Segment 16

Marshall Pass to Sargent's Mesa



The pond around 1.5.


Hail on its way, around mile 5.3.





The first half of this segment is a popular bike ride -- people take a shuttle up from Poncha springs and zip up the trail. They turn off at 4.1, though, so then you'll have the road to yourself. For a while. Around mile 12, you'll almost certainly be joined by cows... or by their pies at the very least.

Near the very end of this segment, at Sargent's Mesa, you may be able to spot the Soldier's Stone. It's a tall granite memorial, inscribed with poignant and profound quotes about war, most in languages other than English. Its erection was meant to honor the sacrifice of soldiers, on all sides of conflict... and to comment on the anguish of war.

I do not, alas, know exactly where it can be found -- the Forest Service intentionally does not publicize the location. It is, however, just barely visible from the trail. The memorial is surrounded by a low wall of local stone, to prevent cattle damage, but that means it blends into the landscape. There are a few pictures of the place, available here.





Once out of Tank Seven drainage, the terrain on Sergent's Mesa is rolling, short-cropped grassy fields spotted with clumps and stands of thick old pine.


Cows on Sergent's mesa.





Guidebook update suggestions:

0.1
Keep a careful eye out here for CT triangle markers. You will make about three or so turns at possibly confusing intersections over the next 0.2 m. There is Verizon cellphone service from a hill overlooking Marshall Pass.

1.5
To the left was a very small pond, mostly hidden among the plants. I spotted it about two days after the last heavy rainfall. Pic below. Probably not very reliable.

4.3
I couldn't see the spring that is supposed to be near the bottom of the slope, off the trail... but there was so much water in other places, there was no need to go hunting it.

4.7
For example, here. About twelve hours after moderate rain, there were two streams crossing the trail through this section. The trail was also very, very muddy -- and very slow going.

5.5
As I headed up the switchbacks at this small secondary peak, there were signs of a motorcycle crash -- half a visor at one switchback, then later a wickedly ripped kneepad, then a piece of fender... careful if you're biking. Evidently the trail can get slippery here.

6.5
Descend into a very thick, young forest which sometimes seems endless. Off to the right, though, you will soon glimpse vistas and valleys -- welcome reminder that you're standing atop the Continental Divide.

8.8
Campsite to your left.

8.9
This pipeline swath is now very hard to spot, and you do not actually 'join' it for any appreciable length. Basically the only indication that you're crossing the pipeline is a stand of very small pines, and once you pass them, if you look back over your right shoulder, you might spot some circular orange warning signs.

11.0
Tank 7 trail joins to your left; stay straight.

11.6
Cross creek. There should be a cleaner tributary just up ahead if you don't want to drink cow-flavored water.

11.7
This seems to be the best place to fill up. However, the rest of this valley (about 2 more miles) may have several flowing springs, if there has been rain the last few days. But there's also a lot of cow poop laying around. Camping is poor for the next 4 miles due to cows.

15.0
An odd little fenced area to your left protects a small marshy region, and there may be some water there.


The elevation profile is mainly correct, but remember, even though a section might look smooth, you will be climbing and descending dozens of rocky little 50-foot rocky hills. Don't worry too much if the profile says 'flat' and your feet say it's anything but.

----> Onward, to segment 17!

Segment 15

US-50 to Marshall Pass



The views are endless at mile 8.6.


Atop the Continental Divide.



The trek between Salida and Creede, some 95 miles, is the longest stretch on the CT between resupply, but that isn't nearly as scary as it sounds. It took me nine nights, and I went pretty darned slow. While there are a couple long-climb areas, for the most part the trail is in good shape and in some places it is quite flat, so you can make good time.

You'll have to, if you bought Uncle Ben's Garlic and Olive Oil Flavored Wild and Brown Rice. Really. I don't know what kind of arcane chemical they put in that stuff, but whatever it is, it seeps through ziplock baggies. So if you repackage your Uncle Ben's Garlic and Olive Oil Flavored Wild and Brown Rice into a plastic baggie, and you package most of your other food in ziplock bags, you will soon have a great deal of Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Wild and Brown Rice-flavored foodstuffs.

For example: Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Flavored Wild and Brown Rice-flavored dried cranberries, Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Wild and Brown Rice-flavored marshmallows, Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Wild and Brown Rice-flavored drink mixes, Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Wild and Brown Rice-flavored cheese.... yeah.

I've never come across a foodstuff that so laughs at the laws of physics, that can spread indefinitely throughout the contents of a pack without ever losing its potency. Given enough time, I feel that Uncle Ben's Roasted Garlic and Olive Oil Wild and Brown Rice may spread across the entire planet, tainting whole fields of grain and herds of animals. Who can stop this menace?

Not me. I'm too busy scrubbing out my pack. Thanks a lot, Uncle Ben. :/




Garlic-flavored dessert. Why oh why, Uncle Ben?





Guidebook update suggestions:

0.1
After you leave US-50, head downhill towards the Fooses creek bridge. Keep your eyes open for the next half mile, as new housing developments are going in, and roads split off to the right and left. The CT is indicated by white triangle markers and the occasional sign.

0.8
Fishermen here were having no luck.

2.7
The only marker at this road fork may say "South Fooses Creek TH" but nothing about the CT -- go left anyway.

2.8
Cross a bridge, and leave the road for peaceful singletrack at long last.

5.0
This 'campsite' is practically straddling the trail. If you can even get another mile or three further up, there are much better places to camp nearer the treeline.

5.5-7.5
Frequent x-ing of small rivulets and seeps, some of which were muddy.

8.5
This section is indeed among the steepest of the entire CT, as the guidebook warns. But don't worry about it too much -- it's very short, and if you climbed up the ten-mile range before Copper Mountain, you've handled steeper spots. Trekking poles are useful.

8.6
GO LEFT. If you take a quick glance at the signs (and mix up 'Monarch' and 'Marshall') or just glance briefly at your compass, it is possible to wander off in the wrong direction, thereby heading towards Canada. Believe me. GO LEFT. Oh, and also there is no cellphone service here.

10.6
This spring was running fine, and there was water trickling through culverts under the trail in a couple places beforehand. The spring will be along the uphill slope to your left. Tasty water!

