Thruhiking is really just a series of backpacking trips strung together, interrupted by town stops to resupply and rest. The next section would be the longest thus far. Expecting we wouldn't be able to do more than 20 or so miles a day with all the snow and elevation, I set out laden with 7 days of food. My pack was heavy and burdensome.
The skies were clear hiking back into the mountains after a morning in town... at least at first. Soon they fell under flurries. It was windy and cold as I miserably trudged through the deep patches of old snow. It was soft and loose enough that it wouldn't accept any sort of traction from microspikes and I found myself slipping and sliding more often than not. It was tough going and I got frustrated quickly. The others shared the sentiment. After about ten miles we decided to call it a day, pitching tents on uneven ground. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than hiking any further.
The trail climbed steadily all morning. With such a heavy pack, it had been exhausting to walk up the endless hill. As I approached the top of the 13,000 foot mountain, I stopped every 5 minutes trying to catch some air. I wanted to throw my pack off the edge and relieve myself of the burden. I watched the other hikers longingly, little specks already at the top. I envied them. Head down, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other until I peaked out and collapsed for a quick break. So tired. So exhausted. I tried to take in the views through half-closed eyes before gathering my strength and moving on. Down hill, up the next, and back down. That was the extent of most days in the Rockies... climbing up hills breathlessly before cruising down the other side.
After a few days my pack had started to become a more tolerable weight and the hills weren't as brutal. There were still patches of snow here and there that required careful footfall.
I got stuck behind a guy aggressively kicking in footsteps on a snow traverse. I was glad to have reliable places for my feet, but he was moving so slow. He was insistent on doing it well: kicking, smoothing, and leveling each step. I supposed someone had to do it; still, I became impatient. I took an opportunity to pass and kick-stepped my way quickly, if not as thoroughly, across the remaining patches.
I took a break on something called the Knifes Edge while I studied the land ahead. Incredibly steep chutes of snow splayed out from the mountainside. One hiker had descended a talus slope trying to skirt the snow, sending rocks cascading down the mountain. Watching him struggle, I decided it was probably safer to just traverse across the snow. The talus looked just as dangerous. This time I did not traverse in haste. The consequences were much greater and included at least a 100 food slide to a rocky grave. I kicked in each step on the 75 degree slope, waiting for snow to gather under my foot and pack down enough to hold my weight. Testing each step before I put full weight on it, trusting nothing. Always 3 points of contact with my ice ax and pole.
Going was slow. It took a bit over an hour to travel three quarters of a mile, and as cruisy as the morning had been up to that point, we had only made 9 miles by noon. A large group of hikers gathered for lunch, crouching behind a small stand of shrubs to escape the wind. The rest of the day proved uneventful, if not similarly long.
I woke up later than I wanted but sleeping in was so nice. A long yet tolerable climb out of the valley started the day, leading across a beautiful field.
Around lunch, we made it to a lake. It wasn't the most outstanding lake.. but humble, clear blue with dead trees dipping in. But it was perfect in it's own way. I'm not one who particularly likes swimming, or even getting wet for that matter, but the sun was hot and the water inviting, so I agreed to jump in. My feet sank into the mud on the bottom, sending up a murky cloud around me. The water was unbearably cold and I quickly made my way to the exit. Splashing out of the shallows, I lay back on my pad to dry in the sun and eat lunch.
I saw a moose as I headed up a four mile long hill. It peeked over the bushes at me ten feet from trail. I backed up to give it space but it just turned its butt to me and kept eating, uninterested. I cut a wide path around, just in case.
The uphill wasnt so bad. Graded, beautiful. At the top, I sat and stared at the rough mountains across the valley below, and spotted the lakes I wanted to camp at. Strolling down to the valley floor, the overgrown bushes scratched my legs. I waded through them to the lakes where we would camp.
The next morning I deflated my pad but lay there for another 15 minutes. The sun warmed my tent; I didn't want to get out. Finally I got moving.
I came to a stream crossing. It wasn't particularly wide. It wasn't even really that deep. But the recent snow melt had submerged stepping stones under rushing water. I stood and stared at the water. I could spend all day trying to find a way to cross to keep my feet dry, but sometimes it's easiest to get your feet wet. I stepped in.
Climb after climb after climb; roughly five 1000 foot climbs throughout the day. Breathless, I stopped at the top of one and sat down. It rivaled any other view I'd come across. Mountains in violent upheaval, snow pouring down the sides. A few lakes nestled in the arms, ice still floating onto the top, a rock island standing firm in the center. The rest of my crew eventually showed up and an impromptu photo shoot followed. I laughed so hard I cried.
The clouds and sun battled for control as lunchtime approached. It looked like it was precipitating ahead. We stopped for lunch in a protected area, anticipating a potential storm, but the satellite message informed us that it was not going to thunderstorm, and the clouds held only a small chance of rain. Encouraged that I would indeed not be stuck on a ridge during an infamous Colorado afternoon storm, I kept hiking. The foreboding clouds gave me a sense of urgency which had me charging up the mountains. Then the wind picked up, and the clouds released their snow. It didn't last long.
As the clouds rolled out, so did my energy. I slowly made my way the last few miles to the headwaters of the Rio Grand and set up my tent. We ate dinner, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Once it dipped below the mountains at 7:00 we all departed to our tents.
