Hiking Colorado 2014

In the spring of 2014 I was fortunate enough to do some backpacking on the Appalachian Trail with my friend David Romanausky.  Six months later I mentioned to him that our next trip should be located somewhere between his home in Oregon and mine in Texas rather than having to go all the way to the east coast.

                Within a week Dave had contacted me with a series of options for another four day hike in the southern Colorado Rockies.  He scanned a number of full color pages from a detailed book on the Colorado Trail.  This trail runs almost 500 miles, north to south, down the Rocky Mountains.  It shares about 200 of those miles with the Continental Divide Trail which runs along the Great Divide from Canada to Mexico.  In email conversations I reminded Dave that if we were going to do a hike we needed to move soon – winter comes early in the Rockies.  We decided that the last week in September best met our mutual schedules.  Dave decided he would fly to Houston to visit relatives and then we could make the thousand-mile drive to Colorado together. 

                Dave showed up at my house on Sunday evening.  We looked over the trails he had selected for our hike – section 15 of the Colorado Trail. I was excited and a bit apprehensive as this trip would be my first true wilderness backpacking.  Unlike the Appalachian Trail which has shelters all along its length the Colorado Trail is much more primitive and has far fewer people on it.  It is also much higher; more than twice the altitude of the section of the Appalachian Trail we had hiked in the spring.  On the other hand the paucity of shelters gave us much greater flexibility in choosing the lengths of each day’s hike; we were not tied to stopping at a given shelter.  We were limited in having only one car which meant we would have to arrange transportation back to our starting point if we did a straight line hike.  After examining several options including shuttles Dave came up with a plan for an out and back hike.  We would walk up the trail head just off Colorado highway 50 for 8.2 miles and camp at the last place the trail crossed a creek, thus ensuring a supply of water.  This seemed to be reasonable distance for the first day.  We did not really consider the gain of almost 2,000 feet as insurmountable – Dave figured that was about 5 degrees overall.  The second day would have a very steep climb for the first half mile – about another thousand feet.  What we did not include in our considerations was the altitude.  We would be starting at over 9,000 feet and climbing to 11,25; that factor would come into play.  {Cue ominous music}

                I figured that we would split our drive out at Amarillo, Texas as it was about two thirds of the way there, had plenty of inexpensive motels, and was home of the justly famous Big Texas Steak House – home of the free 72 ounce steak.  All you have to do is eat it, all of it, in an hour.  The place is a Texas institution and I figured we should pay it a visit.  I also brought along a selection of audio books to augment my satellite radio in my trusty little Focus, Silver. A note on my car – it is just about perfect for a road trip like this.  It can carry two full-sized adults and all their gear in some comfort at full freeway speeds (that means a bit over the posted limits) at 35 miles per gallon. 

                After our steak dinner we found an inexpensive motel and crashed; we planned on getting an early start.  And we did.  As soon as we left Amarillo Dave’s trusty navigation system had us rolling through rural western roads.  We saw magnificent buttes, wild prairie, and wild antelope.  Soon enough the distant Rockies were showing on the western sky line.  We stopped briefly to take pictures of fenced buffalo with the altogether superfluous sign warning us that “Buffalo are dangerous.”  No kidding.  By lunchtime we rolled into our destination of Salida, Colorado, altitude 7,000 feet. 

Salida is a charming little town with about 5,000 full time residents.  Like many small tourist towns it has more than its fair share of really good restaurants.  We found one and enjoyed a delicious lunch, counting our lucky stars we had found such a good place to eat.  We later found that every restaurant in Salida was good.  There was no doubt we were in Colorado; there were several stores there with marijuana leaves advertised along with signs like ‘Natural High’ and ‘Colorado Smoke Shop.’  Then we headed out to the Monarch Spur campground located about 15 miles west and 1600 feet higher up.  We would have liked to have had the time and money to get more accustomed to the thinner air but it was already late in the season and we were ready to go hiking.  We took a few trips around the area confirming the start point for planned hike and even driving the seven miles up to Monarch Pass.  Then it was back to our campsite located beside a rushing trout stream to have a meal and a companionable cigar by the fire as the soft Colorado night closed in.  I brought along a ‘car tent’ in addition to my backpacking shelter.  Although too heavy to carry on my back it was much larger and more comfortable than my tiny red backpack tent. 

