Day 49: Weminuche Take Three

Mileage: 16.3 miles (796.8-813.1)

We started off early again. Before sunrise is my favorite time of day. It was  a bit steep and icy as we skirted the slopes around the divide, so as we popped over a pass, I decided to follow the ridge as the trail met back up with it after a mile or so. Karma stayed low. I was treated to 360 degree views and an incredible sunrise. I had a steep enough descent that I was happy I had my ice axe, but nothing that we hadn't tackled before. I was able to stomp my heels in as I descended the slope, so it wasn't too bad. 

As the day pressed on, we reached another knife's edge, but this one was much longer and sketchier. I still don't understand how information passes the way it does and how one part of the trail becomes so infamous, while others are still unknown, despite their difficulty. It probably comes down to the name. As I came down the spine, I noticed Elk footprints spattered with blood. I felt sad for him and hoped he was okay. It wasn't until later that I realized it was the razor-sharp ice he broke through as he post-holed that likely caused his wounds. 

Coming over a saddle and into a slight decline, I noticed some dainty bobcat tracks, the circular prints hardly sunken into the snow. The cat must have been there earlier in the morning. He probably smelled us from miles away. As I walked I thought more and more how I wished I could just be alone. I was in the middle of 500,000 acres of wilderness but it's been hard to find alone time. Just me and the mountains, without worry of if I was going to fast or slow. Or looking back or forward wondering when Karma might come out of nowhere yelling his own name or just out of frustration or glee. 

This morning, I was able to hike out in front for about four miles. It was wonderful. I thought about my life and what I wanted to do after the trail. So many other hikers I meet just want to continue hiking these trails - whether it's the Pacific Crest, the Appalachian, or another overseas. Their goal is to hike trails. That's not me. Although I love being out here and find it incredibly beautiful and satisfying, I know that I need a greater purpose - to help others, to teach, and to learn. Right now is a respite from the real world - a calm before another storm. I hope I can find how to bring the wilderness and the feelings of joy and wonder I have to others - to help others discover solitude in the mountains and come to trust and rely on themselves - to heed their senses of sight, sound, touch, and smell. 

As I wandered alone I discovered a beautiful waterfall, tucked away below the actual trail near Snow Creek. Near there I noticed some succulents, typically a desert plant, somehow clinging to life at 11,000 ft. I was knocked out of my reverie when I heard I ear-splitting scream from above. At first, I thought it was an animal, but then I realized it was Karma. He was letting out frustration about post-holing. He'd followed my tracks all the way down - I'd assumed he would have followed the trail.

As we kept going Karma set off a pretty big slide climbing just above the trail, but luckily it was under him. I had actually thought about using the same slope to cut up to the trail so I'm glad I didn't. We have to be more careful. 

I was feeling the heat of the midday sun and was anxious for the sun to fade away so we could sleep. It felt like all we did was walk, eat, and sleep. Walk, eat, and sleep. We were knocked from the monotony as we both fell down face first on probably the least sketchy slope we went down all day. It was hilarious. This changed the mood, as did eating two packs of spicy ramen. Turns out I love Ramen. Five packs for a DOLLAR? And they are soooooo f-ing good. I love them. And I'd never had them camping before. This discovery of Ramen is just like how I arrived to Instagram five years after it was cool.

As we descended over the purple and pink Alpine Coraldrops (alpine besseya), a small plane buzzed overhead. And then again and again. Below the tallest peaks in the valley. He wasn't search and rescue or the park service - probably a hunter scoping out some illegal terrain. I yelled, "Get the **** out of here!" The din of the plane freaked the shit out of me, so I know it does the same to the animals, whose habitat we are protecting with the wilderness.

