Day 61: Back on the Trail at Spring Creek Pass

Mileage: 10.4 miles (885.1-895.5)

Laura and I woke up late in Montrose, CO and hustled to make the continental breakfast which ended at 9am at the Black Canyon Motel. Laura had a waffle and I had a couple bagels with cream cheese and a donut with some coffee. I stuffed a few bagels in my pocket with some cream cheese packets for the trail, knowing they'd taste five times better out there. It was a bummer knowing this was the last time I'd wake up with Laura and get to eat breakfast with her for a few months.

We packed up all our junk, noticed a tick on the bed, and then got the heck outta there. We weren't sure if we brought the tick or if it was the guests before us. Our bodies were tick free. I resupplied at Safeway and then we headed back towards Lake City after a quick pitstop for more coffee. We took the Blue mesa cutoff, which is a dirt road shortcut to Lake City from Highway 149. You can't go much more than 40 mph but it was much more scenic than the highway, with Lupine and Paintbrush dotting the hillsides.

We stopped by Lucky's in Lake City to check-in with him and leave a few extra supplies for other hikers. He said a couple were the only ones to head north on the CDT while I was off-trail for nearly a week. Karma took a lower route through Gunnison, while Handy Andy walked roads towards Monarch Pass, and Shira walked roads to Cochetopa Pass. I might see her in the next few days, but the other guys are probably long gone walking the roads.

Laura drove the final seventeen miles up towards Spring Creek Pass and once we got there we cried. It was hard to leave one another again after such a wonderful time and know that we might not see each other for another three months. It's on me for hiking the trail, but it's this kind of distance that's made me realize how much I love and care about her. Walking away from the parking lot I felt silly to walk away from her. Often, I feel so small up in the mountains - so insignificant that it seems like the rest of the world is completely indifferent to my life and anything that I do. It's the kind of feeling that makes me wonder what I'm doing wasting a moment without Laura and other loved ones by my side. But, I know the small feeling will go away after a day or two, while the longing and love will be there to keep me going.

A lot of snow had melted so the trail was easily followed and even mostly dirt for the first couple miles. Though, it did go up about 1,600 ft in the two miles to Snow Mesa so it wasn't a piece of cake. True to it's name, snow began to fall as I gained the top of the mesa. The bare south facing slope gave way to a flat topped mountain still full of snow. I was very happy I'd kept my snowshoes and was able to stay on top most of the time. I came to some slushy snow and though I thought it looked strange, I just stepped on top. Well, I was only on top for a split second before I was knee deep in icy water. I'd entered a slushy bog and the only way out was 50 ft more of sloshing through the frigid water. Once I made it out my toes were numb. I took off my snowshoes and ran circles around my pack trying to warm up my toes. I got them a little warmer after a few minutes and proceeded up the trail.

As the afternoon progressed, the weather cleared some and I even saw a patch of blue sky. I continued to slog through the wet snow for awhile before I realized that Snow Mesa was basically a huge wetland at 12,000 ft. Lucky me.

After about eight miles or so I began to descend, seeing a Silver Fox off in the distance running up the slope to stay clear of me, his bushy tail bouncing behind him. On the way down I saw a large brown creature down in the meadow. It took me a second to realize what it was - a moose up at 11,700 ft! I looked down at the trail and realized what I had assumed were Elk tracks were in fact my Moose friend down in the valley. I whistled at him to let him know I was there. He looked up at me and kept grazing.

On the way down I also walked across a massive avalanche debris field. Entire trees had been swept away. I sure was glad I wasn't around for that one - it was the kind of avalanche that would have almost certainly killed you if you were caught in it's path.

I found a good couple trees to camp under and cooked my Alfredo noodles before bed. I went to sleep by 9:30pm wishing Laura was still by my side.

Day 58, 59, and 60: Triple Zero with Laura

Not sure where to start this retroactive post, so much good stuff in the days I had with Laura - so much so that I didn't write anything. I missed writing and it's much harder to evoke the memories and feelings of a time without having taken notes and only relying on memories, which seem to be so reliably unreliable. Writing each day is a great way to reflect and also allows me time to compose my thoughts about my day and find some order to the chaos which is hiking all day in rain or snow ... or just the whirlwind of hanging out in town. 

