to have several hours after most everyone else in the city of Denver had left to enjoy their holiday in the mountains.</div><div><br /></div><div>Day 7, the fourth of July, proved very relaxing and uneventful. We hung out around Lori's house all day reading, playing with their dogs Ace and Nugget, and enjoying the company. Tomorrow we would be back on the trail and both Robyn and I wanted to make our down time last forever.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TN9B9jRESrdEJDit1Tvw0ezrveRxskF03ZM69UVgZm-mr5x3vpRX8FkSM5yVQzIpb2UjTAE8NNCelOvM5XYN-cHHZqNoZTaGOoNjWQzJOrwf2YRoXcd_GQNCQffTJBjeo4nSUw1fH4gA/s200/DSCN0755.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375512939066091906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><br /><br /></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-76053971753541159162009-08-28T17:21:00.000-06:002009-08-28T19:35:32.156-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 2-4<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuq4U8k7NhyAlqAkDXtSlk7O1ElfOxuRTr1CvOdNNl0aFIEJ-7anxG_xCxDf_e7b0zt_SwuN1_eNDEi5Mh0imk54sUcLSjUqYynkQ8d5vW9I1LDw0w8Xfnf9OBbzeneMsCWbVTRM3g9Z2j/s1600-h/IMG_6295.jpg"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO5nLBZiaFHu2TAdlFiUh5ElfC97_sJFpqmiTEfBQ_Qn_BK1azZX4LG8gCGcGeC7PBOnZSaDbwJ74bCsK1LbCIW0BCe2dwft-y9GE6ecA0hrMNk_ooq_JkwpWRm5YZOfzFaPJgt8Ip6fOU/s200/DSCN0727.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375182806206851346" /></div><div>After a good night's sleep, and waking up to happily find that our legs were not sore, we hiked through several more miles of burned area near Buffalo Creek until we came to the end of segment 2 at Forest Service Road 550. We met a family of 4 with two girls who had been out on the trail for several days and were walking back to their hometown of Durango. I imagined how much different the dynamic must be in that group than a group of two...</div><div><br /></div><div>After about three hours of hiking, we made it to the first water source that we had seen in the last 13 miles, so we sat down, purified some water with our aquamira chemical treatment kit and had a nice big bowl of cereal by the side of the creek. Robyn and I had held off on breakfast thinking it would be nice to hike for an hour so we could get some miles under our belt before eating, but we both found ourselves totally ravenous. This proved to be one of the last times we didn't eat straight away when waking up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The day was highlighted shortly after when we met a 79 year old hiker who planned to thru-hike the trail. He had a big, fluffy, white beard, a la John Muir, and a pack that surely weighed 40 pounds. We both stood envious of him, hoping that we will be thru-hiking trails at that age. </div><div><br /></div><div>The trail rolled through Ponderosa Pine, Douglas Fir, and Aspen forests before we had an 1100 ft. climb in the final 2.7 miles of our day, taking us above 10,000 ft. for the first time on our trip. Robyn and I pulled off the forest road the Colorado Trail follows after entering the Lost Creek Wilderness Area shortly before the end of this climb where we had a nice dinner of rissoto with mushrooms and pine nuts. I think I ate twice as much as normal.</div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5VdGwy-gyjph5o4foHyXCnSF2Unce-Q52w4E8RQtIhXIare45FSyZqKToGCnHMgABoWR3xwThL4aBajS8Kq1V1tb5gza-irKo3WuyzIeIjfrE6vQOkta4P69iM3eIDXci-KNqXMFIWbI/s200/DSCN0713.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375176452171957218" /><div><br /></div><div>Day 3 began with ashort, steep, chinscraper climb. Robyn and I were both recent converts to trekking poles (later to be known as trekking poles/lightning rods) and were finding the going on the steep uphills to be significantly easier with them. We could really balance better and angle the poles backwards while hiking to push with them to aid in forward progress.</div><div><br /></div><div>Forward progress was always on our minds. On day 2, we had hiked 24 miles, and we planned to cover another 20 miles today. Our packs started off the trip heavier than I had hoped; my pack started at just over 30 pounds and Robyn's was just over 25 pounds. While this was light in comparison to what we saw nearly every other backpacker with, we were trying to go light to make our outing more enjoyable. I have always found that lightweight packs help me to keep my head and eyes up, avoid plodding, and generally have a better time. I really don't enjoy feeling like my pack is significantly slowing and weighing me down.