CDT Day 50 (7/7/23)

Miles 1158.6 (Red line 1371.6)- 1187.3 (Red line 1400.3) (28.7 miles)

Verbatim

With how poorly today started, I’m very happy to see this as a 1% day. There was something like 8,000 feet of elevation in today’s walking as well. I’ve set up tomorrow to be mostly flat. That’s good. I’m hoping for a 30+ mile day to set things up in good shape for Steamboat the next morning.

Last night was a poor sleep. It was wet, cold, wet, wet, and mosquito ridden. I was so disappointed to wake up and find everything wet. I packed it all up and headed for the pass. There were two passes today, the last of the “spikes” of elevation that corner the state on the Guthook’s map. The pass was set in a bowl, so the ground was very wet and marshy. I did some harrowing log crossings to keep my feet dry. The pass itself was pretty, and on the other side I met a nice 50’s couple that had a big two-person Nemo tent set up. It was 9am and they’d just gotten up. They remarked at how early I was moving. I said I’d started at 7am and that was late! Much better to be moving at six. I walked off too quickly. They were nice and interested in my hike and my anticipate arrival in Steamboat. They asked if I planned on getting there today! Steamboat was 60 miles out still. I laughed. Maybe if I’d chatted longer I could have got a free place to stay…

After the pass there was snow. That was really upsetting. Then there was a burn zone with a shared dirt biker path. The dirt bikes tear at the trail, leaving big stones and mud ruts and divots. It was not pleasant walking. It was a hard part of the day!

I caught Pepé at the end of his siesta. I ate a quick lunch and we were off. Thunderstorms and rain rolled in. We started the ascent of Parkview Mountain, a really beautiful climb and peak, in the pouring rain. The rain let off until the summit. As I made the final ascent I could see the clouds with curtains of rain racing towards us. There’s a shelter at the top of the mountain, and I raced to get there before the storm. Both Pepé and I arrived in good time, but as the storm approached Pepé took off down the open descent and ridge walk. He said he’d “get cold” standing still. I was so confused. I watched from the shelter as this man entered the storm.

I haven’t seen him since! I waited out the storm and then did a pleasant eight miles to end today. I’m at a good camp. There are few mosquitos. Life’s good.

Post Note

Ah man. That ascent up Parkview is one of my favorites from the trail. It felt like a long climb! There was forest, then rock formations I imagined many a mountain lion perched upon or denned within, then open parks, then alpine scree, and then a horizontal walk across a ridge line towards the cabin at the sheltered peak. That last quarter mile across the ridge was literally a race. I won.

Up top was really fun. The shelter had some sort of old outdated weather equipment the function of which I couldn’t identify. There was marmot scat everywhere and an instruction manual to the electronics which hikers had been using as a log book. True to all unkept mountaintop shelters there was graffiti everywhere. The comments on Guthook implied that many a thruhiker had spent the night here before. “Comfy for two. Manageable for three. A squeeze for four. Sardines for five”. It did not look comfortable to sleep there. And it seemed like an ideal way to wake up with Marmots having chewed through every sweat laden inch of your gear. But, thruhikers will do anything to change up the monotony. Camping at the top of a mountain does sound fun!

Watching Pepé descend into the wall of rain and sleet which soon assailed the side of the mountaintop shelter was crazy. This dude eats a tortilla up high and instead of putting on his clothes and stepping inside the cabin, where he can watch the beauty of the storm as it passes through free from wind and rain, he just walks down the mountain and into the storm. He walked straight into the wind. There go his little neon green wind pants slowly fading away. He is absorbed in the gale. When I caught him next I asked if it was any warmer than he thought it would be staying up top. It wasn’t, he said.

I, in a moment of maturity, did wait out the storm. It was beautiful to watch through the broken windows. Colorado summer storms, unlike the New England storms I’m familiar with, don’t dominate the whole sky line. They’re finite, if violent, creatures who unleash their gifts quickly and ferociously. When it rains in New England it tends to be grey and rain all day. But from 12,000 feet in Colorado you can see the storm, see around the storm, and sometimes even see through the storm. From my 360 degree view, limited to a 12 by 12 inch window frame during the actual storm, I could see the ends of the world. There the sun show with brilliance as it cast through the clouds. Here, right now, was a torrent of brilliance snow and ice which tinkled the roof above me. Back the way I had come was the dark brown and ash of the burn zone I’d walked through to get here. Its thirst was about to be satisfied.

When the storm was over I took off after Pepé. I was warm in my layers and once moving soon had to take clothes off. I ridge walked for the next few miles while looking at Haystack Mountain. Did I want to climb it? Nah. I’m not the peak bagging type. At least not while I’m thruhiking. The point is to just be outside for a really long time, not to conquer anything. I wouldn’t even climb for my namesake. There was also a Little Haystack Mountain, if I’m remembering correctly. I didn’t climb that one either.

And then I had a glorious night with no mosquitoes. I found a flat which probably had twenty campsites. There was one bar of service so I called William. I can remember telling him that I was happy and can remember actually feeling happy. That was a rare feeling. There was wind, and no water by the camp, so there were no mosquitoes. I’m remembering now a sort of schedule to the nighttime mosquito intensity. It seems to me now, as I recollect, that I often thought that there was one day of freedom from mosquito death for every two to three days of absolute hell. That was the same sort of emotional schedule I was keeping. Those glimmers of brightness felt like they could save me. I just never knew when or why or how they’d arrive or when or why or how they’d go.