12.6
Though not mentioned in the databook, there is a lovely (and probably moderately reliable) stream here, with a good campsite just before.

12.9
Ruins of an old cabin sit nearly on the trail, to your right.

13.0
The second piped spring spills across the road. Terrific, sweet water.

13.5
If you somehow forgot to fill your water bottles, there is an irrigation ditch here, then a swampy/watery section, which may have water.

14.3
The toilet is directly across the road. Once you have finished inspecting it, head uphill, west, towards the prominent pass.


The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct.
----> Onward, to segment 16!

Segment 14

Chalk Creek Trailhead to US-50



The trail, carefully maintained, near mile 13.





Seems like a whole lot happened during this segment. I obtained a trailname of sorts -- 'Lucky' -- (lucky for the fish, ha ha!) and fought off a mudslide, talked botany with Dr Jeff and started a fire in a puddle on sodden wood (using half a box of matches, mind.) I was divebombed repeatedly by a young hawk, who didn't even want the beef jerky I was trying to feed it. I met Karl and Max, who'd been hiking since the mexican boarder, and were correspondingly a little strange; I stuffed myself on wild raspberries and tried to teach a raven to say 'who's there!' and 'oh no, a bear! Run!' Because other hikers would surely be amused by such utterances floating through the spooky, creaking woods. Wouldn't you be entertained? Of course you would. The raven was already making a range of burbles and toks, anyway -- clearly it enjoyed expanding its vocabulary. I was just being helpful.

Naturally, I got my karma back that very night. The sun had just gone down, and I'd crawled into my tent for the night. I was just falling asleep... when I was jolted by a freakish scream. It was long, a harsh and high-pitched 'NEEEOWGH!' that seemed to crawl right up the spine. There was a pause, maybe ten seconds. Then the sound came again. The noise, in fact, was most similar to a horse screaming... or a woman screaming.

A woman screaming. I'd heard people talk about that sound.

Cougar.

Suddenly, I really, really, really needed to get out and pee.

Crudmuffins. Cooking pot in one hand, I bolted from my tent -- possibly levitating as I did -- and seized a trekking pole. Clashing one 'weapon' into the other, I screamed back. "Go away! Go bother someone else! Eat me and I'll clog your arteries bigtime!" I found a rock on the ground via the expediency of smacking it with my bare toes, and began bludgeoning it with my cooking pot, setting up a clanging that must have carried for miles.

There was a silence, longer this time. Then the scream came again, perhaps a little more distant.

Clutching my weapons, I scuttled to the embers of my cookfire and built it up as best I could. Being unwilling to venture beyond the circle of light for firewood, I broke up and burned the logs that had been placed around the campsite as chairs. Apologies in advance to those wishing to camp before Salida -- there's no longer much to sit on, around mile 18. Sorry.

It took a while to build my bonfire -- with every repeated scream from the thick forest, I'd howl back, whack the rock some more. My cooking pot never did look quite... normal, after that night. At last, when the flames were leaping four feet in the air, the screaming started to move off. But it did so very, very rapidly. Between one scream and the next, the sound's source moved entirely down the valley, and without any sound of an earthbound animal crashing through the underbrush.

Hm. Very fast moving... unfazed by my threats and my fire.... what could it have been! I'd have to find out, in Salida.

Now, Salida itself is a pretty great town to spend a couple days, especially after sitting awake and shivering in fear for almost the entire night before. Only one hotel's number is listed in the CT guidebook -- the Super 8. Hikers whom I passed rated it quite highly; a room should set you back around 50 bucks. The owners will drop you off at the trail in the morning for about fifteen bucks, too. They will *absolutely not* pick you up from the trailhead. The Super 8 is located a mile from all the shops you'll need to visit, in kind of a tired area full of Jiffy-lubes and Burger Kings and the mental health center.

At half that price, you can also get a dorm bed, right in the middle of the downtown, at the Simple Lodge and Hostel. They have free wifi, a communal kitchen, free stuff to make waffles in the morning, and plenty of people with whom to speak about the trail conditions ahead. Call in advance to book a bed if you'll be arriving on a weekend. I ended up staying at the Simple Lodge, largely by accident, since that's where my hitch dropped me off. Also, it turns out that the awesome proprietor, Jon, is friends with a couple of Peace Corps volunteers who trained me in Malawi. Small world!

Jon will drop you off at the trail for $15, and *possibly* can pick you up, if absolutely necessary -- however, he cautions that hitches into town are really easy to get and, as the traffic is mainly local, this part of I50 is also a very safe place to hitch. Flagging a ride into town took me about eight minutes, and my lift was an organic foods grower and seller, who gave me the lowdown on local places to shop and left me with some fantastic smoked trout. The Simple Lodge is located on 1st street, between D and E streets. The lodge is the cute little old house with a bench and grass and sunflowers, next to a bikeshop and daycare, across the street from the place that sells weird metal sculptures. If Jon isn't there to give you the code, you can stick your pack around back (down the narrow alley to your right.) The number is 719-650-7381.

I met a couple of old friends there -- they'd been hiking faster than me, but decided to stay some extra days, as they found the hostel a pretty awesome place for R&R. And they really needed some: they ate bad mexican food in Buena Vista and had been, erm, jet propelled -- and not in a good way -- for the last forty-three miles or so. That's enough to take the wind out of anyone's sails. And force them to buy new pants, too.

The restaurants in Salida are fantastic; definitely try Aminca's Pizza Parlor's calzones. One will definitely fill even a starving hiker's belly. There are far too many great places at which to eat -- I was staggering between some of them when something rather interesting happened. I was just headed down the street, affectionately patting my food-baby, when a commotion from behind made me turn. "What about *that* girl!" screamed a waif of a girl, dressed in black, pointing wildly as she slid into a beat-up little hatchback. "Is *she* fat!? Huh!?" I looked behind. Nope, the little goth was definitely gesticulating at me.

The young man in the driver's seat said nothing. But the back of his head seemed to be shrinking, as if he were sliding lower and lower into his seat. "Well?! Answer me! Do you think *she's* fa..."

