CW-2
~14.5
miles
I
peek my eyes open and check the time. A bit after 4 AM. The tent is
still gloomy. I need to pee but it's too cold so I snuggle into the
sleeping bag and promise myself I'll get up after 5. The next time I
check the time it's 5:30, and it's chilly but not unbearable. So I
pull on my hat, puffy jacket, and hiking pants, and slip out of the
tent. Granite is sound asleep when I first wake up, but my rustling
awakens him and I can hear him unzipping his bag as I boil water for
breakfast.
I
want to be hiking at 7:15 but don't quite make it. I'm on the trail
by 7:30, saying hello to North Bound thru hikers with long matching
dreads.
The
hike up Lake Ann Pass in the early morning is breathtaking. The
shallow lake below is green where sunlight hits it, and the mountains
behind and blue and grey and bright green where morning sunlight
strikes pinetrees.
I
have more energy today, probably because I forced myself to eat a
full dinner and breakfast. Granite hangs back at the campsite a bit
so I get to walk solo in the morning. I turn around again and again
toto look at the morning mountains behind me. The climb is full of
rough hewn tock and switchbacks
I
get to the top and drop my pack, alone on a beautiful morning with
views spreading out on either side. I carve R <3 A in the rocky
sand at the top and then sit on my haunches and wait. Granite arrives
and we climb up the side of one of the mountains so we're a bit above
the pass.
Granite
lost his notebook yesterday, somewhere after Hope Pass. I catch a bit
of signal at the top of Lake Ann Pass and post a note on the Colorado
Trail Thru Hiker Facebook group about it. Hopefully someone finds it
and contacts me.
Another
hiker joins us at the top. He's a long distance sort, like 20-23
miles per day and he's hiked hundreds of miles. He's friendly but
heads down quickly. We follow, more leisurely.
The
descent isn't too bad for the first few miles, though I'm always a
bit slow downhill. We descend into pine forest before it's too hot;
there are a few tendrils of clouds and a vague misty sense to the
sky, but no thunderclouds. We dip into the forest and descend.
Today
we see dirtbikes on the trail. We can hear them coming long before
they arrive, and we climb off the trail as they careen down the trail
at us, oily smell in their wake and buzz of the engine filling the
forest. It's obnoxious, but I think it also looks fun. Granite and I
debate which are more annoying: boyscouts, mountain bikes, or
dirtbikes.
We
separate for long hours, which is nice. I daydream and walk. The day
is mild but swarms of black flies trail around me, making it
difficult to stop. And the trail is technical, deep ruts and rocks of
various sizes and mud and big drops. I walk with my poles most of the
day to navigate the difficult terrain.
It's
late when we finally get down off the descent and into the valley. My
feet ache and the blister on the side of my left foot is twinging
with every step. It's 3 PM and we're still miles from camp.
For
the last hour or so, the sky threatens. Clouds build up in the
afternoon while I am in the forest, with a few quick rainstorms.
There's even hail for a bit—tiny white pebbles rolling against the
trail. I join Granite at the bottom of the hill. He always looks at
my pack cover to make sure it's on tight and yanks it into place.
We
set out for the last few miles. We've been descending most of the day
and now we have a gentle flat section and then another killer climb.
The forest floor is pine needles and soft dirt, and my feet are so
happy for the break.
We
pass into a valley and skirt the edges of it. Bushes and small trees
crowd over the trail and scratch my legs. A gentle scattering of rain
builds and becomes a heavy, steady rain. Our shoes become soaked.
The
rain gets heavier and we pause under a tree to make a rain skirt out
of a flimsy white garbage bag. It's cool but not freezing and I watch
Granite deftly pierce the bag with his knife.
Beyond
this tree cover, the rain cascades down on a wide stream. Here the
stream is blocked by beaver dams, so the water is wide and flat, the
edges a murky mess of tall grasses. The rain pattering down makes a
million tiny circles on the surface. The mound of the beaver hut
rises from the water, mud and sticks in a strange earthen igloo, and
beyond that are blue mountains shrouded in rain. All around us is the
sound of countless droplets hitting tree and branch and water and
dirt, and it's beautiful.
We
walk on and it rains steadily for a mile, then lets up to a misting
rain before we reach the stream crossing. After this, we have a 2
mile, 1500 foot climb. It's already 4:30 PM, and there are campsites
here in the valley.
"Are you sure you want to climb 1500 feet tonight?" Granite asks. It's been a long day with all the rain.
"Fuck
yeah," I say, "What else are we going to do tonight?"
He
goes ahead and I follow, slower. My shoes are soaked through and my
toes are cold. The rain jacket sticks to my arms and it feels like my
arms are soaking even though I know they aren't.
The
calm, misty rain makes the forest peaceful and verdant as I climb wet
mulchy trail. The sap on the pine trees catches light, sparkles,
till I have to stop and touch it. It's hard and waxy against my
fingers.
I
climb and climb, alone now with thoughts and dreams. The woods are
filled with shapes that catch the corner of my eye—strange animals
and movements, gone when I look directly. But I'm tired and the mind
plays tricks. It's not a fearful sort of hallucination; it's just the
strange way shadows come alive, not something to fear so much as
something that strums at my curiosity.
A
man in a blue raincoat comes down the pass. By now the rain has let
up and I've got my rain jacket and skirt off, and I'm feeling cold
droplets on my arms, neck, and face.
"Are
you with the guy with the beard, all in grey?" the man asks.
"Yes,"
I say.
"He
says to tell you that you're on the right path."
And
then he leaves, down toward the valley while I climb alone into
green, sparkly, shadowy, wet forest.
The land begins to
level out and I can see the sky through the trees ahead. At last I'm
on a clear, jutting bit of land, and I step clear of the trail a
moment to stare up at big walls of bare mountain ahead. That's where
we'll be all day tomorrow—above treeline, beyond the rocky pass.
I follow the path up
again and it's still raining gently on my bare arms. The path levels
off. Then in front of me I see 2 hiking poles and a green hat on a
tree. I blink. Granite's. I look around and don't see him, but notice
a faint social trail. I take the poles in one hand, put the hat on my
head, and follow the trail.
It leads to a quiet
pond surrounded by trees, and on the far side is our tent. Granite is
just putting the last stakes in the ground. I walk over and meet him.
He has small drops of rain in his beard. I fetch water from the pond,
which is thick with debris and dead bugs. I get the mini sawyer and
begin the awful task of filtering water while he heats a bit for
dinner.
We sit on a log
under thick tree branches to eat dinner. I was hungry before but now
the pad Thai disgusts me and it takes me a long time to choke it
down. My sodden feet are freezing and I take hot cocoa into the tent
to try to warm. Wool socks, sleeping bag liner, sleeping bag, and my
feet and toes are still freezing. It isn't until Granite comes in and
I can press my toes to his legs that they warm up.
He rubs my sore
upper back with long gentle strokes, and I pull the tightness from
his calves, and we listen to the gentle patter of the rain on the
rainfly. There is no wind.
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