Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76

by Mary E Davison

  Hearing his dad had taken a fall, Trew decided to go home. His dad was OK, but in his 90s, so Trew was concerned. The change in plans meant he would drive my car to Berthoud Pass to pick up his van and leave my car there instead. Section hiking often involves complicated logistics.

  Hanging around one more day, Trew supported one more slack pack. The Belgian and Stag, two thru hikers passing us were in a different league than RockStar and me, but we were happy with ourselves for walking 12 miles in five hours without packs. It was great to have support for slack packing. The four of us all had one last dinner together at a pizza place and ate until stuffed to the gills. I sang a blessing before we parted ways.

  RockStar and I would miss our little group. As RockStar said, it took a couple days for our group to get used to one another and jell. Now that we had become a real group, we were sorry to go from four to two. Hiking in a group adds complexity to a hike, each person having different needs and desires, quite different from solo hiking. Each way of hiking has its good points and its drawbacks. Now we would be hikers two.

  Hikers Two

  Before heading to Berthoud Pass in my car, Trew drove us to the trail. RockStar and I headed up the trail, up the operative word most of the day. I stopped frequently as my antibiotic was wreaking havoc on my digestive system even if killing upper respiratory infection bugs. The former wasn’t a pleasant addition to the hike, though I surely did like breathing better.

  In the afternoon, black clouds, lightning, and thunder hammered all around us. I prayed we would get past our high point of 11,450 feet and into thick trees before the storm hit us. Tucking things in plastic bags or Cuban fiber bags, we put on raincoats.

  Over the high point and into the trees, our luck ran out. It rained, hard and for hours. Standing under a tree while it hailed, we hoped it would blow over.

  Nope. Didn't.

  Eventually we moved on down the old overgrown road in the rain. The trail needed some love. Many good-sized old trees lay over the trail. As Wolf’s book said, they kept bicycles off, but it wasn’t easy to negotiate over or under them in pouring rain at the end of the day. RockStar wasn’t used to so much rain, not having encountered this kind of weather pattern on her PCT thru hike. She had real difficulty getting under some of the blowdowns and came close to a complete meltdown at one spot. I helped her regain calmness.

  We were pretty well soaked by the time we found a stopping place at a creek. The rain stopped briefly for pitching tents, which we did in the middle of the trail to find a flat spot. Then it was a race with hypothermia to get wet clothes off and dry clothes on. I was certainly shivering, and RockStar had trouble with a slightly wet sleeping bag. But we did survive and looked forward to being dry again another day.

  Finding something mostly dry to wear the next morning was a challenge. My pack was festooned with wet clothes hoping to dry, and my feet sloshed in wet shoes even before we walked in wet grass. A short way down the trail beside a stream, we watered up for the day and headed uphill. As the sun hit the trail I was able to get shorts and shirts dry-ish. Somewhat later, we stopped to dry out sleeping bags and tents.

  That all took time. So did going uphill. I could hardly believe how long it was taking us to cover ground. Many little extra elevation gains and losses were quite steep, not negotiated quickly. Once I thought we could see Ethel Mountain and Lost Ranger Peak in the distance northwest of us. Sheep Mountain and Parkview rose ahead in the direction we were walking.

  Shortly after noon, lightning and thunder began again. Already? It hailed as we stood under trees. Finally reaching Troublesome Pass, we camped quite short of our goal for the day.

  The next day we walked around Haystack Mountain, a number of steep ups and downs hidden in contour lines on the map. Continuing to climb the high ridge past Haystack, SOBO thru hikers Chris, Charlie, and Greta zoomed past us. Sigh. Plodding upward at less than half their pace, we eventually came to the top of the ridge for a rather beautiful long walk above timberline with the world stretched around us. Bright blue harebells bloomed in clumps sprinkled among bright white yarrow. Lovely. RockStar said the walk on the ridge was spectacular.

  Another 1,000 feet to the top of Parkview and our views increased to 360 degrees. Wondrous. The small emergency hut on top had no trail register, but numerous people had signed in on the walls, door, and the beams, though we refrained from adding anything.

