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Wednesday--August 15, 2007
Trail Day--02
Trail Mile--12/1516
Location--Henderson Mine, thence to Silverthorne

The mercury really started dropping last evening, as the cold rain came in--which finally ended in sleet. I was much relieved to get my tent pitched and to warm up.

This morning my little REI thermometer is hovering just below 38 degrees. But as I break camp and get going, the day warms nicely. By early afternoon the trail has dropped over 2,000 feet to descend Bobtail Creek. From there, it's immediately up again to 12,500 feet at Jones Pass. I seem to be adapting to the thin air at these high altitudes, but as I pass the 11,000 foot mark in the climb to Jones Pass, my legs decide they've had enough. From there on up, it's steady stop and go. I give a prayer for a bit more stamina--and the least more patience! At the top I meet Chris, and daughter, Mallory, up from Evergreen for an afternoon trail ride. They become intrigued by my story as I show them where I've hiked today, from the ridge in the hazy beyond to the valley below.

I break off the pass to descend the road to Henderson Mine. As luck would have it, and as I arrive the trailhead, Chris and Mallory are loading their quad-track, and they offer me a ride back to Silverthorne. Along the way, we stop for ice cream, courtesy of my dear new friends.

Oh my, isn't this odyssey shaping to be a dandy!

"Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond
For us who are true to the trail;
A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,
A farness that never will fail;
A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal,
A manhood that irks at a bond,
And try as we will, unattainable still,
Beyond it, our Land of Beyond!"
[Robert W. Service]

Thursday--August 16, 2007
Trail Day--03
Trail Mile--20/1536
Location--Wheeler Flats/Copper, thence back to Silverthorne

Figured I'd be stiff and sore this morning, but am out from the motel and moving along fine. It's a cool, clear morning, the mountains not seeming so distant. First it's past the posh outlet shops, the downtown banks and real estate offices, then to cross the Blue River, where the climb begins--up and up to the beautiful homes overlooking the city. Not much traffic here on Lake View Drive today, as most homes up here are luxurious retreats for big city dwellers that come up for weekends and holidays. Fellow told me the other day that the millionaires came in a few years ago and bought out all the locals. And now the billionaires are doing the same thing to the millionaires. Looking at a copy of the Summit County (Silverthorne/Breckenridge area) Summer 2007 Real Estate Guide I can sure enough believe it--duplex in Silverthorne, a million-one, in Breck, seven mil, vacant land at Copper Mountain, a million-two-fifty. You don't want to know what single family homes are going for. Oh, and as you might suspect--there's no Wal-Mart in Silverthorne!

Comes soon the nice trailhead where the Wheeler/Dillon trail begins. Following the trail south I'm hiking in the Eagles Nest Wilderness, White River National Forest. Here are (almost) constant ups and downs, as the trail climbs South Willow Creek nearly 2,000 feet to Eccles Pass at Buffalo Mountain. From there the trail drops to cross North Tenmile Creek before beginning another 2,000 foot climb to Uneva Pass, at near 12,000 feet.

As I huff and wheeze my way up and along, comes back the memory of the not-so-gentle climbs I endured at the beginning of the Appalachian Trail hike in North Georgia back in '98. I remember how folks, wearing their shiny new boots (and lugging their sixty pound packs), complained bitterly about the terrible, leg numbing climbs. Set me to wondering then and there why they were even on the trail! It was no fun listening to their constant griping. Right then I made up my mind to have a different attitude--a positive one. Came then the determination that with each mountain climbed I would become a stronger, more tolerant, and more patient person, that I would become a better man for the doing of it. So, this day, and here in these tall, rugged mountains, do I again set my mind to that good task.

Hiking along today, I get to spend some time with Mike and Jim. Come to find out Jim recently had three-fourths of his stomach removed, and no complaining from Jim. What a much better beginning--this hike. Thanks for the good example, Jim. A reminder: Set to work becoming a better, more tolerant, and more patient man!

"Adopt the pace of Nature: Her secret is patience."
[Ralph Waldo Emerson]

Friday--August 17, 2007
Trail Day--04
Trail Mile--00/1536
Location--1st Inn at Silverthorne

Today will be what long distance hikers refer to as a zero-mile day. After the soaking yesterday coming down from Uneva Pass, plus what turned to be a long-mile day, I've decided to take a little more time to acclimate and to get dried out.

A free bus runs from Wheeler Flats/Copper to Frisco/Silverthorne, which I hopped last evening. Sure no problem spending another day in Silverthorne; though ritzy, it's sure one fine trail town. Neat (very reasonable) motel. Three restaurants right next, post office half a block away, library right down the street, and the kicker is: The bus depot is right behind the motel, with free rides to shopping or to wherever else no-wheels hiker trash like me might want to go! Yup, Silverthorne's a mighty fine trail town. So there's really no need to hurry; it's feet up and I'm chillin'.

"Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished."
[Lao Tzu]

Saturday--August 18, 2007
Trail Day--05
Trail Mile--17/1553
Location--Ruins, Camp Hale, Eagle Park

After a fine night's rest I'm greeted by another cool, clear day. At the mom-n-pop next the motel I sit the bar. Here I meet Jack from Evergreen. Jack drives a big lumber truck out of Denver, up the mountain, through the Eisenhower Tunnel, and straight back down, brakes smokin'--day-in, day-out, hauling cedar boards and beams for the million-dollar(+) retreats being built up here in Summit County.

Great conversation with Jack as we enjoy breakfast together. Find out he's from New Jersey; been on the Appalachian Trail some around the Water Gap; been married 4 times, divorced now--again. Told me he'd read recently about a fellow who hiked from Mexico to Glacier and back again; couldn't remember the guy's name. Ha, probably one of my hiker trash friends, like Sly or Billygoat. Could see the wanderlust in his eye as we talked; picked up my tab as he headed for the cash register.  Oh, hey Jack, get a minute Google CW McCall Webpages and read his "Wolf Creek Pass" lyrics. Check your brakes, man--and thanks for breakfast!

Back to the motel it's time to pack up a few more things I'm not wantin' to lug--and send home. Then it's good-bye to Karen as she wishes me a joyful journey and safe passage.  I'm on the bus to Frisco at 9:30. A change there, and at 9:50 I'm standing at the bus stop where I'd ended my hike on Thursday.

I'm walking the main drag through Copper Mountain Resort now. The place is a small city in its own right; a family place, for winter (and summer) fun, recreation, and relaxation. In winter, of course, it skiing. Summertime's for golf, day hiking and mountain biking the trails cut across the slopes--or just enjoying the many eateries and upscale shops all along.

A little after ten I begin the climb up. Somehow I manage to cross the trail and end up on the slopes far above. Lucky for me a string of pack horses passes, and after asking direction, come to find they're headed for the Colorado/Divide Trail, so I fall in behind.

At a little before one I'm on the CT/CDT heading south. In only minutes comes this fellow behind me, cranking his pedals toward Searle Pass. He stops and we chat. Christian's his name, a member of the Colorado 14ers, a mountain climbing club here in Colorado. Like trail names, these guys and gals take on climbing names. Christian's is "Holy S~~~!" He's also an avid mountain biker, taking to the trail at every opportunity. Earlier today he'd already pedaled (pushed) his bike, a trailer hooked, with his four-year-old daughter aboard, up to the hut near Searle Pass. He's been back down and is now headed up again with a load of grub for family and friends.

Not long, and in a short while, I meet a fellow intrepid, trail name Peace Pipe. He thru-hiked the Appalachian National Scenic Trail in '05. Peace Pipe is doing a southbound o'er the Colorado Trail, from Denver to Durango. We enjoy much trail talk, about mutual friends, as we hike along together.

Above on the trail, and waiting for us, I see Christian. His wife, Amy had come up from the hut to greet him, and they've waited so Amy can meet the two of us and wish us a safe and enjoyable journey.

By three, Searle Pass is in my sights as I struggle through what has become a chilling rain--which soon turns to steady sleet. Oh yes, folks, sleet in the Colorado Rockies in August--in Searle Pass at 12,180 feet!

Between Searle Pass and Kokomo Pass, the trail stays the high, alpine meadow above tree line. In awhile the afternoon storm passes to reveal the most crystal-blue sky. The scenery and the "into the hazy blue" views are nothing short of breathtaking. Be sure and check the photo album here. Pictures of what I'm describing will be up soon.

At Kokomo Pass, sheep are grazing, oh yes, on Sheep Mountain. When the two sheep dogs that are herding them see me, they come running with greetings, tails wagging. Sure glad they're friendly. Big dogs. I mean BIG dogs! The larger of the two looks me pretty much straight in the eye. Yup, sure glad they're friendly.

Today is mushroom/toadstool day. What an amazing variety along. The high meadow wildflowers have pretty much bloomed themselves out, but with the almost daily afternoon showers, the mushrooms have taken the place over.

By six, Peace Pipe overtakes me and we enjoy each other's company once again as we descend Cataract Creek toward Eagle Park and our final destination for the day, the ruins at old Camp Hale.

Near dusk we pitch, to get a fine cooking and warming fire going. It's been a fine day, a mighty fine day.

