While cleaning out an old volunteer library in Malawi, Africa, in 2009, I found a very, very old guidebook to the Colorado Trail.
I still don't know how the book made its way so far from its trail -- halfway around the world. But the pictures inside were enthralling; enchanting, really. Everyone had enormous '80s haircuts, and they all were engaged in such normal, happy activities. The hikers posed confidently on windy mountaintops, not a single small screaming child nor malarial parasite to be seen for miles in any direction.
"When I get out of this mud hut, I'm going to go do that," I vowed to myself from beneath my mosquito net, possibly still a little delirious from the cholera, "and I will attain for myself one of those formidable haircuts, too."
While the mullet has yet to materialize, I did walk the Colorado Trail, Denver to Durango, in July, August, and September 2010. The trip took me 56 days, though most people will be able to finish easily in 45 or less. The route is billed as the most beautiful long trail in the US, and from what I can tell, that's pretty darn true. I figured I'd share a few photos -- and some tips about the trail. Though the 2007 guidebook and 2009 databook were enormously valuable, both books had their fair shares of misprints, typos, missed landmarks, and mismeasurements, and the trail has been rerouted in a couple places. (Updates of both books will be available for 2011, and are recommended.)
Under each segment are some pictures, a story or six, and then at the end are some suggested updates to the 2009 databook. You may want to glance through and jot down the ones you feel might be relevant (for example, the trail reroutes,) so you can access them during your hike.
If you wish, you can also download the entire databook update file here, in printable format (open with wordpad,) from one of several mirrors:
CT Databook tips via mediafire
CT Databook tips via filedropper
Many thanks to all the hikers I met along the trail -- I could not have even hoped for a nicer reintroduction to American culture, generosity of spirit, and friendliness.
Enjoy the CT -- hope you have as delightful a hike as I did!
----> Take me to the first segment!
----> Take me to that bit about the edible mushrooms!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Segment 28
Kennebec Trailhead to Junction Creek TH
The cliffside houses at mile 0.7.
Snow from that big early-September storm lingered down to around 8000 feet.
Gudy's rest, at mile 17.4
The pack had only been moving for a half hour when it came to Gudy's Rest, but even still it needed a good long nap in the sun.
A tired hiker's shadow -- like Anubis with a hunchback and possibly a severe nutritional deficiency.
The pond/spring and wildlife watering trough at mile 16.9. The water's a little green and muddy.
After slogging through Taylor Lake valley, traversing the wet ruin left by ATVs where they've milled the trail into thick red paste, this segment is almost easy. The sliprock traverse isn't bad, certainly not when compared with other talus slopes you've handled by now. There were a dozen or so felled trees -- some perhaps newly fallen, but others were worn smooth and had been there for some time -- which would make biking this segment rather difficult, but otherwise the trail was smooth and clear.
Coming down off a long trail is a strange sensation. I found nostalgia rising at odd moments -- the realization that this was the last time I'd pass 10,000 feet, for example, or the last time I'd wash my socks with Colorado Trail river sand. There was a lingering kind of peace, the kind that comes with plenty of uninterrupted time in your own head, along with a determination to do something, anything, that didn't involve more darned walking. I swore a number of times that I'd had it with this hiking business -- a resolution which lasted about three weeks. And at the same time, part of me was planning what I'd need to pick up in town, in order to turn around and hit the trail again.
The CT foundation is coming out with a new guidebook this year, by the way. You should get it -- really. Whether you're an accomplished ultralighter or you've just been thinking about trying a long trail for a while, the CT is an amazing experience. It offers more remoteness and solitude than other famous trails, and passes through world-class terrain with incredible views, yet it's still an obtainable hike for a rank newbie like me. And, of course, the company and human encounters you will have on the trail are fantastic -- thanks to all the brave and bold hikers out there who offered encouragement or advice or a mud-streaked smile in a rainstorm. Wouldn't have made it without you.
Happy trails! I'll be seeing you outside. ;)
The waterfall at around mile 5.4
The guidebook falsely claims that, starting around mile 8.4, the trail follows an old road. Does this look like an old road to you? The actual road doesn't start until mile 11.2.
The middle of the three 'gates', now mainly broken.
Near the very end of the trail, the track is very lovely and very well-used, winding through thick young forests.
Made it!
It's obligatory to grin like an idiot and have your picture taken with this sign, by the way.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
There's a large FS posting board now; the CT starts near it. You should be heading for the saddle to the ESE, *not* the prominant notch to the SE.
0.7
Take care to follow the CT to the left, here. The straight-ahead trail/road heads up to some interesting, but probably unsafe, old houses perched on a cliffside.
1.1
The talus slope here, 'The Sliprock', isn't so bad -- not compared with the other slopes you'll have crossed on this treck. The path is rather narrow, though -- just take your time.
2.4
This road (FS171) is probably the first flat place you've seen for two miles. Dry meadow camping is possible after you cross the road, a little further down the trail. Past this point, there were a dozen or so fallen trees across the trail, some quite old, requiring climbing or scrambling. Biking would be difficult.
4.0
Beware! Like the river Styx, this stream may cause forgetfulness! I think I left my camelbak here.
7.1
There are two nice campsites, just before the bridge here. Burn-able wood is rare, though, unless you're willing to use willow branches.
8-10
A very scenic, rather flat section of the trail, which meanders along at about 9000 feet. There was a great campsite up here at 8.4 (with camp furniture and firewood) and I found water running in three places near the beginning, middle, and end of this flat-ish couple of miles.
8.4
The 'old road' mentioned in the databook cannot be discerned, until you get to the place the trail tops out, at ~mile 11.2.
11.5
I could find neither water nor the promised campsite. But then, I didn't look very hard for either. The 'rocky trail' warning in the guidebook no longer really applies.
12-14
The trail/old road heads mainly down, passing several good campsites along the way. The terrain grows visibly dryer, with more scrub oak and sage.
14.4
The first of the three gates is chained permanently open, and is located just at the end of a talus field.
14.6
Left (uphill) at marked intersection.
14.8
THERE IS NO GATE HERE. Probably a databook misprint....
15.6
...because there is a gate here, just as you enter a stand of aspens. It is quite broken-down, however.
15.8
The last gate is just past the aspens. The actual gate part has been torn off and left nearby; there is no fence.
16.5
Begin to pass through tall copses of pines, scattered across the next mile.
16.9
There's a pond and trough here. The water isn't very clean, though -- see pic above.
17.2
After Gudy's rest, the trail heads down. The route past here is marked and fairly easy to follow. It's quite pretty, but without any real surprises. You'll probably have lots of company -- bikers, small children, morning walkers, etc. Camping past this point would be very difficult (probably very illegal, too,) but you can easily head left off the CT in this area, and find reasonably flat spots out of sight of the trail.
21.5
Congrats! Remember to take a picture!
The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct, however, the area between mile 8.3 and 11.2 seemed much flatter than indicated on the elevation profile. This may have been because of my temperamental altimeter, or a minor reroute.
The cliffside houses at mile 0.7.
Snow from that big early-September storm lingered down to around 8000 feet.
Gudy's rest, at mile 17.4
The pack had only been moving for a half hour when it came to Gudy's Rest, but even still it needed a good long nap in the sun.
A tired hiker's shadow -- like Anubis with a hunchback and possibly a severe nutritional deficiency.
The pond/spring and wildlife watering trough at mile 16.9. The water's a little green and muddy.
After slogging through Taylor Lake valley, traversing the wet ruin left by ATVs where they've milled the trail into thick red paste, this segment is almost easy. The sliprock traverse isn't bad, certainly not when compared with other talus slopes you've handled by now. There were a dozen or so felled trees -- some perhaps newly fallen, but others were worn smooth and had been there for some time -- which would make biking this segment rather difficult, but otherwise the trail was smooth and clear.
Coming down off a long trail is a strange sensation. I found nostalgia rising at odd moments -- the realization that this was the last time I'd pass 10,000 feet, for example, or the last time I'd wash my socks with Colorado Trail river sand. There was a lingering kind of peace, the kind that comes with plenty of uninterrupted time in your own head, along with a determination to do something, anything, that didn't involve more darned walking. I swore a number of times that I'd had it with this hiking business -- a resolution which lasted about three weeks. And at the same time, part of me was planning what I'd need to pick up in town, in order to turn around and hit the trail again.
The CT foundation is coming out with a new guidebook this year, by the way. You should get it -- really. Whether you're an accomplished ultralighter or you've just been thinking about trying a long trail for a while, the CT is an amazing experience. It offers more remoteness and solitude than other famous trails, and passes through world-class terrain with incredible views, yet it's still an obtainable hike for a rank newbie like me. And, of course, the company and human encounters you will have on the trail are fantastic -- thanks to all the brave and bold hikers out there who offered encouragement or advice or a mud-streaked smile in a rainstorm. Wouldn't have made it without you.
Happy trails! I'll be seeing you outside. ;)
The waterfall at around mile 5.4
The guidebook falsely claims that, starting around mile 8.4, the trail follows an old road. Does this look like an old road to you? The actual road doesn't start until mile 11.2.