"I prefer 'Rubanesque'," I called back, waving cheerfully. After living in Malawi, and hearing my weight commented on daily ("Oh! You are looking very fat today, Madam!") I don't think I'll ever be capable of taking offense in the subject again. And, heck, I was even a little pleased that there might now be some question as to whether the appellation applied to me. But the young man declined to engage in conversation -- indeed, the back of his head vanished behind the headrest as he gunned whatever passed for his vehicle's motor and peeled away. The waif in black, apparently oblivious, was still screaming at him from the passenger seat.

Interesting couple. Hope everything works out for them.

Perhaps the awesomest thing about Salida is the library, three blocks SW of the hostel. It's a standard small-town library, with lots of fun novels if you need to while away an afternoon. But it also has about ten internet terminals, free of charge. Just sign up at the front desk. Once online, you can look things up -- for example, a listing of the kinds of animals which scream in a terrifying manner, and also can move very fast and are not too afraid of humans.

Turns out, not all owls say 'who.' Weird, huh?






A cut and replanted section, near mile 17.6.


Fantastic, but dry, campsites around the big clearing at mile 18.5.


The terrifying (if you're a mouse or a hiker) Western Screech Owl.






Guidebook update suggestions:

0.0
After crossing the big bridge, make sure to pick up water. The ravine ahead did hold water, but Eddy creek was not running -- not even after a heavy rain.

0.1
Immediately after Chalk Creek, the trail dissolves into spaghetti. Watch carefully for markers, and keep to the most well-worn path. If you're still uncertain about a juncture, look for the trail with the most bootprints and trekking-pole pockmarks, as other trails may be mainly used by horses.

0.9
This ravine had plenty of water, but you had to scramble down a steep embankment to get to it.

3.9
This is a big, well-used road with big, well-used campsites.

9.4
The trail touches, but doesn't cross, the wide switchback of FS road 275. If you're walking near sunset, you might mistake this for a lovely, hard-packed clearing. It isn't. Don't camp here.

10.0
Don't camp here, either. Oh, it looks like a pleasant enough spot, carved into the hillside just above Sand Creek. Someone had even cut and split lots of aspen logs for a fire. Thing is, if you get moderate or heavy rain, the entire campsite (but especially the spot you might logically put a tent) becomes a swift-flowing stream several inches deep in places. You'll spend the rest of the night and all the next morning drying off your erstwhile waterbed. Many other meadows, especially around mile 12-13, are much, much nicer. Trust me on this one.

12.4, 12.8, 14.5, 15
The day after heavy rain, small streams trickled across the trail in many places.

16
Look for wild raspberries here, on the steep part of the climb up to the wooded saddle. There were several large patches of sun-warmed, juice dripping fruit -- I sat down and ate for a good half-hour.

18
There are no more camp chairs here. My bad.

~18.5(?)
After crossing a small dirt road, you'll find a large marshy clearing up ahead, surrounded by some fantastic campsites. Some of them are posted 'no fires', due to heavy use, though I saw no one in the area. Though it is not obvious, the CT heads around the *right* side of the clearing, keeping just within the forest. Don't follow the road.

19
Watch out for angry hawks. Also, owls.

The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct.

---> Onward, to segment 15!

Segment 13

North Cottonwood Creek Road to Chalk Creek Trail Head



The view near Bald Mountain.


Wildflowers near Silver Prince creek


Wildflower-covered slopes near Silver Prince Creek.


Me 'n the flowers. The CT isn't really strenuous -- if you take your time, pretty much anybody can complete it.





This is the segment in which I came closest to spotting a bear. Only about a third of hikers on the CT -- to judge by my informal questionnaire -- ever actually see a bear over the course of their adventure, and nobody that I asked has actually been bothered by one, whether food is kept in the tent or not. But 'round about mile 8.5, where I was walking early in the morning, a dayhiker headed the other way said they'd seen one not ten minutes back. The man's yappy yorkshire terrier, straining at its leash, had terrified the bear and sent it fleeing.

Many car-campers along the trail asked me if I wasn't frightened of the wildlife. Well, no, not exactly. For one thing, grizzlies are vanishingly rare in the area, and aren't habituated to humans, anyway. For another, with my big pack and wildly-flailing walking sticks, I'm roughly troll-sized -- and not the cute kind of troll, either. After a week on the trail, most hikers probably smell rather like a troll, too. Cows look on hikers with a slow, bovine anxiety. The dogs I met nervously tried to herd their humans away, or took a stand to defend their families. Squirrels chattered their alarm. Everything else out there -- with the possible exception of birds, such as one angry young hawk near Salida who keeps trying to divebomb passing hikers -- is intimidated by humans.

Non-primate animals have a harder time of it. Twice along the CT, I found a thoroughly gnawed young deer leg lying in the trail. Just a leg. That's it; nothing else. What kind of critter kills something and then just leaves the legs off? And right in the middle of where I'm walking, too. Sheesh.


Why, oh why?

The end of this segment is very close to the half-way point, and if you haven't had a shower since Breckenridge, it's tempting to splurge on a fancy hotel room here. The Princeton Hot Springs Hotel, however, is often booked very much in advance. Also, other hikers have reported that if you arrive at the front desk looking like, well, someone who hasn't had a shower since Breckenridge, the hotel staff may claim falsely not to have rooms available. The is a Fancy Place. Or something.

Instead, I used their courtesy phone to call Cheri, who runs the Roca de Tiza, a bed and breakfast just up the road. Her rates are roughly comparable to the hotel's ($140), but you get an enormous breakfast, free pickup and dropoff to a point of your choosing (if you'd like to skip the long walk along the busy road, for example), laundry, and all the bathing supplies of which you've been dreaming. No tiny hotel shampoos here, but rather a selection of oils and creams and soaps and bubblebaths and conditioners -- it's a wonder I ever left the bathtub. Roca de Tiza is some distance from the nearest hotsprings, however, it does have an outdoor jetted hottub overlooking the river, as well as an enormous deck, swinging chairs, hummingbirds aplenty, a book exchange, deeply comfortable couches, a pool table, a fire pit, deer browsing in the back yard in the morning, gorgeous architecture... and Cheri, who is pretty darned awesome, not least because she built the all-wood house herself. She's also fantastically accommodating, will let you use her landline, and even permit you to check in early if she can, so that you can run and lock yourself in the bathroom and hug yourself with happiness. If you're going to treat yourself, definitely try Roca de Tiza -- they do have only four rooms, though, so call ahead. Cheri: 719-395-8034



A bridge over one of Maxwell Creek's many streamlets. I'm consistently impressed by the volunteer-built bridges along this trail. They are, quite frankly, a marvel. In Malawian villages, footbridges used daily by hundreds or thousands aren't built nearly this well. I'm still not sure why; there are plenty of trees of this size in most areas, and everyone has the tools needed for a bridge like this: a nail or two and a really big machete. Strange.


