6: Trail of Hope

I am now one with my shoes. After two weeks I can walk 15 miles or so without feeling a thing. The inclines and steep mountain passes may be a challenge but the aching of my actual feet doesn’t seem to kick in until later in the day.

This morning I woke up rested and started collecting my things. I threw back a beer not because I was thirsty but because I figured I could use the calories. Someone had said there was a big dumpster about a quarter mile down the road near the trailhead to Mount Elbert so I decided to go in search of that to rid myself of the debris from the previous night's smorgasbord and all of my collected trash from the past week. 

There is something so gratifying about throwing away my trash when I get to a town or trailhead. Most hikers are extremely conscientious if not overly aware of their trash. Micro-trash as it's called is something that you notice quite perceptively along the trail. It is usually the tiniest corner of a candy bar or piece of fabric from someone's something. Things break and tear and fall off along the way that a hiker might never know about. I felt there was a universal appreciation for keeping the trail clear of things like microtrash by every hiker I met. It was not uncommon to see Ungerwear or Rocket or Campfire stop to pick up the smallest bit of debris that didn’t belong in the wilderness. It’s the little things in life that make a difference I suppose. 

Over the course of a week my zip lock would begin to smell as the dehydrated food bags and other containers added up. It may not weigh much but mentally it felt like an anvil in my backpack and so the opportunity to relieve myself of the smell and physical material was a gratifying purge.

I found the dumpsters and with a giant sense of relief tossed the contents from my trash bag. I headed back and noticed how many cars were already parked along the road at such an early timeframe. “It must be a weekend” I thought to myself. I hadn’t really thought about what day it was since I started, so the sheer amount of people all of a sudden in one place that wasn’t a town or city was a little jarring. I began to notice how many of the cars were not from Colorado and began counting the out of state license plates. Within less than half a mile I had counted 25 states. “That's pretty cool there are so many people from all over the country here to hike and camp” I thought to myself. 

I am not one of those people who feels they lay some sort of special claim to the mountains of Colorado because I live here. Believe me, this attitude is more common than one might think. There is this sort of low key sentiment that somehow this is “my land” that comes out in subtle ways. From the complaints to how many people are moving here from California to the “I remember when I used to be able to come hike here and there were only a handful of cars” or my favorite. “Starting any conversation with, “Well I’m a native so…” so what? You are some sort of authority on the Rocky Mountains?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

I thought more about all of the people from all over the country that were descending upon the two giant 14,000 foot peaks in the area and what a great way to spend a summer weekend. As I was walking into the parking lot I saw the beaming glow of Rocket with a thin, youthful guy in tow. Before even saying good morning. Rocket was buzzing with excitement about hiking Mount Elbert and introduced me to “Speed Stick”. 

“Nice to meet you Speed Stick” I said and kind of laughed. Speed Stick looked like a teenager with my daughters back to school backpack minus the pink and bedazzled shimmer. “How heavy is your backpack?” I asked as I kind of marveled at his setup the more closely I looked. “Around 20 lbs,” he said nonchalantly. “Jesus” I thought out loud as I realized this might offend Rocket but also was still thinking to myself… “Jesus! 20 pounds? How does that even work?” Speed Stick was another ultralight thru hiker like Ungerwear but seemed to look even more ultralight with his kindergarten sized pack. That and the fact that he was 18 years old made me feel completely out of sorts with my 40 pound, 72 liter behemoth and my aching body. 

I learned Speed Stick had hiked the Appalachian Trail last year and was now doing the Colorado Trail. I was impressed and admired how he was choosing to spend his summer vacation. “Good for you”. Somewhere in the conversation Rocket invited me to climb Mt Elbert with them a number of times but I told him I’d have to decline as I had quite a few miles to get under my belt and that I had coincidentally hiked Mt Elbert two years ago to the day. I know this because it dawned that it was Colorado Dayl. August 1. 