"I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,
and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite..."
[E.E. Cummings]

Sunday--August 19, 2007
Trail Day--06
Trail Mile--16/1569
Location--Galena Lake

Before shouldering our packs and hitting the trail this morning, Peace Pipe and I explore the ruins of old Camp Hale. Think we pretty much figured the place out, what with the help of some pictures and a description on a kiosk. Hale was a WWI military small arms proving/training camp. The M-1 Garand Rifle was tested here, and soldiers were trained in its use. Looks like there were at least 50 individual target/firing stations, with range distances perhaps up to or exceeding 500 yards. Not much remains of the place now, some moldering old ammo bunkers and crumbling concrete foundation pilings that supported the many barracks; that's it.

On the climb to Tennessee Pass, Peace Pipe and I share much good company. I learn of his work managing an upscale cigar store in Philly--and about the love of his life, Danielle. At the Tennessee Pass we bid farewell, as Peace Pipe has planned on hitching into Leadville, as the old Nomad treks on to Twin Lakes.

Near Tennessee Pass, both sides, folks are in the woods hunting for mushrooms. Here I learn about the delicious Boletus mushroom from two ladies, Judy and Karen. Both have shopping bags full.

There's bike traffic on the trail again today. Nice to see others out for a change. Below Tennessee Pass I meet day hikers, Marti, Jon, and John. They're all near my age, hiking the trail in sections--and thinking about writing a book for "old folks" interested in doing the Colorado Trail. Told them I'd be more than happy to serve as senior consultant!

The trail passes near an old abandoned mine today, and I can't resist giving a look. Don't know what may have been mined here, but the hand-dug mineshaft is pretty impressive. Warning signs: "Keep Out" the shaft. No trouble from the old Nomad! Later in the day the trail passes the ruins of an old log cabin, complete with its rusty, homemade barrel stove.

By four I'm entering the Holy Cross Wilderness, San Isabel National Forest. Wilderness areas such as Holy Cross have either escaped or are in the process of healing from the destructive ravages of man. Indeed, there is evidence of man's previous presence here in Holy Cross, but nature has magic-like and mysterious ways of recovering. Time, a medium the wisest among us cannot understand, neither can they comprehend. Time. Nature's secret--time!

Late afternoon, I find a pleasant spot (nearly level, few large rocks) to pitch for the night. As the sun sets behind the mountain, comes the chill of the evening. But now the welcome glow of my dear friend, the evening cooking and warming fire draws me near--and warms me through.

Good miles today, kind folks, pleasant company.

"The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man."
[Unknown]

Monday--August 20, 2007
Trail Day--07
Trail Mile--15/1584
Location--Elbert Creek, base of Mount Elbert

I'm up, break camp, and am hiking by eight. In just a short time, and while descending (when not descending, ascending is the rule!) I meet northbound CDT hikers, Maze and Miles. Miles hiked the AT in '98 but our paths did not cross. They departed Cuba, New Mexico on June 20th bound for the Wyoming/Montana border. Perhaps if the snow flies late up there, they'll trek as far as Glacier this year. I pray for wide, safe passage, and joy in your journey, dear new friends!

The trail today is well maintained, marked, bridges at most-near every creek crossing, making for a most welcome change--dry feet.

Majestic, blue horizon views present before me now, down onto Turquoise Lake, and from Sugarloaf Mountain does Mount Elbert loom, brushing the heavens.

A little before one I put the Holy Cross Wilderness behind me to enter The Mount Massive Wilderness. Soon I see my first pack Llamas, Lucky and Lester. They're toting gargantuan packs for Jean and Chrystiane. They're from Frazier, over by Berthoud Pass. They rent the animals each year to take a hike along the Great Divide. Lucky smiles at me. Lester is reclining, waiting, giving not a care. Jean, in his youth, climbed the Colorado 14ers, all 54 of them!

Near my final destination for the day, the base of Mount Elbert, I meet Rob, a member of the Colorado 14ers Initiative (CFI). He's just topped a series of near straight-up switchbacks, lugging an enormous load. Fully stuffed shopping bags dangle from his already huge, trailer-truck backpack. Rob is doing stretching exercises as I approach. The grub he's carrying is for members of his CFI crew working trail on Mount Massive, one of the tallest of the Colorado 14ers. We share pleasant conversation as Rob finishes stretching, thence (so it seems) to shake the ground as he presses and shoulders his pack. Dang, Rob I didn't get your picture. Oh well, you and I know that I'm not exaggerating, don't we. Thanks, young man, and thanks to all those with whom you crew, thanks for this trail!

I reach Elbert Creek in good order, to make camp, thence to set my evening fire--and call it a day.

As I drift to sleep, comes the memory of that night below Mount Katahdin, before that sky-high climb, and how looming and forbidding had been its presence that day. Before me now, Mount Elbert stands well above twice the height of Katahdin. Yet, for some unknown reason, and though I'll be struggling there tomorrow (I know that being in the presence of Nature's God--and prayer, have helped), I pass to slumber at perfect peace.

"I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature,
when, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright."
[Thoreau]

Tuesday--August 21, 2007
Trail Day--08
Trail Mile--11/1595
Location--Nordic Lodge, Twin Lakes, Colorado

At 7:35 I begin the ascent of Mount Elbert from my base camp at 10,600 feet. The Northeast Ridge Trail, which I'm ascending, though switchbacking, seems to go straight up. I struggle to 11,950 feet, reaching there by 8:50.

I thought I'd gotten out to an early start, but as I ascend, passing others working their way up, I find that some had begun as early as 4:30.

Above, the views that open, to sweep the horizon from flank to flank, are indescribable. I've never looked down on the earth from such a vantage, save from the passenger seat of a jetliner. Yet I've climbed here, my feet firmly planted the ground! At 9:30 I reach elevation 13,000 feet. The air has thinned noticeably, and everyone above and below me is but creeping, stopping often to gulp for air. In awhile, I catch up with another old chap, he too, a grandfather, struggling here on the mountain this morning. No rush, no problem, Jeff and me. We linger, chat--between long, forced, chest-expanded heavings. Jeff's spent some time on the AT. Still at his job. Can't wait to retire and hit the trail--like someone he's just met!

While we're resting here, waiting for a much-needed spurt of energy (and a cease to the constant wheezing), thence to continue ever upward, let me tell you a couple of interesting things about Mount Elbert--and my desire to climb this mountain.

One amounts to no more than a bunch of statistics. The other, the least bit emotional and heart-tugging.

First, it's a little known fact that here in Colorado there exist 54 mountains that stand above 14,000 feet. Less known is the fact that Mount Elbert rises above them all, to stand at 14,431 feet. And I bet you'd be surprised to find that there's just a single mountain in all the lower 48 that stands higher than Mount Elbert. That mountain is Mount Whitney in California, which rises a mere 64 feet above Mount Elbert.

And the heart-tugging, emotional bit as to my relationship with Mount Elbert? Well, let's climb on up now and I'll tell you the rest of the story when we summit.

As we continue climbing, and just above, are more CFI crew, wearing hard hats and wielding heavy picks. They run up this mountain every morning, from their base camp down on the Colorado Trail. First I meet Kieran, then Nicole and Joel, and Jake and Christina. I watch in amazement as they dislodge a 300 pound boulder and drag it to the trail to add yet another step to the hundreds of steps already in place. Thanks, young gals and guys for your remarkable effort, for your good work. Amazing, just amazing. We're up here struggling just to climb another foot, and these kids are running around bustin' rock--amazing!

In awhile come up youngsters Keagan and Madison, and behind (then passing me), their father, Patrick, and sister, Becca. I manage to watch them scamper for awhile until they disappear behind a near-vertical switchback.

At quarter-to-eleven, and collapsed by a rock cairn at 13,900 feet I meet Ashley, a lovely young lady, tired and seemingly defeated. I stop and drop my pack. Ashley raises her head--and we talk. I tell her about how, in my many years, I've both triumphed over difficult challenges--and how, many times, I have failed. As she listens, I explain that in rising above the really tough obstacles, have there been memories created that will remain in my conscience forever. And I explain that by prevailing over these remaining (impossible) 531 feet, will there be created within her such a like and everlasting memory, to be held and cherished--forever.

We shoulder our packs together, Ashley and the old Nomad--and we climb that 531 feet, to stand tall on the summit of Mount Elbert.  It's 11:33.

Many have reached the summit this day, a haze-free, blue-perfect day. As I look around, comes the realization that I'm old enough to be father to all, and grandfather to most that are up here today.

And the emotional connection to Mount Elbert? Well, my father's first name was--Elbert. Ahh yes, this one's for you dad. Thanks for teaching me your love for Nature and the great outdoors. Thanks!

The descent is down a different path, Mount Elbert Trail. It is both long and arduous. I manage a couple of butt skids but make the downhill to the approach trail in good order. On the alternate path to Twin Lakes I meet Charlie, owner and innkeeper at Nordic Lodge. Charlie's out running trail, his passion. Upon reaching the lodge, I rest, and Charlie returns from the trail to check me in.

What an amazing day. I'm tired, but happy and content.

"God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone,
but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars."
[Martin Luther]

Wednesday--August 22, 2007
Trail Day--09
Trail Mile--00/1595
Location--Nordic Lodge, Twin Lakes, Colorado

This will be a zero-mile day as I rest, keep my legs up, and work journal entries here at the rustic old Nordic Lodge. The 9,500+ vertical feet of ascent and descent yesterday knocked the starch clean out of me. I've never in my life spent such a continuous/extended period of time climbing without interruption. Ditto for down. I struggled for over nine hours on Mount Elbert yesterday, much of it above tree line at 12,000 feet. Oh, I'm very pleased with the success of my climb, but at the same time, I'm also very relieved to have that mountain behind me.

