Making the lake just after 7:00, I was soaked one final time pushing through high, overgrown drenched willows near the outlet of the creek. A rough jeep road came in from the other side of my campsite, and several parties were camping near the lake, the air heavy with smoke from campfires made with wet wood.
Why should I spend my fast receding energy fighting more wet bushes to dip water from the lake when all those people had water they’d brought in cars? I asked for water, settled into my private copse of trees, ate the dinner I’d hydrated early in the afternoon and went to sleep.
My bladder woke me up shortly after 4:00, a good thing even on a short day as I wanted to get over the next 13,000-foot peak before thunderstorms. I took my first good sunrise picture of the trip as I slogged up the trail in slow motion and climbed Flora Peak, elevation 13,132 feet. The winds were strong all morning, and I wore most of my clothes as well as raingear for a windbreaker.
Admiring the work of trail builders, I climbed through boulder fields, where the trail was easy to follow and often paved with large, flat boulders. Views from the top were again spectacular. Much of the central range was visible as well as the ridge I’d traversed, Devil's Thumb, even Parkview seen in the distance. Grays and Torreys peaks were near, and I remembered having climbed Grays twice, 50 years earlier, once taking a classmate nearly to the top, though she was on crutches after an ankle surgery.
Since the wind was still brisk and the downward trail was clear, I descended without taking a break. Finding it much less rocky on the south side, I watched two glorious eagles and a darker large bird. One of the eagles seemed to alternate flying with the stranger with stooping and diving behaviors, aerobatics, dives, and rolls. Glorious.
A number of day hikers ascended as I went down and found a spot in some black, lichen-covered rocks out of the wind. A fine place to eat my last trail bar. It was so lovely sitting in the sun out of the wind gazing at the mountains around me, I could have stayed all day.
As I finally got up for the remainder of the descent, Pat, a mature hiker from the local area, caught up with me, and we chatted on the way down. Reaching the pass, I found RockStar waiting with treats, and we drove down to Winter Park for lunch at McDonalds.
I was tired with the accumulated tiredness of having walked for days. It was all I could do to get my shower, wash my clothes, and lie flat on the bed looking forward to a zero day, taken up, as usual, with a few errands, a lot of lying around, and even more eating.
Alternate Routes and Bobtail Creek
After my day of rest, RockStar headed up Flora Peak for an early morning day hike, and I headed SOBO up the ridge at the pace of a slug. I was no longer the spry young thing I had been in college when I climbed these high peaks 50 years ago. Age does make a difference.
But I still enjoyed the hiking. Contouring around the high ridges and watching clouds build, I saw a half dozen ptarmigan.
As I ended lunch, a few raindrops fell. The CDT was a long ridge walk well above timberline, and I was concerned about making it in daylight under the best of conditions. Now it was already raining and thundering. What to do? I looked at the Ley maps and saw a thunderstorm avoidance route. Yep, that was the trail for me. I just had to make the correct turn.
Luckily, I ran into Walter, a 78-year-old gentleman, who knew the trail junction I needed. In fact, he was going to head down that very trail. We had a lovely time chatting as he told me about the jagged red mountain near us. The glory hole was formed in the 1980s when, with no warning, the mountain collapsed inwards. Later in the day from higher up, I could see how the lines of rise from red side and white side would have come together in a peak.
Walter also knew all about the Henderson Mine, a molybdenum mine. (Molybdenum is an element used in steel alloys.) Since the price of molybdenum had tanked, there wasn’t a lot of activity around the mine now, but he’d taken a mine tour and told me of the underground city, complete with roads and stoplights.
Walter got in his car at the trailhead, and I headed up the dirt road leading to Jones Pass. I walked well at the lower altitude on the good mountain road with minor car traffic. There I met Giraffe, a NOBO section hiker. Too bad we were going opposite directions as he wanted to talk, and so did I. But clouds were lowering, and, even doing this route, I would be above timberline an hour or two. Giraffe had started at Cumbres Pass on August 4th and had experienced only four days it had not rained.
Just as I’d left trees on the way up, the rain came in earnest. Drat and double drat.
