~13 miles
CW 3 and CW-4
Somehow we warm in the night. Maybe our body heat warms the tent, maybe the air pockets of the sleeping pad heat up, maybe the rock below us starts to warm up a bit. But when I wake, I'm cozy and warm and slept through the night, not hearing the sporadic rainfall that came.
I'm up and walking by 7:45, or at least I'm on the trail by then. I scout around for 15 minutes before to find that tiny dirt path. The CT is a mere foot in width in this section and it's hard to locate.
I find it at last and head off along the windy path. It's a beautiful morning, clouds dotting the sky but mostly sunny, great windswept plains.
The path is rolling—climbing, descending, climbing. Each climb reveals a new dramatic view of mountainsides and valleys.
I walk with purpose for 4 miles, the last mile a steady descent. Across the valley I can see the next climb and it is vicious. About 2,000 feet and it goes straight up a mountain.
Granite doesn't catch me till 4 miles in, at the bottom of the valley. We are entering section 3 of the Collegiate West, the last section we will hike on this trip. I let him go ahead and pause to eat and shed some clothing (it's been so cold all day I'm still wearing a base layer). We agree to meet at the top of the climb for lunch.
I climb and listen to Lilly and the Octopus, which helps the time pass quickly. The views that unfold around me are incredible, with more distant mountains coming into view with every step. And while I am no fan of 2,000 foot climbs, this one is fine. It's full of switchbacks and has no brutal steeps sections to steal my breath and make me question my life choices. Instead it is a steady, honest climb that hops me up over 12,800 feet. I meet Granite and I'm not tired or out of breath, just chilly and a bit hungry.
Maybe I've finally acclimated to this altitude?
We run into a couple of French tourists who take our picture, then separate again. There are two or three more climbs today: we just finished the first one, then we have a pause, then another climb that's 500 feet, and then another 600-800 foot of climbing, and then we descend for a bit.
So we walk separately for most of the day. I walk through different avalanche fields on the three ascents. The first is grey rock, the second slate blue, then a reddish brown, always full of spiders and sharp rocks to twist ankles.
The first two ascents are beautiful and in some way fun, the way a hard run is somehow fun. The third and final ascent is exhausting, or maybe I'm just tired because I've been walking all day. I sit on a rock 200 feet up, stare at my feet. What strange feet, what weird shoes. Ever since Segment 7, there's a small tear in the sole of my left shoe. Somehow it picks up bits of plant and I'm then walking with a bit of plant stuck out of my shoe. More often then not, it's a flower. Such a romantic, my left shoe.
Eventually I stand and keep climbing and meet Granite at the top. I don't pause; it's too cold and windy for even a moment's pause here. So I appreciate the valley and craggy distant peaks while hurrying down the mountain, hugging my arms to my body for warmth.
The next few miles are lovely but the temperature is bipolar—freezing winds giving way to sultry sunbeams switching to arctic winds again. There's no way to stay warm without burning up in the next instant, so I just move quickly.
I pause by a stream. Here, at one of the lower points of the trail on this segment, it is sunny. There are four marmots chasing each other on the rocks. I'm not cold, so I take a moment to eat a snack while Granite catches up and passes me.
I find him a few minutes later, crouched in the shade of a small tree. It's hot, at least for the moment, and we head up the trail in blazing sun.
We arrive at our intended campsite a bit after 4 PM. The guidebook recommends against camping in this section, saying it's too exposed and better to continue to the end. But other hikers we've met say there's camping at mile 7, so we head there.
We've just arrived when a smiley hiker walks up. He's a father taking a week to hike with a friend (who is farther up the trail, and getting farther my the minute). He is delighted by the fact that we've hiked about 300 miles and wants to sit and chat for as long as we're willing.
We finally tear ourselves away to set up camp, climbing down over some rocks to reach a secluded spot away from the trail.
Granite sets up the tent while I get water. I normally think of this division of labor as especially good for me, since getting water is easy and quiet and simple. But today it's not. I take 2 bladders, the Nalgene and the Steripen and walk 10 minutes to the nearest stream.
Here I sit and soak in the views. I realize this is likely my last water gathering mission on the trip, since I'll get enough for tomorrow's short hike. Well, it's one of the best water missions. The stream is clear and lively, hopping over rocks and cascading to the valley floor. My rock seat is the perfect viewpoint for looking out over the wide expanse of rock walls and small trees far below. And there's a rocky outcrop that is almost a perfect drinking fountain for refilling a bottle. I sterilize 7 liters and I'm sad to tuck the last into my pack. This water is so high, so close to the steep summit of the ridge, that I can't imagine any purer. That why I prefer the Steripen over the Aqua Mira drops; it takes longer, but the sweet clear taste is unmarred.
I carry my load back to camp and discover three new campers have arrived. No matter. We are on the other side of the rocky outcropping and won't see them.
I lie on a bit of rock to write, batting at mosquitoes. Dinner is mushroom risotto and hot cocoa, and at some point another thru hiker wanders in. I think she's lonely and wants to camp with us, but there's no room in our small site. We send her to a campsite nearby and she leaves reluctantly. We tell her she's welcome to come back, but she doesn't.
The wind roars out of the valley and through the rocks, sounding like a highway or the sea. It rips through our campsite, batters the tent walls. But our tent is well-secured and tucked behind trees, and we are safe.
We crawl into bed by 8:30 but I can't sleep. We talk for an hour or so about the trip, about endings, and we read John Muir. But at 10 Granite wants to sleep and I am wide awake. I stare up at the tent and listen to the wind, calmer now. The moon is bright as a spotlight, illuminating the walls of the tent in a pale glow.
