Day 62: Up San Luis Peak and down Cochetopa Creek

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 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.

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 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.

Day 54: Off towards Lake City

Mileage: 9.4 miles (849.4-858.8)

We got an early start from Ricky's cabin in Durango around 7am and headed over to the Budget Inn to grab Karma after saying goodbye to the five poodles. McStuffins was my favorite lady - his roommates keep them for breeding and sell the puppies for $500 a pop. I'm in the wrong business apparentally.

Karma wasn't quite ready when we arrived so me and Ricky got some coffee. I got the best cappuccino I've had on trail. They even asked if I wanted it wet or dry. Karma came over to grab some coffee and asked Ricky if the car was unlocked. I was surprised he remembered which car was Ricky's, but let it pass. When me and Ricky walked outside Karma had his stuff inside a brand new, light-grey Subaru Forester. Ricky has a fifteen year-old dark blue Volvo. We laughed and Karma quickly got his stuff out of the car. He told us later there was a dog in the front seat - talk about worst guard dog ever! Almost 100% of the time it's bad news if a dirty guy with a Santa Claus beard enters your vehicle. Maybe the dog had good manners.

After Karma grabbed his coffee, we all hopped back in the car and  started the ascent towards Molas Pass and Silverton. The Aspens were a vibrant green down below 11,000 ft. It seemed to be full summer if you ignored the peaks capped with snow. Apparently the road we were on was named  the most dangerous in the country earlier this year. Luckily, it was clear of ice and snow. Otherwise, the precipitous drops on each side would have scared me much more.

Once we got to Silverton we headed over to the Avalanche Cafe at the suggestion of one of Karma's friends. I got a breakfast pizza and a breakfast burrito. The guy next to us also gave me the leftovers of more than half his burrito to take on the road, which was delicious later in the day, despite having the green chile having spilled on my backpack.

I sadly said goodbye to Ricky and hoped to see him up in Leadville or somewhere down the road. We got two quick hitches out of Silverton, the second of which with the County Commisioner who confided he 'might do some shrooms later.' We took nap at intersection where the road goes to Stony Pass, sure someone would take us the rest of the way. 

About fifteen damn ATVers passed - some even with empty seats - and none of them would pick us up. It was the same routine over and over: Karma would hear a motor droning in the distance, wake me up with a start, and then we'd stick our thumbs out only for the ATVers to speed up as soon as they got near us. We decided they were all from Texas and we hated them.

We decided to hoof it up the 2,500' and after about a mile and a half of climbing, we saw a Jeep and a Forerunner creeping up the hill. The guys in the Jeep said they didn't have room, but their brother behind might. The brother in the Forerunner said the same thing. He had two big Pitbulls in the back, as well as another dog. I blurted out that 'I loved dogs' and would be happy to sit with them. As I went to pet one of the pitbulls, she bared her teeth and growled at me. Just as he was about to pull away we made one final plea, including something about walking from Mexico, until they finally let us get in. The passenger, a slim blonde girl in her 20's, got in the back and me and Karma piled in front. We learned they were from Texas and were driving 4WD roads for the next month. The driver, a younger guy with long brown dreadlocks, was impressed that we had been walking in so much snow and we were jealous they could drive up all these hills. At the top, they filled our water bottles and said goodbye, not before I gave them my blog address. Not everyone from Texas is so bad after all ... sorry Texans, I'm still scarred from all them years of the Longhorns spanking us Cornhuskers in football. 

The hiking was great, with the snow having receded quite a bit. We could even walk on top without snowshoes until about 3pm. We were still mostly walking on snow, but just with more bare patches than before, especially on the southern slopes. The black heads of mountains peaked out from the blanket of snow and the rock cairns were much more visible, making it easier to navigate. Another set of lone footprints and eventually snowshoes also blazed the way. We wondered if some intrepid CDT hiker had caught up to us with all the zero days we'd taken over the last few weeks (I just calculated and I've taken almost two weeks of zero days, woah!) 

The hiker was our mystery to solve for tomorrow. We camped at 12,600' on a flat spot on top of a hill. We hit the highest point on the Colorado trail at over 13,000' within ten miles the next morning. We have an early wakeup tomorrow at one-thirty so we can walk on top.

For Hikers: May in the San Juan's

So we just got into Silverton and finished most of the San Juan's and here are some things to keep in mind before you do the route early season...

1) Hike before sunrise. by the end of the section we were waking up at 1am to get started before sunrise. you can make big miles without a whole lot of effort before about 9am. afterwards it's a slog. if you want to do 20+ mile days, start early.

2) Gear. at this point snowshoes and ice axe are really good to have. The ice axe is 100% essential about 2% of the time when you end up on an steep, icy slope or for glissading. snowshoes allow you to trudge through the afternoon snow melt, which is nice. we didn't run into any big pitches of ice, just crunchy snow so we left the microspikes at home. 

3) Avalanche conditions. are still very bad, especially in afternoons on slopes with wet snow. be careful, we saw and caused a few minor slides. you'll hear a lot of whooping. this is snow settling and is a sign of high avalanche danger.

4) Follow the divide if you can, even if the trail doesn't. it takes more work to get up there, but there's not as much snow and it's crustier and easier to walk on than in the bowls where the trail often goes. some of the bowls also have high avalanche danger, so ridge is actually safer too. that said, check the topos carefully and don't be afraid to go back the way you came if the route looks beyond your ability. we ended up on a couple knife edge ridges and had to descend very steep slopes.

5) Go with a friend or two. breaking trail alone sucks and in these conditions it isn't exactly safe because of the avalanche risk

6) There's no substitute for experience. if you haven't done much snow travel, backcountry skiing, or winter hiking this route could be really dangerous. reading slopes and avalanche conditions is something you learn and mistakes can be very costly.

7) Campsites. you'll probably have to camp on snow. some spruce boughs can help keep you warm if you don't have a good sleeping pad. otherwise, look for trees on sunny slopes and they'll often be a bare patch of ground to camp on. it's tempting to camp as low as you can, but the cold settles in valleys at night so try to find a higher, sheltered camp spot if you can

8) It's extremely beautiful. this is last because you should read the rest first. people will tell you to 'enjoy the San Juan's in the summer when it's beautiful' but there are very few people who see the San Juan's like this. there are stunning views of jagged, snow-capped peaks around every bend, great animal tracking, and some of the most epic campsites you'll ever get. now go back and read the rest.

in the end, you have to do what feels right for you. and remember, weather and snow conditions are changing constantly so your experience will be different from mine. the past two weeks of hiking have been some of the most exhausting of my life. but also probably the most epic and beautiful. if you have any questions feel free to send me a message and I'll try to help if I can

...bonus tip: it's super easy to get really sunburnt. cover up as much as you can and what you can't, use sunscreen. especially bottom of your nose and lips. glacier glasses are also really nice for the eyes. 

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 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!