They were eager to get moving since the trail was getting busier and the sun was rising higher. I said my goodbyes and had a feeling it would be the last I’d see of Rocket. I had really enjoyed his company over the course of the past few weeks. Even though I couldn’t handle the relentless talk about “the kingdom” and “the church”, I also recognized that Rocket was not pious about any of it. He was authentic and he cared for other people. What else can you ask? I also recognized pretty quickly though that his brand of missions work came from a lifetime dose of spoonfed religiosity. I mean that Rocket didn’t have a road to Damascus experience that altered his life to one of bringing Christ to others. It was a slow burn. One of gradual making where years of Sunday school, youth group and summer camps slowly create crusaders for Jesus. Having seen this first hand for over half of my life I could spot it pretty quickly. It takes one to know one. Even though I was no longer “one” I was all too familiar with all of it.  Rocket wanted to make the world a better place. I wished Rocket good luck as he and Speed Stick quickly vanished down the trail. 

On my way back I saw a collection of tents that I recognized and a bright yellow hooded shirt. “Yo!” I shouted as I took a detour over their campsite. Ungerwear was standing there with a big smile and gave me a fist bump. “What's up man?” he said enthusiastically. We traded stories of our travels over the past few days and I told them I had some trail magic if they wanted some early morning beers and spicy waters. “What's spicy water?” Ungerwear asked with a laugh. “Oh it’s what I call sparkling or soda water. I’m so used to calling them that I forget it’s not common vernacular. Ever since my daughters were about four or five they’d refer to the carbonation as ‘spicy’ and so even at the grocery store to this day they’ll ask if we can get some spicy water”. 

“I love that,” he laughed again. “I'll take a beer though”. We made our way over to the car and drank the rest of the supplies and I finished packing up my gear. 

“What is your guys' plan today?” I asked. 

“We are going to make our way to Twin Lakes and then spend the night there. Shitstorm has a friend coming in and a place to stay so we are going to take advantage of that”. Ungerwear said. “Shitstorm” being a trail name for Sam who had started out with the group from Denver. Something about an episode of diarrhea had led to a new trail name. 

I hadn’t yet decided what I wanted to do. I knew that I needed to get a lot of miles in because I had only done three actual trail miles the day before. So despite a pretty heavy hiking day there was little progress as far as the trail was concerned. 

I made my way from Massive Mountain trailhead and towards Twin Lakes. I hadn’t showered in about a week and was secretly hoping I could find a bucket, soap and hose to wash my clothes but was happy with the idea of food and beer at the least.  I meandered into town and saw Campfire with all of his gear strung out on the grass next to a motel. He was chatting with a couple and their dog. 

They introduced themselves as Doug and Amy. “This is Asher” she said as the energetic retriever enthusiastically made its way to me in search of attention. I gave Asher a half hug, and some pets since I’m a sucker for a friendly dog and then asked them what the scoop was with the town. 

“There’s an outlet over by the general store you can charge your phone up on. You’ll see my pack next to it” Campfire said. “I got a burrito and some Kombucha… you know, for gut health,” he added. 

I started to unpack my bag to get all of my wet gear out and dried. I knew I wanted to be as efficient as possible while I was in town. Thinking once again about Ungerwear's warning of the “vortex” of towns. 

Luckily, Twin Lakes isn't really much of a town. Rather it's a general store, three lodges/motel, one bar and restaurant and two Volkswagen Buses turned into food and coffee trucks. 

Across the street from the tiny row of amenities is the Twin Lakes Visitor Center and a set of public bathrooms. I made my way over to the restrooms to change out of my pants and into shorts and on the way back decided to peruse through the visitor center. 

I walked in and was greeted by an elderly man named Kirk who looked like he could’ve been on the show Duck Dynasty. He barely acknowledged me until after a few minutes of looking over all of the museum-like relics and glass cases of fairly uninteresting tools and pamphlets, I asked him how many people lived in Twin Lakes. 

“In the winter?” he asked without allowing me to give any sort of clarification. “About 25.” he said with certainty. 

“That’s a lot smaller than I expected.” I said. “I’m surprised you guys don't have a set of showers or some sort of place for hikers to wash their stuff. I’d gladly pay $20 to take a shower and do some laundry even if it's by hand” I told him. 