There's an idea I've been reading about called '3D wilderness.' It's from Doug Peacock, one of the leading Grizzly experts in the world, and also the person who Edward Abbey based the character Hayduke off of in The Monkey Wrench Gang. The idea is pretty simple - wilderness boundaries should not stop at roads and machines on the ground. Planes, helicopters, drones, and whatever other flying machines we invent also should not intrude on the wilderness - especially if it makes enough noise to scare an 800 lb Grizzly. Sure, we might not be able to keep commercial airliners from flying over wilderness at 30,000 ft, but couldn't we say that hunters, trappers, and recreational pilots can't fly within a few thousand feet of these areas? At the very least not within 5,000 ft. of the tallest peaks? It seems a mild compromise to ensure the well-being of the singular islands of biodiversity we have left in our mountains, deserts, and streams.

Later on we saw a Grey Fox off in the distance. He ran swiftly to get away. We tracked a bear, but somehow his tracks disappeared into thin air. We also saw a chipmunk - they are very curious, but never intrude. As we descended down to 11,000 ft. the snow faded away and we hiked on our first bare ground in weeks. We heard the chirp of the marmot fade away into the hills and setup camp early by the river under an Engelmann Spruce. As I drifted off to sleep, I marveled at how quickly we went from the bone white snow and dead of winter to the green flowing grass and promise of spring.

Day 48: Weminuche Wilderness Day Two

Mileage: 15.3 miles (781.5-796.8)

In the morning the only sounds to be heard were the clomp of snowshoes  and call of the Hermit Thrush, bringing me back to my days tromping through the woods of New Hampshire near the Dartmouth Organic Farm - there, every sight, sound, and smell was a new mystery to solve. We were following the silent coyotes, who had been active overnight. It's uncanny how well they stick to the trail, even when it's covered under a few feet of snow. Whenever I get lost, my first instinct is to follow the animal tracks. They know the easiest path along the divide.

As I tiptoed on the early morning crust, trying to avoid breaking through and expending precious energy with every step, I spotted some fox holes dug deep down into the snow. They, and other animals, create complex underground networks, complete with escape routes and deep dens beneath the snow. It's pretty hard to spot the foxes because they are well-adept to hearing low frequency sounds, including people clomping through the snow from miles and miles away. On the steep, south-facing slopes I walked like a bear on all fours to distribute my weight more evenly and avoid breaking through. It worked, but it was exhausting. I'm not a bear. 

By 6am the sun shines down on the glistening snow as it creeps over eastern horizon. We came upon a few more fox dens, as well as some holes dug by chipmunks and other smaller mammals. By mid-afternoon, we were on top of the great divide. For the first time in awhile, the trail actually stayed on the divide for an extended period of time, close to five miles. It made for easier walking because the snow was hard and windblown. We had to be careful where we stepped so we didn't knock off a cornice or trip and slip down the east or western slope. The views were totally epic, with white, puffy clouds dotting the sky around us. My jaw was perpetually dropped for the hours we spent on top, making our way across the ridge up and down, up and down.

The Knife's Edge wasn't far off, only a few miles, and we guessed which ridge it was. The razor headed off to the West? Or those hoodoos which headed northward? We couldn't tell, but we speculated with anxious energy, telling ourselves it really couldn't be any worse than anything else we'd already done. After all, this trail is for hikers, not mountaineers.

We found a bombproof container which once contained a summit log and restarted it with a fresh piece of paper and pen. We weren't sure why it was located where it was, with no obvious summit, but we thought it'd be fun to keep record of who had walked this ridge throughout time.

We decided to take an alternate route off the Ley map. Ley had noted that the Divide was 'passable' and perhaps a better option than going down through the bowls which could have high avalanche danger. At first it was okay, but as we got further on it was decidedly not 'passable'. As we descended off the steep ridge, Karma nearly tumbled down the snow slope, causing a mini-avalanche as he went. He kept his cool though and continued to lead us down. That day, Karma led pretty much all the business and did an amazing job staying calm and steady. I was happy to be hiking with him.

