We crossed the Colorado border untraditionally via car as we headed toward Cumbres Pass, the first trailhead in CO. It wasn't the border crossing I had imagined, but it was a crossing all the same.
It was a few weeks early to be starting Colorado, as the snow clings to the mountaintops into June. But it was a low snow year and we heard that passing through was possible, if not slow going. The plan was to take it carefully and bail out if necessary.
We were dropped off at the pass as snow started falling. Traveling had taken much of the day and it was late afternoon by the time we got to the trailhead. It was exciting to finally be in Colorado, but strange to go from the hot dry desert to cold snowy mountains with little transition. I had forgotten what it was like to see so much color. Every shade of green possible met my eyes... grass was everywhere, birches waited for their cue to throw out their leaves, flowers had started to bloom, and evergreen trees dominated with their dark green color.
Patches of snow lay tucked amongst trees as we started the climb into the mountains.
We hiked a few miles and found a place to camp in a field with an epic view. Snow came off and on, clouds thick in the sky. I shivered as I cooked my dinner, in awe that at that time a week before I lay sprawled under a shade tree complaining how hot it was.
It had gotten below freezing the first night in the mountains and my hands were numb stubs as they packed up my tent, brushing off the frozen condensation. After essentially 5 days of not hiking, I was full of energy.
The morning was spent climbing over trees, dodging mud, and crunching over patches of snow as we ascended to 12,000 feet. Mountains stretched everywhere, rivers wound through the valleys, and lakes adorned the passes. There were plenty of snowy spots but none sketchy enough to require my ice ax or even my microspikes. Trekking poles and tread sufficed. I was so stoked to be out there I didnt notice how hard it was getting to breathe, but I stopped often on the uphill. My lungs searched for oxygen in the thin air. Finally I crested the first mountin pass. The pass yielded to a downhill and longer stretches of snow, shallow enough to provide a satisfying crunch without sinking too deep.
We had only done nine miles by lunch, moving about 2mph. The elevation, trees, and snow had provided enough obstacle to slow us down. We ate a quick lunch by a lake and continued on, hopes high for big miles.
I lost steam in the afternoon climbing up the second pass. The patches of snow became longer and softer. I moved slowly, focusing on each step so as not to slip. I got angry at following the footprints of my tramily in front of me, so effortlessly making miles and beckoning me onward. My pack seemed to get heavier. Although I no longer had to carry lots of water, snow gear had replaced the weight. Finally I made it over the second pass and slipped down the hill.
I found my tramily off trail down a steep slope setting up camp. I stared at them for a minute, trying to decide if I should go down to join them. They noticed me and gave a shout. There was no water there, and didn't look like the flattest place to camp. It was a smidge early to stop too. I didnt want to lay in my tent for hours in the cold waiting for it to get dark. I looked down at them, then up the trail. What to do, what to do.... usually I would join friends even if it was an inconvenient spot, but I had just spent so much time with everyone, plus I wanted to go a bit further. I told them I would see them the next day and kept hiking. Not 5 minutes later I came to a lake with a protected flat area. Perfect. Another hiker, Ranger, joined me and I settled in for the evening.
I got out early the next morning, delighted for a beautiful day. Snow and trees immediately greeted me as I crunched over the frozen ground. Soon I came to a snow field as far as the eye could see, which admittedly was only about a quarter mile because trees got in the way.
Tiptoe and Guru came up behind me as I put on my microspikes. Not that they were needed, but I was carrying them, so why not? We hiked across the snow for about a mile, then descended to Blue Lake. We took a short break by the frozen water, a rainbow trout peering up at us through the ice.
We ended up walking through snow much of the day. The second long stretch was a bit steeper of a traverse and ice axes joined microspikes in safety gear. I mentally went through the motions of how to self-arrest should I fall, digging the ice ax into the snow to stop a slide. As the snow poured down the mountain, some areas ended on a precipice, some a gentle slope. Regardless of what waited at the bottom of a fall, I wanted to avoid that all together. I tried not to look down, focusing on my feet. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Ice ax or trekking poles moving with each foot and firmly planting before I picked up the other. Finally, the trail descended into a valley. Under the snow lay switchback after switchback. Forgoing that boring means of travel, I sat on my butt and slid, glissading down the mountain, using my ice ax as a way to control my speed. Thrilling.
We had lunch by a stream and watched tiny black dots do the traverse we had just completed on the mountains above.
We had three more passes over the next five miles. One offered a 500 foot glissade down the mountain. It made the previous glissades look like child's play. Laughing and screaming, I descended the mountain in a matter of minutes. My butt was frozen and wet, but worth it. I was having a blast with all the snow. Feeling good, I cruised up the next pass. It's like the elevation had no control over me.