Nonetheless, I do recall the events and that Laura and I were so happy to be together. The first morning we headed out towards the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. We planned to hike down the 1,500 ft to the canyon floor and camp by the Gunnison River. We drove around the park some and then stopped into the ranger station and talked to the ranger about getting a wilderness permit to hike. He warned us about how difficult it was, showed us pictures of the route meant to scare us off, and when I told him I was hiking the Continental Divide Trail, he said, "the keyword there is trail." I knew we didn't have anything to worry about when he said that. Again, I'm amazed by how inept our National Park rangers are.  They are programmed from a script to try and scare anyone who plans to head out into the woods and don't take into account people's skills and abilities. Of course, I'm sure a lot of people overestimate those skills, but when someone says they hiked through the San Juan's in the highest May snow year in the last 30 years, you'd expect he might realize that we aren't the typical tourist needing a scare.

 

 In any case, Laura thought he was a cute, older man so she just laughed it off. We took a little driving tour around the canyon rim, admiring the sheer, red cliffs and taking a few short walks, trying to size up what we were actually getting ourselves into. 

We headed down into the canyon around 1pm. At first, the trail is pretty level and well-maintained. A quarter-mile down, the trail cuts off down into the wilderness and it became less maintained and a lot steeper. The rocks were pretty loose and it was definitely a Class III scramble. At one point, there was even a chain to haul yourself down for stability. We worked our way slowly down, enjoying one another's company along the way and enjoying the ever-changing views of the cliffs and the Gunnison river.

We made it down to the bottom by around 3:30pm and setup a leisurely camp. We relaxed by the river and drank our two beers and fixed ramen for dinner. After dinner we discovered a large pile of fresh bear poop about 30 yards from our tent. Laura was adamant that it wasn't there when we walked in. She wasn't sure we were going to make it through the night.

 

The next morning, we shared our Pop-tarts and headed back up the canyon walls before the sun's morning rays reached down into the bowels of the river. It was much easier going uphill and you had to be a lot less careful than going down with all the loose rock. Me and Laura shared my hiking poles which definitely made the going easier. We made back up in an hour and a half and checked back-in with the rangers, letting them know we had survived.

 

We hung out in the ranger station for a bit, mostly asking about good breakfast places nearby, and then headed out for Montrose, CO the closest town. We ended up at Starvin' Arvins which turned out to be a wonderful little spot, famous for it's homemade biscuits and generous portions. It was perfect for us. Laura had the French Toast and I got a breakfast scramble with an enormous, fresh-baked biscuit. We each had coffee and just hung out, trying to figure out our next move. 

We decided we'd head to Ouray, CO and try to find some hot springs along the way or in town. Ouray is a cute, old mining town set in a picturesque location right at the base of the San Juan's, probably close around 9,000 ft. We found a motel there with a 'vapor cave' and were intrigued since the public hot spring was closed for maintenance. We got a good deal with the room so decided to check it out.

The rooms were nice enough, but the vapor cave was really cool. Back in the 70's they'd blasted out this underground cave, with enough space for probably 20 people to lounge in various hot spring pools. The water flows directly out of the rock and into the pools at 103 degrees, which is perfect for soaking, but not too long. It was a bit hot for Laura, but I really enjoyed it. The steam was trapped in by the cave, so you not only had the water soaking your body, but the steam enveloping you. We soaked on and our for 20 minute intervals, reading local travel magazines in lawn chairs in between.

Later that day we walked around town got coffee, some jerky, and generally browsed around town. I took a run around the 5-mile perimeter trail, which took me to a beautiful waterfall, billion year-old rock, their ice climbing park (melted), and a narrow tunnel through the cliffs. I imagined this being my local running trail and was very jealous. It was also the first run I'd been on in nearly two months, so it was slow. I had no problem going uphill, but I definitely felt it - my muscles just felt a bit heavy. I felt like I could run uphill forever, but just not very fast.

We went out for dinner at the Ouray Brewery and had some beers. It was a good night. The next day we soaked some more and then started heading back towards Lake City. On our way we made a detour south to Telluride and hung out in town there. We went up to the Mountain Village in the free Gondola. It was super eerie going up that way, surrounded by billions of dollars in real estate, yet almost no one was there during the summer. It's crazy to think that all these houses are empty so much of the year, not only here, but in every resort town across Colorado. What made it even stranger is that all the shops were still open, despite the fact that no one was around. We got some coffee and I had a donut before we made our way back up and down towards Telluride.

We stopped at the top of the mountain and admired the San Juan's on a short walk. Below, we could see the U-shaped valley in which Telluride rested, carved by glaciers thousands of years ago. Getting back on the gondola one final time, we saw a few elk and a rainbow on our way down and took silly pictures of ourselves.

Back down in Telluride we took a short walk and then grabbed some pizza and wine for dinner before heading back to Montrose to sleep at the Black Canyon motel. We were exhausted and sad this would be our last night together before we went our separate ways.