CW 3 and CW-4
Somehow we warm in the night. Maybe our body heat warms the tent, maybe the air pockets of the sleeping pad heat up, maybe the rock below us starts to warm up a bit. But when I wake, I'm cozy and warm and slept through the night, not hearing the sporadic rainfall that came.
I'm up and walking by 7:45, or at least I'm on the trail by then. I scout around for 15 minutes before to find that tiny dirt path. The CT is a mere foot in width in this section and it's hard to locate.
I find it at last and head off along the windy path. It's a beautiful morning, clouds dotting the sky but mostly sunny, great windswept plains.
The path is rolling—climbing, descending, climbing. Each climb reveals a new dramatic view of mountainsides and valleys.
I walk with purpose for 4 miles, the last mile a steady descent. Across the valley I can see the next climb and it is vicious. About 2,000 feet and it goes straight up a mountain.
Granite doesn't catch me till 4 miles in, at the bottom of the valley. We are entering section 3 of the Collegiate West, the last section we will hike on this trip. I let him go ahead and pause to eat and shed some clothing (it's been so cold all day I'm still wearing a base layer). We agree to meet at the top of the climb for lunch.
I climb and listen to Lilly and the Octopus, which helps the time pass quickly. The views that unfold around me are incredible, with more distant mountains coming into view with every step. And while I am no fan of 2,000 foot climbs, this one is fine. It's full of switchbacks and has no brutal steeps sections to steal my breath and make me question my life choices. Instead it is a steady, honest climb that hops me up over 12,800 feet. I meet Granite and I'm not tired or out of breath, just chilly and a bit hungry.
Maybe I've finally acclimated to this altitude?
We run into a couple of French tourists who take our picture, then separate again. There are two or three more climbs today: we just finished the first one, then we have a pause, then another climb that's 500 feet, and then another 600-800 foot of climbing, and then we descend for a bit.
So we walk separately for most of the day. I walk through different avalanche fields on the three ascents. The first is grey rock, the second slate blue, then a reddish brown, always full of spiders and sharp rocks to twist ankles.
The first two ascents are beautiful and in some way fun, the way a hard run is somehow fun. The third and final ascent is exhausting, or maybe I'm just tired because I've been walking all day. I sit on a rock 200 feet up, stare at my feet. What strange feet, what weird shoes. Ever since Segment 7, there's a small tear in the sole of my left shoe. Somehow it picks up bits of plant and I'm then walking with a bit of plant stuck out of my shoe. More often then not, it's a flower. Such a romantic, my left shoe.
Eventually I stand and keep climbing and meet Granite at the top. I don't pause; it's too cold and windy for even a moment's pause here. So I appreciate the valley and craggy distant peaks while hurrying down the mountain, hugging my arms to my body for warmth.
The next few miles are lovely but the temperature is bipolar—freezing winds giving way to sultry sunbeams switching to arctic winds again. There's no way to stay warm without burning up in the next instant, so I just move quickly.
I pause by a stream. Here, at one of the lower points of the trail on this segment, it is sunny. There are four marmots chasing each other on the rocks. I'm not cold, so I take a moment to eat a snack while Granite catches up and passes me.
I find him a few minutes later, crouched in the shade of a small tree. It's hot, at least for the moment, and we head up the trail in blazing sun.
We arrive at our intended campsite a bit after 4 PM. The guidebook recommends against camping in this section, saying it's too exposed and better to continue to the end. But other hikers we've met say there's camping at mile 7, so we head there.
We've just arrived when a smiley hiker walks up. He's a father taking a week to hike with a friend (who is farther up the trail, and getting farther my the minute). He is delighted by the fact that we've hiked about 300 miles and wants to sit and chat for as long as we're willing.
We finally tear ourselves away to set up camp, climbing down over some rocks to reach a secluded spot away from the trail.
Granite sets up the tent while I get water. I normally think of this division of labor as especially good for me, since getting water is easy and quiet and simple. But today it's not. I take 2 bladders, the Nalgene and the Steripen and walk 10 minutes to the nearest stream.
Here I sit and soak in the views. I realize this is likely my last water gathering mission on the trip, since I'll get enough for tomorrow's short hike. Well, it's one of the best water missions. The stream is clear and lively, hopping over rocks and cascading to the valley floor. My rock seat is the perfect viewpoint for looking out over the wide expanse of rock walls and small trees far below. And there's a rocky outcrop that is almost a perfect drinking fountain for refilling a bottle. I sterilize 7 liters and I'm sad to tuck the last into my pack. This water is so high, so close to the steep summit of the ridge, that I can't imagine any purer. That why I prefer the Steripen over the Aqua Mira drops; it takes longer, but the sweet clear taste is unmarred.
I carry my load back to camp and discover three new campers have arrived. No matter. We are on the other side of the rocky outcropping and won't see them.
I lie on a bit of rock to write, batting at mosquitoes. Dinner is mushroom risotto and hot cocoa, and at some point another thru hiker wanders in. I think she's lonely and wants to camp with us, but there's no room in our small site. We send her to a campsite nearby and she leaves reluctantly. We tell her she's welcome to come back, but she doesn't.
The wind roars out of the valley and through the rocks, sounding like a highway or the sea. It rips through our campsite, batters the tent walls. But our tent is well-secured and tucked behind trees, and we are safe.
We crawl into bed by 8:30 but I can't sleep. We talk for an hour or so about the trip, about endings, and we read John Muir. But at 10 Granite wants to sleep and I am wide awake. I stare up at the tent and listen to the wind, calmer now. The moon is bright as a spotlight, illuminating the walls of the tent in a pale glow.
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