We awoke before first light.  Dave already had a fire going and I already had a problem.  I discovered during the night that my inflatable pad had a slow leak.  I would wake up every couple of hours or so to find it had gone flat.  Sleeping pads are almost a necessity when backpacking.  Not only do they give you a more comfortable night’s rest, they insulate you from the cold ground.  Dave and I decided that since it was early we could go into town and look for a replacement.  After all, the day’s hike was only a bit over eight miles and as long as we were on the trail by nine we would have plenty of time to hike up and get camp set up long before the sun set around 1900.  Down the hill we went, coming to the inevitable small town Wal-Mart, the only place open at 0730.  This being Colorado, they had a perfectly good backpacking sleeping pad (better than my old one actually) and at a reasonable price.  Since we were already down the mountain I persuaded Dave to also stop and get a hearty breakfast to power us up the mountain.

We wasted no time and by 0850 we had arrived at a place just off Highway 50 where we could park Silver.  I quickly opened my backpack and removed my old sleeping pad and sleeping bag so I could fit my new pad into my backpack.  By 0855 the car was out of sight and we were off, hiking up a dirt road, climbing steadily through aspens gloriously getting ready for winter.  The walking was relatively easy for the first mile or so until we came to the trail head proper where the road ended and the backpacking trail began.  Dave signed us in at the register, remarking we were the first people to go up the trail in three days.  People missed a glorious day.  The sky was clear and achingly blue making a gorgeous contrast with the yellow and red leaves of the aspens.  Humidity was low and the temperature was cool; just right for hiking. 

Everyone walks at a slightly different pace.  I typically walk about three miles in an hour carrying a 45 pound pack on my back on easy, flat roads.  I go a bit slower on narrow mountain trails, whether uphill or down.  Once the trail starts uphill I slow dramatically – usually to only a mile or so an hour.  It is much easier to set your own pace rather than adjust to another’s so we agreed that David, who is much more fit than I, should go ahead, and wait for me to catch up every hour or so.  We both enjoyed a chance to so some solitary hiking, leaving us with our thoughts.  Dave’s thoughts are usually how he can power up the inclines.  I guess it is a Seal thing.  He was waiting for me and we had lunch around noon.  Things were going reasonably well except that I was having to stop to just breathe a whole lot more than I expected.  Yes, there is air above 10,000 feet but it is not worth much.

By the next time I caught up with Dave an hour and a half later.  I was really starting to slow down.  My legs were more or less willing but I simply could not get enough oxygen to my muscles to keep any pace up at all.  Dave had been waiting for me for over half an hour.  At my suggestion he agreed to walk the remaining two miles and set up camp at the agreed upon site.  He would leave scratched arrows along to way to confirm I was on the right path, although I hardly needed them.  For one thing his were the only tracks on the trail and his trekking poles left distinctive holes in the dirt.  Trekking poles, for those who don’t know are much like ski poles.  They help in balance and also some of the load off your legs and transfer it to your arms and shoulders.  I myself do not use trekking poles; I prefer a good old fashioned staff.  I got my staff in Estes Park a few years ago.  It is far bigger than it needs to be, a pale length of pine, about two inches in diameter and about four and a half feet long, cut so that it can fit crosswise in my car.  I prefer a stout staff to lightweight trekking poles because it is sturdy.  I am not a small man and I once bent a borrowed trekking pole when I stumbled.  I like being able to lean on it without fear of it breaking.  A staff is also traditional.  And it makes a fine item for self defense should that become necessary.  My trusty staff prevented me from falling at least once or twice a day during my hikes when I stumbled or otherwise lost my balance.  I know my walking staff is bulky and heavy, but I am not actually carrying it – rather the reverse.

As the afternoon wore on, my pace slowed even further.   I would take a few steps and then stop, leaning on my staff.  I had plenty of nice clean mountain air; the problem was that the air did not have enough oxygen in it to keep me going.  At one point about an hour after Dave headed out I became aware that my heart was absolutely pounding.  I took off my pack and sat down.  After a minute or so I thought to check my pulse: 122 beats a minute, almost twice my resting rate.  This was not good.  I waited a good five minutes before it slowed down to a mere 110.  I then laboriously got up and resumed my uphill climb.  And a climb is what it was; unlike previous hikes this uphill had few level places and almost no downhill sections.  Each bend brought another six or eight foot rise to be surmounted.  

I was careful not to let my heart rate hit maximum again.  Every thirty minutes or so I would stop and take out my little tripod stool and sit on the trail for a rest.  Why not? To the best of my knowledge Dave and I were the only people on the mountain.  And then, shortly after I resumed my trek after one of my sit-downs I heard voices.  Two rangers, a man about my own age and a twenty-something young woman were coming down the trail.  They had not seen David because they were scouting a new section of the trail.  Apparently the section we were going to tackle tomorrow was simply too steep and difficult.  They were blazing a new, easier path for next year.  At that moment I decided that I would not be going up that section on the morrow.  Let the Seal climb that stretch.  I would wait in camp.