My pack takes a breather near Dry Creek.


The road you follow down into Princeton Springs. Last chance for cell phone service.


The Roca de Tiza, exterior.


The Roca de Tiza, bar and breakfast table.





Databook update suggestions:

2.5
This is a beautiful little valley, and would make a fantastic place to camp. The final climb is very steep and nasty in stormy weather.

4.8
Note that this water source is hidden down a gully to your right, and is hard to find. Don't necessarily count on getting water here.

6.0
This bit looks (from the elevation profile) like a very, very steep descent -- but switchbacks have now been added, and it is presently a very pleasant section of trail. It is exposed in case of rain, though.

8.0
A trail heads steeply down to the left, to the edge of a beaver lake. It had fish and possible campsites. Stay high for the CT.

11.6
It's actually really hard to tell where this saddle is located along the trail. Don't worry, there aren't any intersecting trails, so you really can't get too lost.

12.8
There was a tiny little stream running across the trail here, a couple days after heavy rain. Silver Prince Cr is up ahead.

14.0
Maxwell creek was actually a series of about five small babbling streams, all winding their way down a small wooded valley.

15.9
A nice sized creek, but shallow, so probably no fish. Last water for 4.5 miles.

17
The trail abruptly disgorges you onto an enormous dirt road. No camping past this point -- not that you'd probably want to.

19.5
The view coming into town is fantastic. Follow the road as it heads downhill, bends left, ends in a T intersection. There is no cellphone reception in this valley.

20.3
The CT hits a T-intersection and turns right, heading down the paved road for a darned long ways. The main hot springs hotel is directly ahead at this intersection -- you'll need reservations in advance, especially friday, saturday, and sunday. The convenience store is superb for restocking; it's across the street and 100yds to your left, sharing the parking lot with the main hotel. Make sure to check in the upright refrigerated cases directly ahead -- mmm, tasty cheese!

Elevation profile is mainly correct.

----> Onward, to segment 14!

Segment 12

Clear Creek Road to North Cottonwood Creek



This is the bridge you should look for, along Clear Creek.


Pine Creek is a lovely place to camp. The valley looked made of green velvet.





Despite all the climbing, this is a really pretty segment. Pine Creek is a sheltered valley so green it seems to glow, blessed with an abundance of fantastic camping sites. Near the end of the segment, I came across a guided string of teenagers on horseback. They were headed back the way I'd come, to the creek. I think it's great to see horses out doing what they were meant to do, rather than just standing around in fields like giant lawn ornaments. "You're going to love Pine Creek," I said, from off to the side of the trail, "it's just gorgeous this year!"

One boy, riding near the middle of the line, frowned unhappily. Though no older than twelve, he had to have been roughly my weight -- which is a lot. Too much, to judge by his horse, which was sway-backed and bug-eyed with the strain, its coat streaked with sweat. Saliva dripped from its mouth. "I've already been there before," the boy grumped.

How do you reply to that? Especially after two hundred miles on the trail. I scratched my head as his horse, wheezing, shuffled past me. "Well, then. Enjoy the journey, kid!" I called to his back.

Strawberries were ripening at higher elevations, when I passed by in late July. Mushrooms were plentiful, though sadly, I did not yet know which ones were good to eat -- I therefore didn't pick any. That's the single item I truly wish I'd brought: a mushroom identification guide for Colorado. 'Shrooms were fantastically abundant and delicious-looking along most of the trail -- it seemed a shame to be carrying dehydrated mushrooms for stroganoff but not be able to toss a few of the many wild edibles into the pot as well. Many mushrooms were sprouting inches from the trail, or even directly on it.

The latter half of this segment also hit me with the worst weather I'd experienced so far on the trail. Around mile ten, the skies rained down lightning that made my teeth rattle. Or possibly that was just from shivering, because there was plentiful hail as well, thumb-nail-sized, and interspersed with torrential rains. This was the day I learned never, ever, to stuff one's jacket in the very bottom of the pack, because the sleeping bag, food, and every other piece of gear will get soaked while you're trying to retrieve the thing.

Hm. Kinda seems an obvious lesson, now that I think about it. Sometimes, I guess, you just gotta enjoy the journey.






Pretty views from the summits.


Brave explorer, Hellbender uncovers the greatest treasure of all: the secret lost toilets of Cottonwood Creek.





Guidebook update suggestions:

0.2
If you jot down nothing else from this blog into your databook, make a note of this one. The markers here are abysmal, and the guidebook descriptions inadequate.

Shortly after you pass the little parking area with large stones, the trail disintegrates into a spaghetti tangle of paths near Clear Creek. Head left, along the creek, between metal posts, and into an enormous and dreary dirt parking lot, upon which squats an army of campers, camper-vans, pop-up campers, winnebagos, motor homes, and kindred vehicles. Thread your way through these, keeping as close as possible to the creek. The bridge across may be hard to spot if someone has set up camp directly in front of it. Oddly, there appeared to be no bathrooms in this area, despite the heavy-use camping.

0.5
Clear Creek. Make sure to pick up water here if it has been a dry summer.

1.8
There was water here, several days after a heavy rain. Check for small still pools, shortly before the trail turns left and heads uphill and out of the aspens.

4-9
Be careful crossing these saddles during thunderstorms. Simultaneous hail, high winds, and lightning in the middle of the summer are not uncommon.

6.4
After crossing Pine Creek on a nice bridge, the trail immediately splits. You want to head right, uphill. The left trail follows the creek downstream.

~12?
There may be a seasonal lake to your right in this area, with fantastic fishing if you brought dry flies. But it isn't Harvard lake. Sorry.

14.2
The old mine is down an unmarked and somewhat faint side trail to the left. You don't actually pass within view of the mine.