</div><div><br /></div><div>After passing by Long Gulch, we made our way steadily through many beautiful stands of Quaking Aspen trees. Our campsite, just shy of Panorama Point, looked back towards Rock Creek and a full rainbow above. We had our first taste of rain earlier in the day, but it was not hard enough to even warrant our ponchos. Robyn and I both were ecstatic about the good weather we were having.</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwZrebaUAcxT_fqWHPV0RUeQcyJvRXz41YCIchFqKVYRi8YK7f9y3s2R9qSH_swmcIEGk9zre-F2L3cPaNbRbtWf4XmYWq-0WWfrhcIy_pFS__J3JLXLzxdfs9unabV4ywX6YJUoR0yDM/s200/DSCN0738.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375176969250863826" /><div>That evening we sat down to cook a simple meal of rice and beans, but found the rice we bought was not instant. After boiling one pot of water on our tuna-can alcohol stove, we decided not to continue using our limited fuel to try to cook the rice. I knew it could take a while, so we built a fire and cooked the rice over that. It cooked, and cooked, and cooked. After an hour and fifteen minutes, with my patience wearing thin because my belly was speaking louder and louder, the rice was still rock hard. We gave in to our hunger - I quickly abandoned the rice and cooked up some oatmeal while Robyn had a bowl of cereal for dinner. We followed that with a whole chocolate bar. Unfortunately, we couldn't completely abandon the rice, so we put it in a plastic bag with a bit of extra hot water thinking it would cook overnight. This was reasonable, in our minds, and we could have our rice and instant beans for breakfast.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were wrong. The rice didn't cook at all overnight, so Robyn double-bagged it and put it in the side pocket of her pack as we began moving on day 4. Passing Panorama Point in segment 5 gave us our first real views of the big mountains we were so looking forward to. Kenosha Pass and the town of Jefferson sat below us, while the Continental Divide and Georgia Pass raised several thousand feet above us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since Kenosha Pass is the high point on US-Hwy 285, the Colorado Trail actually descends a few hundred feet to reach this pass/campground/ trailhead. This was the most activity we had seen since leaving Waterton Canyon several days earlier with campers scattered about, several cars at the trailhead, and a few early morning hikers already out walking. Unfortunately, though, there were no trash cans at the campground or trailhead, something we found would repeat itself time and time again. We couldn't get rid of our three days of accumulated trash and the two+ pound bag of wet, uncooked rice.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw a car coming towards us as Robyn scoured the area for a hidden trash can. When the lady got out with her dog, I asked her if she knew of any nearby trash cans. She didn't, and said that none of the trailheads have them. Fortunately, though, she offered to take our trash as she was headed back to Denver after a short dog walk. We were so happy not to have to carry our nemesis, the uncooked long-cook rice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crossing Hwy-285 was by far the most dangerous thing we had done up to this point, running with our packs on across the two lane highway with cars moving at breakneck speeds. We hadn't moved faster than 4 miles per hour in more than three days; to see the speed cars travel at seemed absolutely ridiculous. I wondered how we can naively feel so safe in our cars while hurtling ourselves along 10 or 20 times faster than we can walk.</div><div><br /></div><div>The day turned out to be quite special. We passed over Georgia Pass just as the clouds began to close together around 3 in the afternoon. The 2000 foot climb in 9 miles took us to 11,860 feet and to the first patches of snow that we had seen on the trail.</div><div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6NFf6iokEtAQ3xkq0EgfATz9oAT2hnqpeB90RsOba_HqVx18OcYtM-M7R9lcwHHPEqhw4yVgd6OdmlM0FWtTCgL0FyMaTRwrU0Y-a3Zgjts_B-mny2TNpYOzxyRpXnKZW3gbJSeStE47/s200/DSCN0749.