Mike Taylor and I planned a three-day backpacking trip in the Weminuche north of Pagosa Springs, an area that neither of us had hiked before. We watched the weather and delayed one day to get the best window for our trip, which turned out perfect even though the morning we left the National Weather Service predicted late afternoon thunderstorms for only our section of the San Juan Mountains. The clouds did form but not a drop of rain until late the second night when we were well out of the high country.

Just reaching the Williams Creek Trailhead was a pleasant surprise because the rolling hills of combined National Forest and remote ranch lands north of Pagosa are a delight to drive through. This is definitely horse country as evidenced by the “Campers with Horses Only” campground designation at our trailhead. (There are numerous other unrestricted campgrounds spread around the area in close proximity).

Mike and I have hiked a number of trails this summer as WIS volunteers and we’ve experienced, and come to expect, recording a high number of downed trees and water erosion along the trails, but we were pleasantly surprised to find not a one for the first 9 miles.  We only saw 2 groups of backpackers the first day (one couple from Ouray with a “borrowed” llama who knew mutual friends).

We camped right at the edge of tree line due to the weather report but could easily have camped, with ample water available from several small lakes, just below the Continental Divide at 12,200’.  Mike enjoyed trying his new Hexamid Duplex tent with Ryler his lab, and it was fun to see the two generations of zPacks tents set-up side-by-side.  His has new features I’m envious of: double doors, higher roofline, a sewn-in Cuban fiber floor and generous vestibules on both sides. (Don Ahlert had the same tent on the Great Divide.)

The views on this crystal-clear deep-blue-sky morning along the Continental Divide Trail portion of the Loop were spectacular: looking south all the way to New Mexico and north directly into the Weminuche’s isolated Squaw Valley and to Colorado’s most remote 14ers, Sunlight, Windom, and Eolus as well as the Grenadier’s.

We’d planned two nights in the high country, but found on descending the Cimarrona Creek Trail there were no flat spots for two tents, let alone proximity to fresh water, so we soldiered on and on and on, all the way to the valley below, 16 miles before we could camp.  Neither of us believed there wasn’t a spot “just around the bend”.  The nine-mile 4,100’+ climb the day before was plenty, and this turn of events on the never-ending downhill gave us little respite except for one photo op under an unusual (for the San Juan’s) conglomerate arch (photo above).

I had the worst cramp ever after dinner the first night when the temperatures cooled down.  Just a minor move while reclined on my mat brought on a massive inner right thigh cramp that levitated me up off the ground in pain.  After two minutes of hollering like a wimp, I remembered that I needed to do some stretching after that 4,100′ climb.  Mike caught me in the downward dog, which will please my yoga teacher when she see this photo.

Mike felt like this was prime moose country and validated the thought when he came upon a juvenile moose track at the top of Squaw Valley.  Moose were transplanted into Creede nearby a number of years back and it’s unusual to see one in the Weminuche.  We did see a number of deer and some young elk and only one bear track.

Getting back in the high country was the main reason to leave the Great Divide trail at Steamboat and this week’s solo backpacking trip to the Ice Lake Basin was reinforcement.  There were definitely beautiful views in the northern Rockies but we’ve got such great country right in our backyard.  Ice Lake(s) is known as one of the premier hikes in the Southwest and if you catch it when the wildflowers are blooming it’s unbeatable.  

My trip was a couple weeks past prime, since I was still on the GD ride I missed the height of the season, but I also missed 10 days of heavy monsoon rains in the San Juans.  The wildflowers were a bit storm worn, all the same they provided quite a photogenic sight for those of us “late” to the blossoming.  There weren’t as many Columbines (Colorado’s state flower) in the basin as we’re used to seeing, probably because of the very late winter in the San Juan mountains, however when you found a bunch they certainly gave you pause and a smile.

Long shadow photo op’s still catch my eye, and early morn at 12,250′ makes for a nice contrast.  First light at Ice Lake is a wonderful time just to watch the sunlight slide slowly down the mountains and across the high green meadows.  And check out that true blue sky.

Exploring the highest points of the upper basin seemed to be in order and I wasn’t disappointed when I discovered a long-abandoned mining operation just below the passes at the foot of Vermillion and Fuller peaks.  The detritus from the past mining operation was fascinating and told of living above 13,000′ digging for gold with hand-cranked ore buckets and hob-nailed shoes.  The midden pile of rusting cans could fill a dump truck and the purple and light-green broken glass bottles reminded me that they lived there for quite some time.  A crushed brass tub and dynamite fuse cord strung across the scree slope added to the discovery only those who venture this high get to enjoy.