15.4
These are Harvard lakes. There's a shallow lake to your right, then a larger one a bit further along, to your left. Both have fish.

18.3
When you come to the dirt road, head right until you see bathrooms to your left. The trail continues just behind them.


The elevation profile is roughly correct, however, don't count on having a nice, constant, gentle downhill through the second half of the segment. There are lots of small uphills and steep sections, too small to show up on the profile.


----> Onward, to segment 13!

Segment 11

Halfmoon Creek to Clear Creek Road



A group of about twelve horsemen, many in full cowboy regalia, passed me early in this segment. I like seeing horses out on the trail.


Twisted aspens around mile 4.


The first glimpse of the Twin Lakes reservoir -- Arrg, matey, 'thar be pizza ahead!


Sagebrush is a novelty, after days of thick forest. Mile 6.5


The little town of Twin Lakes, where hummingbirds outnumber humans about a hundred to one. This is pretty much the whole town. Really.





Early in this segment, I met Jesus. Yep. It was about mile 0.4, where the marker for the CT had been stolen -- there's a post, but no sign, no arrows, no blazes, no white triangles. Both trails were about equally well-traveled. One sloped slightly downhill, the other seemed to head up, but it's hard to say where either ultimately went, as the forest was quite thick. Which way was the right way?

Just then, I heard the sound of running feet, and from the right-hand trail descended a man in perhaps the best physical shape I have ever seen. He was evenly and darkly tanned, and sported both a luxurious and wavy blond-brown beard and washboard abs. He wore nothing but bright blue running shorts, new white tennis shoes, and an empty one-pint water bottle at his belt, lime green. He resembled all the pictures and sculptures of Jesus I could remember seeing. "Are you looking for the Colorado Trail?" he asked, pausing just briefly. His voice was a light tenor -- very Jesus-y. "It's up that way." He gestured to the right, back the way he'd come, then ran on. I had to thank his retreating back.

Turns out, other people saw him too -- he was no mirage. Several other hikers ahead of me took a day off to summit Mount Elbert, the second-tallest peak in the continental US. I caught up with them later, at Twin Lakes. "So," asked one of the hikers, "did you see Jesus out on the trail, too?"

"See him? He showed me the way!" Their sighting was up at the top of Mount Elbert. The hikers were picking their way up the loose talus, when they heard a sound from behind, turned, and found Jesus. He was running -- running! -- up the twenty-degree slope, across the treacherous stones, and swiftly passed the astonished hikers. He reached the pinnacle, at 14,440 feet, and paused a moment. Then he turned around, and started running back down. The hikers even managed to snap a photo.

Did I mention that Jesus was carrying only a single pint of water? And that the distance between where I saw him and the peak is 4500 vertical feet and over four miles? Darn.

I hope Jesus isn't entering the Leadville 100. Somehow just doesn't seem sporting.





Our Savior of the Mountains, who shows the way. Photo courtesy of Hellbender, brave and noble hiker.


The famous underpass, at 7.2


Long views across the lake.


Trail markers often get stolen on heavily traveled portions of the trail... apparently in effort to combat this, some markers have been purposefully, erm, defaced.


While hiking, I often heard an odd, subtle snorting sound, as if from a horse. Turns out, this is a mule deer alarm call. If you stop and look around when you hear the snort, you can often spot some wildlife.


The long, lovely descent into the Clear Creek valley. The views almost make up for the nagging knowledge that you're going to have to pay for this downhill section with uphill trail, just across the creek.





Guidebook update suggestions:

0.0
Walk out to the road, cross the creek on a big culvert to your left. The trail is just afterward, off to your right.

0.4
A trail goes left, to another trailhead. The CT goes right/straight. The trailmarker here was stolen when I passed.

0.5
The guidebook says there is water here; there is NOT. The closest water is Box Creek, up a steep incline.

1.3
The Elbert trail goes right/straight; the CT goes left. This was poorly marked, evidently because someone stole the sign. Or set it on fire. Hard to be sure.

4.8
There are campsites here, but it seems the area gets a little... ah. Raucous, from time to time. The trailhead sign actually had been set alight -- a few charred posts still stood, near replacement parts yet to be assembled -- and there were broken beer bottles in the firepits. Camping would be tough for the next 1.5 miles.

6.5
This is a somewhat confusing intersection. The left trail goes directly to the campground... at the far end from where you have to pay. The right trail is the CT; it skirts immediately along the south side of the campground and you can easily walk up a hillside to the camp at 6.7. Though there are bathrooms and water at the Lakeview, the place isn't really hiker friendly -- there are only a few sites you can camp without prior reservations, and you'll have to walk a good half mile east in order to pay, and then walk back again. On the other hand, a nice clean site near the potties is just fifteen bucks. So.

7.2
Town is actually about 1.3 miles away -- the extra few hundred yards does make a difference when every breeze bears the faint whiff of pizza and your belly won't quit growling. Oh yes, there's a pizza joint in Twin Lakes now, and they're open till eight -- go past the fancy inn with skis bolted to the outside, past the convenience store, and it'll be on your right. The pizza/cafe place also has tiny cabins in back, which look like they might be cheaper places to stay. Otherwise, the fancy inn is quite pricey, around $80.

7-11
Don't underestimate how hot and dry these four miles really are at midday. There is plenty of water from the lake, but it smells fishy and will clog a filter in nothing flat.

11.1
The guidebook says to watch for cars as you cross this bridge over the river; it is now closed to vehicle traffic and is quite safe. Getting down to the river/lake-spillway for water would be difficult.

11.3
Plenty of vehicles were parked south of the lake. Both the guide and databooks tell you to hook right, along the lake's edge, through a marshy area. THIS IS NO LONGER THE CASE. The trail has been rerouted to higher ground to the left; you will rejoin the lake for a little while in a mile or so. Until then, keep a very sharp eye out for trail markers.

11.4
Pass through a FS gate at a small parking area. Continue heading uphill. Watch carefully for markers off to your right.

11.5
Leave the road to your right on a footpath. The intersection is marked, but not very well. This is the turnoff several hikers missed. Then they got lost. Don't miss the trail.

~12
Meet up with the old CT route. Turn left, parallel the waterline.