After we got down, we finally had a good view of the Knife's edge. Like many things on the trail, this was built up to be way worse than it actually was. By the looks of it, I could have named five sketchier moments we had in the last three days, or maybe even in the last three hours. That might be because we had been a bit 'creative' with the route, but there were even more dangerous things on the trail itself! We agreed that maybe in the summer it was scarier (this is rarely the case...) We chalked it up to another case of fear-mongering by folks who've never set foot on the trail.

Karma promised a friend he'd make them a snowman, so he did right on top of the divide.

Actually, the way down from the Knife's edge was way scarier than the ridge itself. A few very large avalanches had scoured the slope, one sliding all the way to the next cliff below. We took comfort in the fact that the slope had already slid and maybe it wouldn't again. In any case, I picked my way down as quickly as possible and Karma came behind. I felt the wet snow shift with each step, but luckily it held for us to get down to safety.

Karma climbing the Knife's Edge, it's not so bad.

We slept on another bed of spruce boughs. Poor trees. It was a great campsite, looking at the mountains, the moon, and back southward at the Knife's edge.

I'm decidedly posing here on the Knife's Edge.

Day 47: Weminuche Wilderness

Mileage: 14.5 miles(767-781.5)

I woke up early after a very restful sleep and had hot coffee for the first time on the trail. It was instant and so good. We started off  the day easy following tracks from our mystery snowshoer. The snow was crusty so we didn't need snowshoes on our end. We were excited to meet the guy breaking trail so we pressed on all morning, hoping to catch-up.

By around noon we came up to the ridge where the Creede cutoff, a much shorter alternate route, diverged. At this point, the divide is tracing essentially tracing a giant 100+ mile 'C' around the town of Creede, making it one of the only places that can claim that it's East, South, and North of the Continental Divide. To our dismay, we saw our snowshoer took the alternate down to Creede, leaving the divide for greener pastures below. We may never find out who he is. 

Later in the day a big storm blew in when we were on top of a pretty exposed ridge, so we had to huddle together behind a rock to keep warm and stay out of the wind and blowing snow. We weren't sure how long the storm would last so we got under Karma's tent and his Tyvek groundsheet to trap the heat inside our little cocoon. Luckily, after about 20 minutes the snow and wind subsided and we were able to resume our trek northward along the rocky spine.

As we continued, the sun popped out and we had a pretty scary climb to avoid the biggest cornice I've ever seen. It was very steep and I was breaking trail, careful to kick in every step. The snow was soft and I could feel it slide beneath my feet. Nearly at the top I went a bit too high and ended up on a slope even steeper than before. I kicked in a step and the snow let out underneath me and I started sliding down the slope. I stopped myself on some rocks after a couple feet and luckily Karma had waited for me or he would have been right in the slide path. I managed to get down and finish off the ascent, but I was drained from all the adrenaline which had been pumping through my veins. 

Karma led for most of the rest of the day as we descended to Piedra Pass. By the end of the 14-hour day, me and Karma decided it was the 'most legit snowshoeing' either of us had ever done. We made camp early because of the ridiculously slushy snow. We'd wake up at 3am the next morning, with the infamous Knife's Edge looming sixteen miles ahead. We couldn't really imagine a day much more exhausting than today.

Day 46: Back in the San Juan's

Mileage: 12.4 miles (754.6-767)

We started the hiking day with five miles up to Wolf Creek Pass along Highway 160. It was probably the most dangerous thing we did all day. We took a break on top of the divide just below 11,000 ft. A number of cars stopped and left before we noticed something: everyone was scared of us. 

They would either give us a very large halo or just make sure their kids stayed in the car. One guy finally came up to us and when we told him we we walked there, from Mexico, it actually assuaged his fears. Another lady heard our story and she also started talking to us. In my mind you have to be a hell of a lot crazier to try to hike from Mexico to Canada than if you're just a homeless person. Luckily, most other people don't think this way and we usually end up with food or a Coca-Cola.