Day 56 and 57: Double Zero in Lake City

Mileage: Zero

Karma and I slept in some and I did yoga for the first time in months. It was a pretty dreary Saturday but we didn't care as long as we had somewhere dry and warm to sleep - plus our own rooms to boot!

We went over and had breakfast at the local diner - they had small portions and served everything on plastic plates, but the service was good and the waitress kept our coffee warm. I headed over to the post office after breakfast and hung out there until they opened at 11am. Who's ever heard of a post office opening at 11am? Even on a Saturday in a small town?

I ran back to the hostel through the pouring rain in my homemade thong sandals, drenching both my shoes and socks in the process. We sat around Raven's Rest most of the morning, drying things out and doing some light gear repair. Around noon, Lucky walked in and asked us if we would want to go whitewater rafting. He said it wasn't for sure, but we should be ready in an hour if we wanted to go. Sure enough, an hour later he walked in and told us there was room in the boat.

We were headed to the Lake Fork of the Gunnison, or as locals called it, 'the Lake Fork'. It was running high, around 1,200 CFS (Cubic Feet per Second), and had Class III and IV rapids, much more intense than our day trip on the Rio Grande. As we drove north on Highway 149 out of town we saw the Lake Fork on our right and hills full of Purple Lupine and the fiery red spikes of Paintbrush on our left. 

Our guide was Jack, a solidly built man in his 50's, who at first came off a bit gruff, but who clearly knew more about the river and surrounding landscape than almost anyone else around. He'd owned a rafting company in town for nearly ten years before he had to shut down for legal issues with a wealthy private landowner. Our other companions on the trip were Patrick and Eric, a local and his friend from the front range, respectively. Everyone had beards. It was raining steadily as we unloaded and inflated the boat. As I took my turn pumping the air into the raft I realized how out of shape my arms had gotten. I'd pump for thirty seconds before I got tired and had to tag out.

Once we were all set with life jackets and helmets, Jack went into serious mode for the safety talk to scare the crap out of us and make sure we knew what to do in an emergency. My takeaway from the whole thing was don't fall out of the boat because that would suck for everyone, especially you.

We got going down the river and Jack started hollering out commands as practice before the big rapids. 'Right', 'Left', 'All forward', 'Back left', 'Back right!' He told us to dig deep into the water and use our full bodies to paddle - not just our arms. I was seated in the back right near Jack. It was nice because I could ask him about the various plants I was curious about along the way. The Choke Cherry bloomed in umbels resembling white bundles of Lilac from faraway, while the Alder and Aspen filled out the remainder of the banks, with the occasional Spruce or Fir along the way.

We ran rapids with names like 'Peanut Butter Falls', 'Rollercoaster', 'Rattlesnake', and 'Railroad Falls'. In these sections Jack would rumble out commands, roaring double if we didn't paddle to his liking. At Rattlesnake rapid the raft completely filled up with water like a bathtub. We all dug our feet in tight to stay in the boat as it shook in the rapid. Jack deftly guided us in, out, and around the obstacles of rock and log to bring us to safety each time. He would tell us, 'Great job!' after each rapid, but we knew it was Jack who deserved the credit for bringing us out of the depths of the roaring river, nimbly paddling us along.

By the end, we were all totally soaked and shivering from the river water and the rain but this couldn't take the smiles off our faces. My face actually hurt from smiling. I loved feeling the power of the river, but being able to ride on top - gliding over the snow that we had trudged through just yesterday in the San Juan's. After we finished, we loaded the boat and paddles and headed back to town. We all resembled (and smelled like) wet dogs.

Karma and I dried off and ate at the Southern place for the second time in as many days. I had a catfish po' boy once again, this time grilled. It was delicious. Lucky informed us we were invited over for BBQ ribs at Patrick's house. We figured a second dinner sounded great.

Patrick lived just a few blocks away on the Lake Fork. His house was warm from the wood stove and smelled of cooked meat. Two giant racks of ribs slathered in KC Masterpiece laid on the table. The starving Nebraskan in me outruled the principled vegetarian. I had my first ribs in close to ten years. They were amazing - so much salt and fat rushed down into my stomach and up towards my brain. I could only eat two before I started feeling a little sick, but it was worth it. Eric whipped up some crazy mixed drinks and we all sat around the table and talked about Lake City: it's wonderful outdoors opportunities, the Texans, and the crazy religious folks who'd tricked Patrick's daughter to going to a 'volleyball camp with just a little bit of bible study' - apparently  there is no such thing as 'a little but of bible.' 