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375178728216939890" /></div><div><br /></div><div>We walked off the backside of the pass into a strong wind and, after a short break, down to the Middle Fork of the Swan River. On the way down, Robyn introduced me to a few new friends - Fred and Nigel. Fred and Nigel, though, were her names for the arches of her right and left feet, respectively. She had long named body parts to dissociate from them when they hurt. It is quite comical, actually, and an effective took to manage minor discomfort. Fred and Nigel joined her long time friend Norman (her right knee, injured while rowing several years before and chronically painful) and other new friend, Normalena (left knee) on the long downhill to the river.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Middle Fork of the Swan River was the biggest flowing body of water we had seen since the South Platte on day one. We were happy to find Keith camping near the river, the thru-hiker we had met under Judy's Bridge while cutting padding for our shoulder straps. We set up camp next to him and had a great time. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuq4U8k7NhyAlqAkDXtSlk7O1ElfOxuRTr1CvOdNNl0aFIEJ-7anxG_xCxDf_e7b0zt_SwuN1_eNDEi5Mh0imk54sUcLSjUqYynkQ8d5vW9I1LDw0w8Xfnf9OBbzeneMsCWbVTRM3g9Z2j/s200/IMG_6295.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375183643476661074" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>He is a school principal from Oman (near Saudi Arabia) who had hiked the John Muir Trail and the Mojave Desert section of the Pacific Crest Trail. The three of us talked for hours about our experiences the past few days, both the similarities and the differences. The previous day he had made it all the way to Kenosha Pass where he met a group of campers who took him to get pizza in the town of Jefferson, some 10 miles away. Robyn and I were both jealous of this feast he had while were trying to cook our un-cookable rice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We went to sleep that night when night fell only to be awakened an hour later by rain and thunder. Robyn and I were both happy to be down low, not up near Georgia Pass where the rumbles of thunder and quick flashes of lightning were coming from. Being in a warm, dry sleeping bag with rain falling on a tent's rainfly is an incredibly relaxing feeling. Somehow, knowing that you would be soaking wet and freezing just two feet away from your current location makes you appreciate everything that much more. Robyn and I both slept soundly through the night, something that was easy to do after hiking 22 more miles and over our first significant mountain pass.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJeMXptADslU4hw0O-JeuXraW39LAGAXLOkviLg-Oyi7GcUPE_nbDz425s4hXJVS0rB4r6v8WGHeHpWDpTwYSoIG6EbMLBARhy54vIW6Dy-HWh9s8qMqcNvj0IyAgtpLvJmUbF8zHVD1zg/s200/DSCN0743.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375183347976569538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7078842150219212605.post-11292236162235138812009-08-25T07:57:00.000-06:002009-08-25T20:24:21.479-06:00The Colorado Trail: Day 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5tYxS27zS6wYma0i22VDWGOTq9g_M7XPLTV67Fym4j8iGpDTqQzu-mZZiZU3y1AQHC8OohWJ62QHCkH7rLd6wO3FL08e4kCXBawXOT7WR_BSgjL4qzaKvp00OKIglbsTb2SZ-X1_H_Rpq/s1600-h/DSCN0678.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5tYxS27zS6wYma0i22VDWGOTq9g_M7XPLTV67Fym4j8iGpDTqQzu-mZZiZU3y1AQHC8OohWJ62QHCkH7rLd6wO3FL08e4kCXBawXOT7WR_BSgjL4qzaKvp00OKIglbsTb2SZ-X1_H_Rpq/s320/DSCN0678.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373908186901417042" /></a>Hiking the Colorado Trail was something Robyn and I planned to do all year. After moving from Arizona to Colorado in early June and securing new jobs, it seemed hiking some 25 miles per day on the trail might be a relaxing break from the previous two months.<div><br /></div><div>We planned to leave on a Sunday morning from Boulder and arrive at the trailhead by bus so we would not have to leave our car at Waterton Canyon for an extended period of time. There was a bus scheduled to leave from the Table Mesa bus stop at 4:45 am and take us to Denver. From there, we planned to transfer buses and make our way to Littleton where the bus would drop us about a mile from the trailhead.<div><div><br /></div><div>Things didn't go to plan. We were at the bus stop at 4:30, but the bus never showed. That bus must not run on weekends, even though we had quadruple checked that it did. We waited until 5:15, not wanting to admit we had a dilemma and an ominous start to our 485 mile hike. Robyn and I walked the mile back home, trying to make light of the circumstances, but we both knew our trip might be delayed for a day. We called a taxi service to see if they could take us, but they were going to charge us more than $100. After a brief thought about hanging out for the day, Robyn and I both looked at eachother and knew that we couldn't wait. We were both too excited for the journey to be delayed, so we picked up the keys to our truck and drove the hour to the trailhead at Waterton Canyon. We started the Colorado Trail at 7:40 am on Sunday, June 28th, with a goal of completing the trail in 25 days.