15
The fork to the left here could be (and has been) overlooked, as there is no post or sign. Watch carefully for the trail markers.

15.9
There are actually three streams here, at 15.9, 16.3, and 16.7. The last one was flowing; the other two were mud puddles. So if you get to the first stream and find nothing, don't panic too much. (On the other hand, it's four more hot and steep miles to *really* reliable water, so maybe you can panic a little.)

18.6
Oh, except. There was also water flowing right over the trail here, a mile or so past the construction equipment -- possibly the stream is only reliable if there has been rain in the past few days.

The elevation profile for this segment appears roughly correct.

---> Onward, to segment 12!

Segment 10

Colorado Trail TH to Halfmoon Creek Rd



This segment passes through thick old forests, dotted with inexplicable grassy clearings, ranging from near-park size, to...


...to very small.


This is what those blazes look like, when fresh -- an upside-down exclamation mark.





Runners were everywhere when I passed through this segment. They were probably preparing themselves for the Leadville 100, an event in which otherwise rational people run -- yes, run -- a hundred miles over rough trails, starting around three in the morning and generally ending after dark. I do not know why a human being would attempt this.

Well, no, I do have an idea -- everyone getting ready for the race was in exquisite shape, doubtless due to their training. I met a man and woman jogging up an incline. When they passed me, I was crawling one step at a time, pausing every few feet to gasp for air. "Pardon us. Lovely day, isn't it?" they chirruped happily, each of them bearing a tiny little camelbak pack and minimal clothing. Both of them looked like classical greek gods. I haven't seen muscles like that outside maybe the movies. "Are you enjoying these incredible wildflowers? We've not seen it this nice in years!" they said in pleasant conversation as they trotted by. I made what reply I could from beneath my pack, drool no doubt hanging from my lips and my eyes bugging out with exhaustion. They probably thought me diseased. At least outrunning me was no problem for them.

I also met an utterly ginormous dog on the trail. I thought, for a moment, that it was a wolf. On his back legs, he would have been taller than I, and was probably around the same weight... though while my mass is mainly flubber (err, I mean, stored calories for the trail), his was not. But he trotted right past me, and was followed in a moment by a tiny-yet-powerful looking woman who probably could have ridden that dog like a pony. She, too, was preparing for the Leadville 100. Oddly, it was *my* trek she thought amazing -- couldn't believe the trail was safe for a lone woman. What about bears? Or bandits? Or crazy people? What if I fell and broke something and laid somewhere in agony until I starved and died?

Well. Erm. None of those things were ever problems. I saw neither bears nor bandits, and only ever went one day without seeing other hikers. I didn't have anything worth stealing, and almost everyone I met was polite and helpful. Crazies are a town species, and don't head out too far into the wilderness. I was even impressed by the young men I met along the trail -- not a one of them ever invited me to be their second bride, nor asked for money, nor groped me, nor even said inappropriate or derogatory things in order to attract my attention, all of which sets them worlds apart from the male species in Malawi. I consistently felt like hikers on the trail were watching out for me, and never felt threatened by one.

There were dozens of hikers throughout this particular segment, heading up either to summit Mount Massive or Elbert, or simply out to enjoy the very well-maintained trails. As there was plenty of parking and easy access to the trail, there were lots of dayhikers -- including kids without maps. I passed one group three or four times; they were trying to find Rainbow Lake via interconnecting sidetrails. Each time, they cribbed a peek at my map, which never seemed to do them much good, and once I gave them water and tootsie rolls. Hope they made it back alright.

There was trailmagic left at this segment, too -- drinks were placed in a pool alongside Glacier Creek, to keep them cold. They were labeled 'for throughhikers'. The little path down to the snacks was, however, too crowded for me to bother stopping -- a middle-aged woman and her two daughters were eating like the chips and drinks might vanish. Throughhikers do get hungry, after all, and these guys were surely ultralighters, to judge by the size of their packs. One of the girls was sitting directly on the trail, eating cheezits by the fistful while texting on her bright pink, spangly phone. I stopped to chat with a middle-aged man, clearly the dad, who was watching them from the bridge over the creek. "Hi there!" said I, "did you have a nice hike? See any fish?"

The man eyed me strangely, took his time to answer. "There are... here... but not see." He was clearly struggling for words.

Oh. Hm. It was possible that my awesome Chichewa skills might not help in this situation. I spoke slowly and clearly. "You guys headed to Durango, too?" I asked, "or Denver?"

A long silence. "Si," he said.

They must have come a long ways, and just to hike the CT -- possibly in both directions. Wow. "Have a nice day, then!" I said, and went on my way, thinking warmly that the nice tourist ultralighter family would sleep with full bellies tonight. They couldn't have been carrying much of their own food, after all, with their tiny, tiny little packs.... which, come to think of it, were awful small. Even for ultralighters. Hm....

I ended up camping just before the Mt Massive side path, at an informal site on a bench above the CT. Unfortunately, I failed to take the birds into account. Oh yes, the birds -- gray jays, to be precise. I'd managed to set up camp between three of their favorite roosting trees. All evening long, the birds rained bits of bark down upon me as they searched their trees for insects. A few minutes after I retired, they turned their curiosity to the tent itself, going so far as to land on it and slide down the side. The first time it happened, I nearly had a heart attack. The next time, I managed to scramble from the tent, only to discover a bunch of birds taking wing back to their trees. I gave them a piece of my mind, complete with fist-shaking -- my apologies to any passing hikers who wondered at the mysterious sunset cursing from the woods. The third time a large object thumped onto my tent and slid down... I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Funny, how you can get used to just about anything.



The trail up to Mount Massive. The trail that leads to Mt Elbert about seven miles ahead, by contrast, was marked with charcoal on a piece of cardboard.





Databook update suggestions:

0.0
This segment is one of the best-marked of the entire trail, and has few changes from the databook.

8.8
The guidebook suggests that this is a fine place to camp. I may not have gone looking well enough for campsites, because those I found were unacceptably sloped.

9.2
The trail has been rerouted to a slightly lower path -- bear left at the split. It's well-marked, but you no longer go past the campsite at 9.5.

Elevation profile is roughly correct, but you don't end up going quite so high up around mile 9, due to minor trail reroute.