Jack stopped by and we all were happy to see him. I'd bough him a six-pack after the trip and was happy to see he had a Budweiser in-hand. We all chatted some more until Karma and I couldn't keep our eyes opened. Jack asked if we wanted to raft again the next day, this time on the upper reaches of the Rio Grande. We said we'd sleep on it. Once we got back to Lucky's I immediately fell asleep, the Lake Fork rushing through my dreams.

The next morning we cooked up some breakfast sandwiches - Patrick stopped by early and we agreed to leave for the raft trip around 10am. This time Jack brought his two kids and wife, Leslie. Leslie was also a river guide. They told us today would be a lot calmer than yesterday but still would have some rapids. His kids were adorable and I kept kidding the younger one that we were going to throw him in the river if he didn't paddle hard enough.

We had a great time lazily floating down the river and paddling as Jack commanded. It was all gravy. That was until the clouds descended on our and it began to rain. It was the cold, wet rain that seemed all too common at this time of year in the San Juan's. Almost right as the sky closed up, we saw a logjam ahead. Logs spanned across the entire river, making it impossible for our raft to make it through. The river was still moving fast, so we had act quickly to get over to the respite of an eddy before we hit the logs which would flip our boat against the hard-rushing water.

Jack got us over in plenty of time and we all got out except him and Leslie. They tied a rope to each end of the boat and slowly maneuvered the boat up to the logjam as Patrick held on to the rope to make sure they wouldn't go anywhere too far. Once they made it to the logjam, Jack and Leslie hopped out of the boat into the shallow water and we lifted the boat over the logs. Once on the other side we all got back in and resumed our trip downriver. What could have been potentially disastrous was no problem for Captain Jack and his experience.

As seems to happen to me so often these days, the sun popped out the second we got off river. After all day of freezing rain, it was all of a sudden a beautiful day for our drive back to town. You can't control the weather, but you can complain about it. I had a good conversation with Jack and Leslie on our way back to town and she kept me and the kids well-fed with pop-tarts and chocolate, while Jack gave me beer. It was nice to feel so at home with people I'd just met the day before. 

We got back to Lake City just an hour or two before Laura, my girlfriend, got in from Denver. We shared a beer and some pizza and just enjoyed being with one another for the first time in two months. We went out to the bar and sat by a campfire and listened to a guy playing his guitar with an older Slovakian couple who didn't speak any English. The husband kept bringing logs to the fire, until we had to scoot back to keep our feet from getting burned. It was wonderful to just sit with Laura and chat. We went back to the hostel and fell asleep early, anticipating a big day ahead.

Day 55: Long Day into Lake City

Mileage: 26.3 miles (858.8-885.1)

What a crazy, insanely long day! Writing this after it's all over, I can't believe I had a shower just yesterday morning. We started hiking by 2am hoping to make it to Lake City before the predicted storms rolled through later in the day. The first few miles were still following our mystery snowshoer. It was much easier following his tracks and not having to navigate ourselves. 

After a couple hours, at the turnoff to Cataract Lake, we were speculating on where and when our snowshoer had come from. We guessed he'd left around 8am the morning previous (from how much the snow had melted in his prints) and that he was a thru-hiker (given how much we saw his sneaker prints, rather than snowshoes in the snow ... we figured only a thru-hiker would slog that much). Then, all of a sudden, we heard a disembodied voice say, 'is that you Lt. Dan and Karma?' At first, I thought I imagined it, but then we heard it again and saw a headlamp approaching.

As he got closer, we saw he was a lean, grey-bearded man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. He said his name was Rick, from Durango. He wasn't a thru-hiker but just out walking for a few days. Then he told us one of the coolest things I'd heard in a long time: that he had been inspired by our adventure from reading our Facebook posts and blog and that's how he'd decided to take his venture into the San Juan's. Now, I'm definitely not writing to inspire others, but it's cool to hear that as an unintended consequence! He even said he had hoped to give us a ride up the pass from Silverton, but we must have missed him by an hour or two. 

As we continued on the sun began to rise and we saw some Elk prancing through the meadows south of Carson Peak. The Alpine phlox dotted the sides of the trail like white clusters of stars. On our way up to Carson Pass, the winds began to pick up and it got cold. Out of nowhere we were on top of the divide in a whiteout. It got pretty nasty, with gusts around 50 mph, so we built a rock wall to block the wind and hunkered down to wait out the storm. Unfortunately, it didn't stop. The wind continued to howl and our feet started to get cold. We could either get in our sleeping bags and pitch our tents or we could keep going. We kept going. We knew there was a Yurt about four miles away, so we would try to get there before we got too cold. The winds were strong and Karma lost water bottles six and seven. I feel like we need to get over/under going for how many he'll lose throughout the trail.