“It's because of the water,” he spat. “We don't own the water here”. 

I didn't want to get into a conversation about water because for one I knew nothing about water rights and two I could tell it was going to be a lecture not a conversation. I grabbed the two dollars I had in my wallet and said “well, thanks anyway. You guys have a donation jar I can throw this in?” In reality I was paying him to let me get out of the social situation. I walked out and started laughing to myself as I thought about an episode of South Park and the fight between Randy Marsh and his neighbors about water rights. 

I was able to dry out my gear that was still soaked from the previous day's rain storm, load up on supplies and devour two burritos. I got to talking with Amy while Asher violently jolted her small frame from side to side as a case of the zoomies entered into his shaggy body. 

The vortex was slowly creeping up on me. I’d been in town for less than an hour and was starting to notice the energy of weekenders milling around the football field sized village. It was a bluebird day. Actually it was the nicest day on the trail up to that point. A cloudless sky with a bright sun. It was about 75 degrees with no wind and by 11:00 am I was already full from snacks and Mexican food. “You know it would be kind of nice to just hang here for the day” I told myself. “Absolutely not!” my alter ego echoed back. “We are on a mission. It’s still morning and we can probably still get 10+ miles in if we are out of here in the next hour”. The negotiation with myself went back and forth for a bit. “Okay well what about a few beers?”.....”okay deal”. 

I walked back over to my stuff and found Doug and Amy sitting under an umbrella and noticed Campfire was in the shade by the outlet with his phone and pack. 

“There’s a bar around here right?” I asked. 

“Ya, I think it's attached to the lodge over there but not sure if they’re open yet.” Doug motioned. 

Amy and Doug looked to be in their mid to late 40’s. Both were attractive, moderately athletic looking and friendly. They were from south Denver and had completed the Colorado Trail the year before. Amy was setting off the next day to backpack the Western side of the Collegiate Loop while Doug was making his way with Asher to hang out in the town of Salida for the week. The Colorado Trail splits at Twin Lakes and hikers either choose the East or West loop to venture on where they meet up again near Monarch Pass. Over the years the loop itself has become its own separate thru-hike for those who may not have time or ability to do the entire Colorado Trail. The Collegiate Loop is about 160 miles and a total of 37,600 feet of elevation gain.  

I had chosen the Collegiate West as I’d heard it is one of the prettiest backpacking sections in all of Colorado. It was developed in 2012 by the Colorado Trail Foundation and is about 85 miles in length. It is broken up into five segments and shares a path with the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail or CDT. The East side is the traditional route of the CT is about 78 miles in length with 17,800 feet in total elevation. There are five 14ers along the trail whereas the West side only has two. One of the unique features along the Eastern path is Mount Princeton Hot Springs. I initially went back and forth on which section to take. I was heavily enticed towards the prospect of walking up to a hot spring for a night after a heavy day of a few dozen miles. In the end I decided on beauty over comfort. However, now I was trying to figure out how to get over to the western starting point. 

As I chatted with Doug and Amy about the options when Amy said “you could always take the Willis Gulch Bridge”. 

“Where is the Willis Gulch Bridge?” I responded. 

“It's about 4 miles west but connects right to the Western Loop. We’d be happy to give you a lift if you’d like.” she offered. 

My decision had come to me. I accepted and asked what their plan was and if I had time to get a beer or if they needed to go now. 

“Nah, we don't have anything going on so finish up your stuff and let us know when you’re ready.” she said

I walked over to the lodge in hopes that they had a bar where I could sit for a bit and spend some time drinking tap beers and going down social media rabbit holes. I wanted to try to facetime my kids and send any important texts or emails regarding the real world. 

My gear was now dried so I packed up my bag and rested it along the general store next to Campfire. He was on a phone call so I motioned that I’d be over at the bar drinking if he wanted to join. He gave me a thumbs up and went back to his call. I made my way over to the Twin Lakes Inn & Saloon. An ancient looking lodge that was once a brothel and stage stop for travelers on their way to Aspen. It dates back to 1879 but is updated enough to make it feel cozy and welcoming. I bellied up to the bar and ordered a lager and an ice water. 