The middle of the three 'gates', now mainly broken.
Near the very end of the trail, the track is very lovely and very well-used, winding through thick young forests.
Made it!
It's obligatory to grin like an idiot and have your picture taken with this sign, by the way.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
There's a large FS posting board now; the CT starts near it. You should be heading for the saddle to the ESE, *not* the prominant notch to the SE.
0.7
Take care to follow the CT to the left, here. The straight-ahead trail/road heads up to some interesting, but probably unsafe, old houses perched on a cliffside.
1.1
The talus slope here, 'The Sliprock', isn't so bad -- not compared with the other slopes you'll have crossed on this treck. The path is rather narrow, though -- just take your time.
2.4
This road (FS171) is probably the first flat place you've seen for two miles. Dry meadow camping is possible after you cross the road, a little further down the trail. Past this point, there were a dozen or so fallen trees across the trail, some quite old, requiring climbing or scrambling. Biking would be difficult.
4.0
Beware! Like the river Styx, this stream may cause forgetfulness! I think I left my camelbak here.
7.1
There are two nice campsites, just before the bridge here. Burn-able wood is rare, though, unless you're willing to use willow branches.
8-10
A very scenic, rather flat section of the trail, which meanders along at about 9000 feet. There was a great campsite up here at 8.4 (with camp furniture and firewood) and I found water running in three places near the beginning, middle, and end of this flat-ish couple of miles.
8.4
The 'old road' mentioned in the databook cannot be discerned, until you get to the place the trail tops out, at ~mile 11.2.
11.5
I could find neither water nor the promised campsite. But then, I didn't look very hard for either. The 'rocky trail' warning in the guidebook no longer really applies.
12-14
The trail/old road heads mainly down, passing several good campsites along the way. The terrain grows visibly dryer, with more scrub oak and sage.
14.4
The first of the three gates is chained permanently open, and is located just at the end of a talus field.
14.6
Left (uphill) at marked intersection.
14.8
THERE IS NO GATE HERE. Probably a databook misprint....
15.6
...because there is a gate here, just as you enter a stand of aspens. It is quite broken-down, however.
15.8
The last gate is just past the aspens. The actual gate part has been torn off and left nearby; there is no fence.
16.5
Begin to pass through tall copses of pines, scattered across the next mile.
16.9
There's a pond and trough here. The water isn't very clean, though -- see pic above.
17.2
After Gudy's rest, the trail heads down. The route past here is marked and fairly easy to follow. It's quite pretty, but without any real surprises. You'll probably have lots of company -- bikers, small children, morning walkers, etc. Camping past this point would be very difficult (probably very illegal, too,) but you can easily head left off the CT in this area, and find reasonably flat spots out of sight of the trail.
21.5
Congrats! Remember to take a picture!
The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct, however, the area between mile 8.3 and 11.2 seemed much flatter than indicated on the elevation profile. This may have been because of my temperamental altimeter, or a minor reroute.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Segment 27
Hotel Draw Road to Kennebec Trailhead
A campsite at the edge of the world, near mile 10.4.
Looking down over land recently traversed, from the side trail at mile 12.3.
The trail heads up one of many talus piles.
Indian Knife Ridge is that small crest between hills. The visible hill is the last one before Taylor Lake.
Taylor Lake, from about mile 19.
The slippery, steep trail down to Taylor Lake, covered in hailstones for extra fun.
Pea-sized hail collects around my squishy-wet shoes.
The view from my tent at 10:00 AM, at Taylor Lake.
Now, you probably know that you can judge how distant a storm is by counting the seconds between a lightning strike and its thunder clap. Five seconds is a mile. So if you should ever find yourself counting thusly: *flash* one-one thou- *BOOM!*, you're probably in big, big trouble.
Imagine the following scene, if you will: frequent bursts of howling wind fling sleet and hail horizontally, bend flat every blade of tough alpine grass. There is nothing, for a half-mile in every direction, to break the gale's fury, just hillside after hillside of weathered granite debris and knee-high shrubs. The clouds above are layered so thick, the afternoon seems no brighter than the minutes after sunset. Lightning strikes leave afterimages on the insides of your eyelids; the air smells like chlorine and rust, when the wind will let you take a breath. A rubanesque girl, weighted down with a 60's-era orange canvass pack roughly the size of a Buick, passes you in a whoosh of speed, going about mach two, legs a blur, hiking poles flailing madly. If you have ever seen 'Kung Fu Hustle,' you have an idea what this looks like. Her every hair is standing straight on end. Finally, add the soundtrack, hard to hear over the roaring wind -- "oh poop oh poop oh **CRA-CRA-BOOM!** poop!"
And the segment had started out so well, too.
Well, for the first quarter-mile, anyway. Then it turns into miles of cow-pie-and-dirt roads, which continue until you come to the ATV-zone. Hn. Ok, so the beginning and the end of this segment weren't so hot, frankly -- but the middle was nice.
Starting around mile seven, the trail rapidly leaves civilization behind. While collapsed resting on a log, I was startled by a rustling noise, and looked over just in time to see a pine martin (large, red-brown weasel the length of a fox, but lighter-built and not as tall) dart by, vaulting logs and small boulders with exquisite grace. It was followed in a few moments by a half-grown cub. There's something to be said for keeping your eyes open!
There was another pleasant surprise waiting down the trail -- water, and plenty of it. I was worried about not being able to find the promised spring at 11.7, but in fact the water source was pretty obvious, and probably more reliable than indicated. Provided you've had afternoon rain, the springs should be running. The series of pictures below will direct you to it.
Though steep, the climb past the springs is also lovely. Several small trickles of water crossed the trail along the way at first, and then the trail breaks into high sub-alpine forest, interspersed with pretty little meadows. When I passed, in very early September, the bolitas (delicious edible mushrooms) were in riotous fruit here. You could have piled a 4x4 truck bed high with their bounty, and still left whole fields of them untouched. Bears or deer seemed to enjoy them, too -- many mushrooms had big bites taken out -- and still there was no end to perfect 'shrooms.
If I'd only known what was coming, I'd have camped here, and waited out the coming storm. The guidebook says you don't want to be caught by a storm over Indian Knife Ridge, and guess what? It's right!
You probably don't want to camp at Taylor Lake, anyway. It seems quite inviting from up above -- even moreso when your every hair is standing on end, when your skin is crawling and chest aching with static electricity, or when hailstones sting even through your jacket. But in poor weather, Taylor Lake suffers from several drawbacks as a campsite. First, most of the lake basin floods in heavy rain. Second, though growing at a mere 11,000 feet, the trees are all quite stunted, due to the very frequent and very wretched high winds. Third, there is no firewood; every shrub has long ago been picked clean. Forth, Taylor Lake is a heavily-used camping area.
Lucky me, I met with all four disadvantages. After stumbling down off the ridge, I fought my way down sodden trails and through dripping willow bushes to find a campsite near the water. Thoroughly soaked -- largely due to those willows -- I finally set up camp, and then spent a good hour wandering the lake in search of fuel. Coyotes and owls called from the surrounding hills, as if reminding one another of far more pleasant places to be. Though there was discarded toilet paper aplenty caught in the willows, there was no wood. Disheartened, I crawled shivering into the tent and gnawed on a block of crunchy Ramen, and listened to a nearby pair of camped mountain bikers argue, ad nauseum (oh, how boys can *talk!*).
As night fell -- bringing with it a darkness nearly indistinguishable from the day -- the real brunt of the storm hit. Rain was a constant drumming on the tent, which despite being tucked into the willows, flexed mightily under bursts of wind strong enough to knock a person down. Sleep was fragmented and uneasy -- and cold, as the ground grew sodden and moisture began to seep into the tent. During the night, I tried to sit up, only to discover that the roof was weighted and drooping with three inches of sodden snow and hail. Thunder made the tentpoles tremble tangibly. Sometime before dawn, I peeked outside and found I couldn't see the willows ten feet in front of me, so thick were the clouds racing each other past my tent.
As I fought my way out of the massed underbrush later that morning, the terrible wind ripped my pack cover off my pack, and wrapped it instead around my face. Off-balance and blinded, I slid butt-first down a mudbank and practically into the tarp-shelter of a north-bound ultralighter, who'd made it to the lake sometime during the night's terrible storm. He was camped in a spot which had promptly flooded and become a single giant sucking mudpuddle. His leg, mud-coated to the calf, poked forlornly out from under the shelter's edge.
He was fine, by the way. But he had learned, as had I, that there's really only one thing you can say in the face of weather like that: "Oh poop."
Following are images of the spring at mile 11.7, and how to find it. If you're lucky, someone will have left a note on the trail, such as this one.
The note will probably tell you to check for the spring between the two barely-visible campsites, one of which you can see here, in the center. (Click to enlarge.)
There is a side trail heading left, towards the campsites and the spring between them, but the side trail is a little hard to find, as a log has fallen across it.