Once we joined the trail we realized another snowshoer had been through earlier in the day. Another CDT hiker? Woohoo! That would mean our trail was broken for us for the first time! And indeed it was - all the way until (s)he veered off trail without us noticing and skirted right underneath a sheer cliff band. By the time we noticed we were half a mile off trail and the only way to get back would be to bushwack our way up a steep, icy slope. And that's what we did. We were worried the cliff band might terminate into a precipice, so we figured getting back to the official route was the safest option. Luckily, after a mile or two back on trail, our mystery hiker got back on too and the snow was broken for us yet again. I can't say enough how big of a difference this made for us. Not only did our snowshoes keep us from sinking in every step, we did have to clear the trail either!

About seven miles from the road we camped on a bed spruce boughs next to a rushing stream. I slept the soundest I have the entire trip outdoors.

Day 43, 44, and 45: Triple Zero in South Fork

Karla, the trail angel in South Fork, woke us up with some amazing homemade biscuits and gravy and then convinced us to stay another night to watch her dogs while she and her husband Mark went over to Durango to see their son. One day off the trail and we turned into dog sitters. She gave us the keys to their jeep, left a full fridge of food and beer, and pointed us towards the best massage place around. We bid goodbye to Mark and Karla and all of sudden Karma and I realized we had an entire house to ourselves.

I had to catch-up on some emails, blog, and finish a report I'd somehow let slip through the cracks before I left so I was on the computer most of the afternoon, while Karma watched TV and napped. It was amazing how quickly I felt my shoulders hunching up and the tension returning to my lower back. After more than a month on trail, it only a few hours on the computer to bring back all the stess of the real world. 

We made an appointment for the massages the next morning, Memorial Day, and whiled the rest of the day away eating and having a few beers. We returned to the same Mexican joint we'd been to the night before. Our eyes were bigger than our stomach for the first time in awhile. 

The next morning, we got in the jeep and drove the 1/2 hour over to Creede, CO, an old mining town that is now decidedly more hippie than South Fork. The Jeep was same exact make and model that my dad owned when I was kid in Elkhorn, NE. The lock button, the beat-up leather seats, and the speedometer brought back a rush of childhood memories. As we drove along the valley of the Rio Grande, still fresh from it's headwaters in the Weminuche Wilderness high up in the San Juan's, I could still smell my dad's coffee and hear the din of NPR in the background. I remembered all the soccer practices, Arby's lunches, and birthday parties I attended in that Jeep Cherokee. I don't remember when he got rid of it.

Creede's downtown was complete with a coffee joint, a handful of bars, and a gear shop, San Juan Sports. Karma got a rain jacket, some socks, and a few other necessary items to get ready for the next section. He got the same color jacket and buff that I had, so now we match. 

We headed up the hill out of town on Airport Rd, which wasn't labeled, but we could see the wind sock and the landing strip so we eventually figured it out. We arrived to Jo's, the massage therapist, fifteen minutes late after getting lost multiple times on the back roads. It wasn't until we called her that we were able to find it. Her studio, which was also her house, was one of the most incredible buildings I've ever seen. Jo and her husband, Jeff, built it by hand over a few years while they lived in a cabin in winters which bottomed out around forty below.

Their house was made of almost 100% found and recycled materials - from the walls, to windows, granite countertops, cabinets, and floors. Their east wall had a mosaic of different-colored glass bottles which in the afternoon light looked like a giant butterfly. Karma got his massage first and I found my way to the greenhouse, where Jeff was putzing around. 

Jeff and I hit it off pretty quick. We talked about gardening, foraging for mushrooms, and what life is like in Creede. He invited me to go fly fishing with him as he paddled down the the Rio Grande that afternoon, but I still needed to get my massage. After about 45 minutes of chatting with Jeff, Karma stumbled out of the log-hewn house. He looked like he was on another planet.