When my pack is light I feel like I can go all day. Despite a slow start, I cruised when I got moving. So many rolling ups and downs; I did 12 miles before stopping for lunch. A big climb lay before us as the trail turned onto a jeep road.
Hiking up the hill, I saw a couple ATVs ahead and stopped to let Guru catch up. I grinned. I wasn't sure if it was trail magic, but it could be. The trail turned sharply before we reached where they were parked, and it didn't seem like there was any free food so I just waved as we turned. Soon we heard them coming up behind us. "We were just talking about if you would pay $100 for a ride up the mountain," the man driving joked. That was our opening to yogi a ride but I had no witty response prepared. They rolled past us. Soon they came back down a mountain, two water bottles in hand. They held them out to us. We politely refused, but they seemed to really want to give us some, so we took it. I can't complain about free filtered water. We chatted for a while, thanked them, and continued up the hill.
Although they had gotten much better at it, my lungs still struggled to sort the oxygen out of the thin air. I was breathing heavy by the time we made it to the top. Over 13,000 feet, the highest we had been so far. The wind was cold so I didnt stay long, and seven miles of downhill waited. The miles seemed to drag on, as my old injuries flared up and bones felt bruised. We set up camp in a field and gathered for dinner. Clouds covered the sky, dark and streaking earthward. I wasn't supposed to rain, but I carefully pitched my tent anyway.
The wind whipped my tent around like a flag creating unbearable flapping. I was sure it was keeping everybody else up. It definitely was keeping me up, so I decided to just collapse it on top of myself. I pulled out the stakes and the poles and let it fall. Wrapped up in the shell of my tent, I cowboy camped under the stars until the sun woke me. It was a town day.
The trail was mostly downhill to the road. Rocky at times, and rough on feet, but a lot of it was a wide forest road. I got to the road and tried to hitch for about half an hour. Two cars and a motorcycle passed with no luck. Ranger joined me and within 10 minutes a young couple pulled over and let us hop in their vehicle. There was a massive dog in the back who I snuggled with the whole way down.
Lake City is a small, quaint town with friendly folks and no cell phone service. Everything was in walking distance; a hikers dream. After stuffing ourselves at the only open restaurant we checked into a campground where I took a delightful shower and did laundry, along with the other typical town chores (cleaning pots, resupplying, backflushing filter, letting people know you are alive, etc). The evening was spent watching a movie by a fire and making s'mores and popcorn.
I packed up pretty quickly and got ready to head out. Nine people in a truck made its way up the mountain to the pass. We unloaded and took off, a string of hikers hiking up the hill. I went slow as it was hot and I was still digesting breakfast. We would make it to the next town in about four and a half days if we averaged around 22 miles a day. For that distance I still carried too much food, and my pack weighed heavy. Clouds rolled in and threatened rain. At first it was just a little bit of a mist but then it turned into some frozen precipitation. The sun beat it back, then the rain appeared again. Back and forth, back and forth. Finally the rain moved on. After what felt like ages I made it to camp where I joined another group by a river. Tired with a headache, I went to bed early.
I had slept so well and wiggled out of my sleeping bag with renewed energy. There were three massive climbs early in the day, maybe four, all roughly a thousand feet give or take. I debated on climbing a nearby 14er, the first opportunity to do one. It seemed like a lot of folks were doing it but I didn't feel like I had the energy with a heavy pack. So instead I descended into the valley, cruising on the downhill. Butterflies danced around my feet as I skipped along a river.
We hit 12 miles before stopping for lunch. I spread cream cheese on crackers with dandelion leaf garnish and topped with a cherry tomato. The best lunch I'd had all trail.
The trail proved relatively easy the remainder of the day. I listened to podcasts and books until we decided to camp by a river. A beaver patrolled upstream.
The next few days were rather uneventful. The trail was reminiscent of the PCT as it unraveled through dry riparian areas. Long dirt roads stretched out for miles. The sun was brilliantly hot, and mosquitoes started to make an appearance. Both made climbing hills extra miserable with a pack still too full of food. Although hiker hunger had hit, I had yet to be in want of more food than I carried.
Eager to get to the town of Salida, I headed out extra early. Mosquitoes were out in full force which made it impossible to stop for more than a few seconds on the 1800 foot climb.
I found myself asking, "Is there a point to climbing this mountain?" And as I descended I discovered, no, there's absolutely no point. Except maybe to allow trail users to access cell service. A beautiful exposed ridge walk followed. I neglected to put on sunscreen out of laziness and instead watched my skin turn red. Dayhikers became more frequent as I descended to the parking lot. Who would voluntarily do this? Then I had to ask myself the same thing...
Hitching was hard, and I was impatient to get to town. I marveled at each car that sped past. Did we look that intimidating? A short redhead girl and a dude. Clearly backpackers. Despite the busy road it took an hour for someone to pull over for Guru and I. A kind nurse picked us up, claiming she didn't think people hitched anymore. We were dropped off at Walmart and got snacks and stuff for dinner, then tiredly started walking to the hostel 1.5 miles away. A guy pulled over and offered a ride which we immediately accepted. The hostel was one of the best. Some former thruhikers had converted a garage into a hiker paradise with everything I could want. I was stoked to zero.
The zero almost turned into a double zero. The vortex was strong. I spent the whole day exploring Salida and doing chores which left little time to relax. Despite best efforts to leave at a decent time the second morning, we lazily delayed until 5pm to set out, back to the trail once again.
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