The most obvious sign of the nearby spring, if there is no note, is that the trail becomes very muddy. Unlike other puddles, these ones may be clear (indicating that water is flowing, however slowly) rather than cloudy.
Near the muddy part of the trail, you may be able to spot a standing sinkhole/water-pocket about 20 feet to your left, near the upturned roots of a fallen tree. Water is dead-center in this photograph.
If all else fails, watch for this stone channel/basin, just to the *right* of the trail. Even if it is not flowing, the spring may be. Backtrack about 50 feet, and search downhill for the spring or associated pockets of water.
Suggested updates to databook:
0.0
Take a right along the edge of the parking area to follow a trail paralleling the main road.
1.4
I didn't notice the spring at 1.4, but there were two or three other (thoroughly cow-trampled and muddy) seeps along this area, so I expect it was flowing.
1.4-5.7
This section crosses an ATV road, ascends over a lovely ridge, then crosses that road a couple more times. Some parts of the trail have been obliterated by ATVs. Watch carefully for trail markers, and if you really can't decide where to go, examine the ground for bootprints and trekking-pole stab marks. The way is usually obvious, if you pause and look around. Though there are 'no motorized vehicle' signs on the trail, be prepared for dirtbikers there anyway. Careful when you're walking on the main road, as well -- ATVers go fast! On the plus side, there are plenty of helpful people around if you are hurt or out of water.
4.7
The databook suggests that you must travel 0.3 miles on FS564 here. This is NOT THE CASE. The actual road travel is less than 150 feet before the trail exits to the left.
6.0
I started meeting bowhunters around this area, in late August. They blend into the woods, walk really, really quietly and may therefore scare the bejesus out of you. But those I met were pleasant fellows, albeit very soft-spoken. Deer bowhunting starts as early as Aug 28 in some parts of the state. You could start seeing muzzleloading rifles as early as September 11th -- a good reason to be finished with the trail by then.
7.3, 7.9
There are now *two* salt creek trails that branch off from the CT.
8.5
There were some small ponds off to the right, at the bast of a talus slope, in this area. If the trail is muddy/puddled, your chances of finding water in the vicinity are pretty good, if you want to take the time.
10.4
Ascend, walk along a ridge with great views to your left. Camping on the ridge-edge here is good.
11.1
There's a dry camp near the trail to your left, near where a small strange side trail heads up and to the right.
11.7
Seasonal seeps in trees to left. See photo series above for info on how to locate this water.
12.3
In a good water year, there several more small springs crossing the main trail. In the guidebook, 'bench' doesn't mean physical bench, just a grassy flat area, sorry! The sidetrail to views is about 1/3 mile long, but it leads out onto an impressive stony spit, from where you can look down onto the CT at around mile 8.5.
14.1
Did not locate this 'faint sidetrail'. However, there were masses -- truckloads -- of edible and delicious bolete mushrooms in these sub-alpine fields.
15.2
This is about the last place to stop with good treecover, if storms threaten. You don't want to be caught on the following ridge in a lightning storm. Really. The trail after this is quite straight and very easy to follow, albeit rough. You can't get lost.
18.5
The actual knife-edge ridge. Probably more enjoyable to cross if you're not trying to outrun lightning.
18.8
A very steep, rocky, muddy descent to Taylor lake. Probably easier if you're not trying to make it down in a violent hailstorm.
19.4
Plenty of campsites, but avoid low ground, which becomes a mudpit during rain. All firewood in this area has been harvested long ago, and I don't believe there are fish in the lake. High winds may sweep this area. When you return to the CT, you may find it very muddy and slick if there's been rain.
The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct.
----> Onward, to Segment 28!
A campsite at the edge of the world, near mile 10.4.
Looking down over land recently traversed, from the side trail at mile 12.3.
The trail heads up one of many talus piles.
Indian Knife Ridge is that small crest between hills. The visible hill is the last one before Taylor Lake.
Taylor Lake, from about mile 19.
The slippery, steep trail down to Taylor Lake, covered in hailstones for extra fun.
Pea-sized hail collects around my squishy-wet shoes.
The view from my tent at 10:00 AM, at Taylor Lake.
Now, you probably know that you can judge how distant a storm is by counting the seconds between a lightning strike and its thunder clap. Five seconds is a mile. So if you should ever find yourself counting thusly: *flash* one-one thou- *BOOM!*, you're probably in big, big trouble.
Imagine the following scene, if you will: frequent bursts of howling wind fling sleet and hail horizontally, bend flat every blade of tough alpine grass. There is nothing, for a half-mile in every direction, to break the gale's fury, just hillside after hillside of weathered granite debris and knee-high shrubs. The clouds above are layered so thick, the afternoon seems no brighter than the minutes after sunset. Lightning strikes leave afterimages on the insides of your eyelids; the air smells like chlorine and rust, when the wind will let you take a breath. A rubanesque girl, weighted down with a 60's-era orange canvass pack roughly the size of a Buick, passes you in a whoosh of speed, going about mach two, legs a blur, hiking poles flailing madly. If you have ever seen 'Kung Fu Hustle,' you have an idea what this looks like. Her every hair is standing straight on end. Finally, add the soundtrack, hard to hear over the roaring wind -- "oh poop oh poop oh **CRA-CRA-BOOM!** poop!"
And the segment had started out so well, too.
Well, for the first quarter-mile, anyway. Then it turns into miles of cow-pie-and-dirt roads, which continue until you come to the ATV-zone. Hn. Ok, so the beginning and the end of this segment weren't so hot, frankly -- but the middle was nice.
Starting around mile seven, the trail rapidly leaves civilization behind. While collapsed resting on a log, I was startled by a rustling noise, and looked over just in time to see a pine martin (large, red-brown weasel the length of a fox, but lighter-built and not as tall) dart by, vaulting logs and small boulders with exquisite grace. It was followed in a few moments by a half-grown cub. There's something to be said for keeping your eyes open!
There was another pleasant surprise waiting down the trail -- water, and plenty of it. I was worried about not being able to find the promised spring at 11.7, but in fact the water source was pretty obvious, and probably more reliable than indicated. Provided you've had afternoon rain, the springs should be running. The series of pictures below will direct you to it.
Though steep, the climb past the springs is also lovely. Several small trickles of water crossed the trail along the way at first, and then the trail breaks into high sub-alpine forest, interspersed with pretty little meadows. When I passed, in very early September, the bolitas (delicious edible mushrooms) were in riotous fruit here. You could have piled a 4x4 truck bed high with their bounty, and still left whole fields of them untouched. Bears or deer seemed to enjoy them, too -- many mushrooms had big bites taken out -- and still there was no end to perfect 'shrooms.
If I'd only known what was coming, I'd have camped here, and waited out the coming storm. The guidebook says you don't want to be caught by a storm over Indian Knife Ridge, and guess what? It's right!
You probably don't want to camp at Taylor Lake, anyway. It seems quite inviting from up above -- even moreso when your every hair is standing on end, when your skin is crawling and chest aching with static electricity, or when hailstones sting even through your jacket. But in poor weather, Taylor Lake suffers from several drawbacks as a campsite. First, most of the lake basin floods in heavy rain. Second, though growing at a mere 11,000 feet, the trees are all quite stunted, due to the very frequent and very wretched high winds. Third, there is no firewood; every shrub has long ago been picked clean. Forth, Taylor Lake is a heavily-used camping area.
Lucky me, I met with all four disadvantages. After stumbling down off the ridge, I fought my way down sodden trails and through dripping willow bushes to find a campsite near the water. Thoroughly soaked -- largely due to those willows -- I finally set up camp, and then spent a good hour wandering the lake in search of fuel. Coyotes and owls called from the surrounding hills, as if reminding one another of far more pleasant places to be. Though there was discarded toilet paper aplenty caught in the willows, there was no wood. Disheartened, I crawled shivering into the tent and gnawed on a block of crunchy Ramen, and listened to a nearby pair of camped mountain bikers argue, ad nauseum (oh, how boys can *talk!*).
As night fell -- bringing with it a darkness nearly indistinguishable from the day -- the real brunt of the storm hit. Rain was a constant drumming on the tent, which despite being tucked into the willows, flexed mightily under bursts of wind strong enough to knock a person down. Sleep was fragmented and uneasy -- and cold, as the ground grew sodden and moisture began to seep into the tent. During the night, I tried to sit up, only to discover that the roof was weighted and drooping with three inches of sodden snow and hail. Thunder made the tentpoles tremble tangibly. Sometime before dawn, I peeked outside and found I couldn't see the willows ten feet in front of me, so thick were the clouds racing each other past my tent.
As I fought my way out of the massed underbrush later that morning, the terrible wind ripped my pack cover off my pack, and wrapped it instead around my face. Off-balance and blinded, I slid butt-first down a mudbank and practically into the tarp-shelter of a north-bound ultralighter, who'd made it to the lake sometime during the night's terrible storm. He was camped in a spot which had promptly flooded and become a single giant sucking mudpuddle. His leg, mud-coated to the calf, poked forlornly out from under the shelter's edge.