There'll surely be plenty more peaks ahead, both steep and tall, as the old Nomad ventures the "hazy blue" on down this trail. I'm stiff and sore--you bet, but doubling up on my coated aspirin (to 1950mg/day) is helping. I know now, though I'm older than when forced down from these mountains two years ago, that I've got this hike in me.

There is no land discovered,
That can't be found anew.
So journey on intrepid,
Into the hazy blue.

And as you seek your fortune,
And near your lifelong quest,
There'll still be countless peaks to climb,
Before your final rest.

[N. Nomad]

Thursday--August 23, 2007
Trail Day--10
Trail Mile--10/1605
Location--Clear Creek, South of Winfield

Sometimes I just can't seem to get going. Twin Lakes and Nordic Lodge--neat little community, kind folks. So, no problem lingering here a bit longer. Thanks, Charlie (and Maddy) for your kindness and generosity.

At the general store, I meet south-bounders, John and Dawn. They're picking up a few supplies before returning to the trail. I'm finally out and moving a little after twelve.

I'd like to keep my feet dry for just a little while, so I stay the highway out of Twin Lakes an extra mile to the pedestrian bridge, to avoid fording Lake Creek. Where this round-about-trail merges back with the one coming up from the ford, and just as I reach the junction, comes John and Dawn. What a treat having folks to hike with. We spend the afternoon together, exploring old cabins, a (zero population, but not abandoned) silver mining town (Winfield), and climbing, climbing, climbing. At the pass above Little Willis Gulch, we take our last look back down at Twin Lakes, perfectly set against Mount Elbert.

These young folks aren't used to my pace (slow), but they have no problem shifting down. Spending time, hiking along together--through these high mountains of the Gunnison now, and on their flanks, the lush green from where rejoiceful mountain streams cascade, all have combined to make for a very enjoyable day.

In the evening, as the trail continues wending its way, we find a cool, clear little mountain brook beneath the pine to pitch for the night. A bright, cheerful cooking/warming fire caps an already perfect day.

"And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees,
books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything."
[Shakespeare]

Friday--August 24, 2007
Trail Day--11
Trail Mile--21/1626
Location--Sanford Creek

It's rained off and on during the night, but this morning it seems more as if a dream. Isn't it wonderful when you're just tired enough (but not too tired) to sleep peacefully? In the bosom of Nature, with her fresh scents, serenading sounds, and such perfect blending of brightness and color--when one is in accord with such, then restful, contented sleep is the "natural" order!

John and Dawn are up and ready to hit the trail a little before eight. I urge them to hike on ahead, as my slow pace, especially above tree line (and there'll be plenty of that today) would certainly delay their progress. Before they depart we make plans to meet again Sunday evening in Salida, after hitching down from Monarch Pass.

This morning I'm hiking in the Collegiate Wilderness, San Isabel National Forest. Here stand the mountains that are named The Three Apostles. I'm able to get a stunning picture of one of them, as the day turns again to (what continues to be) blue-perfect weather, the tufted pure, white cirrus clouds adding just the right bit of contrast to the blue backdrop sky--behind the Apostle.

It's a rock solid (no pun intended) climb from Lake Ann to Cottonwood Pass. I've come to appreciate that once a climb like this begins, it most always turns to a steady, uninterrupted 4x4 low-range-geared climb that's near, or in excess of, 2,000 feet--all the way to the top. Yup, shift 'er down and grind 'er out old man! During the ascent I pause to look up many times. While into the climb, and now above Lake Ann, I see a faint outline of two figures standing in the notch that is Cottonwood Pass. I wave; my salute immediately returned by John and Dawn. Then, beyond Cottonwood, they quickly disappear and are gone. I struggle for nearly an hour, huffing and wheezing, before I'm standing in Cottonwood Pass.

From here is a glorious vantage out and across the Collegiate Range (and Wilderness, Huron Peak, one of Colorado's 54 14ers). And in the distance--the Sawatches.

Descending Cottonwood Pass, the trail soon intersects the Timberline Trail. This is a multi-use trail shared by hikers, equestrians, and dirt-bikers. Not long, I meet some fellows pulled up at a junction, their dirt bikes leaning or lying about, all trying to figure direction. Here I meet Kevin, and his twin sons, Tom and Brian, and their friends, Tyler and Tyler. We have much fun talking dirt (a time honored tradition otherwise known as "bench racing"). What memories return as I reminisce those many years I raced dirt bikes, and helped an organization called the Florida Trail Riders get their start. FTR is now the largest race sanctioning body for off-road motorcycle events in Florida. We finally get the trail figured out; they crank, and in a moment, are gone.

My feet are still dry; nice, really nice for a change. So I push my luck by hiking out of my way, two miles on down, to cross the pedestrian bridge across Texas Creek. The detour pays off, for, as the day turns there's only six or eight rock-hoppers to cross, all streams with perfectly placed stones for steps. Ah, dry feet, what a luxury. Sure, I can hike along just fine with wet feet--but why!

Near dusk, I find a delightful spot to pitch for the night. Plenty of crystal clear mountain water, along with freeze-dried lodgepole blowdowns for firewood!  Yup, mighty fine day--spent with Ma Nature and Father Time.

"...There is no meter and there is no rhyme,
Yet God's poems always read in perfect time."
[Astrid Alauda]

Saturday--August 25, 2007
Trail Day--12
Trail Mile--24/1650
Location--Middle Fork South Arkansas River

I'm up and out to the Timberline Trail by seven. My little REI pack thermometer reads 38 degrees. Oh yes, got my long sleeves, fleece, and mittens on this morning. Hard to believe, eh?

In a short while comes up the trail, Just Mike, old leather slouch hat, pack akimbo, broad, contagious smile. He's trekking north on the CDT, with less than 200 miles to finish his journey along the Great Divide. Upon completion, Just Mike will add his name to that short list--to become a triple-crown member, having hiked the three major national scenic trails, the Appalachian, the Pacific Crest, and the Continental Divide. Congrats, Just Mike! Dang, didn't get his picture.

As I continue on toward Mirror Lake I meet Dave and Randy resting by their quad-track. It's bow season for elk and deer now, and they're up here on the open high ground scouting the area.

Lots of motorized traffic by Mirror Lake, being Saturday--dirt bikes, four-wheelers, 4WDs, even pickup trucks. Gotta watch my front and rear as I climb toward Tin Cup Pass, another steady up, bringing constant huffing and wheezing. The crusher finally tops out at 12,150 feet.

Below Tin Cup Pass, and as I climb once more toward Tunnel Lake, comes down two fellows hard-breaking a big-wheel cart loaded with--elk! My puzzled expression gets them stopped. Here I meet Joe and Paul. Joe shot the elk with his bow and arrow. The meat's dressed and neatly wrapped, very tidy, all four quarters and the back strap. They're also hauling the head, as it must be tested for some sort of wasting disease common to elk.

A little further along the Timberline Trail I meet Paul and his dad (dang, why can't I remember his father's name?  Sorry, pop!). They're out for deer with quivers of arrows bobbing up and down, strapped to the handlebars of their quad-track. Mostly, I think they're just having a grand time enjoying the ride--and the day. Great photos; be sure and check the Twin Lakes Album section soon.

Toward evening, and after traversing a quite lovely above timberline segment, and while descending toward the east portal of the old Alpine Railroad Tunnel, I meet Sean, owner of Absolute Bikes in Salida, and his high school buddy, Rich. They're up for an evening ride across the delightful, lakes-around section I've just described.

Once on the old rail grade, the hike downhill turns to a cruise, all the way to the old ghost town of Hancock, where it turns abruptly to climb once again, up Chalk Creek, to Chalk Creek Pass.

So, after climbing most the day, this trail ends up kicking my tired old rear end. Oh, but does it seem to take such a long time to top Chalk Creek Pass. I reach there with no time to spare, as the sun leaves the mountain and dusk descends. Gotta get down below tree line before dark. Camping above timberline is a definite no-no. Anyway, there's not a single thing up here to build the least fire. I hurry down as fast as I can without bustin' it. Luck's with me, for just at last light comes this fine brook. And just off the trail below, old blowdowns, and a relatively flat place to pitch for the night.

A 24-mile day, with elevation changes in excess of 6,000 feet.

The cooking/warming fire is most inviting--but not for long.

"Nature is man's teacher. She unfolds her treasures to his search,
unseals his eye, illumes his mind, and purifies his heart;
an influence breathes from all the sights and sounds of her existence."
[Alfred Billings Street]

Sunday--August 26
Trail Day--13
Trail Mile--11/1661
Location--Monarch Pass, thence to Salida

Another very chilly morning; temperature again, 38 degrees. Luckily, I'm able to break camp and get moving without my fingers turning to their usual twigs.

Descending the Middle Fork South Arkansas River now, and not long after being alerted to the sight and smell of wood smoke, do I reach a woods road, hunter's cabins beside. Being bow season, there's plenty of activity, at least there must have been earlier this morning. Seems all about hastened away to the mountainside, the last ones leaving the cabin doors fully ajar.

Again, as yesterday evening, the trail turns abruptly to climb towards Boss and Hunt Lakes, held high beside Bald and Banana Mountains. Around the flanks of Bald, the trail climbs up past what appears a permanent cornice, following steep switchbacks to the Divide, finally topping out at 12,600 feet.

