Mileage: 27.6 miles (895.5-923.1)
I had a 3:30am wakeup this morning. Heating up my coffee I understood why Doug Peacock (whose book, Grizzly Years, I'm currently reading) says, "mmmmm....chemicals" when he gets his fix each morning - I could literally feel the caffeine creeping into my brain and seeping throughout my body, waking up my limbs in the frenetic way that only a cup of coffee - no matter how bad or good - does.
Clouds enveloped the nearby peaks as I trekked closer to San Luis Peak. Later that morning, I'd be as close to a 14,000 foot peak that I have been on the entire trail, with the option to scale the mountain from the saddle 1,500' below. As I walked, pondering my choices, a baby elk sprinted from out behind the bushes. It's mother had left it to hide while it fled to the top of the ridge. Luckily for it I was neither a wolf nor a mountain lion, each of whom would have made quick work of the small animal, whose legs still trembled with fear as it hopped away.
I followed the footsteps which had cut across steep side slopes, which made everything wayyyy easier. I realized how much energy I burned each day breaking new tracks and was thankful I'd finally taken enough time off for other to pass me. About ten miles past my camp I came to the junction where the Creede Cutoff joined the trail. I saw a lot of tracks come up from the south, verifying the rumors that many had foregone the 130 mile loop the divide takes and walked the lower and shorter route through Creede.
I was thankful I hadn't taken the shortcut. In the hundred miles they cut off, the other hikers missed some of the most incredible and awe-inspiring terrain I've ever walked through. Sure, it was a pain in the ass and I wouldn't have wished the post-holing on my worst enemy, but the beauty and bliss of solitude was unmatched.
After the junction with the Creede Cutoff I saw three pairs of snowshoes left right next to the trail. I figured it was very inconsiderate thru-hikers or day hikers. Then I saw dog prints and figured it must have been day hikers trying to scale San Luis Peak in their quest to tick off every 14,000 footer in Colorado. I feel bad for the checklisters and the ticker-offers. These mountains held so much more than peaks to be bagged: topographic maps and elevation can't even begin to describe the magic that resides within the San Juan's, at whose northern doorstep I finally had reached.
The clouds seemed to be holding off, so I decided to head up San Luis Peak, my first 14,000' peak in Colorado. I figured if bad weather struck, I could always book it back down the way I came. On the way up, I saw the day hikers. There were three of them, with two dogs. A man and two young women. The man didn’t seem too happy to see me, but the women asked me questions about my trip and told me they had come down from Denver for the day. They also asked me if I’d seen the guy who’d lost his shoe. I told them I hadn’t and tried to figure out how the hell a thru-hiker managed to lose the most important thing he had. They said he’d been trying to fill up his water bottle in the middle of the night and an ice bridge collapsed. Now I wondered why the hell he was trying to get water in the middle of the night. Some people…
I mentioned I might go down the other side and they told me they’d ‘only seen a cornice that way’ and my hopes sank. I was carrying my pack up San Luis peak for nothing! Yet, it was my first fourteener on the CDT, so I didn’t let them deflate my hopes. At the top there were great views and I even found the bronze summit marker in the rock. I peaked over the edge and saw that there was, in fact, not just a cornice but a nice ridge that would take me down to the Stewart Creek drainage. I double-checked my GPS and my Ley maps and all seemed good. My GPS even had the Stewart Creek trail labeled, which was unusual. As I headed down the snow began to diminish until finally I reached the creek 2,500 feet below. Across the valley I saw a VW sized piece of snow hurtling down a steep snow slope. I was probably only two miles away, but it felt like I was in another world. For a few days I’d be free from avalanche worries and post-holing and even snow. I couldn’t wait.
Stewart Creek was probably the best maintained trail so far on the CDT, with plenty of erosion control and logs supporting the trail on steep slopes. As I gently descended I came to a grove of ancient Bristlecone Pines, totally gnarled on a steep, south facing slope. Some of the trees in the grove were probably over 1,000 years old. I marveled at there resilience and rugged beauty as examined every part of their trunks, limbs, and cones.
Even further down the valley I came upon the stark purple and yellow of the Rocky Mountain Iris and the flashing red of the Paintbrush. Small gold and yellow birds, which were too quick to get a good look at, flitted about by the creek. Maybe a gold finch or a yellow warbler. Just the fact, that I couldn’t narrow it further shows how bad I am at birds. Moose poop was everywhere - tons of it, but no moose.
The trail wound through beaver dams and the sprawling wetlands they created. I saw baby muskrat swimming about in the ponds and wondered when I’d come upon such a paradise. I stopped to examine an especially impressive beaver dam and when I turned back I saw a large brown creature off in the distance. I figured it was either a bear on it's hindlegs or a moose, but I was too faraway to tell.
I followed the trail as it hopped from one jeep road to another, hoping the aspens they wound through would offer some shelter from the storm. They didn’t. The roads were too wide and the Aspens were too young for them to do any good. After topping a hill and coming down for a mile or two, I stopped at about 7pm. I was completely soaked, but setup camp under a large spruce. The tree dripped slightly, but it was better than the rain. After I got my tent up the rain stopped. It didn’t rain again until morning.