The bartender was also the front desk manager and was particularly busy wearing about five different hats. From helping guests with their luggage to answering phones and communicating with the kitchen for the waitress. 

“Excuse, I’ve got a quick question for you. How many people live here in Twin Lakes?” I asked. “Probably about 100 or so,” he responded after thinking for a minute. “Kirk over at the visitor center told me there were only 25 so I wanted a second opinion”. 

He laughed out loud in a way that indicated that 25 people was a ridiculous estimation. “No, a lot of people live in Leadville that work here but there’s certainly more than that”. He bolted from behind the bar to the lobby to take care of something that clearly was more important. I got on my phone and looked up Twin Lakes population and learned that it is an unincorporated town with a population of 171 or 220 if you included the adjacent areas. I started thinking about the politics and drama that must take place in a village like this. 

I polished off my beer after about 20 minutes and stood up with the glow of a soft buzz from the alcohol. The lodge was dark and as I stepped out to the porch the sunlight was blaring. It felt warm and soothing on my skin and the vortex once again called my name… “Paul, just have one or two more beers. Even if you get hiking this afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to get four or five miles in.” I felt tipsy, happy and content. But the idea of a few more beers and a nap tempted me like Jesus in the desert. 

“No, no, no” I said softly to myself. I had a ride to the trail, I had time on my side and it was a beautiful day for hiking. I needed to get some miles under my belt. 

Doug was walking towards me and asked if I was ready to go. “Let's do it” I said as I grabbed my pack from the side of the building. Campfire was still on the phone so I gave him a fist bump and motioned toward the mountains that I was heading on. 

I hopped in the Subaru that was packed to the brim with all kinds of outdoor and hiking gear. Doug has a soothing rasp to his low voice, wears Birkenstocks, t-shirts and shorts. He’s got a well maintained salt and pepper beard and looks like he’s built pretty strong but gets most of his exercise doing things outdoors rather than time in the gym. I asked him what his plan was while he was in Salida and he said not much. He and Asher were staying in a converted trailer at a glamping site just outside of town. “Sounds ideal,” I said. “I’ll let you know when I get to Salida and beers are on me for the ride”. 

“Great!” he said. The drive wasn’t more than ten minutes as we pulled up to a bridge off a dirt road and a sign that said “Willis Gulch”. 

I said my goodbyes and that I’d be in touch and threw on my pack. It was heavy and the buzz from the alcohol felt as though I had gained weight everywhere, not just in my backpack. “Ugh”, I thought to myself. “This is going to be tough.”

As I started across the bridge a teenage boy came stumbling across towards me with another girl holding him up. He collapsed to the ground as the other girl ran over to a group that I assume was with them. Concerned about the boy, I didn’t know what to do and felt bad continuing on and it seemed there were enough people there helping him that I would have just gotten in the way. 

After a few minutes he seemed like he was going to be okay but now I was thinking about what could have caused this and started wondering how hard this next section of trail was going to be. As it would turn out, it was one of the most challenging and memorable segments of the entire trip. 

______

I found the trailhead and looked at the map on my phone. I had cut out close to six miles of bullshit hiking by taking this route. When I say bullshit hiking, there are a few places along the trail that by all accounts seem incredibly unnecessary. Places where the trail winds around a ledge to curl right back on itself, poorly designed switchbacks and the most obvious, a junction right before you get to Twin Lakes. Here, the CT continues east in one direction for another 3 miles in which hikers end up on Colorado Highway 82 where they have to either hitchhike into town or walk another mile west to Twin Lakes. The other option is to take the sign that says “Twin Lakes Village”. The map shows a trail that connects with a dirt road that is about 1.5 miles and empties out directly in the middle of town. Why anyone would take the other route was beyond me. In fact I was mildly irritated that the Colorado Trail didn’t follow this route because it made so much sense. 