He was fine, by the way. But he had learned, as had I, that there's really only one thing you can say in the face of weather like that: "Oh poop."
Following are images of the spring at mile 11.7, and how to find it. If you're lucky, someone will have left a note on the trail, such as this one.
The note will probably tell you to check for the spring between the two barely-visible campsites, one of which you can see here, in the center. (Click to enlarge.)
There is a side trail heading left, towards the campsites and the spring between them, but the side trail is a little hard to find, as a log has fallen across it.
The most obvious sign of the nearby spring, if there is no note, is that the trail becomes very muddy. Unlike other puddles, these ones may be clear (indicating that water is flowing, however slowly) rather than cloudy.
Near the muddy part of the trail, you may be able to spot a standing sinkhole/water-pocket about 20 feet to your left, near the upturned roots of a fallen tree. Water is dead-center in this photograph.
If all else fails, watch for this stone channel/basin, just to the *right* of the trail. Even if it is not flowing, the spring may be. Backtrack about 50 feet, and search downhill for the spring or associated pockets of water.
Suggested updates to databook:
0.0
Take a right along the edge of the parking area to follow a trail paralleling the main road.
1.4
I didn't notice the spring at 1.4, but there were two or three other (thoroughly cow-trampled and muddy) seeps along this area, so I expect it was flowing.
1.4-5.7
This section crosses an ATV road, ascends over a lovely ridge, then crosses that road a couple more times. Some parts of the trail have been obliterated by ATVs. Watch carefully for trail markers, and if you really can't decide where to go, examine the ground for bootprints and trekking-pole stab marks. The way is usually obvious, if you pause and look around. Though there are 'no motorized vehicle' signs on the trail, be prepared for dirtbikers there anyway. Careful when you're walking on the main road, as well -- ATVers go fast! On the plus side, there are plenty of helpful people around if you are hurt or out of water.
4.7
The databook suggests that you must travel 0.3 miles on FS564 here. This is NOT THE CASE. The actual road travel is less than 150 feet before the trail exits to the left.
6.0
I started meeting bowhunters around this area, in late August. They blend into the woods, walk really, really quietly and may therefore scare the bejesus out of you. But those I met were pleasant fellows, albeit very soft-spoken. Deer bowhunting starts as early as Aug 28 in some parts of the state. You could start seeing muzzleloading rifles as early as September 11th -- a good reason to be finished with the trail by then.
7.3, 7.9
There are now *two* salt creek trails that branch off from the CT.
8.5
There were some small ponds off to the right, at the bast of a talus slope, in this area. If the trail is muddy/puddled, your chances of finding water in the vicinity are pretty good, if you want to take the time.
10.4
Ascend, walk along a ridge with great views to your left. Camping on the ridge-edge here is good.
11.1
There's a dry camp near the trail to your left, near where a small strange side trail heads up and to the right.
11.7
Seasonal seeps in trees to left. See photo series above for info on how to locate this water.
12.3
In a good water year, there several more small springs crossing the main trail. In the guidebook, 'bench' doesn't mean physical bench, just a grassy flat area, sorry! The sidetrail to views is about 1/3 mile long, but it leads out onto an impressive stony spit, from where you can look down onto the CT at around mile 8.5.
14.1
Did not locate this 'faint sidetrail'. However, there were masses -- truckloads -- of edible and delicious bolete mushrooms in these sub-alpine fields.
15.2
This is about the last place to stop with good treecover, if storms threaten. You don't want to be caught on the following ridge in a lightning storm. Really. The trail after this is quite straight and very easy to follow, albeit rough. You can't get lost.
18.5
The actual knife-edge ridge. Probably more enjoyable to cross if you're not trying to outrun lightning.
18.8
A very steep, rocky, muddy descent to Taylor lake. Probably easier if you're not trying to make it down in a violent hailstorm.
19.4
Plenty of campsites, but avoid low ground, which becomes a mudpit during rain. All firewood in this area has been harvested long ago, and I don't believe there are fish in the lake. High winds may sweep this area. When you return to the CT, you may find it very muddy and slick if there's been rain.
The elevation profile for this segment is roughly correct.
----> Onward, to Segment 28!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Segment 26
Bolam Pass Road to Hotel Draw Road
Gold-kissed grasses and dark pines frame blue mountains beyond.
The lake, including the small out-flowing stream at mile 0.1. Both were weirdly red.
A view down the long valley leading up to Blackhawk pass.
The fantastic scenery continues in this segment. Nipped by the frost, the grasses were just beginning to yellow, turning entire hillsides into green-gold foregrounds framing misty-blue mountains beyond. The large lake at the start of this segment is not particularly picturesque, but the trail gets better. Perhaps the best of all is the long valley leading up to Blackhawk pass, where there were late-blooming columbines, lots of edible mountain bluebell, and distant elk.
In several of the small meadows around mile 10.0, look for masses of orange, apricot-scented mushrooms. Make sure you identify them properly *before even trying* to eat any, but chanterelles were very common throughout the latter portion of the trail, along with tiny wild strawberries.
Mountain bluebells -- delicious. They taste like green beans, with a texture like spinach. Thanks, Rebecca!
Straight creek -- last water for a while. You can't miss it!
Suggested updates to databook:
0.0
The lake's water was a strange rusty-red. I did not taste it.
0.6
There was water aplenty at this and many other streamlets and tiny, beautiful lakes.
4.1
The CT goes straight/left; the right-hand trail is now closed for rehabilitation, so there's even less danger of getting lost.
6.2-6.6
The 'spring' at 6.6 was a pair of burbling creeks when I passed. There are many lovely flat places to camp along the climb out of this valley, but the established spots are rather close to the trail. Setting up a new camp may prove more pleasant. Just over the pass, however, is a fantastic established camp at mile 7.5
7.5
Best firepit ever. Plenty of flat rocks on which to dry some mushroom jerky, if you'd like. There's wood and nearby water.
8.4
It's impossible to miss this creek -- there's even a wooden sign marking it (see pic above.) There were a few very small streamlets in the couple miles past this point, but I hiked during an extraordinarily wet year. Camping near this part of the creek would be difficult.
10.0
At last you join an old road (look for the trailmagic left by Llama Mama's,) and start to descend. The character of the trail rapidly changes, becoming more traveled. When you reach a parking lot, skirt it along the right-hand side.
The elevation profile is correct for this segment.
----> Onward, to Segment 27!
Gold-kissed grasses and dark pines frame blue mountains beyond.
The lake, including the small out-flowing stream at mile 0.1. Both were weirdly red.
A view down the long valley leading up to Blackhawk pass.
The fantastic scenery continues in this segment. Nipped by the frost, the grasses were just beginning to yellow, turning entire hillsides into green-gold foregrounds framing misty-blue mountains beyond. The large lake at the start of this segment is not particularly picturesque, but the trail gets better. Perhaps the best of all is the long valley leading up to Blackhawk pass, where there were late-blooming columbines, lots of edible mountain bluebell, and distant elk.
In several of the small meadows around mile 10.0, look for masses of orange, apricot-scented mushrooms. Make sure you identify them properly *before even trying* to eat any, but chanterelles were very common throughout the latter portion of the trail, along with tiny wild strawberries.
Mountain bluebells -- delicious. They taste like green beans, with a texture like spinach. Thanks, Rebecca!
Straight creek -- last water for a while. You can't miss it!
Suggested updates to databook:
0.0
The lake's water was a strange rusty-red. I did not taste it.
0.6
There was water aplenty at this and many other streamlets and tiny, beautiful lakes.
4.1
The CT goes straight/left; the right-hand trail is now closed for rehabilitation, so there's even less danger of getting lost.
6.2-6.6
The 'spring' at 6.6 was a pair of burbling creeks when I passed. There are many lovely flat places to camp along the climb out of this valley, but the established spots are rather close to the trail. Setting up a new camp may prove more pleasant. Just over the pass, however, is a fantastic established camp at mile 7.5
7.5
Best firepit ever. Plenty of flat rocks on which to dry some mushroom jerky, if you'd like. There's wood and nearby water.
8.4
It's impossible to miss this creek -- there's even a wooden sign marking it (see pic above.) There were a few very small streamlets in the couple miles past this point, but I hiked during an extraordinarily wet year. Camping near this part of the creek would be difficult.
10.0
At last you join an old road (look for the trailmagic left by Llama Mama's,) and start to descend. The character of the trail rapidly changes, becoming more traveled. When you reach a parking lot, skirt it along the right-hand side.
The elevation profile is correct for this segment.
----> Onward, to Segment 27!
Segment 25
Molas Pass to Botham Pass Road
Me, on a grassy slope near mile 2.5.
The sky-blue stream at mile 17.
One of several grassy, cliff-edged meadows near mile 7.
Looking back on Cascade creek, at mile 14.7.
A stream crosses the slickrock trail at mile 5.3. (Looking back towards Denver side.)
