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Two Falls, Two Springs 27 September 2011

Posted by magicdufflepud in Colorado, Random, Travel.
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Climbing Pyramid Peak this weekend took more effort than I’d imagined it might, and my quads are reminding me of that today, but all in all the hike became one of the more enjoyable ones of the year, if only because of the season. I’d almost forgotten about fall in the mountains—autumn comes twice in Colorado—but the passel of photographers at Maroon Lake hadn’t. Well before dawn, they’d lined up on the shores, two deep in places, for that iconic shot of the Bells, that one you see in Nature Valley commercials. We on the other hand, got lost taking the wrong trail, backtracked to the lake, then eventually found our way at first light. So much for starting early.

At any rate, it was a reminder that most everyone else in the country seems to think that Denver’s a mountain town, a place where folks ski to work and bobsled home–and in a way it is, since so many folks here enjoy a mountain lifestyle, and so many more would bobsled anywhere if given the chance. But the truthof course is that Denver’s on the plains, the high plains sure, yet the mountains only begin to rise 20 minutes from downtown. Think Omaha, except a mile higher, so the fiction that we’re always bundled up waiting for the next blizzard is just that, a fiction. The reality is if anything stranger and more wonderful: two scoops of every season.

At this very moment, fall has come to the mountains. The high country aspens have received Midas touch, and in a month’s time, maybe less, a foot of snow will blanket their fallen leaves while the same process begins here on the plains. A month after that, as the mountain freeze hardens, Denver will begin to feel a true winter chill. Yet its winter is brief, lasting until April, just as the high country receives the most snow and the most sun. Ski conditions up there will be their best all year. Those 4000′ separating Denver from Summit County always leave the mountains two months ahead or behind.

So, this weekend, our route to the summit carried us past a rock glacier, a molting mountain goat and up a fairly stiff face that in places involved significant exposure. I can report that Pyramid Peak is more interesting, certainly, than anything you might encounter hiking Missouri. It’s a fourteener which actually deserves to be climbed, so long as you remember the helmet and keep your wits about you.

The summit delivered cool, calm weather perfect for lazing and gazing. Before this, I don’t think I’d spent any time in the Elks, but they must rank near the top of any “most beautiful” range list for the Bells alone. The rich, red hues of the sedimentary rocks in the area, coupled with the near vertical faces set the Elks apart from the standard Colorado fare of grays and rolling slopes. Aspen is that much the better for it.


Colorado has a Wyoming: Hiking the San Juans 19 September 2011

Posted by magicdufflepud in Colorado, Travel.
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Everyone in Denver wishes he’d spent some time in the San Juans. Just talk to anyone in the hiking community around here and the story’s the same, “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to get down there for ages. Just never had the chance.” At six hours in drive time alone from the Front Range, even the nearest peaks aren’t very doable in a weekend. And the 14ers that draw the most folks require at least a day-long hike beyond the trailhead. The rest of the range is similarly remote.

Still, this being Colorado, when I made the trip on a Labor Day weekend, I expected to run into a bunch of other hikers who’d finally received the opportunity to spend some extra time in southwestern Colorado. Except they never materialized. The town of Creede, last stop before the Rio Grande Reservoir and points deeper into the range, bustled with Texans getting into and out of their trucks. I also ran into a costumed bachelorette party which, curiously, included the bachelor too. Stranger things have happened.
Creede’s a curious town, though. Its rise and fall follow the standard Colorado mining arc, but no ski area has resuscitated its fortunes, leaving me to wonder what exactly happens to a mountain town of 400 during the winter. So I asked the girl making a burrito at the cafe.

“Well, there’s pond hockey.”

“No, I mean what do you folks do when the tourists aren’t around?”

“Oh, well, this is a good place to be if you like spending time with your friends and drinking beer.”

“Those are good things.”

“Then maybe you’d like Creede during the winter.”

But this was a post about the San Juans.