Jo called me in and I went into her studio. As I undressed I noticed her dog was asleep on the floor. We talked as she gave me the massage - this first time I've actually enjoyed talking to my massage therapist while I was getting work done. She mentioned a few things about Karma that caught me off guard. She gave him a massage for one-hour and it was like she knew him better than I did after hiking with him for nearly three weeks. Some of the things I'd noticed only after spending every waking hour with him, she picked up in minutes. 

The massage itself was incredible - probably the best I've ever received - but what made it even more amazing, was the way she could read your body and understand in minutes what others could only know with x-rays and CAT scans. For instance, she asked me if I'd had any serious injuries or falls within the last five years. I told her 'no' but she kept pressing. She said my tailbone was slightly misaligned, probably from some sort of fall five years ago or so. I thought it was nonsense at first, but then I realized it had been about five years since I had a pretty bad bike accident in San Francisco, where I went head over heels after hitting a car. I landed directly on my lower back, right above my tail bone. 

She made some adjustments using 'zero balancing' and I felt totally like I was on cloud nine. After the 75 minute massage, Jo asked us if we were hungry (of course, we were) and whipped up some of the best pancakes we'd ever eaten ... they were even gluten-free! After eating, I did every last dish, feeling such satisfaction from every clean spoon, plate, and bowl.

We spent the rest of the day hanging in Creede, having our first espresso in almost a month and a half. We also got some good and beer at the local BBQ joint. We drove back to South Fork completely and utterly satisfied, every one of our desires taken care of. We got back just before Karla and Mark, who were delighted to see us. Karla whipped up some amazing five-cheese mac n' cheese and me and Karma ate until we had a food coma and fell asleep.

The following day, Tuesday, we woke up early and made omelets for Mark and Karla. It was Karla's birthday and we wanted to do something nice for her and Mark anyways. She didn't eat the omelets, but she was happy we made Mark happy.

Jeff, Jo's (the massage therapist) husband, called late Monday and offered to take me and Karma rafting on the Rio Grande back in Creede. Karla, made a special trip to get us there, and we had an awesome day on the water. It was really cool thinking how we had just walked on some of the snow that we were rafting on. It was mostly Class I and II, but the small rapids we had were really fun, especially because we didn't have to do anything but watch. Jeff made it seem effortless, avoiding rocks at the very last moment, and guiding us unscathed through the rushing snowmelt, fresh from the San Juan's. We could actually see the peaks of the Continental Divide as we glided down the river, but we tried to forget that we had to go up there again the next day. Just seeing snow made me shiver.

After rafting (and getting to drive  a stick ... an old truck which was as the shuttle), we headed into Creede where we all had pizza. Karla met us there and we secreted into the fudge shop to get her a birthday surprise. 

Later in the afternoon we drove over towards Pagosa Springs where me and Karma had to pick up our packages and shop for food for the next leg. On the way, we picked up another hiker, Beacon, a greybeard who has hiked the trail a few times and also created the CDT data book, which lists all the major points with mileage/elevation on the CDT (I have it on my phone!). It was fun hanging with him because he was an endless source of knowledge about the trail and had plenty of good stories to share.

After shopping in Pagosa, Karla showed us one of her favorite fishing spots right near her house. Karma and I didn't catch anything but we had a good time dropping our line in before and after the torrential downpour. Though we came home empty-handed on our last night, Karla had fixed a huge chopped salad to go along with the leftover Mac n cheese. We all shared some wine and finished off our beers, sad to have to say goodbye. It was wonderful to be treated so kindly by Karla. I think we reminded her of her son. She reminded us of our moms.

The next morning we putzed around drinking coffee and packing up. We fixed a frozen pizza to go and headed for the trailhead - the same one Karla had come to get us four days earlier with two beers. We hugged and she quickly left, maybe avoiding tears. Karla is tough, but she's soft on the inside. If we didn't have to walk, we could have stayed with her forever - or at least until she kicked us out...