I didn't learn to eat mushrooms until this segment, when no less than two sets of travelers pointed out tasty varieties. I noticed something interesting, once I started picking edible mushrooms. I began paying much more attention to the trail -- to its moods, its microclimes. It was no longer something to pass as quickly as possible on the way to the next view, the next resting spot or landmark, but rather something to examine and to savor. Eating off the trail changed my relationship with it -- something that people who fish more successfully than I have no doubt discovered long ago.
Also, that faint edge of fear -- will this kill me if I eat it? let's see! -- is pretty entertaining, too.
The terrain here is some of the most fantastically varied and lush that you'll see. There's a great deal of wildlife, too. I camped in a beautiful, cliff-edged headwater canyon at mile 7.5. As usual, that night I woke up, in need of the restroom. I grabbed my light, crawled out of the tent, and discovered two glowing eyes peering back, not ten feet away. I retreated, post haste, tried to keep quiet. What a fool I'd been, leaving food in my tent! Was the creature after my oriental-flavored Ramen? I'd defend those noodles with my life! For the rest of that long night, the fearsome beast stalked around my tent, its footfalls audible. It even licked the rainfly a couple of times. All the while, I grew increasingly desperate. Finally, near dawn and on the point of bursting, I grabbed a hiking pole (a poor weapon, but I carried nothing else with which to fend off wild bestial monsters) and bolted from the tent... only to find a young and rather bemused mule deer doe, which watched me for a time, then sauntered away.
The trek up to Rolling Mountain passes through high alpine fields, but shortly thereafter you'll find near-rainforest conditions, with thick mats of moss on the ground, great old trees, and eerie blue streams. If you have extra food, it's worth taking your time in this area for photography, reading, or just napping in the sun.
Watch out for those mule deer, though. They'll be coming for your soup.
Two tiny lakes, visible from the trail at mile 5.0.
Small purple orchid-like blooms.
Small purple orchids crowded this segment.
At long last, Rolling Mountain, from mile 10.8.
Pair of peaks, visible from approx mile 15, which resemble the CT logo. ;)
Someone got a little enthusiastic with those trail markers!
Suggested corrections to the databook:
0.2
This segment was astoundingly rich in mushrooms, edible and otherwise, both of great variety. It also hosted some of the most lush flora and ecological zones of the trail. It's well-worth lingering in many places.
1.5 - 4.0
The guide- and databook make these little roads sound complicated; they're not. intersections are clearly marked, and it's obvious which way the trail heads, anyway, as it will be the most well-worn path. Still, keep aware of your surroundings. I found numerous springs and streams in this area, the day after rain.
5.3
This stream does, in fact, flow over slickrock at the edge of a cliff. So be careful. There's a picture above, though it doesn't show the main part of that cliff.
10.2
The engineer trail sign was damaged, but you can still see that engineer trail heads left/straight. The now-unlabeled trail, to the right, is the CT. You'll see more markers just a little further along.
10.5
There are several very pretty lakes here... and also, a old shovel blade. Just in case you need to dig a hole, I guess.
12.0
The valleys west of Rolling mountain feel primal, very thick and very green. High water made some of the stream crossings a little dicey -- plan to get wet.
14.7
Not here, though. The bridge is a very good one -- though I wouldn't lean against any handrails. There's camping uphill, just before the bridge. After the crossing, make sure to look back occasionally, for the view.
15-16
Though there was evidence of past trail washouts, there was no water running here when I passed. The trail has been methodically and carefully built to withstand flooding.
17.0
The 'camping' promised here in the databook was not so great. The most logical field in which to put a tent was soggy, the next best place was a sliver along the trail at the edge of a cliff. In dry years, the camping might be fine, but I ended up moving along to 17.3, where there were (informal) flat spots and a very tiny seasonal stream. The water here, by the way, was an eerie sky-blue hue. Tasted good, though.
20.1
Turn *left* on a very large dirt road. There were deep ruts and lots of puddles and muddy bits, so the going isn't so easy as you might imagine. Follow the road longer than you think you should, until you find a trail breaking away to your left. (The marker was stolen, but it's the first large, clear trail you come to.) This trail heads slightly uphill, into some trees with campsites, then downhill to the lake.
The elevation profile for this segment is essentially correct. The grades are not (usually) quite so bad as they look, though -- this is just a somewhat long segment.
----> Onward, to Segment 26!
Me, on a grassy slope near mile 2.5.
The sky-blue stream at mile 17.
One of several grassy, cliff-edged meadows near mile 7.
Looking back on Cascade creek, at mile 14.7.
A stream crosses the slickrock trail at mile 5.3. (Looking back towards Denver side.)
I didn't learn to eat mushrooms until this segment, when no less than two sets of travelers pointed out tasty varieties. I noticed something interesting, once I started picking edible mushrooms. I began paying much more attention to the trail -- to its moods, its microclimes. It was no longer something to pass as quickly as possible on the way to the next view, the next resting spot or landmark, but rather something to examine and to savor. Eating off the trail changed my relationship with it -- something that people who fish more successfully than I have no doubt discovered long ago.
Also, that faint edge of fear -- will this kill me if I eat it? let's see! -- is pretty entertaining, too.
The terrain here is some of the most fantastically varied and lush that you'll see. There's a great deal of wildlife, too. I camped in a beautiful, cliff-edged headwater canyon at mile 7.5. As usual, that night I woke up, in need of the restroom. I grabbed my light, crawled out of the tent, and discovered two glowing eyes peering back, not ten feet away. I retreated, post haste, tried to keep quiet. What a fool I'd been, leaving food in my tent! Was the creature after my oriental-flavored Ramen? I'd defend those noodles with my life! For the rest of that long night, the fearsome beast stalked around my tent, its footfalls audible. It even licked the rainfly a couple of times. All the while, I grew increasingly desperate. Finally, near dawn and on the point of bursting, I grabbed a hiking pole (a poor weapon, but I carried nothing else with which to fend off wild bestial monsters) and bolted from the tent... only to find a young and rather bemused mule deer doe, which watched me for a time, then sauntered away.
The trek up to Rolling Mountain passes through high alpine fields, but shortly thereafter you'll find near-rainforest conditions, with thick mats of moss on the ground, great old trees, and eerie blue streams. If you have extra food, it's worth taking your time in this area for photography, reading, or just napping in the sun.
Watch out for those mule deer, though. They'll be coming for your soup.
Two tiny lakes, visible from the trail at mile 5.0.
Small purple orchid-like blooms.
Small purple orchids crowded this segment.
At long last, Rolling Mountain, from mile 10.8.
Pair of peaks, visible from approx mile 15, which resemble the CT logo. ;)
Someone got a little enthusiastic with those trail markers!
Suggested corrections to the databook:
0.2
This segment was astoundingly rich in mushrooms, edible and otherwise, both of great variety. It also hosted some of the most lush flora and ecological zones of the trail. It's well-worth lingering in many places.
1.5 - 4.0
The guide- and databook make these little roads sound complicated; they're not. intersections are clearly marked, and it's obvious which way the trail heads, anyway, as it will be the most well-worn path. Still, keep aware of your surroundings. I found numerous springs and streams in this area, the day after rain.
5.3
This stream does, in fact, flow over slickrock at the edge of a cliff. So be careful. There's a picture above, though it doesn't show the main part of that cliff.
10.2
The engineer trail sign was damaged, but you can still see that engineer trail heads left/straight. The now-unlabeled trail, to the right, is the CT. You'll see more markers just a little further along.
10.5
There are several very pretty lakes here... and also, a old shovel blade. Just in case you need to dig a hole, I guess.
12.0
The valleys west of Rolling mountain feel primal, very thick and very green. High water made some of the stream crossings a little dicey -- plan to get wet.
14.7
Not here, though. The bridge is a very good one -- though I wouldn't lean against any handrails. There's camping uphill, just before the bridge. After the crossing, make sure to look back occasionally, for the view.
15-16
Though there was evidence of past trail washouts, there was no water running here when I passed. The trail has been methodically and carefully built to withstand flooding.
17.0
The 'camping' promised here in the databook was not so great. The most logical field in which to put a tent was soggy, the next best place was a sliver along the trail at the edge of a cliff. In dry years, the camping might be fine, but I ended up moving along to 17.3, where there were (informal) flat spots and a very tiny seasonal stream. The water here, by the way, was an eerie sky-blue hue. Tasted good, though.
20.1
Turn *left* on a very large dirt road. There were deep ruts and lots of puddles and muddy bits, so the going isn't so easy as you might imagine. Follow the road longer than you think you should, until you find a trail breaking away to your left. (The marker was stolen, but it's the first large, clear trail you come to.) This trail heads slightly uphill, into some trees with campsites, then downhill to the lake.
The elevation profile for this segment is essentially correct. The grades are not (usually) quite so bad as they look, though -- this is just a somewhat long segment.
----> Onward, to Segment 26!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Segment 24
Stony Pass to Molas Pass
The view down into Elk Creek drainage; the mining ruins of beartown would be 180 degrees behind this scene, and over a hill. Fabulous artwork created by me.
Aside from the tremendously beautiful scenery, the most salient point to be made about this segment is that there is no longer any resupply possible at the Molas Lake Campground. That was unfortunate, since my pack by that point contained a single packet of salmon and some cracker dust -- thank heavens there were plenty of raspberries along the trail, or I'd have been in trouble.