One wishes everyone could see this beauty, on the other hand if everyone came this high there would be nothing of the relics left to enjoy.  As it was I’d seen a hand-carved sign broken up for firewood much lower down.  Wish I could have read what it originally said.

When I came down from my high morning traverse of the basin, throngs of hikers popped over the ridge below to view the lake I’d had all to myself.  The weather brought an unusual number of hikers, Stanna and her Wednesday women’s group as well.  She had planned her venture weeks before and the weather worked out perfectly for them.  My Spot Locator told her where I was camped and they almost got to the tent before I had time to pack it up.

At this point, I felt like an intruder to their high altitude picnic, so I ventured off with my backpack to a higher lake to the northeast of this basin.  As a WIS volunteer I’m supposed to be familiar with the territory and I’d never gone over this adjacent ridge, so I supplemented my local knowledge by visiting nearby Island Lake. Luckily, there was someone else there to take my selfie.  Come visit us and see for yourselves; after all, “how many summers do you have left?”

Finally got back into the high country again, this time without any planing or forethought, just accepted an opportunity to join fellow UL friend, his daughter and granddaughter to an early morning start on one of Durango’s most famous hikes, peak climbs and landmarks.  The wildflowers took a beating over the last week and weren’t still in their prime, nevertheless offered splendid colors and contrast to the sometimes bleak roads I’d recently traveled.

Only 30 miles from Durango, just north of our Purgatory Ski Area, at Coal Bank Pass you leave the summit parking lot and wander uphill thru some old growth trees and verdant undercover to the high meadows below the just-under-13,000′ Engineer Mountain.  For those not adverse to “a bit of exposure” the trail continues right on up to the peak for a total of 2,800′ of elevation gain.  It’s always best to be off the top before lunch in the San Juan’s and we were well within those guidelines with a total “moving time” just over 3 hours.

In case you might be anxious about the climbing part of this hike, I should have photographed the 5-year-old who summited shortly after us (admittedly his mother was not along).

Besides having the Spot Locator on, I enjoy tracking the hikes with my GaiaGPS iPhone Ap.  It’ll give me all the stats save calorie count.  At the end of the hike I can export the track to my computer and import the track into a variety of applications like Google Earth or my new favorite TOPO a National Geographic app (shown above).

This hike also qualified as a WIS hike since I wore my Forest Service Volunteer shirt, picked up trash, blocked off switch-back short-cuts, answered hiker questions and took note of downed trees. Our reports go to the FS trail crews who come out later and remove downed trees and repair trails.

As if hiking for the beauty, pleasure and exercise is not a goal in itself, the WIS (Wilderness Information Specialist) aspect gives these hikes an additional purpose and the benefit of community service, which makes getting out all that more significant and pushes me out the door more often.

As you might imagine the Great Divide route along the Continental Divide crosses tracks a number of times with the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), a cross-continent trail for hikers.  The CDT is one of the jewels in the Triple Crown of American hikes, the others being the Appalachian Trail (AT) and the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).  I saw and talked to probably 12 or more of the hikers, always in groups of two or three, trying to glean whatever I could about their ultralight gear.

The one question I always try to remember to ask is, “What would you do different. Or what would you change if you could?”  This far along, all that I talked to had started at the Mexican border and had already “dialed-in” their gear, so I generally got comments like, “the weather” or “nothing.”

One solo hiker was zipping along with his head net on. After stopping and talking to him for several minutes along the road, I asked him about his net, which evidently was so comfortable that he hadn’t noticed it was still on.  He quickly pulled it off, embarrassed, saying he didn’t know he was wearing it from early morning.

Later I asked another group of four about head nets and one hiker quickly whipped his out saying it was the best one available, Sea to Summit, and that I should try it on.  It actually has underarm shock cords that keeps it down and away from your neck.  I’ll definitely be looking into this new piece of gear for backpacking.

Other info gathered from the troops of thru hikers: One preferred a canister stove, a cheap 4-oz knock-off of a MSR with the smallest fuel can, he only ever carries one canister and when it’s out, he eats “cold” until the next resupply.  One guy carries his alcohol in a squeezable Platypus water bag, so volume decreases with fuel level.  Another guy absolutely loves his Z-pack chest bag (another item I’ll be looking into).

Most hikers seems to be in the 12-pound base-weight range and most had a tarp-tent.  All but one was in trail-runner hiking shoes, everyone had poles and two I saw coming down the road with identical Go-Lite Chrome Dome umbrellas deployed above their heads like Asian ladies in the afternoon sun.  Water filtering was with Sawyer minis or Aqua Mira, no one mentioned SteriPens.