Over the last pass of the day, the snow covered the trail so thickly the only options were to try to traverse the 80 degree slope or commit to a mega steep glissade littered with trees down to the bottom. The adrenaline had worn off from earlier and I knew the glissade was beyond my limits. We started the traverse, kicking in steps, postholing often in the sun-softened snow, axes at the ready should we fall. Ranger was the first to give up trying to traverse. It was time consuming and exhausting. He glissaded down. Tiptoe followed suite.
I stuck with a few other hikers for the traverse. I led the way across the steep slopes, stomping in each step carefully. I couldn't make a mistake, for it would be costly. I was thankful the snow was soft enough that my ax and pole sunk deep as anchors. I post holed many times, the crystal snow scraping my legs. Finally the terrain allowed for a safe glissade down. I breathed a sigh of relief as my cold wet feet hit firm ground. We set up camp by a river and ate dinner, thankful everyone had made it through a long day.
When I woke, I listened to the water gurgling nearby and the birds singing. I had slept so well; the best night all trail. I was sore, but the kind of soreness that promises return.
When I got hiking, I was moving at turtle pace or maybe even slower. I trod along, trying to be motivated. The day before all I wanted to do was walk. This day I just wanted to sit. A steep hill got my heart pumping and my lungs heaving which kicked up my pace as the terrain level out.
Much of the time hiking is spent staring at the smattering of footprints on a two-foot wide path in front of you. It's always a surprise to look up and see what you've been walking through unnoticed. I gasped when I crested the pass and looked up for a 180 view. Mountains peaked up from the valleys that dropped down from the meadow stretching before me.
It had hardly touched freezing the night before so the snow was already soft by the time we encountered it. Only a few patches required spikes. The trail followed the ridge at 12,000 feet for a while, weaving between mountains and passes. I loved looking through the window of the passes, each holding a new view.
Many new faces passed by, and I met thruhikers I had never seen. "How far did you make it?" seemed to be the common question to ask. How far did you get until they kicked you out of New Mexico?
As the afternoon came, the trail was gentle, the wind harsh. I got to one of those places where I reached for my camera, about to take a picture of yet more stunning scenery and stopped. A picture would just fade in with all the other lovely mountain pictures. This one was for me. The wind whipped around me as I took it in. The clouds hanging overhead, the bowl the mountain formed, and the snow that dripped down it's side.
The campsite was snowy and wet but potentially the best one for miles so we made do. I thought about how nice an ice bath sounded and asked if anyone was up for dipping in the creek. No takers, but Guru used it as a chance to play a game of odds (if curious about said game, check it out here). I lost. To respect the game I headed down to the creek, and without too much thought I plopped down in the snowmelt. It was cold. Frigid. But felt good. I got out after about 30 seconds. My legs washed with warmth. We ate dinner with new friends.
It was an eternal battle of trying to decide if it was worth it to sleep in or get up early to get to town. I hadn't slept well because I had drunk probably five servings of water flavoring enhanced with energy booster right before bed. I had lain awake with my mind racing, trying to calm myself down. I had thought about packing up and hiking in the dark, facing whatever lay ahead under blackness, but it would be risky if I came across anything dangerous so I stayed.
There was snow crossings and there was climbing over fallen trees, and then there was snow crossing while climbing over fallen trees. A large chunk of the morning consisted of at least one of these obstacles.
It was like God had wanted to play a giant game of pickup sticks and had chosen the trail as the place to drop them. I almost tore a muscle trying to step over a fallen tree. Hundreds and hundreds of trees.. one dead tree would fall, sending a cascade of trees falling like dominos. It slowed pace to 1-2 mph. Infuriating.
Finally, as the trail wrapped around the mountain I could see buildings in the distance. I found Guru after a relatively clear stretch of trail. I had hopes that it would be smooth sailing the last sixish miles to town. No such luck.
We headed into a snowy section amongst the trees. We were directly on the trail but there were no footprints that usually accompany the path. Aside from one other set way above us it looked like no one had been there. Where did everyone go? I kicked in each step, postholing on occasion. Going was slow and exhausting.
We made it to the top, finally, and hit the backside of a ridge. The wind was furious, and I put my head down til I made it to the ski patrol hut, which had been left unlocked as an emergency shelter. Climbing inside I looked around. It was a cozy, sturdy structure, with a propane stove and rescue gear. We had 5 star dining, sitting at the table overlooking the half-melted ski slopes. I had cooked up mashed potatoes; a hot lunch a rare occurrence. I was tempted to stay there rather than face the wind roaring outside... but town.
So we headed out. The wind pushed me, sending me toppling. I felt like I was drunk, staggering down the trail. Gusts reached I'm guessing 60-70 mph. We leaned into the wind, letting it take our full weight until gravity proved the stronger force.
Finally made it to the treeline, and from there it was smooth sailing to the road where we hitched a ride with some dayhikers. Pagosa Springs was a vortex town. Hot springs, incredible restaurants, great gear stores, cozy hotel.. it took little convincing to zero there. The next section of trail would be long, and with Tiptoe recovering from some trail mishaps, the remaining three of us headed back out to the wilderness with over a weeks worth of rations.
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