---> Onward, to segment 11!

Segment 9

Tennessee Pass to Colorado Trail TH



Trail magic, and also some of the half-dozen balloons the Leadville Hostel had tied up on the trail to draw attention to the goodies.


A place to rest a moment, courtesy of the Leadville Hostel.





The start of this segemnt is pretty incredible. Not only are there bathrooms -- nice ones! -- at the trailhead, but also the Leadville Hostel sometimes leaves trailmagic around here. Trailmagic is a frequently morale-saving treat left on the trail specifically for through-hikers, anything from a box of medical supplies, to a cooler of beer or a cache of water in dry sections, to a semi-permanent shelter with cookies and cooked food and knowledgeable advice. Nobody knows how it started, but the rules are simple -- if you benefit from trailmagic, you're obliged, sometime in your life, to give something back to the trail.

The Leadville Hostel had left cokes and chips this time, and the salt tasted like ambrosia. A little further down the trail, they'd left a cute little swinging bench, too. I sat there and watched the light play over distant mount Elbert, and savored the bubbles in my belly. It's so strange -- so American, perhaps -- that someone would just leave treats on the trail for strangers. The Leadville Hostel folks will probably never even meet me, yet they'd left me gifts, just for the heck of it. Nobody would just leave presents out for strangers in Malawi. Churches don't often assist their poorer members... at least they didn't in my village. It was so strange, so... American, perhaps. I'd forgotten how things work around here.

As I sat in thought, an odd popping noise intruded. It was repeated. Then a mountain biker burst into sight. He skidded to a halt where the Leadville Hostel had tied a balloon to a tree to mark the way to the swinging chair, leaned over, broke the balloon with a squeeze. Then he looked up and saw me, and froze.

"Erm. Was that entirely necessary?" I asked, not certain what was going on. What followed was my strangest encounter on the entire trail.

"They're always doing this!" he yelled, a burst of loud and angry words I could scarcely follow. "Always leaving their crap all over the trail, and half the time they don't even clean the pieces up!" His face was flushed nearly as red as his helmet.

"..." I wondered if I should get behind the chair. I firmed my grip on my walking sticks. "...You didn't pick up the balloon bits from the one you broke," I pointed out. If you ever see a biker in this area wearing a red and white racing jersey, by the way, you might want to stay clear.

"I did! I picked up what I could, and I'll come back and get more but they shouldn't be doing this! If they want a party, they can have one at Lamar's, not on the trail! This doesn't belong here! Not here, not here!" Screaming that last -- literally screaming -- the biker pedaled off, shaking his fist with all the unnatural rage of someone who really needs to adjust his steroid dose downward.

Yeah. Maybe sometimes, America works that way, too.



Sunset over the lake at 6.3


Sleeping by the lake had one disadvantage -- rodents! They were after the salt from sweat which had accumulated on the trekking pole.


Interesting old cabins. In some of them, the remains of beautifully-worked stoves and utensils can still be found.


The Holy Cross wilderness, named for a mountain which, in the spring, appears to have a snowy 'cross' on the side.


Carefully-maintained sub-alpine trail, just past Porcupine lake(s).





Guidebook update suggestions:

0.0
There are bathrooms here! Also, the start of the trail, from the parking area, is a tad hard to find. Head towards the highway; the trail you want is the second path to the right, before crossing the paved highway. There's a CT info board up there just a bit.

0.3
The Leadville Hostel sometimes leaves an awesome little swinging bench above the trail to the right. A sign points the way to a cabin to the right, but the CT heads straight/left, below the bench. The way is marked only by blue diamonds.

4.1
The guidebook says there are several turns here which are poorly marked and confusing. They are not -- in fact, the wrong trails are faded and all but unnoticeable. Oh, but there is a marked sidetrail to the left, leading 0.1m to an old mine, somewhere around here.

6.3
Shortly before the entrance to the Holy Cross wilderness, the trail dips close to a marshy lake with decent campsites nearby. The lake, and the little stream just after the registration book, are thick with fish. There are plenty of interesting old abandoned cabins in the area, too.

7.7
Despite the abundance of rain, the porcupine lakes... well, there was only one of them, actually. It was small and marshy, and lacked fish, though it had plenty of salamanders and what might have been leeches. Very picturesque, though.

The elevation chart is roughly correct.

----> Onward, to segment 10!

Segment 8

Copper Mountain to Tennessee Pass



The long and lush valley, starting at 6.2, extends for several miles up the mountain.


Mile ~9.5. Janet's cabin is small and to the left in this picture. Beautiful place. If you get the opportunity to stay here for a night, definitely take it!


Still plenty of snow in late July.


The view from the top of Searle pass.


The bunkers of Camp Hale, now home to barn swallows.





I stood in the Copper Mountain gearshop, loaded with pack and poles, and eyed the proffered box of bug spray wipes as if it might attack. The carton was the size of a kleenex box, and contained a small number of ultra-soft insect repellent wipes – eighteen, if I recall correctly. I shook the box, listened to the brick of wipes thump around inside its cavernous plastic home. The whole thing weighed perhaps ten soupy ounces, about half a day's food. "So... can I burn the box?" I asked the bored-looking teenage sales clerk.

The clerk bit at her gum in annoyance. I couldn't blame her – I'd already upset a display of jackets and another of power bars. It wasn't my fault, though; the store wasn't exactly laid out in a pack-friendly fashion. And as I had already hoisted my bright-orange, canvas, behemoth-sized pack to my back, there was no way I was putting it down again. "No, it's plastic," she snapped, then seemed to reconsider and offered me a compromise – "maybe you could recycle it."

The sales clerk, I thought, would not like Malawi very much. Trash collection there meant raking everything -- paper, plastic, metal, paint, rats, wood, dung, clothing -- into a giant pile, and then setting it alight. "Oh. So it's biodegradeable?" I asked, surprised. "How deep do you bury..."

The clerk's boredom was turning slowly to incredulous horror. "No. Look, you have to – you have to dispose of it properly. Like in a garbage can. Colorado law, or something."

I figured it'd be eight days or so before I saw another garbage can. I considered carting the weird kleenex box around for that long, then sadly handed it back, with apologies. "Maybe another time, then," I lied, attempting to back out of the store without knocking over or smashing anything else.