Another short climb along the Divide, here by the sheer side of Bald Mountain (at 12, 800 feet), can be seen Monarch Pass, US50, clear down the mountain to Salida.

Again, the day turns picture-perfect; cool, with just the least breeze. And picture time it is, with huge, artistic rock cairns marking the trail that follows beside rugged, boulder-strewn rockslides. And along, the most delicate alpine children, silken grasses, sedges, and the most delightfully colored wildflowers. It's a light-footed scamper now, wind dancing through my hair, as I pass along the rooftop of America. Here is an uninterrupted trail for the better part of five miles, along the Great Divide, clean down to Monarch Pass.

I reach the Pass by three, to treat myself to an ice cold Gatorade at Monarch Crest gift shop. A friendly fellow takes a moment to snap my picture beside the Monarch Pass sign.

Thumb out now, rain threatening, comes Le, a mountain biker/hiker to load me, thence to haul me directly to the Budget Lodge, closest to old downtown Salida.

It's good to be in town again. A warm bath, a hot meal. What a way to end this most memorable day.

In the morning I hope to reach John and Dawn, to enjoy their friendly company once again.

"Forget not that the earth delights
to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."
[Kahlil Gibrand]

Monday--August 27, 2007
Trail Day--14
Trail Mile--00/1661
Location--Budget Lodge, Salida

This will be another zero-mile day. There'll be more, as my timing for getting through the San Juans before the snow flies is just spot on.

An email from John and Dawn awaits me this morning, and being the least concerned they'd get up and out on the town early, I called them at 6:45. They weren't out and about quite yet. Actually, they weren't even awake yet. That is, until I called them!

Oh well, no frowns, just two shiny-faced smiles to greet me as we meet again, in the Salida Post Office. All have mail drops here. I hit the jackpot, but not till after suffering agonizing moments--as I send the clerk back to the mailroom a second time to search for my packages. Finally, she emerges with a shopping cart loaded with boxes. Yippee! "Guess I overlooked these," says the clerk, with just the least blush and sheepish grin.

My better Mariposa pack from Gossamer Gear, my bounce box with assorted "stuff," including better shoes, a package from Dwinda with guide books for Southern Colorado and New Mexico by Jim Wolf, and my camera memory card from Webmaster, Linda. Oh, and the most moving and loving card from Dwinda--yup, hit the jackpot for sure.

Dawn unboxed a brand new pair of runners, beautiful, sleek, ultra-lightweight. John is rummaging around in his box. Don't know what he was unloading. A fun time!

Old downtown Salida is neat, clean, and well maintained. John and Dawn have bikes rented from Sean at Absolute Bikes, and they've pretty much toured the whole place, from Wal-Mart by the far outskirts, to the core district here. We settle for an old converted gas station for breakfast (complete with operating service bay doors). Lots of fun again "bench hiking." I stop by to see Sean at his shop. His is a thriving business. Great folks; impressive inventory--and a fine repair/modification shop. Sean takes a moment from one of his enthusiastic mountain-biking customers to come to the front entrance for a shot. He'd invited me to stop by his place when we'd met up on the mountain yesterday, and he's genuinely pleased to see that I've made it down to Salida. All good success with Absolute Bikes, Sean! Check the pics out in a week or two.

A trip to the library for a quick look at Cywiz's (my Webmaster Linda's trail name) good work on our Website, a stop by Safeway for five days supplies, then to take some pictures of downtown Salida and the colorful homes along 4th Street. Then it's back to the motel--feet up for journal writing time.

In the evening I head to the local mom-n-pop for fried chicken, the works.

We'll all be hitching back to Monarch Pass in the morning, but not before sharing more fun time, breakfast together.

"I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, Nature is company enough for me."
[William Hazlitt]

Tuesday--August 28, 2007
Trail Day--15
Trail Mile--15/1676
Location--Below Triple Divide Peak (A mile before Windy Peak)

Salida, as it turned out, proved a fine trail town. A bit strung out but not really a problem. From the motel out on US50, to downtown (with post office, library, restaurants, and a Safeway), it was a walk of only ten blocks.

John and Dawn come by at 7:30 and treat me to breakfast before hitching back up to Monarch Pass. We speak of the good chance of seeing each other on down the trail, toward the finish at the Mexican border. Better to think we'll get together again as it does soften the farewell a bit.

After a final trip downtown to the post office, I'm able to hitch a ride out to Wal-Mart where I pick up another camera memory card. From here it's a hitch on up to Monarch Pass. Luck has it that Mike Weaver, wheelin' his Peterbilt, hauls 'er down and offers a ride. I climb up and in. Fun time talking with Mike. I'm on the trail by one, climbing Monarch Ridge toward the Divide. The trail remains on or near the Divide most of the day--at elevations above 11,000 feet. Where the trail drops to the Atlantic side of the Divide, I'm still in the San Isabel National Forest, on the Pacific side, the Gunnison.

It begins clouding up right away, local afternoon clutter. Rain curtains are draping across the Divide ahead at Antora Peak. The sky stays patchy all afternoon and I'm trekking along in rain off and on, especially past Marshall Pass.

I finally give it up during a break in the rain to pitch under the spruce by the last flat spot below Triple Divide Peak.

The rest in Salida has been most beneficial. The swelling in my right leg has gone down and my wind is kicking in much better on the steep ascents above 11,000 feet. No cooking/warming fire tonight.

There is rich Ute Indian history along this section today. (Chief) Ouray and Chipeta (White Singing Bird), Ouray's wife, are predominant mountains. Of them, and over a century ago, writer Ernest Ingersall noted:

"We are only a few hundred feet from the topmost timber, yet the bald white summit [Ouray] rears its head to almost unmeasured heights above, and claims our admiration by its simple majesty."

Wednesday--August 29, 2007
Trail Day--16
Trail Mile--19/1695
Location--Below Middle Baldy

After pitching last, the storm appeared to move on south to about where I figured John and Dawn would be. Sure enough, this morning I see their (fresh) tracks along the trail.

It's a cool, cloud-free morning as I descend Triple Divide Peak (the waters of the Arkansas, the Colorado [Gunnison], and the Rio Grande are divided here).

Not long, I see my first sage grouse (called blue grouse here). It's walking along the trail beside me, showing not a care. It gives a look my way, over its shoulder moment to moment to keep an eye on me, and just keeps tripping along. Watching the bird and paying no attention to my wandering, do I flush two more grouse right from under my feet. Trying to regain some composure, another one rises directly beside. Okay, I'm certainly awake now!

Where the Colorado Trail and the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail share the same path, the tread is well maintained, and there's great signage at all the intersections. To make navigating along even easier, I've finally broke down (cheap, cheap, cheap) and purchased Jim Wolfe's fine trail guides. Many of the folks I hiked with during '05 were using his guides and all highly recommended them. So, I'm finally up to speed. Shouldn't be getting confused/lost nearly as often now--Thanks, Jim! And thank you, Jonathan, I'm still greatly relying on your fine trail maps--and my GPS.

I'm entering the Cochetopa Hills proper now, lower (just below 11,000 feet), rolling and rocky treadway. It's trip and stumble time, seems, for the remainder of the day. Adding to the problem is my pack weight. I'm carrying five days (now four) of food to get to Spring Creek Pass (Lake City), some 96 miles by trail from Monarch. So I'm lugging around 20 pounds. Hey, not whining; my dandy little Mariposa pack provided me by Gossamer Gear (Glen Van Peski) is haulin' the load just fine.

The sky darks over again by afternoon, bringing cold rain and finally hail. Hammers me good. Took a picture of a pile of it beside the trail. More slipping and sliding, through the rocks, roots, mud--and ice.

I finally give it up at seven, by a little trickle coming off the Divide. I find a flat spot above and pitch my tent. For the next half hour, and until nearly dark, I nurse the most cantankerous fire I've ever tried to build. I get it halfway going and it suddenly goes all but out--halfway going again, out--over and over; same deal. Sure, the forest is wet, the tinder is wet, and the ground is wet. But hey, I'm a fire builder, don't ya know! Finally get the wise idea to open a box of my Uncle Bens, dump the rice in my saucepan, and use the cardboard for fire starter. Even open the seasoning pack, dump the powder on the rice and add the paper to the cardboard. Yup, we're firin' up great now. But hold on--as I'm breaking small sticks over my knee to help the blaze along, it happens. I lose my balance, step back to regain--and hit the saucepan with my left heel. Oh yes, up flies the pan, straight up, flipping and turning--and up flies the rice and the seasoning powder, all over me, head to toe. Most of the rice lands in my left shoe. Yup, the fire goes out again. It's dark now, so I go for my little Micro-light, used it for the entire '06 L&C return trek. It's decided to quit. Looks like cheese sandwiches tonight--if I can find my bread and cheese in the dark. Mutter, mutter, mutter. Hey, know what? Onion powder makes a pretty good deodorant. Shoes smell, well, different! Ah, I think this is the cheese, feels like the cheese.  Now where's the bread?

"If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all.
Gloom, despair, and agony on me-e-e!"
[Cast of Hee Haw]

Thursday--August 30, 2007
Trail Day--17
Trail Mile--23/1718
Location--Near Texas Creek (FS787.2A)

Away from the Divide, the landscape is beginning to look more and more like the southwest, desert-like, with mesas, cattle, and miles and miles of open range. Pass a solar well, a fenced spring, and even hike through some sage for the first time today. Cochetopa Hills are behind me now. No regrets.

