~7.5 miles
My alarm goes off at 5:30 and we wake up. I’m slow moving to
eat and dress, and we aren’t walking by 6:30 the way I’d hoped. In fact, I
crawl back into the sleeping bag at 6:45 and give myself 5 minutes to lie still.
My stomach is aching, a sick, sharp ache. Maybe I ate too quickly?
Mt. Elbert is a 7 mile round-trip from the Colorado Trail, and
it’s about 4,000 feet of climbing by the southern ascent, which we take. It’s
the biggest mountain I’ve ever climbed, the second biggest in the continental
U.S. (after Mt. Whitney, which Granite summited last year). I’m feeling low energy and tummy achy, so I’m
a bit worried. But we set off anyway.
Lots of people climb Mt. Elbert, young and old, mostly day-trippers
from the looks of it. People with tiny packs and clean clothes, hair in tight
ponytails, chatting. I feel grimy and trail worn.
The ascent up Elbert starts steep and climbs through aspen
trees that eventually thin. We trod along slowly. My stomach hurts too much to
wear my hip belt, but thankfully my pack is light so it doesn’t matter much.
We stop to rest after about 1,000 feet of climbing. Granite
could probably dash up the mountain but I’m struggling. My insides feel awful,
like my intestines are twisting. I don’t want to eat.
We leave treeline and can see the next 3,000 feet of climbing
ahead. It’s a path with few switchbacks. Around us, Colorado spreads out. The
day is misty and there are wisps of fog clinging to pine and aspen and to the
lakes far below. Distant mountains are vague from the mist.
We climb, rest, climb. I feel awful. I wonder if it’s some
weird altitude sickness. When we are halfway up, I duck behind a rock to pee.
I’m not that concealed, but there’s not much in the way of cover up here. My
underwear is dark with blood.
Well. That explains some of the tummy ache and fatigue.
We rest on a rock for 5 minutes, then ascend in 300 foot
increments. I’m wearing my running watch, which has GPS on it. I can’t use it
on much of the trail because the battery wears out right away, but today I use
it to mark painful progress. I ascend 300 feet, chill for 5 minutes on a rock,
ascend, stop. I break down the climb by counting my steps—counting every left
step until I get to 100, catching my breath, repeating.
I feel achy and exhausted and the pain in my stomach seems to
increase with every foot of ascent, so I’m really not sure I’ll make it to the
top until there are only 400 feet left to climb. We limp up to the top, get an
exhausted photo, and I lie down on a rock and close my eyes. The views around
us are splendid, but just lying down feels better than anything.
At noon, we leave the summit and the tiny, happy crowd at the
top. Downhills can be as bad as uphills, but this one isn’t. It’s steep and
full of slippery gravel, but we use our poles and it’s not bad. When we’re just
below treeline, I stop to eat a snack and Granite continues to camp. My stomach
still hurts but it’s after 2 PM and I need to eat something; my energy is gone.
I wander into our campsite by 3 PM. We are one of the only
people camping, but a few people drove rugged trucks up the rutted dirt road to
reach the trailhead. I make some cocoa with whey protein and lie on my sleeping
pad, a Gatorade bottle of hot water tucked against my stomach. I took pepto on
the trail and now I’m searching for ibuprofen but can’t find any.
It’s 2-3 miles to Twin Lakes, but we decide to ask others
coming off Elbert if they’ll give us a ride.
The first couple we ask seems to be in their 30s, quiet, with
backpacking packs. We chatted with them on the trail. They say they can drive
us to Twin Lakes but they parked 2 miles away. We decline.
I’m back on my sleeping pad when the next group walks toward
us. Three shirtless kids, boys in their mid to early 20s, with low slung pants
and music playing from a jambox accompanying them.
“Ugh, I don’t want to ask them,” I tell Granite. “I’ll just
yell.”
“Hey,” I call, sitting up but not standing, “Did you guys drive
up here?”
“Yeah,” says one of them.
“We’re trying to get to Twin Lakes. Can you all give us a
lift?” I ask.
They walk up to us and we look each other over. They look like
teenage boys to us, and who knows how we look, sprawled on the ground with
camping gear everywhere. They agree. We grab our stuff quickly and hurry after
them.
I’m wearing my camp sandals and carrying my sleeping pad in my
arms, backpacking on my shoulders and hip strap undone because my belly still
aches. I have to hurry to keep up, and Granite flashes me a grin. We tag along
with them for half a mile or more, including balancing along rocks and fallen
trees on a section of road that’s underwater.
The boys are friends, all from Austin originally and happy to
be in Colorado. One of them says he plays stocks for a living and likes
mountain biking, the other 2 prefer hiking. One has 2 children. They love
smoking weed but talk fluently about other drugs.
We arrive in the tiny town of Twin Lakes and bid farewell to
the rambunctious trio who drove us in. We arrive at the Twin Lakes Inn, ring a
buzzer, and wait a long time before a smiley, middle aged woman arrives.
We had to change our reservation because we were running a few days ahead. Now instead of 1 night in the hiker room, we are spending 2 nights in “the crib,” which back in the day was used by sex workers. The proprietor warns us multiple times that it’s tiny and meant for 1 person. I buy a cold cider and a Pellegrino from their cooler and we walk through sleepy Twin Lakes to our tiny house.
Twin Lakes has only the Inn and the Lodge, and a little general
store that caters to backpackers. Otherwise it’s just a cluster of houses, more
than half of which seem to have detached outhouses. Lots of the houses are
ancient log cabins, and more than a few have ‘for sale’ signs.
Our cabin is small. A couch that folds out to a full sized bed,
a toilet and shower behind a curtain, a stove and sink. On the porch out front
is a little table with 3 small chairs and an empty birdcage.
I walk in and shower. My stomach aches a lot less and it’s good
to change out of stained clothes. My period is more than a week early, but at
least we have 2 nights in town. 2 nights to shower and use a toilet instead of
digging a cathole. I have 2 reusable menstrual pads and my plan is to wear one
while the other is drying, then switch and wash the other with Dr. Bronner’s
soap. Hopefully they dry fast enough that I can switch every 18-24 hours when
I’m backcountry.
Normally I’d use a menstrual cup in the backcountry, which is
great for backpacking. But I have an IUD now, and it’s slowed my periods down a
lot. That means I can get by with a couple reusable cloth pads, I hope, and I
can avoid having to dig my fingers inside myself to insert or remove a cup.
We eat at the Lodge and I order fish but I only eat a few bites.
We grab a 4-pack of alcoholic root beer for tomorrow and head back early.
Our bed is tiny and there are no nightstands, but it’s firm and
I think it’s the best bed we’ve had on the whole trip.
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