Day 42: Down to South Fork

Mileage: 10.2 miles (744.4-754.6)

I woke up to the sound of snow hitting my tent. Hard. It sounded like pounding rain, falling in sheets of stinging pellets. Once again we'd have to dig ourselves out of our tents. At least today we were headed for town.

My tent looked pretty pitiful after it got pelted by snow all night. I didn't care though, it still kept me warm!

From Bonito Pass, we decided to follow the Pass Creek, which intersected with the Pass Creek road down canyon a bit. Again, what seemed like a good decision at first, turned out to not be so good. Even in the early morning, the snow was really wet and we sunk-in up to our knees and hips. 

The walls of the mountain closed very steeply around the creek, making it difficult to walk anywhere except in the stream bed. Of course, with all the melting snow the icy stream was running fast and the snow bridges which crossed it seemed sketchy to say the least. After about two hours of wading through snow, tromping through the river, and almost losing Karma's glove to the river (I 'ran faster than he's ever seen me' to pluck it out), we decided to cut uphill to the road and hope for easier walking. At first, the road had knee-deep post holing as well, but this time, our bet paid off.

After 20 minutes of walking on the road, the snow became shallower and shallower until we finally were walking on dirt. After four days of sloshing through the wet snow, I don't think it's ever felt so good walking on a road. It was like all of a sudden our legs were set free of massive weights attached to our feet.

I called Karla, the trail angel in South Fork, to let her know she could pick us up in 20 minutes. The road to the pond was closed, so we walked the three extra miles to the gate at Highway 160. It snowed for the last two miles. When we saw the car headlights we waved excitedly. She got out of her small, silver SUV and handed us two Modelo beers - the perfect thing for the moment.

We put our wet stuff into her car and we started driving back towards her place in South Fork, CO. The heat in her car felt wonderful and mixed perfectly with the cold, light beer. Fifteen minutes later we got to her house, which was modeled in the style of an old log cabin. She told us to put our wet clothes in the washer and showed us the shower, complete with a bathrobe for after.

Once I cleaned up, I stayed in that red felt bathrobe until we left for ice cream and the grocery store later that afternoon. Karla got us some pizzas in the meantime and we all chowed down on that. After she got us some ice cream, we took her and her husband out for margaritas and Mexican food. We all came back afterwards, played with the three dogs, and then I headed off to bed early while Karla made some bread pudding for the next day. The bed was so soft and warm, I fell asleep almost instantly.

 

Day 41: The Final Push through the South San Juan's

Mileage: 16 miles (728.4-744.4)

We woke up at 3am hoping for an early start. The wind was howling and it was freezing so we went back to bed and didn't get back up until 5:30. We hoped to make a big push today to ensure we only had one more day out. 

The wind was still roaring as we packed up our tents but at least the blizzard from the previous night had subsided. Of course, a few minutes after we started hiking it picked back up again. By the time we reached Summit Peak it was a full-on white out conditions and Karma and I could barely see each other from 20 yards away. We checked the Guthooks GPS app on Karma's phone every few minutes to make sure we weren't going to walk off a cliff.

As we navigated our way through the storm we noticed a little brown dot scurrying towards us. At first, I thought we were imagining it, but sure enough, when we got closer we saw a small, brown creature resembling a hamster. It was an America Pika, the first we'd seen on trail! What he was doing out in the storm seemed only to be explained by his fascination with us. He got within a few yards and even started following us for awhile. It was a little creepy because besides a hamster, he also kind of looked like a rat in the low-light.

As we rounded Summit Peak, careful not to go up it's broad shoulder, patches of sun began to peak out. By the time we traversed down to the snow field below the peak, the sun won the battle with the clouds and broke through completely, so we stopped to dry out sleeping bags, which were quite damp from the night before.

The snowmobilers on the ridge that they maybe didn't deserve...