</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuG9kSQD0NGgNYdL1ANT6fEhs5qXvyDNdbSg2PIzMEY13ohV4csprJbxlagXADGCCaAIdV5EThAHJD6pQ1LlNMSRFkJx4iTroVD3e3cQPFsoEPIaaC19175RNVJb-9AMEX59zP5iGUmVo/s200/DSCN0681.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374078079572726450" /><div><br /></div><div>The first six and a half miles of the Colorado Trail are along a forest service road winding up the South Platte River, eventually turning uphill past the Strontia Springs Dam. From this reservoir, water is diverted to the Foothills Water Treatment Plant via a 3.4 mile underground tunnel. We covered ground quickly in this section, walking by a mile marker on the road every 20 minutes. Everything felt good. </div><div><br /></div><div>The trail then soon turned to single track with some moderate climbs and views of the surrounding mountains. The wildflowers quickly appeared, with Blue Columbines dotting the trail around the stream banks. By the time we reached Judy's Bridge over the South Platte River after 16 miles, we both realized that our pack's straps were not padded enough. My shoulders were being cut into and my lower back was being rubbed raw. Robyn said she was experiencing the same thing. Sitting under the bridge while a light rain fell, I cut strips of my ridge rest sleeping pad and strapped them under our shoulder straps. I then secured them with most of the duct tape we were carrying. Robyn came up with a good idea to also tie our fleece jackets around our waists under our hip belt to prevent the pack from rubbing our lower backs.</div><div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1z5I8wUUM5wM03Gt1KhpCXCy2c18L2Wou8DOmQcvaEvs-slweuZW2W-30jzH7Y4xJJ35khW28Avv9UJ9nRkdyC2mCQgSK3lHLpIF_7o7ZzFg0C63Ca6CDANZtkDVWU888c0ekzfUka6ZF/s200/DSCN0688.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374083281168196626" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>While sitting there cutting up my sleeping pad, a thru-hiker named Keith came by and introduced himself. He planned to hike to the Top of the World campground that night and we told him we would be close behind. Robyn and I both hoped to meet up with Keith again. He had plans of hiking the trail in around 23 days, so we knew his itinerary must have been similar to ours. </div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-YGqAPKd1MdW6zN7E5AEgJPA8FOIRWXWvjHdlRIO-w3-c3bATC4zuX3roPrU_yQyM05JXRjRFaQ8COREzHqALUDuTQzCr7u9GkMaoX8Thgr1BxFlUBmmB33i_JRXJkng0BRzJD2A3Kci/s200/DSCN0697.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374085918188102962" /><div><br /></div><div>With our newfound padding, we headed into the Buffalo Creek burn area of segment 2 where we would try to hike 6 miles before calling it a day. Fortunately for us, the whole afternoon was cloudy, which kept the temperature down. This section would have been much more difficult if it were sunny because there were long stretches with no shade. When we left the South Platte, we also entered a 13 mile stretch with no water, so we were carrying a gallon each and prepared for a dry camp on night one. We hiked for a few hours, cooked some dinner, then hiked a few more miles. The sleeping pad shoulder padding that we were using and the fleece jackets worked amazingly well. Without them, it would have been painful going.</div><div><br /></div><div>We covered a total of 23 miles on the first day. We both went to sleep feeling good about what we had done and enjoying ourselves while exploring our new home state on foot. Robyn and I hiked slightly more than I had planned for the first day, and I figured that might mean very sore legs in the morning...</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOvtgaclbdb5Gs8noisEZNfkeb9nbk_hHTMl1HwPljKaUmfHPZLe6wY7seeIHpp72yPqLO8ghvXD_yUjAlpWTGU9WsxlTyNuvQWoC2TMZ7fKzsWWdW1nglNHTUxEIgNAD5SVOAg2OaBf5/s200/DSCN0690.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374083389445058146" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Morgan Wilkinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07214945953583392468noreply@blogger.com0