However, it is easy to be a critic about what should’ve been done in any situation and I didn't spend much more time thinking about it. Especially since, I wasn’t involved in maintaining or building trails and was not planning on doing that any time in the future. 

I looked up from my phone to see the trail in what looked like a very steep grade. I gulped at the thought of the climb ahead of me. I was tempted to look back at my map and see what kind of a climb I had ahead of me and decided that ignorance in this case was bliss. I started to trudge. 

The forest around me was spectacular. It was as if the lake was this transition point from a wilderness of mediocre beauty to something out of the land of Narnia. It was lush and thick like nothing that I had hiked through yet. At times it looked as if the trail would be eaten up by the forest if left empty for even the shortest time. I pictured myself getting swallowed up by the brush as I continued on. 

After about an hour of the most difficult incline I had yet to encounter I came to a spectacular waterfall. Not one that was high up rather a river of water crashing its way through the forest in a slightly sloped direction. It was powerful and mesmerizing. The water looked pristine. Everything around me at this point felt untouched. 

I looked down at the ground and right next to my foot in the mud was a deep and fairly fresh looking paw track. It was slightly larger than the circumference of my hand and gave me a simultaneous feeling of fear and wonder. “This section is going to be a lot more intense” I thought to myself as I inspected the Bear print. If there was a bear near me I wouldn't have any clue until it was directly next to me. I couldn't see more than ten feet in some directions due to the concentrated flora. 

I continued on and started to feel my energy levels rise. I felt great. The buzz had worn off and my adrenaline was now pumping. Combined with the caloric fuel I had consumed in town, I went into overdrive. 

I finally made my way up to the tree line and out of the dense forest. The sun was extra bright and felt good on my skin. I met two brothers from California who’d just started their two week trip along the Collegiate Loop. They were struggling mightily due to the spike in elevation and heavy packs. I’d acclimated quickly and had my trail legs so I moved past them towards the top of Hope Pass. 

As I walked higher and higher into the sky. I pulled out my phone to take some pictures and noticed I had a few bars of service. I dialed the girl's mom to see if I could get a few minutes with them. My heart leaped as the call connected and I heard the sound of their mom coming through crystal clear. “Hey! Are the girls around?” I asked. “I have a few bars for a minute and want to hear their voices”. 

After a quick pause the pitched and delicate voice of my nine year old daughter Clare came through. “Hi daddy! We are in Winter Park” she told me excitedly. She had just climbed a rock wall and she was currently watching her younger sister Sarah trying to scale the route. “You weren’t scared?” I asked, thinking back to our trip earlier that summer to Moab where she clung to the side of the trail on a wide ridge as if she were looking down thousands of feet from a skyscraper. Groups of people walked casually past her as if strolling through the mall and would look over slightly confused at the young girl hugging the side of the wall. I had to look away to prevent myself from laughing at the scene. So hearing her confidently talk about scaling a climbing gym wall was surprising. 

“No! Not at all. I was strapped in with a harness” she said confidently. I told her I was proud of her and that I really missed her. 

“Where are you?” she asked in her sweet tone. My heart melted. I was on the verge of tears. I was looking out over one of the most spectacular views. I turned around facing North East and looked at the distant ranges where the faint brown and gray outlines of jagged peaks silhouetted the sky. 

“I just started a section called the Collegiate West and I’m about to reach the top called Hope Pass. It's really beautiful… in fact I can see mountains for miles and am looking in your direction.” I choked up. 

Winter Park is a little over 100 miles and if I were hiking the CDT, I could turn around and walk right to my kids.

She started talking but the signal started to fade and her voice quickly disappeared. I looked at my phone to see the infamous “call failed” screen looking at me like a middle finger. I turned around and pushed up with everything I had for a few hundred yards. When I reached the saddle I looked out at the landscape that had been waiting on the other side of the pass and almost collapsed. I was an emotional wreck. This view was officially the most spectacular one on the trail. The harder the climb the better the view and this one was equal in pain and beauty. I sat down as the tears welled up in my eyes and I rested for a few minutes taking everything in while letting everything out. 