After our break and as we walked to Montezuma peak I noticed some huge tracks off in the distance. Immediately, I thought bear. And then I noticed a large black object roaring down the hill. Then another and another. It took me a second to comprehend they were going much too fast for a bear, or any animal that large. They were snowmobiles.

I started ranting and raving to Karma about how we were in a wilderness area and those fuckers shouldn't be here because these places were closed to motor vehicles - you can't have a damn wheel barrow in a wilderness because the wheel is too high tech ... and on and on before long they were right on top of us.

The guys were nice enough - the first one explained, without prompting, that they were 'skirting the wilderness boundary line along the creek.' I knew it was bullshit because why else would he explain that detail so closely without any prompting? And wouldn't he have known that were hiking so we obviously have maps which tell us where the wilderness is?

Anyways, I think those loud, gas-guzzling, exhaust spewing machines should be outlawed everywhere, except in the backyards of the guys who want them mucking up their own land. 

In any case, my convictions ended with my stomach. I held my tongue as the other two guys pulled up and immediately asked us if we had enough food and water. This is a funny question that we get asked a lot. Because, sure, we'd survive with the stuff we have, but damn, I really don't want to eat another homemade Lara bar or my stinking granola (say the word and I'll send you the bars...you can send me some poptarts or something equally sugar/fat-filled in return, which I find much more appetizing on the trail). After just one state I get noxious at the thought of eating certain foods I have in my pack, so it's probably time to get rid of them, either to other hikers or to the garbage can.

The snowmobilers were from Pagosa Springs and were about to ski/snowboard down the chutes on Summit Peak's north face. It didn't seem like they really earned it. Of course, we had walked from Mexico. The guys, who come here often, said they'd "never seen a hiker this time of year" and really couldn't believe we were out there. They were especially baffled by Karma's sneakers. The food they bestowed on us was wonderful: a few Clif bars, pigs in a blanket heated by their motor (yes, I had my first hot dog in who knows how many years), and a strawberry fruit smoothie all of which we consumed voraciously. On trail you can't turn down any food. Your body is literally eating itself.

Karma glissading (sliding on his butt) down a snow slope.

As the day wore on, our bodies began to feel the pain of four days breaking trail through a couple feet of snow, up and down thousands of feet. My feet began to get sore from the boots and Karma was visibly fatigued. We checked our maps and decided we'd cut down to a road from Bonito pass and then on down to Highway 160 to cut off a few miles the next day. By that time we'd be in lower elevation forest, not nearly as spectacular as what we'd already walked through. No towering, craggy peaks, just a lot of melting and slushy snow- like mashed potatoes mixed with baking powder.

We motored the entire day, pushing to reach the pass that would take us back to civilization, and most importantly, hot food. At night I could start to feel my ribs protrude more prominently when I laid down and I dreamt of  grilled cheese and tomato soup, a staple of my childhood diet. I was starving.

By the late afternoon the snow was complete mush and with each step we'd sink in knee deep or further. One time I actually got stuck waist deep in snow, unable to free myself for a few minutes until I dug myself out with my trekking poles. My foot had been stuck under a tree.

The stunning vistas of sharp black, white, and red mountains had been replaced by swaths of green forests below. Unfortunately, the snow was still there. As we rounded out the day down to Bonito pass it began to snow. It stopped for a second just long enough for us to find a campsite. Once we began setting up our tents it started up again with a vengeance. I was busy burying my stakes in the snow when lightning cracked in the sky and thunder clapped immediately behind. I swear I could see and feel the electricity with each bolt. I was scared as hell. I made sure the tent was set up well, bracing for the storm. I finally got myself and my backpack into the tent. I was exhausted, famished, and dehydrated. I ate everything I could stomach in my food bag, which was mostly just almond butter and banana chips. I tried to cook something but my stove went out before the water boiled. It was 9:30, which is basically 2am for a hiker. I surrendered to sleep.

The first trail in five days, woohoo!

