Colorado Trail Journal : Segments One Through Five

I’m that friend, I’ve realized. You know the one – the one that assures you everything will be fine, and then it never is – thankfully the one that always manages to get you out of the same bullshit situation they landed you in. I’m great at pitching ideas. I have little experience with self-doubt, and my heavily curious nature lends itself well to over-processed research. I run numbers, I flesh out plans, and I assert success with a confident dominance, before providing two to three back-up and worst case scenario plans. At least I think things through, I guess

I always underestimate the worst case scenario. If anything I have always been plagued with overconfidence and bad luck. From my educational and employment endeavors, and every plan in-between, the worst case scenario is always two, three, four times worse than what even seems realistic. Over time I have learned to grow my estimates further into these negatives, and plan then for that doubling over itself, but still somehow situations tend to get the best of me. It’s that over-confidence.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything less.

Mid-moment, I lament the hard-knocks, but that’s how my stubborn ass has always had to learn; I couldn’t lead a better life for myself than to hurdle headlong into every situation like I’ve got every trick in the bag to save me when I fall down the rabbit hole. The secret here is to bring a bigger bag each time – inevitably I will pick up another trick, and another, and another.

So was again the case of my thru-hike (attempt) of the Colorado Trail, 2018, may it rest in peace.

I’ve decided to share my story with my actual trail journal, with added typed commentary and, of course pictures. I believe it would take away from the genuine experience if I were allowed to recant my original words and re-type them in a more eloquent form, but I may redact certain lines or pieces if they are simply too personal or include information about other individuals that I am not welcome to share.

Also, I’m sorry – this story began as one purely of adventure – it was supposed to be the story of a maverick, just an independent young woman and her handsome dog, but life changed in many ways between planning this trip and actually hitting the trail.

Full disclaimer, this is kinnnnndof a love story….

Denver Water was hosting some 100th anniversary party that closed the entirety of Waterton Canyon SP for the day. We chose the Indian Creek alternate, it was a good alternative to the road walk that is the majority of Waterton Canyon. I struggled with this for a while – I grew up in Littleton, and Waterton Canyon is where I spent a lot of time learning to ride a bike with my father and sister. I figured that my road walk there would be one of reflection on those memories, but our start date was concrete.

We hit the trail at the tail end of raspberry season, and stopped many times along the way to pick these tiny beauties. I was elated to find them so abundant along the trail side.

Cheyenne couldn’t find her chapstick while we had stopped to take in our first panoramic view of the hike

We stopped here before the descent onto the Platte river in the valley below.

We struggled to set up camp on the east side of the road just before Gudy’s bridge. We soaked our feet in the river before sitting on the large metal rungs that define the parking spaces to eat. A sheriffs’ deputy circled around to chat us up – he was interested in hiking the trail next season. I regretted not trying to send the message out with him when we had no luck finding signal.

We sat in the parking area, fighting each other for the other one to eat their damn food, just struggling to finish our planned calories for the day. It was a serious problem the first round out, consuming as many calories as we needed.

As a part of my original gear list I had brought my hammock, shelter, inflatable pad, and sleeping bag. I had found only one configuration that made it a sleepable system – pad inside of hammock, bag zipped around the entire hammock. This created enough insulation underneath me – and I thought it would surely work. It would have had it not created a sizable pocket of air between my front and the sleeping bag above me. I could not completely secure the bag in such a way that a breeze wouldn’t infiltrate. I was entirely too cold that night and would need to try a different set up the next night.

I remember very clearly the elation of the moment, looking down onto the road to see my darlin there looking around to find me. We’re sitting in his room right now, he’s preparing for the GRE and his master’s program as I write, and I couldn’t be more proud. I told you this was a love story. Well. Its part of one. I know, gross.

It was very well marked in a number of spots, NO camping beyond or under the bridge. This was violated by three separate parties, one contained a very large amount of campers who also ignored the fire ban with an undefined campfire, and plenty of beer cans left right along the riverside. Classy, classy assholes.

Before re-entering burn scar, far off views of places closer to home.