As to the camp store closure, the old guy who runs the campground told me that "too many durn' kids were stealin' stuff," while fixing me with a suspicious eye, as if afraid that the mere proximity of a dirty hiker would cause his supplies to mysteriously vanish. He waved me towards the road with disinterest, told me I'd get a hitch into town "right quick."
In fact, it took a while. Not having planned to hitch that day, I was wearing all black (bad), and was more disheveled and stinky than normal (also bad), and was hitching from the wrong trailhead (very bad.) Which brings to mind a few more rules of hitching, gleaned from experience and other hikers' tips. For your entertainment, I hereby present: HOW TO HITCHHIKE.
-- Hitch from the trailhead. Locals know that a long trail passes their town, and they also know from where hikers generally hitch. If you are not at that spot, you might be a hobo or worse. If possible, stand where there's room to pull over, and also where you are visible from a long ways away.
-- Keep group size in mind. Pairs tend to be most successful, especially if one or both are women. Groups of four or more should split up.
-- Have a dog. People I've talked to say this is a big plus when hitching.
-- Clean yourself up. Even a quick hair combing, or running a wet rag over your muddy face, or a beard trim by a buddy, will help.
-- Dress as nicely and as innocently as you can. That shirt on which you've spilled fruit punch, so that it looks like you've been stabbed? No. Battered black Metalica T-shirt? No. Nice white thermal North Face shirt and clean-ish black nylon hiking pants? Yep, that'll do.
-- Take your pack off. Unless it is a very ratty pack, lean it against your legs or a nearby rock so that it faces oncoming traffic. You want passerbys to see that it is a fairly nice piece of hiker gear, rather than a transient's knapsack. Leaving your pack on makes it look like you're maybe going somewhere, and like you aren't all that tired anyway (and therefore not in dire need of a ride.)
-- Collapse your sharp and pointy trekking poles and stick them in your pack, so they are as unnoticeable as possible. Don't be waving those suckers around. (If nothing else, their size makes them appear likely to damage car upholstery.)
-- Take off your sunglasses and hat and put them in your pack. Drivers need to see your face.
-- Stay standing, or if vehicles are infrequent, stand when you spot one.
-- Take a map or guidebook out of your pack and pretend to read it, while keeping one eye on the road. As a vehicle approaches, look up hopefully, try to make eye contact with the driver, and wave a thumb. Such acting sounds a little silly, but works fantastically well. There's no better way to convey the truth: that you are a harmless hiker, maybe a little lost, and in need of assistance.
-- Keep all other belongings inside your pack. If they're spread out, it might take a while for you to gather everything and get in the car -- someone thinking of stopping won't want to wait.
-- Remember: if something doesn't feel right about the situation, you can always claim to have forgotten something a mile back, and then turn around and walk away.
By the way -- the Siverton Hostel, which is definitely highly recommended, will give you a ride back to the trail for a couple bucks. Most hotels catering to hikers will do this for you; call ahead and ask. Hitching back up to the trail is almost always harder than getting to town.
This is actually Little Molas Lake, in the beginning of the next segment. I stuck it here because my camera was dead for this segment.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
Stony pass is just that -- tremendously, beautifully rocky. Big ridges rose like dragon spines, and it was windy here. There are mining ruins along the trail.
0.5
The evening after rain, we found plenty of streamlets and small ponds in this area. There are a couple flat benches to your left, facing over the road, which make for good camping. While doing just that, we witnessed a tremendous rockfall which possibly fell across the trail at the end of the last segment. Shortly, the trail heads right, up and away from the road, and wanders over open and rolling tundra.
1.8
Out here, old trails last a long time, and can form a confusing network when seen from afar. Keep an eye open for signposts, and don't cut downhill to a trail you can see below -- it might not be the CT.
3.3
At this point, you've finished 80% of the trail. Yay!
5.5
There's a Peruvian cowboy around here who may give you muddled directions in a mix of gestures and Spanish. (If you have any extra food, he'd appreciate it.) The next mile may be frustrating, because you can *see* Elk creek drainage off to your right; it seems like you should head straight there. But in fact, you should circle left, around some hills.
6.4
Then, at a sign upon which someone has helpfully etched "worst sign ever", you head right, up those very same hills, to the mouth of the drainage. From there, you can see Beartown (old mining ruins) to the east, and the lovely Elk Creek to the west. (See illustration below.)
7.4
The trail crosses Elk Creek many times. But interspersed, there are also several very, very steep portions of the route which lead over wet bare rock. Hope your water shoes have great traction. You may want to walk backwards, for a better grip.
7.5-9
The trail is very exposed for much of this section -- it clings to a steep slope with a chasm to your left. If you have trouble with vertigo, stop and eat something salty... and keep your eyes only on the trail when you proceed.
9.6
This stream crossing either requires an ankle-deep ford... or you can try the scary and wobbly log bridge.
10.5-11.6
There are several lovely meadows in this area, any of which would make great campsites. Elk Creek is glacier-blue with minerals at these elevations, but tastes fine.
12.5
The trail descends to follow roughly along the river's course. There aren't many flat spots for camping for the next two miles -- but there are some incredible views.
14.0
One last climb up into the hills and away from the water, and you'll come in rapid succession to a nice (dry) campsite to your left, the trail register, and a fork in the trail (right/straight for CT.)
15.1
Cross the RR tracks, head right along them until a trail opens up to your left. Many fine campsites for the next 0.3 miles, near the RR tracks.
15.4
There's a pretty little log bridge, now.
17.6
After a long climb, follow the signposted trail through a very large meadow (puffball mushrooms are common here) and up a hillside. There are several small intersecting horse trails, none of which are mentioned in either book, but all of which are signposted and small. Stay on the main trail.
18.4
At this point, a large side trail heads right. Ignore it, and continue straight/left. The sign here may be broken, missing, or hard to read, but you'll know the intersection because the side trail is nearly as well-traveled as the CT.
18.7
Another large side trail heads right, to the Molas Lake Campground. *THERE IS NO LONGER ANY RESUPPLY HERE.* The campground store is closed. The grumpy man who runs the campground will (sometimes) hold your package, but it may be hard to find him to retrieve your package, and he will not sell you anything. It's best to continue to the end of the segment, instead, and hitch into town from there if you need to.
The elevation profile for this segment in the databook is not correct. The line drawing shows the old elevation profile, from before the trail re-route. The enumerated elevation numbers, however, are correct, so you can either copy the profile from the guidebook, or draw in a new one based on the numbers. This segment is also not as long as indicated in the databook elevation profile, so you have to move the line back about three miles.
----> Onward, to segment 25!
The view down into Elk Creek drainage; the mining ruins of beartown would be 180 degrees behind this scene, and over a hill. Fabulous artwork created by me.
Aside from the tremendously beautiful scenery, the most salient point to be made about this segment is that there is no longer any resupply possible at the Molas Lake Campground. That was unfortunate, since my pack by that point contained a single packet of salmon and some cracker dust -- thank heavens there were plenty of raspberries along the trail, or I'd have been in trouble.
As to the camp store closure, the old guy who runs the campground told me that "too many durn' kids were stealin' stuff," while fixing me with a suspicious eye, as if afraid that the mere proximity of a dirty hiker would cause his supplies to mysteriously vanish. He waved me towards the road with disinterest, told me I'd get a hitch into town "right quick."
In fact, it took a while. Not having planned to hitch that day, I was wearing all black (bad), and was more disheveled and stinky than normal (also bad), and was hitching from the wrong trailhead (very bad.) Which brings to mind a few more rules of hitching, gleaned from experience and other hikers' tips. For your entertainment, I hereby present: HOW TO HITCHHIKE.
-- Hitch from the trailhead. Locals know that a long trail passes their town, and they also know from where hikers generally hitch. If you are not at that spot, you might be a hobo or worse. If possible, stand where there's room to pull over, and also where you are visible from a long ways away.
-- Keep group size in mind. Pairs tend to be most successful, especially if one or both are women. Groups of four or more should split up.
-- Have a dog. People I've talked to say this is a big plus when hitching.
-- Clean yourself up. Even a quick hair combing, or running a wet rag over your muddy face, or a beard trim by a buddy, will help.
-- Dress as nicely and as innocently as you can. That shirt on which you've spilled fruit punch, so that it looks like you've been stabbed? No. Battered black Metalica T-shirt? No. Nice white thermal North Face shirt and clean-ish black nylon hiking pants? Yep, that'll do.
-- Take your pack off. Unless it is a very ratty pack, lean it against your legs or a nearby rock so that it faces oncoming traffic. You want passerbys to see that it is a fairly nice piece of hiker gear, rather than a transient's knapsack. Leaving your pack on makes it look like you're maybe going somewhere, and like you aren't all that tired anyway (and therefore not in dire need of a ride.)
-- Collapse your sharp and pointy trekking poles and stick them in your pack, so they are as unnoticeable as possible. Don't be waving those suckers around. (If nothing else, their size makes them appear likely to damage car upholstery.)