Day 40: Post-holing through the San Juan's

Mileage: 11.5 miles (716.9-728.4)

We woke up at 4am so we could start walking before the snow started to melt. By 5:30 we were treated to a great sunrise. We were quickly ascending to 12,400 ft so we could see everything as the morning light crept into the sawtooth peaks. To our north, we spied Gunsight Pass, a U-shaped contour in the divide, and were thankful we weren't going up it. 

After we reached our crest we had to descend close to 1,000 ft back into the valley below so that we could head up the next ridge. We were able to walk on top of the snow in the valley and part of the way up the ridge before we started post-holing. Karma led the charge up the ridge with tireless energy. We topped out by climbing over the hump, with ice flows on either  side of us. Up top we took a leisurely break so Karma could warm his feet, which had gotten chilly on the climb. 

I took over breaking trail on the way down, not even realizing how steep it was until we climbed the opposite ridge and looked back at our tracks. It's pretty amazing to think how many people behind us will follow our footsteps up and down these peaks.

By midday we had another long climb contouring up to the divide. The snow was even slushier than the day before and sometimes we'd sink in up to our hips. Following Karma wasn't much better as I'd often break even deeper into the snow with each step. Man, how we wished we had snowshoes.

As we made it up to the pass we noticed quite a lot of coyote tracks - neither of us realized they came up to such high elevations. We also spotted more Ptarmigan, as well as some marmot tracks.

Once we topped out on the pass we took a look at our map and decided to take the spine of the actual Continental Divide, rather than following the trail which went lower down below the peaks. At first, it seemed like a great decision, with awesome views of the u-shaped glacial valley below, where I imagined the grizzlies would hang out. Unfortunately, the gentle ridge coming off to the west turned out to be a jagged cliff's edge of hoodoos. Basically, rock spires which formed a spine connecting one peak to the other. 

We took a look at it and decided to try it out, not wanting to backtrack up the 500' ridge we'd just descended. At first, it seemed okay - nothing that we hadn't tackled previously. But then the spires started to be too far apart to walk from one to another - only sharp crests of rotten snow with a steep drop on each side connected them. After some scrambling and finding the rock was pretty loose, we decided to head down below the ridge and then climb back up. As I was going down I triggered a mini-avalanche and snow rushed down the slope and crashed into a spire below. Not wanting to trigger anything else, I skirted along a spire's edge, pulling myself up a few rocks to reach the final slope that led up a friendly ridge. As I pulled up one of the rocks I was hanging onto came off the cliff, but luckily my feet and other hand were solid. I had flashbacks to previous misadventures and realized we'd made a mistake coming down here.

After I reached safety I advised Karma to take a gentler route. I lost sight of him for a few minutes and began to worry so I dropped my pack and ran back down toward the spires. I yelled, "Karma! Karma!" but I got no response. I'd imagined he'd fallen and it was all my fault for encouraging us to take an alternate route. I kept yelling and yelling until finally I heard a voice from below say, "I'm not dead, just 40 ft more!"

I was incredibly relieved, apologized profusely, and hauled Karma's pack up the rest of the ridge to give him a break. We both agreed no more alternate routes. I was thankful we were both safe and sound, and vowed not to get into another situation like that.

On the way back down towards the trail we ran into some very large bear tracks in the snow. Grizzly or black bear, we'll never know. We found a stream and as we began cooking dinner it started snowing very heavily. We agreed to make camp early and hope it cleared up so we could make an early start the next day. The next 8 miles were above 12,000 ft and we couldn't afford to be caught up there in a storm. We mused that our alternate route actually saved our butts because if we hadn't taken it, we'd probably be up high in the storm, which was producing thunder and lightning while it snowed. I've never seen lightning while it was snowing. It was frightening. We're both happy to warm in our tents, but we're not sure how long we'll have to wait out the storm...

The bear tracks leading away from ours. Grizzly or Black Bear?