Look closely, centered is the only animal life we saw for many miles. This crow was the only soul other than us to be seen in the miserable exposed heat that is the last stretch of segment 2

There is an immediate climb away from the river at the beginning of segment two that leads to some fairly impressive views. As you exit the cover of trees near the top of this, there is a ledge out left away from the trail that leads to a singular upright boulder. On his way back Vince stepped out to find a CAT or some sort of long abandoned heavy machinery half buried and rusting in the elements.

As he was making his way home, Cheyenne and I were trudging in an almost delirious state through the last stretch of segment two. The firehouse off trail to the right was a saving grace that provided shade. I layed out on the ground and put my legs up onto the side of the building as we had our first conversation with Alex and William, whose names we would not ask for another two days. Names don’t seem to matter as much out there.

Entering into segment three was like an entirely different world. When we finally pulled into the area we meant to camp, I could hardly believe the view. I had never camped in such a beautiful place. I set up my hammock and elected to attempt to sleep with my pad in the hammock, and only me inside the bag. This way had not worked at home – everything was slipping all over and staying in the hammock was near impossible. The wind was absolutely terrible that night, and I tried for hours to sleep. Eventually I got up and unhooked the hammock, laid it out like a tarp and tried to sleep on the ground, but it was so windy I simply couldn’t sleep.

Rock formations were beautiful in the beginning of segment three.

These stacks were EVERYWHERE for about a mile, an absolutely unfathomable amount of them.

Camp day two was beautiful, I somehow managed to delete the several pictures I took here, this is from Cheyenne looking out of her tent. The orange light of dusk was breathtaking.

Day three was a shit show – we both slept like hell after I had to join Cheyenne in the tent in the middle of the night.

When I ditched my pack and left it with Cheyenne to turn back and try to find where my data book had fallen out of my pack’s side pocket, I moved about in a strange and fast way. Shedding 42 lbs after hours of wearing it lent a spring to my step and I jogged a bit of the way before checking myself – my knee didn’t need the extra jostling.

I had far over estimated the life left in the batteries of my Steripen – I thought that they would easily last me until Breckenridge where I would have a new set waiting for me in my supply box. They died in the middle of my first collection. This isn’t the only reason I’ll be switching to an inline filtration system – but that will come later.

Passing dogs was the best (and worst) part of any day – views be damned. I rarely had the chance to stop and pet any of them, but seeing a friend immediately brought joy, and then immediate sadness. I recall this day after passing the mentioned pair of older dogs, seeing Morgan in my mind’s eye running past me, looking up with her little pitty smile, and thinking of Charles, and I cried as I continued walking, telling myself the whole time – you need to stop, you’re going to trip with your blurred vision.

We passed this sign and it seemed almost unnecessary. It was as if there was a civil war reenactment nearby. I suppose if the databook and signs like this hadn’t provided this information though, I may have been in a bit of a panic. It doesn’t seem so far fetched to me, with our current political climate, that a very sudden societal collapse could happen at any time and we would have been none the wiser, so I suppose it does provide a modicum of peace of mind.

We were getting footsore as we entered into the lost creek wilderness. Cheyenne took a dive in morale and I had to go inside myself to just keep climbing. There were several points hiking up the extremely rocky abandoned logging road that I, head down, was hit or caught by branches reaching down from overhead. It got a little brutal, and was a monstrous test of mind.

We reached where we thought camp should be and came to realize we still had at least another mile or so a climb. Here I decided I needed to, as mentioned, finally relieve my bowels after nearly two days. I believe the excessive abdominal compression that is experienced when strapped into the harness of a heavily laden pack contributed greatly to difficulty not just in digestion, but also to appetite.

Eating dinner that night was a punishment. The food was never disgusting. It was never a flavor problem, necessarily, it was a desire problem. We had barely been able to pack down the calories as we had planned them throughout the day, but dinner was another story entirely. We sat dejected after having cried our way through being homesick for our loved ones, and begged each-other to just eat one more bite of bar. An almond.  A bit of coconut oil. Anything in your bag.