My raincoat and umbrella kept me reasonably dry, and eventually I made it over the pass and down the other side. The wind made my bare hands very cold, but I didn't want to get my gloves soaked and left them stowed in the pack. The hand used to hold the leading edge of the umbrella so it wouldn’t blow inside out was freezing.
From Jones Pass I could see back to that arcing line of ridges hidden in clouds. Rain and thunder confirmed the lower route had been the right choice. The view in the other direction revealed the beautiful valley of Bobtail Creek. After descending to the creek, I quickly put up my tent.
I really liked Bobtail Creek. I’d seen no people all day, but about half way up the creek, I saw four wonderful bull moose, good looking animals with nice racks. Observing them before they saw me, the biggest, presumably the oldest and in charge, frisked around dominating the other three. But once distracted by the passing hiker, they all stood still, keeping eyes on me until I passed.
The upper valley had more than one trail, and missing a turn I was misplaced for about an hour. With the help of GPS and quite a lot of work on a steep hillside, I was found again. Trails paralleling each other with prominent cairns on both were the problem. A steep ridge between them confused me and my GPS before I made it over the correct pass.
It rained around me all day amid distant rumbles of thunder, but only 10 drops fell directly on me. I reached my destination at 4:00, put up the tent, got my water, and took a Ziploc bath from head to toe. In an orgy of cleanliness, I also washed shirt, bra, undies, and socks. They might never dry on a rainy hike, but I made the effort. Then I sat down and ate and ate and ate. I hadn’t stopped to eat all day, worrying about thunderstorms, which had not come my way.
The morning dawned with not a cloud in the sky. Unfortunately, my trail sign didn’t face my direction, and I walked right by without seeing it. A third of a mile later, sure I’d missed it, I headed back to find the correct trail.
Reaching Ptarmigan Pass, Dillon Reservoir was laid out a few thousand feet below me. By then, of course, there were clouds. Again, it didn’t seem prudent to stop for lunch with so much more to walk above timberline. The high point was another couple hundred feet higher than the pass under black and threatening skies.
I descended as fast as an old lady with a replacement knee could go to get to treeline. Then it was a steady slog downhill with a little time out to gnaw some cheese and stuff almonds and chocolates in my mouth on the way down. RockStar met me at the trailhead in her car, and I walked the last mile and a half without a pack.
“Take the trail…Unless you just need a break or the weather sucks.”
At the First Inn, people were very apologetic. In spite of contacting them over a month before leaving for the trail and having given the street address for mailing our boxes, mail wasn’t delivered to street addresses there. No boxes. No maps. No food. No meds. RockStar had even driven by on Wednesday reminding them we needed our boxes. Arriving early in the day Friday and finding no boxes at the motel, RockStar picked up her box at the Post Office, but couldn’t get mine without my ID.
I needed my box from the Post Office, and I was also worried about needing an extra day to complete the section after Twin Lakes. A bike path went to Copper Mountain, and the notes on the Ley map said to “take the trail ... Unless you just need a break or the weather sucks.” This year, the weather always sucked. The solution for both problems was to take the bike path. RockStar could pick me up part way and drive me to th
e Post Office when it opened at 10:00. Taking the bike path was shorter than the trail, giving us an extra day.
The bike path was lovely. Passing the bright blue water in Dillon Reservoir, there were walkers and LOTS of bikers. I called RockStar when I reached the exit for the Post Office, and she was quickly there, though the trip to the Post Office was fruitless. Either my box was lost in the Post Office, or it had been already sent back to my home address. It was a very good thing I carried extra meds in my resupply box in the car. *The missing box turned up back in Washington almost a year later. Perhaps the Post Office person didn’t look hard enough in Colorado.
Back on the bike path, I hooked up Pandora and Judy Collins and other 60s artists accompanied me all day between mountain towns.
Dillon Reservoir had been built after I left Colorado 50+ years ago. I remembered there was some controversy about moving the town of Dillon for its construction. Dillon, Silverthorne, and Frisco, although of older origins, resembled YUPPIEVILLE, mostly in positive ways. Nice bike paths signed and routed me through and between towns and recreational facilities. With people and condos everywhere, it wasn’t at all as I’d left it 50 years before.