Most surprising was a couple of guys, the ones with the Chrome Domes, said when I mentioned Z-Packs, “Z-Packs gear doesn’t hold up.  Not suitable for thru hiking.” When I protested that I love my Z-Packs gear, they remonstrated adamantly, “it may be great for bike packing but it’ll never hold up to a thru hike.”  Strange, I’ll be looking into this further.

Best of all, every one of the thru hikers seemed jovial and eager to talk about their gear and the six-month journey.

Spring and Fall are the only rational times to go backpacking in the Southwest Desert and I was lucky enough to get invited on a four-day adventure thru the Slickhorn region of Cedar Mesa in Southern Utah the first week back from Thailand.  There are now at least four other Ultra-light backpacking enthusiasts in Durango and we all ventured 3 hours southwest to hike a route chosen by the mentor of many who prefer to pack ultra-light, Will Rietveld. (He’s written about and reviewed Ultra Light gear for quite a number of years and is a native Durangoan – link.)  Actually everyone on this trip except me  has hiked all over this southwestern wonderland, but only Will had done this particular loop before. Last year I’d hiked and blogged about trails north and northeast of this region, so it was good to discover another patch of this BLM-protected land where hundreds of Ancestral Puebloan ruins exist in a desert backcountry setting.  You’d think we’d get tired of seeing and visiting ruins because we live so close to Mesa Verde National Park, but when you find these relics and ruins of ancient time along a trail without a soul around, it always produces awe and wonder.  These folks, the Ancestral Puebloans, spent about 1,200 years with estimates of as many as 40,000 people this desert backyard of ours, and it’s a never-ending quandary thinking about how they lived, farmed and especially wintered in this high desert region.  Not much remains and when you come across their art, their houses and their shards or a tiny corn cob, it’s pretty special. 

I’ve seen and gone inside a fair number of Kivas (ancient underground structures thought to be ceremonial or religious in nature) but generally not often in remote locations where there is only a placard rather than a ranger telling you to respect the ruins.  In our 4-day 41 mile trek we probably visited at least 3 or more sites a day, which besides providing cultural consciousness was always a welcome break out of the sun and heat.  At the “Perfect Kiva” they even had an information binder stowed in an ammo box if you wanted to know more about that particular site, it’s discovery (as late as 1976) and the environs. It’s was amazing that we could still go down inside the Perfect Kiva and hang out as long as we wanted.

Not sure how many readers are familiar with the Ancient Puebloan concept of the Sipapu, so I’ll let you know it “symbolizes the portal through which their ancient ancestors first emerged to enter the present world” Wikipedia. All these Kivas had distinct Sipapus as well as well-used niches, chimneys and the meditative tranquility of a very scared place.

Of course, just hiking thru, around and over sandstone canyons is worth the effort.  We averaged 10 miles a day and not much of the route was on what you might call a conventional trail. This area is often visited, but requires lot’s of route finding thru the boulders, stream-beds, slick rock  and slides.

Another benefit of hiking with these UL guys is that we all can learn some new or alternate tip or trick and I was able to tweak my gear shortly after getting home.  Can’t wait to get back out on the trail again soon.

BTW on this hike my base weight was just under 9 pounds, plus food and water which decreases each day.  Sure beats the 40-pound days of the past.

Not enough time to blog about last trip. Only home for 24 hours. I’ll catch up soon.

Fall is regarded as the best time to visit the Southwestern desert and we hit it just right. Squeezing in a five day trip to Utah’s Canyons National Park was the perfect way to finish a summer hiking season. Our route was different if you watched out Spot Locator track since we base camped 10 miles into a series of dead-end canyons and tried, unsuccessfully, to connect between them each day.

Fortunately, Will Rietveld did a lot of Google Earth research before the trip and set out a goal of trying to connect up a number of the box canyon fingers to make a loop route for future hikes. Zero for four was our success in the multi-day assault on the various fingered canyons. At the terminus of each valley we bush-whacked our way up to the sandstone and scaled the clean knobs and various cracks, only to find we need contour or traverse a bowl and go further up.

The rewards of discovering windows thru the rock, caves and tunnels, arches and grottos far out weighed the chagrin of not managing a pass between to fingers. Not to mention the colorful sandstone layers contrasted by the clear blue desert skies.

Making tracks in the pristine sandy washes didn’t hurt the feeling of treading on forgotten territory. Forgotten because in several of the canyons there is still panels of artwork from 1000-3,000 years ago, as well as remnants of grouted walls and small watch towers that proved people roamed this region long before us.