  Then began the descent of horrors. First off, we overshot the CDT and chose one of three other more-defined trails. Coming back as the GPS told us, we saw the first three cairns leaving the nice trail straight down. Then the sorry excuse for a trail disappeared and left us with extremely unstable talus, and later, scree. (Big rocks and little rocks) We could see a couple cairns much farther down, but negotiating the steep slope of unstable rock was a nightmare and took us two hours to go .6 miles. We were not the caliber of hiker as thru hikers.

  RockStar fell once. I fell twice. On the second fall I twisted back to face the hill as I fell and didn't stop but kept sliding an extra two feet on my belly, feet first down the steep incline. Then when I tried to stand, I slid another. I had no lasting damage, but since it had started raining before I fell, I was a muddy mess. As we reached a muddy road, the rain stopped, and we slogged the last five miles down to the highway, considerably later than anticipated.

  Latecomer, a 2008 hiker and friend of RockStar, was our resupply person at the road and had brought treats. The best treat was that he drove us to Grandby, where we got a room, and I took a shower while he and RockStar went out to eat. I was muddier. We both were very glad to have a welcome, if unplanned, stop in civilization.

  RockStar was fed up with the rain and difficult trail. A friend with a car was too much temptation not to accept the opportunity to take a few days off. My friends come along to do some hiking with me, but I was on the CDT to complete it. I went on solo the next day. Latecomer drove me up to the pass in the morning, while RockStar went back to sleep.

  Hiker 1

  The trail started out on gently graded uphill through trees, mist rising from wet valleys. One stretch of trail badly degraded by motorcycle use was deeply rutted in granite sand. On another stretch, the trail edge was almost chest high, and I walked on the trail edges instead of the bottom of the V where I couldn’t stand.

  Making good time going down to Trout Creek, I nibbled on raspberries growing along the trail. Larkspur and monkshood cheered my route. From Trout Creek, the way was up, a gradual grade becoming steep rocky road before the ridgeline. As I strained up the road, a motorcycle roared past me, his backside disappearing up the hill, the only person I saw all day.

  The approach to the pass was lovely high forest with a gazillion moose turd piles followed by many rivulets in the high meadow bowl. They combined to make a stream. After eating my dinner, I made my last push to the pass. All day I’d wondered if thunderstorms would stop me, but there was NO rain. Amazing.

  Topping the pass at 7:00, the other side was a broad, green high mountain valley under craggy cliff ridges. The Ley map suggested hikers take the cliffs to the right of the pass. That route looked too risky for me, so I declined the suggestion and took the trail to timberline half a mile lower.

  Two cow moose noisily munching on willows looked at me, but didn't seem to care that I was taking pictures. They owned the landscape. I was just a visitor. A minute later, I spotted a campsite under trees and stopped. RockStar would be sad she missed the moose, but she wouldn’t have appreciated the long day.

  In the morning as I looked out over the green valley, I saw a moose on the other side. The hiking day was just a very long downhill slog. Trails were nicely graded with few blowdowns, though occasionally a little rocky. As I neared a highway before veering further down trail, I met a few tourists, day hikers and fishermen. Jeff and 72-year-old Dave passed me headed for some fishing. Yay for septuagenarians.

  Rain sprinkled briefly, just enough to wet the umbrella, and I finally dragged into town at 5:00
. Not bad for an old lady, but I was completely bushed after a 16-mile day.

  I checked into Shadowcliff, a resort perched on a cliff overlooking Grand Lake. Getting to the women's hostel room on the third floor up steep stairs wasn’t appreciated at the end of the day. The word garret described the tiny room, which could sleep three women, but I was lucky. They were serving dinner that night, which was unusual.

  After my shower I put on the cleanest clothes I had, running shorts, knee-high bed socks, and my long underwear top. I might have looked a bit odd, but the laundry was a half-mile away in town, and I wasn’t going anywhere until morning.

  I tried to stay awake until 9:00. Couldn't do it. Everything ached, and I welcomed the oblivion of sleep while thunderstorms raged outside. In the morning, Adam, another guest at the hostel, told me the thunderstorms had knocked out all the power to the town of Grand Lake that night. I hadn’t noticed.

