Surely not everyone is interested in sleeping under the Royal Arch high above the Elves Chasm almost to the bottom of the Colorado River canyon, but for the six of us it was extraordinary. The easy shorter access is a couple days down from the south rim at the westernmost trailhead.  And that route involves the aforementioned 20′ rappel, whose only downside is carrying the extra pounds of rope and gear to make the descent safely.

Fortunately we had a younger buck trail-named Matterhorn (AT and CT Thru-hiker) who gladly shouldered the 2 pounds of line and Melissa (Trip Wrangler and Canyon Botanist) who packed in the sling and hardware.

We also slept on a sandy beach at the rivers edge, on the Tonto (a dry camp where we had to insure enough water for a couple days, including the camping), and other times up on the Esplanade, also a dry camp.  The younger contingent and the old master Will slept most nights “under the stars” while Mike and I preferred to use our zPack Hexamid Duplexes.

Mid-November in the Canyon can offer temperatures and conditions across the spectrum.  We had clear days with temps in the 50’s and night time temps in the high 20’s to mid 30’s.  We could hike in shorts most days but had to use all the gear to sleep warm at night.  When you pack ultralight that means wearing all your clothes plus silk long underwear and down booties.  Not every night required the full suit of clothing but an 18- to 24-oz sleeping bag needs extra layers of insulation to help below freezing.

It’s always interesting to see how hikers are treating their water, be it with a filter pump, chemicals or UV rays.  Will and I carry UV SteriPens which will kill the parasites in 40 seconds for a pint of water.  Chemicals take up to 27 minutes and pumps are heavy, harder and these days “old school.”  The filter of choice now is a Sawyer squeeze filter which our mates used and we had as backup.  One benefit of Fall hiking in the Canyon is the cooler temps require less water consumption so we only had to treat, pump or zap 3-4 liters a day.

The Grand (as the river is called by the cognoscenti) and the Canyon is full of history and lore that’s fun to discover and hear about.  Our group had several raconteurs and chroniclers, so we enjoyed stories, visited obscure sites, and saw ancient and more recent ruins.  Wish I could retain all that was related over the 8 days. One thing I do recall is that I should read Grand Obsession: Harvey Butchart and the Exploration of the Grand Canyon.
Happy to show anyone all the other photos from the trip. Thanks to group for sharing photos, as many of these are courtesy of them.  We probably have over 500 to choose from.

What is certain is that I’ll need a refresher course and look forward to the next trip into our local Wonder of the World.  Here’s hoping we can do a reunion trip because we’ll all be “younger next year”.

Just back from the road less travelled in the Grand Canyon and I’m a bit conflicted. Don’t get me wrong, it was an excellent trip: great hiking companions, wonderful weather (cept’n cold nights), outstanding views, super off-trail discoveries and just a wonderfully good time.

The conflict arises between wanting to boast about taking a difficult and occasionally challenging route that few people get to experience (because it’s off the normal hiking itinerary, at the far west end of the Grand Canyon trail system, involves crossing an Indian political Fee triangle, has a 20′ rappel, descends a rabbit hole with an ancient sapling for the final down-climb, and isn’t for the exposure-phobic folks like Stanna) and seeing one-other-group-a-day traveling this self-same route like it was no big deal, just something else on their bucket list.

Granted these “other” groups appeared to be skilled, proficient and worthy of boasting they’d notched their hiking poles for this route, but geeze, we figured we were part of a different 0.01%” that was able to brag about being the only ones in that area. Evidently this Route Less Travelled attracts 90% of the 0.01% or some other statistical aberration.

The upside of my conflict is that there are just more people “out there” doing things that make them Younger Next Year, and that pleases me immensely. Not all that we saw were ultra light which would have pegged the glad-scale, but we did get impressed when a light-pack-looking bike-helmeted pair from northern California “interviewed” us all on our gear.  The trick question back to them was “So let’s cut to the chase.  What’s ‘your’ base weight?” To which they “weren’t sure.”  Also impressive was one of a three-person group just behind us on the rappel leg, who evidently free climbed down the 20′ drop while we were putting our packs on.  I’d have like to seen that.

Fortunately, in the 55+ miles of trail we only sighted those other groups on the horizon or passed them going the opposite direction.  One solo hiker wasn’t very amiable when he brushed/bumped past during a fairly steep decline.  Perhaps he was concerned his (reported later by other hikers) apples, cheese and stick of butter rations didn’t allow for small talk.  So we did have all the trails and camps to ourselves save those brief encounters.

Details to follow…

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.