There's no denying it, I fear – my pack is huge. In the proud tradition of all 1970s backcountry packs, it consists of a lightweight metal frame supporting a giant canvas sack. No fancy load-management straps, few attachment points or pockets, no compartments. Just one giant sack, with a hipbelt. It's perfect if, like me, your idea of an organized packing job is to cram stuff in, strap a flap over the top, and hope that nothing too vital falls out during the day. Stuff sack for a sleeping bag? Who needs it! Cinching straps for a sleeping pad? Waste of weight! Though large, the pack isn't really all that heavy – twenty-one pounds without food or water. But compared to the packs of ultralighters, I might as well have been toting the kitchen sink.

Ultralighters are a strange breed of hiker, characterized by obsession. The most dedicated will cut short the long straps on their packs, halve their toothbrushes, snip the ends off their matches. They usually carry no stoves, and make do without a proper tent; their medkits consist of aspirin, two bandaids, and a little duct tape. Spork in one hand, half-pound tarp-shelter in the other, they stride bravely forth, rarely carrying more than fifteen pounds *including* food and water. They can also make between twenty and thirty miles a day (I averaged around nine.) Provided the weather is fair, and the ultralighter is both knowledgeable and in the good graces of lady luck, this all works fantastically well. They don't take many afternoon naps in wildflower fields, but that's perhaps a small price to pay: ultralighters have completed the CT in 17 days or less.

Ultralighters do have one weakness. They tend to experience twitching episodes upon spotting any outsized pack -- some go into veritable spasms and froth at the mouth when they see mine. Sometimes, their outrage is poorly concealed, more often they wear the expression openly. They usually stop long enough to proselytize. During the course of some six miles near the middle of this segment, I received no less than three light-is-right lectures; two of the passing ultralighters even stopped long enough to take apart their packs and show me their gear.

"And this is the combination rain jacket and waterproof ground cover," one told me, handing me a diaphanous slip of fabric, "which is a little heavy at two and a half ounces, but...." I handled it carefully, attempted to make appreciative and impressed-sounding noises. I'd seen similar ones in the sporting goods shop in Breckenridge for over four hundred bucks. That's three months' wages, back in the Peace Corps. "...but since I repackaged the hand-sanitizer from the original bottle into a tiny plastic baggie, I saved twelve grams, so that makes up for..."

The heck of the matter is: they're right. Light is right; of course it's best to carry as little as safely and sanely possible on a long trail. But 'safe' and 'sane' both seem to vary greatly from person to person. I guess I'll just keep nodding and smiling, oohing and awwing, while passing ultralighters expound upon the virtues of their craft.

Once I got past the zone of high untralighter density (miles 10 through 16, by my rough calculations), the trail was quiet and lovely. It descends from tundra to sagebrush over just five steep miles; you can have hail and gale winds and then be sweating in shorts two hours later. Camp Hale is down in the sweaty/buggy zone, and is near water, but abandoned beercans and graffiti discourage camping. The swallows don't seem to mind, though -- they've colonized the bunkers and stream back and forth.

Just after crossing the bridge near Camp Hale, around mile 19.5, you may come across signs stating that the Forest Service is felling trees that pose a 'hazard potential' on the hillside. I assumed this meant the removal of dead or sick trees which threatened to fall across the trail itself. But no. Entire hills of thick old pine were cut and scattered over the earth like a giant's spilled matchsticks. I guess those trees must have been plotting some particularly devious hazard.

Don't know why they just left all those trunks just laying around everywhere, though, instead of disposing of them properly.

Like maybe in a garbage can.

Colorado law. Or something.



Kokomo pass. In Chichewa, this would almost mean the 'to be delicious or edible' pass.


Fields of wildflowers near treeline, after leaving Kokomo pass.


There sure were a lot of hazardous trees around.


Someone else piled up a bunch of rocks for use as coking ovens, to the right at mile 25.2, and didn't dispose of them properly, either. Honestly.





Guidebook update suggestions:


0.0
After crossing highway 91, you could either dodge through the golf course and then rank upon rank of condominiums, or stick to the trail, which starts right across Hwy 91, near a small house-like building. The latter route is much prettier, though it does put you through a few small climbs and descents, and it passes within a hundred feet of CM's main shopping area.

1.6
Reading the guidebook, you'd be forgiven for imagining that the section up to this point is endlessly confusing. It isn't. Just stroll along the trail, passing chairlifts and a couple buildings, until you find yourself a hundred feet from a large square, upon which face numerous restaurants and a gear shop. The grocery store – a small strange thing – is at ~12 o'clock as you leave the trail, behind the bar and grille which is right in front of you. There are maps aplenty, too.

1.7
Stay alert, as several roads and horse tracks cross the CT for the next several miles. At one road crossing, the only marker is a small, half-obscured painted rock. At another section where you follow a resort road for a couple hundred feet, the marker is missing – but if you take a moment and look around, it becomes obvious that you must head uphill, away from the condos. Otherwise, the crossings are fairly well-marked.

6.2
The meadow here is huge, with several interesting cabin ruins, and you'll travel up it for two and a half miles. The best campsites start about half way up.

10.2
The water here was running fine, even with no snow visible, due to showers over the past few days – several other unmarked streamlets were also flowing. However, caution: there be ultralighters here.

12.4
Elk ridge and the descent to Kokomo pass were beset by very high winds when I crossed – keep an eye on the weather.

16.6
The guidebook has a confusing description of this stream crossing. To put it more simply – when you approach cataract creek at the bottom of a long switchbacked descent, you can either cross it on a rickety and rather scary bridge to your left, or go fifty feet further around some bushes to a shallow ford.

17.9
Follow FS714 to the right.

19.2
If you haven't spotted the bunkers yet, try crossing this bridge halfway and then look back over your right shoulder. There they are! The databook says you can camp here, but there are beer bottles broken everywhere. I imagine things could get a little hairy here on weekends.

19.8
If you head up into the trees some, though, there are plenty of flat, dry, informal camping spots.

21.7
This stream was running fine, and several unmarked others in the few miles after it were as well.

The elevation profile for this segment was basically correct.

----> Onward, to Segment 9!