We had to set up the tent on an awful slope, downhill and sideways, with risky looking dead trees overhead. There was simply no other place. I learned here to pay greater heed to marked known camping areas from the data book. I cleaned my toes and pushed pus and blister fluid from them, treated them careful and bandaged them. My big toe nails still hurt, it turned out my shoes were too loose. They ended up bruising badly, the right far worse than the left. Both nails still bear black and will for a long time until they grow out, but the issue was resolved.

The night was a tedious one. Once I had finally fallen asleep, Cheyenne woke me because she thought she heard our shaker bottles – a clear sign that something was trying to rip our bear bags down. I exited the tent to find nothing. We never could place the sound, but it was clear as day.

I woke up that morning and my insides were quaking, I was weak with the need to vomit, I had no anti-nausea medication at this point so I took an immodium instead and it helped calm my system enough for me to get moving. Though my knee hurt a bit worse than it previously had, once I got moving, both it and my morale improved greatly. I was incredibly optimistic that morning.

As we were entering into the “long an unusually straight” meadow, we had both had a mental breakthrough and clarity. Things were certainly going to be alright. We stopped at a good water source and washed our bandanas, shirts, and faces. We collected water and finally garnered the names of our leapfrogging companions once they had caught up to us.

We set out into the meadow, and the heat, behind them, with a new face behind us. He stopped us a mile or so in and asked to take pictures of the databook, then left us all behind.

lovely lanced blister

Things went downhill quickly for me then. I was angry, so angry, that this dream I had been working towards for years was getting ready to end so quickly.

The decision was made and progress after that was slow going. As we climbed into section 5 I coped out loud with Cheyenne. Thunder was rolling in the distance as we were texting out the change of plans.

The strange camaraderie we all found at that stream was new to me. The man’s name was Stone. We all sat and laughed about Alex and William having no plan at all, and we taught them about mountain lions and moose, and not a single person judged my perceived failure.

When we reached camp that night, this fortune fell from my bag. It was strangely fortuitous, and we were both a little mystified about its origin. I came to find out my father had hidden several of them in different compartments for me to find, but this is the only one that presented itself.

The water was a difficult trickle at that campsite. We had both gained an appetite, finally, and tried to eat as much as we could, but still had difficulty putting back our entire planned meals. The squirrels were belligerent and we thought we may awake to holes chewed through our bear bags that next morning – thankfully did not.

goodbye*, food*

When William stopped us he had mentioned he had been doing repairs and making adjustments to Alex’s bag all along the way. She had a small gregory pack, and he had brought along a full sewing kit which he used to change the seating of her hip pockets and shoulder straps. I wonder if they continued on the trail after they made it to Breckenridge.

I learned that without an underquilt for your hammock, a tent is absolutely the way to go. A Steripen, though effective, is too reliant on many pieces of extra gear. Your shoes should be very snug. And don’t dive into a commitment of 30 days on trail if you have never been able to get out and do so much as a single multiday before. If you have plenty of  wiggle room and financial freedom to just take off days whenever you need, then go for it. Otherwise – gain far more experience beforehand.

I also learned on this first venture out that I have no particular desire to be a through hiker. I can’t take Charlie with me on great big long forays with many miles in a day – I don’t have a need to leave him behind for such a length of time. I also have no desire to leave Vince’s side for such a length. I can take him with me, or I can take shorter solo trips, but I have these incredible bonds that I am grateful for, and want. When I planned this trip, my life was vastly different. I was so thoroughly displeased with my entire life, and I needed to trek alone for a length of time at that point.

The loss of this goal was no less disapointing for these developments. It was, however, much easier to accept for them. The week at home brought with it a roller coaster of emotions. We set our plans to head back out to start again at clear creek. I’ll be posting our next few segments soon.

Psst – Check out part 2 – Clear Creek through Highway 50

Now, for the disclaimer – I am not a vet, adventure guide, personal trainer, doctor, nutritionist, or medical authority, this is meant to be only a source of information and inspiration, implementing these techniques into your daily life is something you do of your own free will and at your own risk.

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