As I was getting up a black labrador proudly holding a massive stick came wagging up the trail and right to me. “Hi buddy!” I said in my best dog/baby voice. Wiping the tears from my eyes I looked over to see a tall curly haired woman with a small pack smiling. “What's your dog's name?” I asked as I pet the black beauty.

“This is Hope”. 

I smiled even brighter at the moment of serendipity and lifted up my pack. 

“Awe, I love that,” I said. “See ya later Hope. Thanks for showing me your stick?” I laughed as I made my way down the other side of the ridge.  

The descent down was steep and unsettling. The trail snaked and curled along the side of the mountain and I thought about how glad I was that I wasn’t going uphill any longer but also surveying every step I took for fear of slipping and tumbling to my death. My legs were weak and my feet ached. I could tell this was around the time of day that I needed to start thinking about how much farther I’d go. 

I pulled up my map and looked for water sources. There were five over the next 5.5 miles so I was relieved that I wouldn't need to worry about water availability. The question was how much farther did I want to go. I studied the notes and terrain and settled on the last source over the 5 mile stretch. I figured it would take me a few hours and it was already about 4:30 in the afternoon.  

I got to the first water source a few minutes later and came up to two guys filtering. They were heading up the pass but decided to camp a little ways back. We chatted briefly and I said I was making my way to the North Fork Clear Creek point. 

“Good call, there are a lot of flat campsites there. Just make sure you keep your head up and don't go down Sheep Gulch. It's a sharp turn so you might miss it” one of them advised. 

“Thanks for the advice” I said without thinking much about it. I was exhausted and focused on getting my tent up, eating some dinner and going to bed. 

I spent the next hour stressed out as I stumbled and slipped down the trail. Not so much due to the poor conditions, rather my legs felt wobbly and like they were about to mutiny. So much for “trail legs”. A chipmunk scurried across the path and ran up to the top of a rock about waist high. It started babbling on and squeaking frantically before running up the side of an oddly shaped tree. 

“Okay, Okay! Relax fella” I said making myself laugh. “You rodents get bolder by the day”. The trail took a fast dive straight down but I felt a sense of relief as I could see it start to flatten out. The more I walked the more I felt as though something wasn’t right. I ignored the feeling for a bit until I wandered out into a parking lot. 

I looked around confused thinking that perhaps I had reached the end of the segment. Looking everywhere for the trailhead signs or the CT and CDT icon that dots trees and posts along the trail to help hikers navigate, I couldn't find any indication as to where I was. I pulled up my map and saw my GPS location squarely in the middle of a sign for a parking lot and realized that I was off of the trail. 

“Goddammit! You’ve got to be kidding me!” I practically shouted. I knew exactly what happened. The guy at the stream literally warned me about this. “Keep your head up and don’t go down to Sheep Gulch trail” I mocked. I turned around furiously and spent the next 10 minutes cursing, enraged with myself that I had gone the wrong direction and was now having to hike back up the way I came. I made it to the junction and sure enough there was a sign hidden behind a tree that was barely noticeable and a sharp turn where the CT curled. I also noticed the oddly shaped tree and the chipmunk still on its trunk squeaking away. “Ya, ya, ya. You were right” I said in a salty tone. 

It didn’t take much longer for me to make my way to the creek and find a group who I immediately knew I would like. They had found each other over the last few weeks on the trail and were having the time of their lives. A trail family. They’d all met along the CT and from their interactions it felt like they’d all known each other for years. They teased each other, knew everything about their families despite not knowing each other in the real world, two of them had left the trail earlier in the summer and had come back to meet up with the rest of the group and continue their journey. 

I was borderline delirious from the day. It hadn’t been the farthest I had hiked but it felt like the longest. I popped my tent, grabbed my food and sat with them for what felt like 10 minutes to scarf down my food. I couldn’t wait to crawl into my sleeping bag. I knew I’d be falling asleep well before the sun went down and hoping I wouldn’t wake up at 3:00 am.