Clouds enveloped the nearby peaks as I trekked closer to San Luis Peak. Later that morning, I'd be as close to a 14,000 foot peak that I have been on the entire trail, with the option to scale the mountain from the saddle 1,500' below. As I walked, pondering my choices, a baby elk sprinted from out behind the bushes. It's mother had left it to hide while it fled to the top of the ridge. Luckily for it I was neither a wolf nor a mountain lion, each of whom would have made quick work of the small animal, whose legs still trembled with fear as it hopped away.
I followed the footsteps which had cut across steep side slopes, which made everything wayyyy easier. I realized how much energy I burned each day breaking new tracks and was thankful I'd finally taken enough time off for other to pass me. About ten miles past my camp I came to the junction where the Creede Cutoff joined the trail. I saw a lot of tracks come up from the south, verifying the rumors that many had foregone the 130 mile loop the divide takes and walked the lower and shorter route through Creede.
After the junction with the Creede Cutoff I saw three pairs of snowshoes left right next to the trail. I figured it was very inconsiderate thru-hikers or day hikers. Then I saw dog prints and figured it must have been day hikers trying to scale San Luis Peak in their quest to tick off every 14,000 footer in Colorado. I feel bad for the checklisters and the ticker-offers. These mountains held so much more than peaks to be bagged: topographic maps and elevation can't even begin to describe the magic that resides within the San Juan's, at whose northern doorstep I finally had reached.
The clouds seemed to be holding off, so I decided to head up San Luis Peak, my first 14,000' peak in Colorado. I figured if bad weather struck, I could always book it back down the way I came. On the way up, I saw the day hikers. There were three of them, with two dogs. A man and two young women. The man didn’t seem too happy to see me, but the women asked me questions about my trip and told me they had come down from Denver for the day. They also asked me if I’d seen the guy who’d lost his shoe. I told them I hadn’t and tried to figure out how the hell a thru-hiker managed to lose the most important thing he had. They said he’d been trying to fill up his water bottle in the middle of the night and an ice bridge collapsed. Now I wondered why the hell he was trying to get water in the middle of the night. Some people…
I mentioned I might go down the other side and they told me they’d ‘only seen a cornice that way’ and my hopes sank. I was carrying my pack up San Luis peak for nothing! Yet, it was my first fourteener on the CDT, so I didn’t let them deflate my hopes. At the top there were great views and I even found the bronze summit marker in the rock. I peaked over the edge and saw that there was, in fact, not just a cornice but a nice ridge that would take me down to the Stewart Creek drainage. I double-checked my GPS and my Ley maps and all seemed good. My GPS even had the Stewart Creek trail labeled, which was unusual. As I headed down the snow began to diminish until finally I reached the creek 2,500 feet below. Across the valley I saw a VW sized piece of snow hurtling down a steep snow slope. I was probably only two miles away, but it felt like I was in another world. For a few days I’d be free from avalanche worries and post-holing and even snow. I couldn’t wait.
Stewart Creek was probably the best maintained trail so far on the CDT, with plenty of erosion control and logs supporting the trail on steep slopes. As I gently descended I came to a grove of ancient Bristlecone Pines, totally gnarled on a steep, south facing slope. Some of the trees in the grove were probably over 1,000 years old. I marveled at there resilience and rugged beauty as examined every part of their trunks, limbs, and cones.
Even further down the valley I came upon the stark purple and yellow of the Rocky Mountain Iris and the flashing red of the Paintbrush. Small gold and yellow birds, which were too quick to get a good look at, flitted about by the creek. Maybe a gold finch or a yellow warbler. Just the fact, that I couldn’t narrow it further shows how bad I am at birds. Moose poop was everywhere - tons of it, but no moose.
The trail wound through beaver dams and the sprawling wetlands they created. I saw baby muskrat swimming about in the ponds and wondered when I’d come upon such a paradise. I stopped to examine an especially impressive beaver dam and when I turned back I saw a large brown creature off in the distance. I figured it was either a bear on it's hindlegs or a moose, but I was too faraway to tell.
I started
walking back up the trail and saw there was a calf nursing. It was definitely a
moose. It just stared at me and let me get within 30 yards, with only the
stream between us. It was really fucking cool. I got a couple pictures and they
finally ran off.
After about 18 miles a took a break at Eddysville trailhead
and ate an early dinner of Mac’n’Cheese.
It started to drizzle and
then rain. I started following a different river drainage which also looked
like great Moose habitat, but I mostly kept my head down to avoid getting
wetter than I had to. A few miles later I came to nasty river crossing. The two
"bridges" were completely washed out and the river was raging. I
waded hip deep through muck, my feet sinking with every step. The second
crossing was shallower, but there was no respite from the rain. It poured and
poured and poured for the rest of the day. I followed the trail as it hopped from one jeep road to another, hoping the aspens they wound through would offer some shelter from the storm. They didn’t. The roads were too wide and the Aspens were too young for them to do any good. After topping a hill and coming down for a mile or two, I stopped at about 7pm. I was completely soaked, but setup camp under a large spruce. The tree dripped slightly, but it was better than the rain. After I got my tent up the rain stopped. It didn’t rain again until morning.
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