 I was not especially worried about things until I realized how late it was getting.  Sunset might be after 1900 but there were some big old mountains to the west and the sun would go behind them well before then.  I did not want to set up my tent in the darkness.  I kept on going up, taking a few steps, resting a bit and then taking a few more, and eventually I got there.  There was still plenty of light when I finally saw Dave’s tent pitched off to one side of the trail.  It was a little after 1730; over six and a half hours after we had started out that morning.  I immediately set to pitching my tent for what we assumed would be a cold night.  The previous night had been cool, in the 40’s, but not cold; however that was down at 8600 feet and we were well over 11,000 feet now.  I quickly took out my tent and pad and immediately discovered that I had forgotten to reinsert my nice warm sleeping bag in my pack.  I was in trouble.  Fortunately I had my sleeping bag liner, a lightweight fleece lining that went inside your bag to boost its warming factor.  David immediately offered to let me use his liner as well.  I would fit one inside the other and use them together, dressed in my warmest clothes.  That seemed the best solution.  There was no place to make a fire so we ate our dehydrated dinner while seated on our stools.  It was not the cheeriest campsite; the mountains loomed close on both sides, though there was a nice creek running close by so that we had plenty of water and the pleasurable sound of running water.  I need not have worried about getting caught in the dark – twilight up in the mountains is long.  Though I had no appetite I forced myself to eat, knowing my body needed the fuel.   Dave told me that after he had pitched his tent he had gone up to look at the next stretch of trail.  It daunted even him, with pitches up to 40 degrees.  He did not even want to attempt it with a pack.  We agreed we would go back down to the car on the morrow.

Soon enough it grew dark and we headed for our tents.  There was nothing else to do up there once it got dark.  It was not a good night.  Fortunately it did not really get very cold – it certainly was well above freezing, but a combination of factors made sleep difficult.  For one thing the ground was not level.  Dave did the best job possible to find the two flattest places but even these had a bit of gradient which meant that you were always sliding down toward the foot of your tent.  Although I was warm enough I was just not comfortable.  For one thing I was still affected by the hard hike and even lying in my sleeping pouch I had trouble getting enough oxygen.  The experience reminded me of my long night in the Intensive Care unit.  I would check my watch periodically to see how much of the night had passed and oh, did it pass slowly.

I did get rest, however, and some sleep.  The gray light of dawn had just begun when I heard the zipper on David’s tent open.  It was time for coffee and breakfast.  Then we could go down to someplace that had some more serious air.  Breakfast on the trail is always nice.  There is coffee and hearty oatmeal along with nuts and raisins.  Then there is the discipline of packing up the camp, which by the way is actually pretty easy.  Finally, you shoulder your pack and are on your way.  In this case I was all downhill. 

Because it was downhill I was better able to keep up with Dave on the second day.  We were walking together when we came upon the same older ranger I had met the day before, this time heading up to continue marking the new trail.  Those two encounters were the only people we saw on two beautiful days hiking in the Rockies.  Yes, it was Thursday and Friday, even so it seemed as though we were the only people out enjoying the scenery. 

I have noticed on past hikes that the return downhill seems to go on and on.  You inevitably ask yourself, ‘I climbed UP this?’  Eventually we reached the trailhead which only left us a mile to walk down the rough dirt road.  It would have been a tough road for Silver to go up, but at that point I was regretting I had not driven up to the end of the road.  Eight miles may not sound like a particularly long way to walk; it is if you are carrying a pack and walking on trails.  We were tried by the time we got down, shortly after noon.

We took the now familiar drive down to Salida to pick up some supplies.  Dave got a detailed forestry map from the US Forest Service followed by a nice dinner at a restaurant.   Then we headed back up to our Monarch Pass Spur campground again.  After due consideration David found us another out and back trail.  This one was only about seven miles and had an elevation gain of only about 1200 feet.  Of course, we would be starting at Monarch Pass which is 11,302 feet (according to the sign) so we were up in the thin air again.  On the other hand, we were getting used to the altitude and I was starting to toughen up a bit. 

That night as we sat around the campfire, enjoying a cigar Dave discovered that the forestry service woman had given him the wrong map!  We spent a restful night and were up early headed back down the hill to get fuel for Silver, the right map, and since we were there, another hearty breakfast at the Pancake Plaza.  Of course the forestry service was closed, it was Saturday, but we did not really need the maps after all.  Then it was back to Monarch Pass to start the next adventure.