-- Take off your sunglasses and hat and put them in your pack. Drivers need to see your face.
-- Stay standing, or if vehicles are infrequent, stand when you spot one.
-- Take a map or guidebook out of your pack and pretend to read it, while keeping one eye on the road. As a vehicle approaches, look up hopefully, try to make eye contact with the driver, and wave a thumb. Such acting sounds a little silly, but works fantastically well. There's no better way to convey the truth: that you are a harmless hiker, maybe a little lost, and in need of assistance.
-- Keep all other belongings inside your pack. If they're spread out, it might take a while for you to gather everything and get in the car -- someone thinking of stopping won't want to wait.
-- Remember: if something doesn't feel right about the situation, you can always claim to have forgotten something a mile back, and then turn around and walk away.
By the way -- the Siverton Hostel, which is definitely highly recommended, will give you a ride back to the trail for a couple bucks. Most hotels catering to hikers will do this for you; call ahead and ask. Hitching back up to the trail is almost always harder than getting to town.
This is actually Little Molas Lake, in the beginning of the next segment. I stuck it here because my camera was dead for this segment.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
Stony pass is just that -- tremendously, beautifully rocky. Big ridges rose like dragon spines, and it was windy here. There are mining ruins along the trail.
0.5
The evening after rain, we found plenty of streamlets and small ponds in this area. There are a couple flat benches to your left, facing over the road, which make for good camping. While doing just that, we witnessed a tremendous rockfall which possibly fell across the trail at the end of the last segment. Shortly, the trail heads right, up and away from the road, and wanders over open and rolling tundra.
1.8
Out here, old trails last a long time, and can form a confusing network when seen from afar. Keep an eye open for signposts, and don't cut downhill to a trail you can see below -- it might not be the CT.
3.3
At this point, you've finished 80% of the trail. Yay!
5.5
There's a Peruvian cowboy around here who may give you muddled directions in a mix of gestures and Spanish. (If you have any extra food, he'd appreciate it.) The next mile may be frustrating, because you can *see* Elk creek drainage off to your right; it seems like you should head straight there. But in fact, you should circle left, around some hills.
6.4
Then, at a sign upon which someone has helpfully etched "worst sign ever", you head right, up those very same hills, to the mouth of the drainage. From there, you can see Beartown (old mining ruins) to the east, and the lovely Elk Creek to the west. (See illustration below.)
7.4
The trail crosses Elk Creek many times. But interspersed, there are also several very, very steep portions of the route which lead over wet bare rock. Hope your water shoes have great traction. You may want to walk backwards, for a better grip.
7.5-9
The trail is very exposed for much of this section -- it clings to a steep slope with a chasm to your left. If you have trouble with vertigo, stop and eat something salty... and keep your eyes only on the trail when you proceed.
9.6
This stream crossing either requires an ankle-deep ford... or you can try the scary and wobbly log bridge.
10.5-11.6
There are several lovely meadows in this area, any of which would make great campsites. Elk Creek is glacier-blue with minerals at these elevations, but tastes fine.
12.5
The trail descends to follow roughly along the river's course. There aren't many flat spots for camping for the next two miles -- but there are some incredible views.
14.0
One last climb up into the hills and away from the water, and you'll come in rapid succession to a nice (dry) campsite to your left, the trail register, and a fork in the trail (right/straight for CT.)
15.1
Cross the RR tracks, head right along them until a trail opens up to your left. Many fine campsites for the next 0.3 miles, near the RR tracks.
15.4
There's a pretty little log bridge, now.
17.6
After a long climb, follow the signposted trail through a very large meadow (puffball mushrooms are common here) and up a hillside. There are several small intersecting horse trails, none of which are mentioned in either book, but all of which are signposted and small. Stay on the main trail.
18.4
At this point, a large side trail heads right. Ignore it, and continue straight/left. The sign here may be broken, missing, or hard to read, but you'll know the intersection because the side trail is nearly as well-traveled as the CT.
18.7
Another large side trail heads right, to the Molas Lake Campground. *THERE IS NO LONGER ANY RESUPPLY HERE.* The campground store is closed. The grumpy man who runs the campground will (sometimes) hold your package, but it may be hard to find him to retrieve your package, and he will not sell you anything. It's best to continue to the end of the segment, instead, and hitch into town from there if you need to.
The elevation profile for this segment in the databook is not correct. The line drawing shows the old elevation profile, from before the trail re-route. The enumerated elevation numbers, however, are correct, so you can either copy the profile from the guidebook, or draw in a new one based on the numbers. This segment is also not as long as indicated in the databook elevation profile, so you have to move the line back about three miles.
----> Onward, to segment 25!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Segment 23
Carson Saddle to Stony Pass
The rocky hillsides just past Cataract Lake. The terrain grows increasingly mineralized and blooms with strange colors and sparkly sections. It's a geologist's wonderland out there.
I think I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: there's not much to cook on, up here. Massed willow bushes, such as the ones around the beautiful Cataract Lake, do a good job of cutting the worst of the wind, but their branches do not burn well at all, and stink when set alight. In fact, the only place in this segment where you can reliably cook over a fire is early on, around mile 1 - 2, where there are clusters of small, wind-twisted pines just downhill, to the left of the trail.
I stopped there to cook some lunch -- General Tsao's Chicken from Backpacker's Pantry. It was meant to be dinner the night before, but it hadn't actually occurred to me that starting campfires might be a tad difficult at 13,000 feet, in large part because there is nothing up there to burn. But there was just enough deadfall around mile 1 to start a tiny little fire. Now, I knew from sad, sad experience that Backpacker's Pantry meals (or at least, the two varieties that I tried) will not cook properly above 11,000 feet or so. If you pour boiling water in the package and then seal it up, as directed by the instructions, you'll be left with a cold meal and crunchy rice in a mere 45 minutes. So, thinking myself very clever, I simmered some water and then poured in the powdery, food-like substance.
General Tsao's Chicken gelled in the bottom of that pot like a layer of mud, looking sullen. I stirred. I covered. I steamed and simmered and even attempted to boil that General Tsao's Chicken with the mere heat of my cursing. (Calling it 'chicken' by the way, is a stretch. The meat-like chunks are really just soya pieces, similar to but less tasty and less numerous than the soya pieces we used to buy in Malawi for fifty cents.) Eventually, I gave up and just ate it. The rice wasn't crunchy, but the carrot pieces still were -- and interestingly, they emerged a day or two later looking *precisely* as they had when going in. Who knew that dried carrots were indestructable at altitude by the human digestive system? I'm going to try dried corn, next, just to see if its consumption produces the same degree of flatulant jet-propulsion. Really helps with those climbs, yanno.
It was shortly after consuming this 'meal' that I limped down to Cataract Lake, one of the small alpine lakes which are the highlights of this segment. I could tell from far above that someone had already set up camp, for there was a tent, but no sign of occupancy. I circled around to the other side of the lake, and started to set up my own camp. It was then I discovered that Cataract Lake appears to be filled with the spawn of Cthulhu.
I'm not sure what else they might be. Strange little half-translucent creatures, some as long as my pinkie finger and about that wide, with little sweeping mouthparts; they definitely appear to have come from the remoter gulfs of cosmic space. The water I scooped up also contained a selection of twisting red worms, and some kind of fast-moving waterflea. It took a couple tries to get water that wasn't visibly inhabited, and I dropped in some iodine just to make sure.
Eventually, I noticed movement in the other camp, and went to say hi, and also to warn the other hiker that, when the apocalypse comes, it would probably rise from this very lake, so it might be prudent to go around armed. The other hiker paused noticeably when I called out, then walked down to meet me. "Oh good!" she said, smiling. "It kind of looked like you might be a gimpy old mafia don in a boiler hat and a trench coat. From a distance, you know." That is, in point of fact, exactly what I looked like, limping down the hillside dressed all in black, smothered in raingear, wearing a mashed and misshapen hat, and with my belly full of fermenting carrot bits. "But boy, it's nice to meet another solo female hiker on the tra..."
"You realize that lake is filled with the spawn of Cthulhu? Millions of them! Right there in that lake!" I told her, waving a sharpened trekking pole in one hand and my pocketknife in the other, in vigorous illustration.
There was a long, long silence. Rebecca eyed me doubtfully. "Maybe you should move your camp to where I can keep an eye on you," she ventured.
There's probably strength in numbers, I figured, in case a giant, squid-like, Lovecraft-ian Great Old One decided to rise in the middle of the night. Cthulhu definitely wasn't going to be pleased about that iodine I'd used on its demon star-spawn, after all. "Okay!" I said happily, and went to get my tent.
The next morning (apocalypse evidently averted), Rebecca decided to walk the following portion of the trail with me, possibly to keep me either from frightening other hikers, or from wandering off raving into the trackless wilderness. When not rescuing deranged trekkers, Rebecca mountainbikes avidly and produces really awesome artwork. She does shows at the Durango Arts Center, and also sells some ceramics and cyanotypes here. Her gallery is well-worth checking out, too!