On Main Street in Frisco, I saw tables and chairs in the shade of the US Bank. No one was using them, so it was a perfect place for me to sit and eat lunch. Past Frisco, Clear Creek had rapids and beaver ponds. The walk reminded me of 60 years before when I and other young children would play in creek water in our underwear. RockStar parked her car at Copper Mountain trailhead and walked 1.5 miles to meet me. After walking back together beside the creek, I dumped even my daypack arrangement in the car and walked free to the correct ski lift to finish the day's walk.
There were, of course, clouds and thunder in the afternoon. It was pouring in sheets when we left Safeway after picking up what we needed, but our hike had been dry. Driving to Breckinridge and the apartment of one of RockStar’s friends, we ate a nice roasted chicken dinner, beans and cheesy garlic bread with ice cream and strawberries for dessert.
"We don't need no stinkin' raincoats. We got umbrellas."
After a zero day, Olive drove us back to Copper Mountain. The CDT was contiguous with the Colorado Trail in this section. The CT had better tread and was better marked and better graded. Nice.
We moved up the trail, if not at high speed, at a good, moderate pace for us. RockStar insisted on regular snack and lunch breaks instead of my frantic efforts to outrun thunderstorms.
It started to rain about a mile or so before Searle Pass. On with our raincoats and up with our umbrellas. I’d convinced RockStar to buy an umbrella. I like my friends to have fun on hikes, not be miserable. The short rain was a good equipment test, but we were even happier when the rain stopped. Reaching Searle Pass, we had lunch even though clouds filled the sky. On towards Kokomo Pass, we saw marmots, pikas, ptarmigans, and squirrels. The not-so-wild life included two women hikers and a dog.
We were lucky to get from Searle to Kokomo with no rain. That extremely wet summer for Colorado surely did make everything green, and there were far more flowers than I was expecting for that time of year. Relieved when we descended from Kokomo Pass, RockStar found us a good campsite, beating a big thunderstorm.
It poured at least three separate times in the night. I had trouble with backsplash, and a little water traveled down the elastic tie of the bathtub floor, nothing a couple bandanas couldn’t handle. A bathtub floor refers to a clip in tent bottom of Cuban fiber with 3-5 inch lips holding gear dry.
Packing up, we headed out under cloudy skies on a wet morning for a long descent to Eagle River and the remains of Camp Hale, where the troops of the Tenth Mountain Division trained during World War II before going to Italy. We stayed on the trail and walked by old bunkers and the possibly (according to rumor) old shells in the meadow.
The rain in Colorado also seemed to delay the Aspen’s color change. By the same time in 2012, I’d seen many more golden leaves than the few visible in 2013. Still, I liked facing mornings in the 40s more than the 30s.
Trudging up the hill out of Camp Hale, we paralleled Highway 24. Chinchilla and Pyrite passed us going SOBO. Later, we passed them as they dried out their tents in a bit of sunshine. We were not the only ones having difficulty with the rain. They, of course, moved twice as fast as we did and hoped the lingering warm weather would get them through the San Juan's before heavy snows.
We saw scat, chipmunks, squirrels, and a muddy worm along with flowers called butter and eggs and an unidentified purple starflower. Walking on a well-graded railroad bed, big yellow mushrooms covered the pine forest floor, and we passed the remains of two big coke ovens.
Reaching the highway, I waved my hat at the first car to drive by, and RockStar was embarrassed by my ride-hailing technique. It was effective, though. The car stopped in the middle of the road and the gentleman in the car, who was returning to Colorado Springs from a golf tournament, gave us a ride to the Leadville Hostel.
In the well-organized hostel, we chose the $30 room and washed our bodies and our clothes. Our trip to Safeway and dinner was in a loaner car, very helpful as Leadville was pretty spread out for tired ladies on foot. Dinner was superb at a little restaurant named Quincy's, which served only filet mignon: six-ounce steak, nice salad, baked potato, and bread, meat cooked to perfection, and all for $8.95.