This hike went well from the start.  For one thing there were lots of people around, all of them on mountain bikes.   I was very impressed with these men and women, all of whom appeared very fit.  Although wide and easy to walk up, the grade was significantly uphill and the bikers were just powering up it.  It is much easier to hike uphill, though I must say it is a lot more fun going downhill on a bike.  After a time the trail narrowed so we had to keep a close eye over our shoulder so we could move off the trail to let the bike riders pass by.  Since they were moving relatively slowly uphill there was plenty of time to exchange greetings.  This trail was much more open than the previous one giving lovely long vistas.  Shortly after lunch I came out above the tree line and it really opened it up.  That also was more or less the end of the climbing.  I could look across and see the trail snaking around the mountain in the distance at the same or even lower altitude – nice. Once I rounded the corner of a mountain and saw David waiting by the trail at least a mile away.  He saw me at once and waved.  I waved back and hallooed.  It was wonderful. 

I arrived at the shelter that would be our campsite around 1530.  This lean to, although resembling the shelters on the Appalachian Train was not finished as well inside.  Instead of a nice set of boards that you could sleep on there was just a dirt floor.  Nor was there a picnic table, just a single plank across the opening that served at a bench and table.  However it was relatively flat with a fine view of a meadow.  We set up our tents a short distance away and then decided to go fill up our water.  The stream was a full quarter of a mile away.  Downhill.  Which meant that after we got our water bottles filled it was a full quarter mile uphill.  Sigh.

We enjoyed the evening, feeding the scrub jays and chipmunks and just enjoying the wild setting.  But there really isn’t much to do at night when you are backpacking, so as soon as it was dark we retired to our tents.  Though I was comfortable enough, I did not sleep well.  I have since discovered that this is common until you adjust to the higher altitude. 

As usual we were up early enjoying the morning fire.  As predicted, the weather was starting to turn; storm clouds were seen and the wind was gusting.  We did not care.  Our camp was well protected and there was hot coffee and oatmeal, thanks to Dave’s jet boil.  The jet boil is the latest in back packing technology.  Light and simple, its propane burner can boil water astonishingly fast. 

We agreed that Dave should go ahead at his own pace and not wait for me along the trail.  I passed him the car keys and off he went.  There was one curious event on the walk back.  About half an hour after we headed out I came to a spot where I could see Dave well ahead and above me.  At the same time I passed the only other backpacker we saw on the entire trip.  His appearance and accent was European.  The wind had picked up out in the open and it was a bit chilly; okay, some would say cold.  This guy was wearing shorts and he was definitely cold.  I figure he hoped to warm up as he walked.  We never figured out where he had camped the night before as it was too far along the trail for him to have left from the trailhead.  It will remain one of life’s mysteries.

As I approached the high point of the hike I saw that I was about to be caught by the rain.  I stopped to put on my rain gear and high-tech pack cover (a garbage bag).  One thing about the mountains – if you don’t like the weather just wait 15 minutes.  Sure enough, soon it cleared, my rain gear was stowed and I began shedding layers.  The walk was very pleasant.  Within a couple of hours the first of the mountain bikers started passing me, much easier to see today as they were coming up and I was headed down.  I saw a few of them who had not given much thought to the concept of mountain weather wearing shorts and a short sleeved jersey in blustery 40-50 degree conditions. 

I had a nice comfortable walk down the hill.  We had left the camp together at 0800.  I completed the seven mile hike at 1215, tired but happy.  David had walked the entire distance without a break and gotten down at 1045.  The man is a phenomenon.  First thing I did was go into the Monarch Pass rest stop where I got a disgustingly delicious chili dog.  Then I let Dave drive us out of there.

The road trip back was even better than the one out.  We drove south through the center of Colorado with mountains on either side, down through the mountains of northern New Mexico, stopping in the metropolis of Las Vegas, New Mexico for dinner, and then on to Tucumcari for the night.  We each got regular rooms, and oh, my were they nice.  The bed was soft and level, there was temperature control, and a remote to watch Sunday night football.  Ah, luxury.

We coasted back to The Woodlands the next day without incident.  We had driven over 2,000 miles and hiked for four days in the Sawatch Mountains.  It was a terrific adventure.   I now feel much more confident in backpacking in remote areas.  David was the perfect companion; always patient and up for anything.  I could not have done it without him.  But next time, I think I will give myself a little more time to get acclimated to high altitudes before undertaking a strenuous hike.