The landscape is unreal through the latter half of this segment. Unfortunately, my camera batteries at last gave up the ghost.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
Interesting old mining ruins abound, off to your left.
0.1
The trail follows along a nest of ATV roads for the next half mile. There are several turns and junctures, unmentioned in the books, where new ATV trails have been added -- keep a close and careful eye out for trail markers.
1.2
There were five or so small streams and seeps here -- the first few were trickles, but one near the middle was running splendidly.
1.6, 2.4
Several days after a heavy rain, there was water here, too -- and accompanying mudpits.
2.7-3.7
The climb up to this pass is lovely. There are some talus slopes, upon which you should watch your step. There's an amusing rock formation to your left, along the canyon rim.
4.5
The guidebook claims this is Cataract lake. It is not. There is no water here.
5.7
*This* is Cataract Lake! For the best campsite on the shore, head right 200ft on an intersecting trail. The CT goes left, around the boggy end of the lake. You'll probably want to treat this water if you drink it.
6.5
There was a lovely little stream running down this gully.
~7.5
The 'muddy field' mentioned in the guidebook was dry and unremarkable. Or at least, I think it was. Hard to say what field the book was talking about.
7.8
The trail tread is now quite clear. The cairns help a bit in finding your way over slopes, but they're not necessary; you'd have to work pretty hard to get lost. There were several trickling flows of water through the next few miles, as well, but some of them taste mineral-y and strange.
9.9
You may spot a signpost to Cuba Gulch. The water flowing across the trail is about a mile further along, shortly before the route becomes steep and climbs in switchbacks.
11.6
Top of the world. There was water up here too, in a pond 0.1m to the right of the trail.
13.5
Two lovely little ponds nested here. They're very exposed, however -- no place to be during a storm. And if you drink this water, you might want to treat it.
14.2
Water collects in this basin and forms a substantial stream a little further down. I'm told that this is the headwater of the Rio Grande. The afternoon after rain, there was a great deal of crisp, clear water here.
The elevation profile for this segment is not correct in the databook. From mile 5 on, it shows the *old* route's elevation and length -- a simple misprint, but a potentially very confusing one. The enumerated (rather than line-indicated) elevation numbers are roughly correct; you can either use them to draw a more correct line, or look in your guidebook and copy that profile into your databook.
----> Onward, to Segment 24!
The rocky hillsides just past Cataract Lake. The terrain grows increasingly mineralized and blooms with strange colors and sparkly sections. It's a geologist's wonderland out there.
I think I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: there's not much to cook on, up here. Massed willow bushes, such as the ones around the beautiful Cataract Lake, do a good job of cutting the worst of the wind, but their branches do not burn well at all, and stink when set alight. In fact, the only place in this segment where you can reliably cook over a fire is early on, around mile 1 - 2, where there are clusters of small, wind-twisted pines just downhill, to the left of the trail.
I stopped there to cook some lunch -- General Tsao's Chicken from Backpacker's Pantry. It was meant to be dinner the night before, but it hadn't actually occurred to me that starting campfires might be a tad difficult at 13,000 feet, in large part because there is nothing up there to burn. But there was just enough deadfall around mile 1 to start a tiny little fire. Now, I knew from sad, sad experience that Backpacker's Pantry meals (or at least, the two varieties that I tried) will not cook properly above 11,000 feet or so. If you pour boiling water in the package and then seal it up, as directed by the instructions, you'll be left with a cold meal and crunchy rice in a mere 45 minutes. So, thinking myself very clever, I simmered some water and then poured in the powdery, food-like substance.
General Tsao's Chicken gelled in the bottom of that pot like a layer of mud, looking sullen. I stirred. I covered. I steamed and simmered and even attempted to boil that General Tsao's Chicken with the mere heat of my cursing. (Calling it 'chicken' by the way, is a stretch. The meat-like chunks are really just soya pieces, similar to but less tasty and less numerous than the soya pieces we used to buy in Malawi for fifty cents.) Eventually, I gave up and just ate it. The rice wasn't crunchy, but the carrot pieces still were -- and interestingly, they emerged a day or two later looking *precisely* as they had when going in. Who knew that dried carrots were indestructable at altitude by the human digestive system? I'm going to try dried corn, next, just to see if its consumption produces the same degree of flatulant jet-propulsion. Really helps with those climbs, yanno.
It was shortly after consuming this 'meal' that I limped down to Cataract Lake, one of the small alpine lakes which are the highlights of this segment. I could tell from far above that someone had already set up camp, for there was a tent, but no sign of occupancy. I circled around to the other side of the lake, and started to set up my own camp. It was then I discovered that Cataract Lake appears to be filled with the spawn of Cthulhu.
I'm not sure what else they might be. Strange little half-translucent creatures, some as long as my pinkie finger and about that wide, with little sweeping mouthparts; they definitely appear to have come from the remoter gulfs of cosmic space. The water I scooped up also contained a selection of twisting red worms, and some kind of fast-moving waterflea. It took a couple tries to get water that wasn't visibly inhabited, and I dropped in some iodine just to make sure.
Eventually, I noticed movement in the other camp, and went to say hi, and also to warn the other hiker that, when the apocalypse comes, it would probably rise from this very lake, so it might be prudent to go around armed. The other hiker paused noticeably when I called out, then walked down to meet me. "Oh good!" she said, smiling. "It kind of looked like you might be a gimpy old mafia don in a boiler hat and a trench coat. From a distance, you know." That is, in point of fact, exactly what I looked like, limping down the hillside dressed all in black, smothered in raingear, wearing a mashed and misshapen hat, and with my belly full of fermenting carrot bits. "But boy, it's nice to meet another solo female hiker on the tra..."
"You realize that lake is filled with the spawn of Cthulhu? Millions of them! Right there in that lake!" I told her, waving a sharpened trekking pole in one hand and my pocketknife in the other, in vigorous illustration.
There was a long, long silence. Rebecca eyed me doubtfully. "Maybe you should move your camp to where I can keep an eye on you," she ventured.
There's probably strength in numbers, I figured, in case a giant, squid-like, Lovecraft-ian Great Old One decided to rise in the middle of the night. Cthulhu definitely wasn't going to be pleased about that iodine I'd used on its demon star-spawn, after all. "Okay!" I said happily, and went to get my tent.
The next morning (apocalypse evidently averted), Rebecca decided to walk the following portion of the trail with me, possibly to keep me either from frightening other hikers, or from wandering off raving into the trackless wilderness. When not rescuing deranged trekkers, Rebecca mountainbikes avidly and produces really awesome artwork. She does shows at the Durango Arts Center, and also sells some ceramics and cyanotypes here. Her gallery is well-worth checking out, too!
The landscape is unreal through the latter half of this segment. Unfortunately, my camera batteries at last gave up the ghost.
Suggested updates to the databook:
0.0
Interesting old mining ruins abound, off to your left.
0.1
The trail follows along a nest of ATV roads for the next half mile. There are several turns and junctures, unmentioned in the books, where new ATV trails have been added -- keep a close and careful eye out for trail markers.
1.2
There were five or so small streams and seeps here -- the first few were trickles, but one near the middle was running splendidly.
1.6, 2.4
Several days after a heavy rain, there was water here, too -- and accompanying mudpits.
2.7-3.7
The climb up to this pass is lovely. There are some talus slopes, upon which you should watch your step. There's an amusing rock formation to your left, along the canyon rim.
4.5
The guidebook claims this is Cataract lake. It is not. There is no water here.
5.7
*This* is Cataract Lake! For the best campsite on the shore, head right 200ft on an intersecting trail. The CT goes left, around the boggy end of the lake. You'll probably want to treat this water if you drink it.
6.5
There was a lovely little stream running down this gully.
~7.5
The 'muddy field' mentioned in the guidebook was dry and unremarkable. Or at least, I think it was. Hard to say what field the book was talking about.
7.8
The trail tread is now quite clear. The cairns help a bit in finding your way over slopes, but they're not necessary; you'd have to work pretty hard to get lost. There were several trickling flows of water through the next few miles, as well, but some of them taste mineral-y and strange.
9.9
You may spot a signpost to Cuba Gulch. The water flowing across the trail is about a mile further along, shortly before the route becomes steep and climbs in switchbacks.
11.6
Top of the world. There was water up here too, in a pond 0.1m to the right of the trail.
13.5
Two lovely little ponds nested here. They're very exposed, however -- no place to be during a storm. And if you drink this water, you might want to treat it.
14.2
Water collects in this basin and forms a substantial stream a little further down. I'm told that this is the headwater of the Rio Grande. The afternoon after rain, there was a great deal of crisp, clear water here.
The elevation profile for this segment is not correct in the databook. From mile 5 on, it shows the *old* route's elevation and length -- a simple misprint, but a potentially very confusing one. The enumerated (rather than line-indicated) elevation numbers are roughly correct; you can either use them to draw a more correct line, or look in your guidebook and copy that profile into your databook.
----> Onward, to Segment 24!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)