Early in the day the trail follows the Divide, between the Rio Grande National Forest to the east and the Gunnison to the west. In the afternoon, through the bristlecone pine and aspen, the trail drops from the Divide. Shortly comes trail magic, twice! First, bear-proof canisters in the cold creek waters by CO114. Pop, oranges, chocolate, and homemade cookies, compliments of Mom and Dad, friends of John and Dawn. Then in a short while, two coolers loaded with cold pop, compliments of Burnt Foot.

Later in the afternoon I meet northbound CD hiker, Shera, headed for Denver.

By seven, I decide to load up on water at Texas Creek, then to hike a very short distance before finding the perfect spot (dry and flat) under the pine where I pitch for the evening. Have a cooking/warming fire going in no time. A great 23-mile day. No afternoon thunder busters for a change!

"What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well."
[Antoine de Saint-Exupery]

Friday--August 31, 2007
Trail Day--18
Trail Mile--27/1745
Location--Below San Luis Pass

I'm up and moving early, before seven. Unusual for me. More roads--FS597, then FS597.1A. This last road leads to the trail at the lower end of Cochetopa Creek Canyon. A fine morning as I head up. The climb is gentle at first but as the morning wears on the trail becomes steeper. Just before noon, and a short distance below the Eddyville Trailhead, I enter the La Garita Wilderness. As I continue up Cochetopa Creek there's evidence of beaver everywhere. Dams, lodges, skids, tree stumps, and the hacked remains of bushes, all with that familiar stockade-pointed cut.

With each passing hour, and as the canyon continues trending and curving an arc, I finally get my first glimpse at San Luis Peak, one of the taller of the 54 Colorado 14ers.

Turning from road to trail this morning, and at that point, Cochetopa Creek was a formidable stream, with thousands of gallons of water flowing per minute. But here, finally, at the upper reaches, crossing the little brook involves no more than an easy rock-hop.

The climb, which began hours ago below 10,000 feet, turns nearly straight up now, as I struggle to gain the shoulder below San Luis Peak, altitude 12,600 feet, a continuous climb of nearly 3,000 feet.

Climbing just below the mountain spur comes the predictable afternoon clutter, hovering above, bringing the usual spatter of large raindrops. Before reaching the spur, I stop to don my poncho. Climbing on, the rain intensifies, with hail intermixing. The sky above has turned totally black now and the storm is becoming very angry, bringing much wind-driven rain and hail, and cloud-to-cloud lightning, producing that unmistakable smell of ozone. What seemed to start as the usual short afternoon squall has turned to a much more intense and strong storm--and it's directly above me.

Beyond the mountain arm the trail stays high, totally exposed against the sheer rock as it side-slabs around a huge, open amphitheatre guarded above by grotesque volcanic sculpts. What little vegetation there is up here stands only inches high. The jumble of rock, mostly talus and scree, offers no cover. As I push against the wind, comes a literal blast of ice, hail driven like pellets from a shotgun. My head, shoulders, and arms are pelted with painful force.

Comes pure hail now, no rain. The noise is deafening as the wind drives the ice against the rock and across the trail before me. This great storm continues for a very long time, long enough for me to start feeling the early stages of hypothermia.

As I struggle along, yet again come sheets of driving rain, gully-washing and piling up the ice, creating a treadway covered with flowing white. Oh, if only I'd taken time earlier to open my pack and retrieve my mittens and fleece. Too late now. Can't stop.

I'm having trouble gripping my trekking poles. My fingers are like so many useless sticks. Thrusting my poles under my arm I manage to get my hands inside my poncho and under my armpits. I continue stumbling and skidding along the ice-choked trail.

Finally, mercifully, the trail descends toward tree line--and cover. The hail stops and the wind and rain slacken the least bit. In the tall, canopied forest I find cover enough to remove my poncho and drop my pack. A spot just large enough for my tent miraculously appears. I fumble with my pitifully useless hands, such a frustrating and slow ordeal. Before my tent is set the rain comes again, down through the canopy, drenching my tent and pack. I work with haste, pure determination, trying not to panic. The tent finally up; in go my pack--and me. Thank you, Lord!

Out of the storm now, and with the tent interior quickly warming, I'm able to get my hands working well enough to mop water with my mittens and fleece, then to change into relatively dry clothes. Somehow, I know not how, my sleeping bag has remained dry. In another moment my sleeping pad is inflated and I'm in my dry, warm bag. This day's done; I'm done--my camp here above 12,000 feet.

Can't believe it, with all this trouble, I've still managed a 27-mile day.

"Toward the light in search of peace
This calling I'll blunder thru
'till all the pulses within me cease
Adrift in the hazy blue."
[Robert W. Service]

Saturday--September 1, 2007
Trail Day--19
Trail Mile--14/1759
Location--CO149, Spring Creek Pass, thence to Lake City

The cold of the night not so severe, the storm retreating, I'm able to rest in such comfort that could only have been hoped and prayed for, yet never expected.

The morning dawns to a perfect clear-calm. Solid blue above, not a cloud wisp, neither a single bough swaying. Total stillness; absolute silence. Such strange contrast to the brutal fury of yesterday. Nature! Does she not constantly wave such a fickle and mysteriously unpredictable wand? Here in the wilderness we are ever at her mercy, (and do we not choose to be) her subjects, drawn to the gentle warmth of her bosom--yet so soon to become discards, victims of her unbridled wrath.

Time for contemplation, and time for a grateful moment of prayer to Nature's God, to the Almighty above.

A very slow, methodic process, getting out and moving. Wet pants, wet shirt, wet socks and shoes--wet everything I put on. My legs, arms, and back are mechanical, stiff and sore, victims of the harsh, cold storm of last. "Double your coated aspirin;" I murmur, "That'll work." as I try convincing myself to suck it up and get moving.

Got my sights set on town today, but between here and there comes the least business of climbing, over 2,000 feet of elevation change, from here on the flanks of San Luis, to Spring Creek Pass.

I manage to get going with relative ease, considering, and am striding along quite well in no time. Thank you, Lord, for the stamina, for the resilience, for the determination and resolve. Your blessings, so lavished upon me, they're priceless gifts, that through your grace and love I might provide inspiration to others, to rise, get off their duffs and get out and moving--it truly is a blessing. Thank you, Lord, thank you!

Company along the trail today. First, James Robert Harris from New York City. He's out here hiking the Colorado Trail. I catch him--and his 50# pack. We have a fine chat. "Been to Patagonia, the Andes, all over the world." he remarks. "I'm well over 60 now; gotta keep movin'." Ah, yes, James, we all gotta keep movin'! I get his picture. He takes mine.  Great meetin' ya, old fellow!

Descending to Snow Mesa I see a dot on the trail far below. In awhile I catch up with Mike (also from New York)--and his 50# pack! Mike has stopped to filter some water by the outfall from the little tarn here on the mesa. We exchange wishes for respective safe and joyful journeys, and I'm off and trekking again.

After bailing off the mesa, and by four I'm standing on the shoulder of CO149, my thumb out waiting--and waiting, and waiting. No traffic, either direction. Not good. Two or three vehicles every fifteen minutes or so, more motorcycles than cars and trucks. Not good, not good at all.

After an hour of this futility, I turn and start looking for Mike to drop off the mountain. At five--hey, here comes Mike! He'd told me earlier that Spring Creek Pass (CO149) was his final destination, so I have my hopes up that Mike might be just a bit smarter than me, that he'd have wheels waiting over at the trailhead.

As we greet again, and as I lament my dismay with failing to get a ride during the past hour, Mike says: "That red car over there, that's mine; let's go!" Oh yes, Mike, I'm with you!

Mike is out here in Colorado hiking sections of the CT. He came out last year too. Liked the experience so much, he's returned again. Managed to get a taxi to follow him clean up here from Creede so he'd have a vehicle (rental) to get himself back down off the mountain. "I'm actually going back to Creede, but I'll run you down to Lake City." says Mike with a smile. What luck! Thank you, Mike--thank you, Lord!  Save for Mike, I'd probably still be standing to this day--thumb out, in Spring Creek Pass.

Mike drops me off in front of Sportsman Outdoors, "downtown" Lake City. I thank him, ask him to sign my guestbook when he returns to New York, and he'd gone.

In Sportsman I meet Andy. Ask him about a motel, a place with good grub, where's the post office, library, the usual questions. Andy just stands there, big frown on his face the whole time. "You're not going to find a room in this town, not tonight, not this weekend." says Andy apologetically. "What's going on?" I ask. "It's Labor Day Weekend--don't you know it's Labor Day Weekend? This is our busiest weekend of the year!" exclaims Andy, again with a "give-me-a-break" frown. "Here," he says, "I'll make a couple of calls for you, but I tell ya, you're not going to find a room in this town tonight." First call, strike one. Second call, strike two. Third call (Andy into the receiver), "Na, the guy's a hiker; he doesn't smoke." His hand over the phone now, "You don't smoke, do you?" whispers Andy. Bingo! Big smile, both of us! "Come on, I'll run you down, their last room; they'll hold it a minute--better get there before they rent it out to someone else." says Andy, as we head out the door.

In a moment we're in front of the Silver Spur Motel. As I thank him and open the door to get out, "We offer shuttle service back to the pass if you need a ride--and you're welcome." says Andy. Yup, I'll sure take the shuttle! Thanks, Andy. What a kind and friendly introduction to Lake City!