I wandered in on my own on a Saturday morning with plans to visit a formation called “The Window” and the less descriptively named Ute Basin. You’d do well to make the same trip. The whole area lies within the Weminuche Wilderness, a protected tract of nearly 500,000 acres that covers Colorado’s most remote and jagged peaks: the Needles range, the Grenadiers, Chicago Basin.

The hike in follows the Los Pinos River, which got me to thinking that Pinos Altos would be a good name for a mountain cabin. Hiking alone, that sort of thing gets stuck in your head. Pinos Altos. A one-room cabin with a wood burning stove, maybe some pelts of varmints hanging from the rafters. The smell of wood smoke.  Pinos Altos would exist in a state of perpetual winter, where the snow was always falling, the fire was always burning, and we were always just returning from a long day of something difficult and rewarding. You spend a few miles thinking about that when you hike alone.

Eventually the trail turned toward the Window itself, leaving the Pinos River behind and below, its meadows receding around the bend. I’d met one man earlier, returning from a solo hike to the summit of the Rio Grande Pyramid. “Trail goes up that way for a couple miles,” he said, “Then you’ll hit a blow down, and if you start thinking, ‘This is steep,’ it is steep, and you should go back around. There’s a cairn.” And we continued.

The Window comes out of nowhere. You see the Pyramid, rising above most everything else, then its arm extending south. But there’s this chunk out of it, plain as day, and that’s the window. Evidently, the whole thing’s volcanic, a bunch of breccia that doesn’t get anyone except geologists excited, and as volcanic rock tends to do, it fell apart. I learned from a retiree the next morning–he ran into me as I was striking camp–that the Spanish used to use the Window as a guide post of

sorts as they smuggled gold out of the San Juans. Moved tons and tons of it, evidently, though some partnership with the Utes. He’d read about it in a book titled “The Window” in Spanish, which he suggested I read if I could remember the word for window. Luckily, Google Translate can.

As you might imagine, the Window is suitably spectacular. The view is a postcard from Wyoming. With the addition of a glacier or two the Needles could pass for the Winds, and it all unfolds before you without any indication of a human presence. The whole of the San Juans surrounds the Window and from every angle the mountains stack up on one another until they disappear beyond the horizon.

This leads me to believe that the San Juans could in fact pass for Wyoming. Nowhere else in Colorado feels so high and so lonesome. Every valley ought to have a town, but look, and a braided river winds its way through a meadow, perhaps on its way to Los Pinos. If I were the Spanish, I’m not sure why I’d ever smuggle anything out of this place—better to sit there and admire it, alone preferably, but good company could work too.

Invariably, a twinge of sadness accompanies a departure from a high point like The Window. The trail descends, the views disappearing along the way. But this trail holds more in store, and as two hikers told me on Ute Pass, it would only get better.

It did.

Another saddle and more views down a web of drainages. Where could they lead? Then along another ridge staring into the Needles. A thousand lakes, it seemed, or at least a few. These were the winds all over again. A trail, trees, lakes, the rolling expanse. Here was Colorado before the mining booms and busts, before Creede, before even the Spanish and the Utes and all that gold.

Past Ute Lake, then Twin Lakes, it had to end. The Continental Divide Trail—the unbroken ribbon from Mexico to Canada—continued north, but my route carried me back to the reservoir, and my waiting car. The hunters camped at Twin Lakes never called out a greeting, and no one else appeared along the trail to greet.

An evening in a meadow, then a frosty sunrise. The hike out through Aspens. A family of stoats and more thoughts about Pinos Altos.

I’m not sure where all the thoughts go when you hike alone, spending that time with yourself. To be in your head that long, it should drive a person crazy, but it never does. It can’t. Too many mountains wait out there.

Fall on Loveland Pass 5 September 2011

Posted by magicdufflepud in Colorado, Colorado Passes.
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I’ve been away in the San Juans all weekend, so you’ll get a post about that soon enough. Suffice it to say that Colorado has a Wyoming, too.

In the meantime, here’s a little more familiar locale. September be nothing more than arbitrary distinction on the calendar, but it’s hard not to feel a certain tang in the air, hard not to imagine the folks at A-Basin (right) prepping the guns. Snow is on the way.