Howard shuttled us to the trailhead in the morning for a slack pack day. The weather was freaky, raising and lowering clouds revealed the peaks and obscured them again. We met a tall young couple from Holland as they passed us heading the same direction on a 16-day trip.
Calling the hostel from the last high point, we said we would be an hour earlier than planned, and we almost made it on time down the steep and rocky descent. Our Netherlands friends, Ann and Peter, were camped at the trailhead, and we hoped to see them again. They walked much faster than we did, but they would take a side trip to climb Mt. Elbert (Colorado's highest mountain) and also take a rest day in Twin Lakes. Howard from the hostel picked us up at the trailhead.
That night we were clean again after only one day on the trail. What luxury.
Starting from the trailhead early the next day, an hour later we hoisted umbrellas for the first shower of many, the rain from a hurricane in Baja California pushing north. Early in our hike we had a Colorado record-breaking wet summer; now we had leftover hurricane.
With all the rain, RockStar was becoming proficient with the umbrella. As an afternoon shower began, and I regretted not putting on my raincoat, she said, "We don't need no stinkin' raincoats. We got umbrellas." I’d made an umbrella convert.
At 4:30, we reached a large campsite, got our water, ate dinner, and were ready to hang the food bag on pre-hung rope when it started raining again and the food bag didn’t get hung that night. It rained all night long, and my Hexamid tent, used for 3-4 years, failed me. Everywhere it could leak, it did. We packed up lots of wet stuff. Wet stuff weighs more than dry stuff.
Descending to the Mt. Massive/Mt. Elbert trailhead at Halfmoon Creek, we hollered good morning to Ann and Peter. They later passed us at the high point on the longest climb of the day, and we arranged to have dinner together in Twin Lakes. The double lakes came in view as well as the route up to the high country I would take the next day, an especially beautiful mountain dominating the view.
Arriving at Twin Lakes we checked in, with the usual drill of showers, organizing, and setting tents and sleeping bags to dry. We hung out with Ann and Peter in the afternoon and enjoyed a tasty dinner with their delightful company. Cowboy, a hiker/employee at Twin Lakes, helped me repair my air mattress. Equipment was breaking down. It had been a long hike.
Last Push through High Country
In the morning, I ate the hiker breakfast put out by the Inn and said good-bye for a few days to RockStar. She was afraid of being a drowned rat two nights in a row. So was I, but I wanted to finish Colorado more than to stay dry. I walked two miles to the bridge, picked up the CDT on the other side o
f the lake and headed up a 3,300-foot climb, kind of tough for an old lady. As usual, other hikers passed me. The weather held clear all the way to the top of Hope Pass before a squall hit. In spite of the rain, the view of the Collegiate Peaks was glorious. It reminded me again of my 20s, and how I’d loved to climb the big peaks. After donning raincoat and taking a few pictures, I headed down the other side, a long way down.
Two young women, a couple, and a single guy all passed me going up as I descended. When I reached the road I found quite a few cars, a lot of day hikers, and numerous campsites along the road. After getting water, I picked one. And it wasn’t raining.
As I finished packing in the morning, a group of five passed me to climb Mt. Huron, one of the plentiful nearby 14ers. The sun was shining, if not on me, on the mountains around me. Aspen made color spots on the slopes, and I moved up the mountain reasonably well.
The climbers turned left for Mt. Huron, and I turned right for Lake Ann, climbing slowly to the lake and the ridge beyond it. My body could tell this was the second hard day in a row, but it gladdened my heart to see towering peaks all around me and Lake Ann below. Less than 100 feet from the top of the ridge, it began to rain, thunder growling from the other side. NO. Raincoat and umbrella went up. Rain paying no attention to my plea, there was nothing to do but go forward toward the thunder. Trees were a long way down no matter what I did, and I didn’t want to go backwards.
There were no views from the ridge that day; I was in a cloud of fog and pelted by hail. I could barely make out a huge valley, ice pellets pounding my legs turning my tan bright pink, and the wind didn't let the umbrella do a very efficient job. Oh well.
Making my way down switchbacks, I reached trees but was too cold and wet to stop for lunch. I grabbed a Snickers bar, almonds, and jerky to eat as I walked.
Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76 Page 37