The Silver Spur reception desk is bustling. "No rooms, no; we're full up." John on the phone. From the door, John's wife, Venice: "Tell those folks we're full, no rooms."

Holy moly, what a deal. I've been blissfully bouncing along the Divide, not a care to my name one minute, then the next, the carnival that's Labor Day, Lake City. What an amazing stroke of good fortune; I'm in!

"I believe in God only I spell it 'Nature'."
[Frank Lloyd Wright]

Sunday-Monday--September 2-3, 2007
Trail Day--20-21
Trail Mile--00-00/1759
Location--Silver Spur Motel, Lake City

Another day of rest has proven most welcome.  Been able to keep my feet up, and have received inspiration to write. Anyway, it's been raining steady most of the day.

I'm warm, dry, and my tummy's full. Oh happy day! I'll hike again--tomorrow.

"I can choose to be happy now
or I can try to be happy when... or if..."
[Spencer Johnson]

Tuesday--September 4, 2007
Trail Day--22
Trail Mile--14/1773
Location--La Garita Stock Driveway, past Coney Peak, Continental Divide, camp elevation 12,843 feet

Lake City turned out to be a fine trail town. Busted my budget, though. My own fault. Forgot it was Labor Day weekend. Lucky to get a room at any price--then had to lay over the extra day (no problem) because the post office was closed Monday.

When I hit town Saturday, Mike dropped me off right in front of Sportsman Outdoors. There I met Andy, the manager. He suggested I take advantage of their shuttle service back up to Spring Creek Pass. Oh yes!

So, this morning Zack from Sportsman hauls me. Great conversation on the way. Zack is a trout-fishing guide for Sportsman. He's working on his degree in Anthropology. Turns out he attended Mizzou in Columbia, so he's familiar with Lake of the Ozarks, my stomping grounds. Thanks for the lift Zack!

I'm back on the trail a little before noon, climbing as usual, and in the hail (one more time). Same old afternoon thunder buster clutter, but today's version is stubborn as it hangs around most the afternoon. Have my poncho on and off four or five times. Meet some folks on the trail for a change, Cathy and Larry, day hikers from Minnesota. Cathy can't believe I could have what I need in my meager little pack.

I'm entering the San Juan Mountains now. Friends have told me much about the San Juans, so I'm looking with much anticipation to seeing this section of the Rockies for myself. I get my first glimpse at their lofty and rugged presence from Jarosa Mesa at 12,000 feet. From here can be seen Rio Grande Pyramid. Before me, the San Juans, and dancing on the horizon, the Grenadier Range. Looking back, Snow Mesa can be easily seen.

Ever look down on a rainbow? A quite interesting sight, created by the here-and-gone and here again afternoon storm. The San Juans are going to be all I'd hoped for, untouched expanse, pure wilderness not marred by power line cuts, highway ribbons, and all the other countless "improvements" man can make to help Nature.

In the evening, I'm hoping for a relatively dry spot under the spruce canopy, to have my little fire, but above tree line at  near 13,000 feet, there is no canopy! Cold supper tonight.

"In wilderness I sense the miracle of life,
and behind it our scientific accomplishments fade to trivia."
[Charles Lindberg]

Wednesday--September 5, 2007
Trail Day--23
Trail Mile--22/1795
Location--Above Weminuche Trailhead, Bear Creek, Weminuche Wilderness

A cold night at such heavenly heights; 38 degrees. Though it rained hard (I know not how long) I made myself comfortable and slept very well--on my Therm-a-Rest pad, in my Feathered Friends bag and little Nomad tent.

Looking down this morning (almost everything to look at this morning is down) I see that unusual natural phenomenon I've talked about in both my books; a perfectly flat cloud-sea below me. It is a marvelous sight to behold. One's imagination can literally run wild, as islands form, harbors appear--and tall ships can be easily visualized. The white cloud-sea here is not as brilliant or as expansive as the one seen on that crisp, clear early morning above Parc de la Gaspésie, but it is none-the-less baffling and remarkable.

Below Coney Peak, the CDT rises to its loftiest height in southern Colorado, 13,334 feet, and it's turning a blue-perfect day from horizon to horizon, unobstructed views; spectacular. So clear, seems that beyond the blue fringes, there's a door that could never be a door, yet there does it appear--to open.

In awhile the trail bails off to Carson Saddle. Here molders the remains of an old silver mine, circa 1880. The prospect was staked out by Chris Carson, son of the legendary Kit Carson. All that remain are caved in shafts, holes in the ground surrounded by tan colored tailing piles, rusting steam-driven mine equipment--and a pall so physically pressing and mentally depressing that it overwhelms. Something terrible and sad, as to create an everlasting ethereal grieving, happened here a long, long time ago. Nothing to do with wealth or fortunes lost, some other terrible tragedy. Even in the bright, warm sun of this day, indeed in all the midnight suns of yesterday, would there not be warmth or brightness enough to drive the shadows from this hell of a place. As I depart do I glance many times back, trying to puzzle some sense out of what to this day continues on...

"There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold..."
[Robert W. Service]

Men moil for silver too, I suppose. And so, I'll just leave it at that.
 
As I climb back up to the Divide from Carson Saddle, are there strange, eerie-looking shapes running the ridges above me, as if clutching toward the heavens. Folks about have affectionately named these forms Hoo Doos. Sure spooky looking. Seems they're all looking at me, until I quickly look to confront them--then they immediately turn to cold, inanimate stone. Yup, spooky.

I've made a decision to follow the Colorado trail for a ways today, down and around to Beartown (no town, no ghostly haunts, just the name remains). The CDT climbs up and all around Canby, nothing very on-the-ground tread-wise or very official about the trail there. So I make the decision to bypass Canby, to follow along FS roads a good bit. Right choice as I get to meet and talk to a couple of cowboys placing salt blocks, to see a high country hunting camp (complete with privy), and to meet a northbound Colorado Trail thru-hiker; dang, forget his name.

Late evening now, I enter the Weminuche Wilderness to pitch on a coin-sized flat spot under the spruce. The rain soon comes and continues off and on all night.

Thursday--September 6, 2007
Trail Day--24
Trail Mile--18/1813
Location--Below Rio Grande Pyramid (and The Window), Weminuche Wilderness

My camp, last, marked the furthest west I'll venture during this journey. The Divide turns back east now, before finally heading south for good near Sawtooth Mountain.

The morning begins iffy weather-wise, cloudy, windy, and cold. Not long, the day clears nicely, making for fine hiking.

The trail crosses the Divide a number of times today, first thing this morning at Hunchback Pass, a climb of nearly a thousand feet. Then it's bail-off and right back up to Nebo Pass.

A number of lovely high-held lakes today, West Ute, Middle Ute, Twin and Ute Lakes. They make for some stunning pictures.

The treadway here in the Weminuche Wilderness has been (and continues to be) brutal--heavenly sights above, pure hell below. Trails that receive heavy use, as does this CDT through the Wilderness, get eroded down to rock. Some places the tread is a pure gully, up to three feet deep, littered in the narrow vee-bottom with loose baseball-to-basketball-size rocks. Grueling. Slow and methodical is the only way through, lest I bust it.

After all these days, from way back on Snow Mesa where I first photographed Rio Grande Pyramid, I am finally standing on its flank. An unusual and interesting feature nearby is called The Window, as there's a nearly perfect square opening in the ridgeline beside the Pyramid. Look for pictures (are better than words) soon. My camp for the night is below Rio Grande Pyramid. As the sun drops, so goes the mercury. My cooking-turned-warming fire is a fine companion.

"The fire is the main comfort of the camp, whether in summer or winter,
and is about as ample at one season as at another.
It is as well for cheerfulness as for warmth..."
[Thoreau]

Friday--September 7, 2007
Trail Day--25
Trail Mile--15/1828
Location--Squaw Creek, Weminuche Wilderness

Got down in the 30s last, clear and cold.

As it turns, today is the day to get lost. First, I'm unable to find the trail across the large, expansive meadow below Weminuche Pass. I bushwhack back and forth, hike all the way up to (and past) Weminuche Pass. No trail. Finally, nearly three hours (and four knock-about miles) later, I'm back on track, climbing, of course!

Second, I take the wrong trail at a fork and hike over two miles before realizing (actually before being told) that I'm hiking the wrong trail. Not all bad though, as I get to meet John from Connecticut. And what a very joyful occurrence--my path again crossing that of James "Jess" Harris, the fellow from New York that I first met clear back near Snow Mesa. Great meeting you, John. And what a special time, spending time again with our friend, Jess. Jess gets me going the right direction!

Rio Grande Pyramid and The Window are still in my rearview. Taking awhile getting this massive mountain behind me. Pyramid and its associated mountain system are the cause for the huge horseshoe bend in the Divide, which has taken me nearly three days to get around.

The angular light of the late evening sun striking the mountainsides is, well, striking. Gawking around, taking pictures, I miss a turn, hiking nearly a mile down, way down, the wrong trail. By the time I figure it out, and get straightened out, the day is through. I pitch on a rocky ledge just above Squaw Creek. Lots of deadwood to kindle my evening fire.

Making the miles doesn't always make the day. Turned out, rambling about, off-trail, was not the least unpleasant, more time spent looking in rather than out, learning the fine virtue of patience.