  Though I woke up feeling much better, I needed that zero day. I walked half a mile to have breakfast and do my laundry. RockStar arrived at 4:00, and we caught up on our separate adventures, mine more strenuous than hers. After a lackluster dinner, we consoled ourselves with a stop at an ice cream shop for a cone and chocolates. Hikers have such a tough life.

  The next day was very tough, though a slack pack supported by RockStar. The first seven miles were delightful, finished by 10:00. But the last 5.8 miles took until 5:45.

  Jackstraws

  Walking out of town, a wonderful sunrise reflected in lake water, and a bull moose crossed the road, followed by another. Their coats looked moth-eaten, though they both had nice racks and didn’t mind me taking pictures. After that, I had a lovely walk beside the lake. Bright red rose hips contrasted with the greenery, and I sampled raspberries as I walked.

  My trail left the lake for Ranger Meadows, and wet grass slapped my feet and legs, quickly soaking shoes, socks, legs, and the bottom of my shorts.

  When I came over the ridge, the river cheerily rushed over rocks. Columbine Bay was next, the serenity of the view disturbed only by a few sightseeing boats and later, personal watercraft.

  Columbine Bay became Grand Bay, and my trail took me around an inlet to a locked Ranger Cabin with an ominous sign: Caution. Knight Ridge Trail unmaintained. Expect blowdowns. Someone had scrawled impassable on the sign. Well, I’d heard about blowdowns on Knight Ridge, but journals I’d read said others had walked through, so off I went. Smarter hikers than I bypassed that side of the lake for a longer walk to avoid the mess I soon encountered.

  First there were a few blowdowns, then a really big pile of blowdowns, and then the trail disappeared beneath piles and piles of twisted logs. With the help of my trusty GPS, I figured out the path and before long found traces of trail. I even saw another moose, two deer, two eagles and a couple osprey.

  But the trail became worse. I kept looking at the GPS to figure out where the trail went. Finally I neared the top of the ridge and saw utter destruction everywhere I looked. Downed trees were a massive pile of jackstraws going every which way, with no sign of trail except for the red line on my GPS.

  Very, very slowly, I made my way through the hideous mess, often walking on logs on top of logs on top of logs, praying I wouldn’t miss a step, fall, and break something. It was utterly exhausting. Sometimes I would find ten feet of ground (not trail), and then I would get a trapped, claustrophobic feeling confined in a giant playpen. Would I ever get to the other side?

  Funny, the sign on the end of the trail said the trail wouldn’t be cleared until all the trees fell down, out of concern for the safety of the volunteer trail crew. I had news for them. On top of the ridge and for quite a ways on either side, there were no trees standing.

  On the descent from the Ridge, I did find some trail maintenance, for which I was eternally grateful, else I might still be climbing through hideous piles of logs.

  RockStar was waiting. A slightly weird campground host had objected to her waiting on the campground road instead of the trailhead, but she was visible as a beacon of hope at the end of the day. It had been a crazy day, from the sublime to the ridiculous, a lovely lakeside soliloquy followed by the truly hideous, toughest slack pack ever. The Mahoosuck Notch seemed easier. Well, maybe not. I was glad for my bed in the hostel and that I survived to tell the story.

  James Peak

  The next day the trail was—trail. How refreshing. No disastrous talus and only 6-8 blowdowns in 15 miles. Just trail. Hooray.

  Monarch Lake was lovely in the early-morning light, high and low peaks reflected together in the glassy stillness of the water. Continuing around the lake, I steadily chugged up the hill, chatting with a couple older equestrians three times during the day but never getting their names.

  The afternoon was more level, a little downhill and a little climb before descending to Devil's Thumb Park. When it started to rain a little, I put up the umbrella and hiked along watching a deer, grateful for the good trail. Nowhere in the park leapt out at me saying, "Camp here." So I consulted the Wolf book and decided to go further, camping at the crossing of Cabin Creek, where I got my water for the next day and had dinner. Not every day on the trail was hard. This one was a lovely walk.

  In the morning before I was out of the tent, two hikers went by using headlamps. On my climb to Devil's Thumb Pass, the two young hiker dudes with headlamps came back down. They’d just gone up to see the sunrise. A little farther along, I met Ed and his dog from Buena Vista. He told me his mother was 76 and had just stopped taking overnight hikes on the trail. Yay for 76-year-old hikers.