After an incredibly frustrating couple miles of post-holing in snow the consistency of mashed potatoes, we dropped down the to valley with the yurt. Our map said it might be open, so we crossed our fingers and toes as we approached. I got onto the porch, turned the knob, and voila, we were inside! The Colorado Trail friends yurt was complete with a huge wood stove, split wood, cots, and even a propane stove for cooking. I immediately got a fire going and we started drying out our gear. We were completely soaked by the driving wind and rain, so were incredibly relieved to be somewhere warm and dry. We each cooked up some food and then took a nap.  We had already hiked more than seventeen miles and were completely exhausted.

We woke up around 2pm with our usual dilemma: should we stay or should we go? The winds had been howling and the rain hadn't really stopped, but it did look clearer outside, with the mountains across the valley visible. It was only 8 miles to the highway which would take us to Lake City so we decided to set out. Little did we know it would be the worst eight miles of our lives wading though hip-deep snow in snowshoes through freezing rain. 

It started out just fine, with an easy, snow-free climb for about a mile. The weather was cooperating and we even got so hot we had to take off our jackets. Then it started to piss rain. Cold rain. Really hard. The snow was so soggy that we couldn't stay on top. Every step plunged us hip deep into the snow. Sometimes it was every other, but it was miserable for the person breaking trail. Following wasn't so bad, besides the fact that you generated less heat so the wet, cold rain was able to seep into your veins and give you a chill that was nearly impossible to shake. We came to a steep slope and were forced to slide down the only part where there wasn't an overhanging cornice. Karma slid first and got up hollering for me to also slide down: it was the easiest quarter mile of the day.

We knew we only had to get a little over five miles from the hut before we started descending to Highway 149. Knowing this almost made it worse. Every step felt like wading through semi-frozen mashed potatoes: so wet and heavy, impossibly sticking to the top and bottom of our snowshoes.

Karma started yelling and screaming and kicking at the snow. He told me he could no longer feel his toes and that he'd just peed on them, but still didn't feel anything. I said we needed to keep moving and get lower down where there wasn't snow so our feet would warm up. I was also really cold and stripped off my wet raincoat to put on my down jacket. In the process, I had to take off my thin running gloves, which were icy and sopping wet anyways. My hands immediately were freezing. I had to pee, so I peed on them. The urine was much hotter than I expected and it stung my hands. The feeling of being too cold and warming too quickly is more painful than the cold itself. The heat was short-lived and I had to move quickly to catch-up to Karma. The freezing rain whipped and stung my face. When I put my down jacket on I also wrapped my Cuben Fiber ground cloth around me to stay warm. Once again, I must have looked like a madman.

After climbing two hills that shouldn't have been there according to the topos, we finally began to descend. We were following a road that also wasn't on the map that slowly had less and less snow until finally we walked on dirt and mud. The wet snow of the alpine environment gave way to a green and verdant valley, where you'd never know it was total winter less than a mile away. 

I jogged the last mile after Karma told me how close we were. The sight of Lucky's truck in the parking lot at the trailhead was one of the most welcome in the last two months. He was excited to see us and said the first ones through the San Juan's were always pretty frazzled like us. Last year, he said it was a German mountain guide who had spent a lot of time in the Alps. Upon meeting Lucky, he said, 'it's a crazy death trap out there" unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Lucky's truck was warm and we were incredibly grateful for the sense of normalcy he immediately brought. He started telling us about the town and the surround peaks. He asked if we'd seen any moose and we said it was probably still too cold and snow covered up there. About five minutes later we saw a woman stopped in road with her arm hanging out. She didn't have any hazards on so we wondered what was going on. We looked to the left and there was a cow moose and two mooselings (I know, calves, but I like mooselings better). I'd never seen a baby moose in all my years in New Hampshire. I was glad we were in the car. They were just grazing in a little bog, oblivious to our prying eyes

When we arrived at Lucky's hostel, the Raven's Rest, we were amazed. It was a beautiful converted garage, complete with a kitchen, lounge, four showers, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. Me and Karma had our own room! When I got in the shower I couldn't believe it had only been yesterday when I last showered. It felt like a week. After warming up, we went over to Southern Vittles and I got a catfish poboy, French fries, hushpuppies, a beer, and cherry pie. Sleepy and satisfied we both went to bed thankful to be somewhere dry and warm.