"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,
for going out, I found, was really going in..."
[Muir]

Saturday--September 8, 2007
Trail Day--26
Trail Mile--20/1848
Location--Below Piedra Peak, Weminuche Wilderness

A cold 28 degrees this morning. No moisture/condensation on my tent, just ice crystals. More sticks for fingers again as I tackle breaking camp. Proud to be out and hiking before seven. Would truly like to make the miles today, good Lord willin'.

It's tough grinding though, as the trail hugs the jagged Divide, mostly at or above 12,000 feet. Lots of rocks. Thousands (of feet of) ups and downs. But I stay true the trail, and the miles click away as my thoughts ponder the goodness of Nature unfettered--her eternal message of truth.

A rather remarkable feature along today is called the Knife Edge. Aptly named, as the trail seems to become suspended, then abruptly end in space. The Divide at the Knife Edge is truly that, sharp, narrow, and near vertical. I keep the blinders on and creep along with absolute deliberation, lest I slip and go over.

Late evening, the trail drops down below timberline and I'm able to find a delightful campsite under the mature spruce canopy. A warmer night, but the warm fire is a welcome friend.

"One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can."
[William Wordsworth]

Sunday--September 9, 2007
Trail Day--27
Trail Mile--22/1870
Location--Wolf Creek Pass, thence to Pagosa Springs, Colorado

I'm up, daily duty done, pack on, and I'm truckin' before seven. It's 22 miles to Wolf Creek Pass, and if I can cut it, there'll be steak and potatoes, and a soft, warm bed waiting me tonight. Time to haul, through the rocky road, the longest continuous trail of rocks in my memory.

By late morning, and making good time, I arrive Sawtooth Mountain, where the trail finally turns back south. Mexico here I come!

Lunch break is a stop by one of the remaining high points on the CDT above 12,000 feet. As I relax, study my maps, and munch a cheese sandwich, comes up Wizard and Dirt Boy. They southbound thru-hiked the Appalachian National Scenic Trail in 1994. Great fun recalling common memories, discovering mutual friends.

Looking to the horizon, the least wisp of haze at 35 miles (straight shot for the high-flying crow) standing tallest is San Luis Peak. By trail, it's 125 miles!

More picturesque lakes today, Archuleta, Spotted and Rock Lakes. Rock Lake is particularly stunning, what with jagged rock walls extending near vertically from its waters, with beautiful Hope Mountain for a backdrop.

At four, I depart the Weminuche Wilderness, five full days and over 110 miles of unspoiled mountain scenery. What a memorable time. Where's the steak and potatoes?

By five (and in the rain and hail again) I'm standing in Wolf Creek Pass (US160) with my thumb aimed at Pagosa Springs. Soon a trucker takes pity on me, stops, and I load. It's Jeff, driving for Swift. Been with Swift only a short while, one driver of over 20,000 Swift drivers on the highway today. He gets a kick out of hearing a little of C.W. McCall's Wolf Creek Pass. I'm in Pagosa Springs (in the rain) by a little before six. Spacious room, delicious steak.

In the evening I'm able to track down Nean (triple crowner) and his girlfriend, Heidi. They'll be hauling me back up the mountain Tuesday morning.

Sure glad to be in town for a spell. Feet, knees, and arms dearly need a rest.

"Me and Earl was haulin' chickens
On a flatbed outa Wiggins
And we had spent all night on the uphill side
Of thirty seven miles of hell called Wolf Crick Pass
Which was up on the great divide

Wolf Crick Pass way up on the great divide
Truckin' on down, the other side"
[C. W. McCall]

Monday--September 10, 2007
Trail Day--28
Trail Mile--00/1870
Location--Pagosa Springs, Colorado

Rained hard off and on all during the night. Tin roof on the motel. Clatter woke me several times. Happy to be out of it for a change.

Another typical southern Colorado town, Pagosa Springs, strung out along the main highway, for miles. There is a downtown, cloistered around the hot springs. Motel, grocery store, library, and post office within easy walking distance.

I get together with Nean and Heidi, and we share more good memories, fun stories.

In the afternoon I work journal entries, stomp out my dirty duds in the tub, make a trip to the grocery store and post office, then settle back in.

Glad to have spent the past six days in the wild. Glad to be out of the wild. Will miss the wild again, soon enough!

"Have you seen God in his splendors, heard the text that nature renders?
(You'll never hear it in the family pew).
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things--
Then listen to the Wild--it's calling you."
[Robert W. Service]

Tuesday--September 11, 2007
Trail Day--29
Trail Mile--21/1891
Location--Below Montezuma Peak, Continental Divide, campsite elevation 12,332 feet

Been taking a few pictures in the towns where I've sought rest. Somehow I missed snapping any while in Pagosa Springs. Don't know why; it's a friendly, progressive, upbeat little community.

Nean and Heidi both work in Creede, over the mountain from Pagosa Springs, and they've offered to shuttle me back up to Wolf Creek Pass on their way to work this morning. We share a quick breakfast together, then it's time to roll (climb) to Wolf Creek Pass. At the kiosk atop the pass, I tripod-up my camera for a picture of the three of us. Then, too soon (but predictably), it's that time again--more sad, heart-tugging farewells. Folks like Nean and Heidi become kin. Don't ask me how it works, how such a blink-in-time relationship could create any sort of bond. Please, just believe me, it happens. Emotional and sad good-byes. Thanks Nean and Heidi, thanks for your kindness, for your kinship.

The climb out of Wolf Creek Pass, back to the Divide, is not the least strenuous, but it is long and steady. I've got my wind now; my legs are strong and responsive, and my arms have come up to the yeoman's task of rhythmically digging my hiking sticks. Thanks once more dear Lord, for your grace and blessings upon this old man. May I be loud and boisterous--only in praising you.

I catch up with a couple of locals from Pagosa Springs this morning, Rich and Carol, out for their morning exercise climbing. Why is it we Americans must travel thousands of miles to enjoy the beauty of some other place, all the while never taking time to appreciate the beauty in our own back yard? Rich and Carol, they've got it figured out. They've found the beauty that abounds right here at home--happy smiles, both!

I'm now entering the South San Juans, a rugged and remote stretch of Rockies that extend nearly 70 miles south from here. Plans are to hike this section through in three days, but don't know. The trail sure chops up the topo contour lines through here. That means plenty of climbing ahead.

Lots of different circumstances can slow one's pace, some good, some not so good. Doesn't take long this day for a not so good slow down--blowdowns. Today is shaping to become blowdown day. Trees laying across or otherwise blocking the trail can be a real problem. With all the usual tangle, they're very hard to climb through with a pack on. So it's almost always up and around (way up), or down and around (way down). No matter how they're tackled, it's a dangerous proposition. I must remind myself to slow down, be patient to a fault, and concentrate. Bustin' it in a blowdown is not such a romantic way to end an odyssey.

By two, the local clutter (say thunder busters) arrives. Rounded up and driven by the wind, the shows come rushing through. At 12,000 feet, the thunder resounds in such a hollow, crashing tympani, reverberating all about. The lightning always seems to be cloud-to-cloud, yet when up here right in the clouds, such a light and percussion show can become the least unnerving.

My friend the wind, which has hastened the storm across, continues, bringing energy and a mysteriously audible mixture of sound. I heed its call and tune to its message as it passes. Nature speaks, if only we take time to listen.

My poncho is on more than off the remainder of the afternoon. Of course the storm must intermix some hail, but it does so just briefly as it finally moves away.

The trail continues side-slabbing. Rounding a bend I meet Steve. He's up here from Arkansas hunting mule deer. And his trip's been successful. He shot a four-square-racker early this morning and tracked it to where it finally dropped way, way down below. Our paths cross as he's heading back to camp for help in quartering the mulie, getting it up the mountain, and out.

I hike on, into dusk, then into dark. Camp tonight is in/on the rocks, high in a narrow depression directly on the Divide. The night turns still, quiet--and cold. No more messages on the wind.

"Only those in tune with nature seem to pick up the energy in wind. All sorts of things get swept off in the breeze--ghosts, pieces of soul, voices unsung, thoughts repressed, love uncherished, and a thousands galore of spiritual ether. Wind is an emotional rush because emotions are rushing by."

[Drew Sirtors]

Wednesday--September 12, 2007
Trail Day--30
Trail Mile--23/1914
Location--North of Trail Lake, South San Juan Wilderness, Continental Divide, camp elevation 12,179 feet

I awake to a very cold morning, 30 degrees with frost on both the inside and outside walls of my tent. The sun, a blazing red, is just rising over Lookout Mountain. Ah yes, it's going to be a wonderful hiking day.

A bright, clear morning had been forming, but by ten the local weather moves in to take command. My fleece and mittens have and will remain on as the wind comes driving, immediately bringing the cold again. In just moments comes the bone-chilling rain, which quickly turns to snow. By the time I stop, unshoulder my pack and get my poncho out, the whole system moves across the mountain to the other side of the Divide.

Wildlife abounds today, from the little finches flitting about the willow scrub, a dozen or more rock ptarmigan, pairs of blue grouse, to a large herd of elk. I have heard coyotes nearly every night, and bear sign is everywhere--but no bruins.

The trail dips to near civilization at picturesque Blue Lake from where an old road winds on down the mountain. Here are the remains of an old home, the rock fireplace still intact, standing as a sentinel straight and tall. Above the hearth and large firebox, the stone there would have supported a very long and equally wide mantel. My mind's eye pictures a warm and inviting bungalow, welcome shelter from the cold and the snow.