  Reaching the ridge, the views were spectacular. I could see back to Parkview, but more amazingly, all the central range of high peaks in Colorado along with the towns of Winter Park and Frasier. Amazing. I could also see clouds building in the sky from 10:00 in the morning.

  On the way to Rollins Pass, three young hikers passed me, impressed with my age and efforts. Three runners also passed like racehorses in contrast to a walker, who was a slug. Many cars and hikers were at King Lake, very pretty in a rugged bowl that still had a little snow. At the pass were lots of motorbikes, bicyclists, ATVs, and cars, people were out enjoying Labor Day Weekend. Above timberline, I was worried about clouds building and had no privacy to attend to nature’s needs, so I just kept going. On the south side of the pass, nicely placed cairns and posts guided the way, though trail tread disappeared. Sheer cliffs dropped to lakes east of the Divide.

  A couple of backpackers and a man with two llamas passed me shortly before the rain started. I donned a rain jacket and put up my umbrella as lightning and thunder began. Yikes. Could I trust I wouldn’t get hit by lightning, or should I go lower? Where? I chose to descend on a diagonal line about 300 vertical feet to a small clump of trees at the edge of timberline. Judging by the amount of elk poop, elk had liked the sheltered spot, too.

  The rain stopped briefly, though my marvelous view informed me more storms were on the way. Putting up my tent and climbing inside, I was happy to be dry and among trees with just enough water for breakfast and a bottle of Cytomax to last to a water source five miles further up the trail. It would do. Stopping was a good call as it rained for three hours.

  At 4:30 am lights in the valley seemed as bright as they had during the night. Having a little trouble breathing in the night, I started myself on another three-day course of Diamox as per doc's orders. I didn’t acclimatize to altitude any better at 72 than I had at 71. Wind in the night gave me a dry tent and mostly dry shoes by morning.

  Taking the tent down in the dim light of early morning, I saw three bighorn ewes. They didn't stick around for better lighting, but I was happy I’d seen them. Packing up, I headed back to the ridge, my feet soon wet again in the willows and grass. The night before, I’d chosen well, my campsite the only place trees came that close to the ridge. Reaching Roger's Pass, I met Helena and Elenia, who were kind enough to give me a bottle of water to last a few more miles.

  Ahead of me was James Peak. The trail takes
me over that? Yep. So up I went. Not fast, just up. Runners came down followed by day hikers, some of whom had already passed me going up. James Peak, elevation 13,294 feet, had expansive views of mountains stretching out on all sides. Also in plain view across the valley were clouds and rapidly approaching rainstorms.

  Some 15-20 hikers stood with me on top of James that Labor Day Weekend, and I quickly took pictures and prepared to descend. We all skedaddled off the mountain. Of course, they skedaddled much faster than I did. Fact—13,294 feet was a very long way above timberline and sheltering trees. I could be hit by lightning in such an exposed place and die. Even more likely, I could die by tripping over my feet running down a mountain. I was an old lady with a knee replacement. I couldn’t run without killing myself. So I walked.

  Watching speedier hikers disappear over the ridges below, I slowly but steadily followed, and all of us were chased by rumbles and cracks of thunder, some lightning quite close to me. It was a long time before I reached trees. By then, that storm was over as I sat down to lunch and dry out in the now-shining sun.

  Descending far down a valley, I begrudged each downward step knowing I had another 1,500 feet to climb up to Bill Moore Lake. Before climbing, I needed water, and just before I reached the creek it rained again. But a passing jeep stopped, and its driver gave me the water I needed. Under my umbrella, I headed on. People in jeeps and SUVs headed home through the mud on the rough, rocky road. They smiled and pointed at the crazy lady trudging through the mud and rain with pink gaiters, a bright-red umbrella, a backpack, and hiking poles.

  After another slow slog uphill at the pace of a crippled slug, the rain stopped, and I put the soggy umbrella in its little case hooked to my belt. About a mile and a half from the lake, I saw a bear on the other side of a meadow. Seeing me, he took off down the hill away from me, a nice healthy looking animal with shiny black coat.