The trail climbs, then stays high atop the Divide for the remainder of the day. The unrelenting rocks directly on the trail are brutal punishment to tired, weary feet, making the going painstakingly slow and laborious. Amazing mountain scenery and profound wildness though, the sort of vistas seldom seen, save for that afforded the exertion, the price paid being the sweat and toil of the climb. To those so inclined do these heavenly towers reveal their beauty. Ah, such a well-earned reward.

Again I hike on into the pale light, to pitch once more on the high ground, in a small, sheltered depression atop the Continental Divide. This will be my last night, and tomorrow my last day, above 12,000 feet.

"The exquisite sight, sound, and smell of wilderness is many times more powerful if it is earned through physical achievement, if it comes at the end of a long and fatiguing trip for which vigorous good health is necessary."

[Garrett Hardin]

Thursday--September 13, 2007
Trail Day--31
Trail Mile--21/1935
Location--Cumbres Pass, thence to Chama, New Mexico

A small patch of alpine turf proved a soft, welcome spot to lay down my tired old body last. Another clear, cold night quickly descended, but once in my little Nomad tent, it was warm (relatively), and I slept soundly.

Ice everywhere around me this morning (inside my tent). Merely brushing the sidewalls brings a cascading shower of sparkling crystals. I must move ever so cautiously to prevent becoming soaked. Carefully rolling my tent fly back reveals a haze-free, blue-perfect (but cold, 28 degrees) day. Not a cloud wisp nor the least sign of impending weather--360.

The remaining bit of climb up and along the Great Divide takes only minutes this morning, then the trail moves away to the eastern slope to gently descend toward Trail Lake. Near the lake I pause to look back toward the Great Divide, the last I'll tread upon it here in Colorado.

The trail this morning crosses wide, undulating meadows interspersed and dotted with countless high-held lakes and ponds. To add to this (Nature's manicured) elegance, an occasional cluster of low-bush or a rock garden is thrown in for variety. Along these high grassy spaces the trail becomes faint, disappearing entirely at times. To aid passage, rock cairns are places at intervals along, usually in sight, one to the next. But at times I'm left to fend on my own. Using Jonathan's maps, my GPS, thence by shooting coordinates to a nearby known position I am able to find my way.

My daydreaming solitude is interrupted as I meet another intrepid this morning, Dave from Oregon, hiking sections of the South San Juans. We pause to exchange pleasant conversation before continuing our separate ways.

I'm able to get one of the most amazing pictures this morning. Being a near total haze-free day, as I look in disbelief toward the farthest, most-distant horizon, dancing up and down there faintly--can be seen The Sangre de Cristo Range and its highest summit, Blanca Peak, fourth in stature of the 14ers in Colorado. When this series of photos are up, please look ever-so-closely at shot 09/13/2007 12:43. In this photo, Blanca Peak can be seen 75 miles away!

By one-thirty I'm descending from 12,000 feet for the last time this journey. And shortly, I depart the South San Juan Wilderness.

Reflecting now, my thoughts: This hike through the San Juans has been a most rewarding and memorable time, wilderness scenery, and some pretty remarkable pictures--but I'm very relieved and glad to have the climbs and the rocks behind me. It's been a rugged, difficult trek, but the good Lord has provided safe passage.

By five I'm passing under the Cumbres & Toltec train trestle at Cumbres Pass. There's hardly any traffic on CO17, but as luck would have it, and in less than half an hour, Ed comes by from his cabin retreat in the South San Juans and gives me a ride down to Chama, New Mexico. Thanks, Ed!

I enter Foster's 1881 Hotel, Restaurant & Saloon a little before six to be greeted by Alice, the owner. She's got a room for me. After Jane gets the room heater working, it's back down to the Saloon where Zack serves up a sizzling steak and an oven-hot baked potato.

Fine ending to a very fine day, eh!

"Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth
are never alone or weary of life."
[Rachel Carson]

Friday-Saturday--September 14-15, 2007
Trail Day--32-33
Trail Mile--00/1935
Location--Chama, New Mexico

These two days are days of much needed rest. The San Juans were rugged, lots of climbing, and rocks, an incredible jumble of rocks. I appreciate the rest. I know my barking doggies sure do.

And what finer place for a short sojourn than Alice Foster's 1881 Hotel, Restaurant & Saloon.

In the trail register at the Chama Post Office, most all the recent northbound folks have lamented as to getting lost in northern New Mexico.

Getting lost used to alarm and frustrate me, but no more. I've come to appreciate that straying from the trail (where there really isn't any trail) is just part of the blend that makes the CDT such a unique and special trail experience. No sense or need in getting in a rush along this trail. Schedules and time frames have no place here. I've noticed that Mother Nature works pretty hard at times, but she also takes time to rest. It's as if she is asking me to rest too. Sounds fair to me!

"Look deep into Nature, and then you will understand everything better."
[Albert Einstein]

Sunday--September 16, 2007
Trail Day--34
Trail Mile--16/1951
Location--Lagunitas Creek, below Brazos Ridge, Carson National Forest, New Mexico

What a fine time in Chama. Foster's is a very old (1881) but most comfortable establishment. And Alice was a grand hostess. Yes, a fine time in Chama.

I figured I'd have one heck of a time hitching back up to Cumbres Pass, being Sunday, but as luck would have it, a kind, young family stops, takes nearly five minutes rearranging their gear (and kids) to make room for the old Nomad. Before I know it, I'm standing again in Cumbres Pass.

I could have taken the Cumbres & Toltec train to the top of the pass, but it was a bit pricey. The train ride is long and slow, a climb of five per cent all the way up, requiring two locomotives to haul the cars and passengers. The train left Chama twenty minutes before I got my ride, and I'm standing here by the tracks now, waiting another twenty minutes for it to arrive. There should be some good picture ops, so I delay my hike on south, and chat with Bill, caretaker of the facilities at the pass.

The wait was sure worth it as I'm able to get some fine pictures, first as the train approaches, then of all the people, and finally as one of the locomotives is switched out, and the train heads on down the other side of the pass.

Today is mostly a roadwalk, starting with the first couple of miles right down the old narrow gauge tracks (my choice).

In a short time, and while climbing up from Apache Canyon, three locals, David, Beverly, and Greg, come riding up on their mountain bikes. They're out for the fresh air and the exercise, and stop a moment to chat. All take interest in my hike and ask many questions.

At one-thirty, and at a cattle guard on the gravel road, I leave Colorado and enter New Mexico. A bit of Canada and four states behind me now; one more to go--New Mexico.

It's a grand day to be out hiking, cool and clear.

New Mexico is famous for its mesas, and it doesn't take long at all before I'm climbing one, Osier, which takes me up to Brazos Ridge. The terrain is really changing now, from the high, rugged mountains of Colorado, to the arid mesas and plateaus of the southwest. Gone are the willow thickets, now come the sagebrush, juniper, and cactus.

The trail brushes by the Cruces Basin Wilderness, where I'm able to get a couple of pictures looking down from Brazos Ridge.

Even with such a late start, by evening I've manage good mileage for the day, and I'm very pleased. Camp is in the ponderosa pine. Flat and dry; plenty of firewood.

"Be content with what you have, rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you."
[Lao Tzu]

Monday--September 17, 2007
Trail Day--35
Trail Mile--15/1966
Location--Above headwaters, Placer Creek, just off US64

I could hear elk bugling and the coyotes "serenading" just at dusk last. It's bow season for elk now and just at dark, two hunters passed, on their way back to their camp below.

I slept fine through the rain, which came around one, to continue off and on in waves all night. I'm bound in my tent until almost ten this morning, until the rain finally lets up enough for me to break camp.

I'm feeling the least bit apprehensive today as I've a long bushwhack ahead of me. It will require almost constant map reference, compass and GPS use, a thorough testing of my navigational skills. It's hard enough staying on course under ideal conditions. With the rain, my poncho on to protect my pack (and me), it'll be a problem getting to my maps, studying the topo lines--and keeping everything dry in the process.

The bushwhack begins with a bail-off, straight down into the canyon of Rio San Antonio. From here it's a climb up, out, then to follow along the Tierra Amarillo Grant fence line. I stay on course and manage the six mile bushwhack without a hitch. And my maps are just the least soggy. Comes now more cold rain, which drives another hailstorm, this one not as long or as intense as others I've had to endure, but none-the-less exasperating.

Another bushwhack today, down Placer Creek. The storm has let up for awhile and it's actually turning fair. The whack is through the narrow, rocky, high-walled canyon, the going slow and difficult, constant boulders and brush. Just below, and leaving the canyon, are the remains of a decaying old sluice box (placer), complete with grate and moldering box timbers.

In Rio Vallecitos Canyon now, the trail continues up and down, following more cow paths along the T-Bone Ranch fence line. Comes soon more forest service roads. Here, I'm able to get back up to speed.

Finding water, good water, is becoming more and more a problem. Fewer sources, further in-betweens. One source, supposedly reliable, Ojito Azul, a piped spring, is just a green-scum stagnant pool, not a drop of water moving. By five, I pass another piped spring, this one running at just the least trickle, but cold and clear. I take time to fill one of my bottles--and me.

Late evening now, bouncing up the rocky road in his pickup comes Perry. Just passed his very comfy, fully furnished camp a mile or so back. He stops, shuts 'er down, and we chat. Perry and his buddy from Pennsylvania, they're out here bow hunting for elk. All excited, Perry has to tell his story about shooting his first elk--first day out! Late evening it was. He d