Part Fifty Eight

​     September 25th - 26th                 Rawlins, WY                            (Go to Pt 1)

The conversation wore thin pretty quick; I was going to continue on, at least to Colorado, and Craig was headed back to Oregon.  Beyond that, there was really nothing more to say.  Craig’s disappointment and dejection lay heavy in the room and “sorry” was all I could manage.  Craig left and that was the last time I saw him.  The next morning I walked out of Rawlins, headed south for Colorado. 

Click on the map for a larger image

My moral and sense of wellbeing were not great walking out of Rawlins, but they weren’t terrible either.  The endless hours of hiking had always been a one man game anyways, so, once I got going, the day was like any other mindless, road plod on hardpan gravel.  The weather was totally benign, the landscape consisted of dried mud hills and the only wildlife to be seen were sheep, herds of domestic sheep.

I made camp at Sage Creek with sheep grazing nearby (don’t ask about the water) and the forested hillsides of the Sierra Madre mountains just beyond.  I fixed a one-man ration for supper then sat alone in the quiet emptiness until it was dark enough to get in the tent and go to bed.  I was in desperate need of a good book, which I didn’t have, and made note to be sure and pick one up when I got to Steamboat.

The next morning was ideal for aggressive hiking, mostly cloudy and cool.  The aspen trees, which were abundant in clusters across the mountainsides, were flaming in autumn yellow and orange and made for a vibrant contrast against the evergreen fir, and pine.  I followed a string of faint, dirt roads that didn’t show on my maps, meandering into and through the forest on a carpet of neon-yellow, aspen leaves.
​

Not long after lunch the weather deteriorated and snow began to spit from the now gathering clouds. It took several hours for me to get around the west side of Bridger Peak and by the time I’d reached Battle Creek on the south side of the mountain it was snowing pretty hard, and not the light stuff but rather a cold, wet, miserable slop that had forced me into my rain gear and turned dirt to mud.  Fortunately, Battle Creek offered a decent camp site where I pitched-up the tent and crawled inside, zipping the door shut.

I’d recently spent two nights in a motel and should have been well rested but after 5 months of hammering away at this Continental Divide ‘trail’, a low-level, chronic fatigue was settling in that made eating and sleeping really easy to do.  By morning I’d spent nearly 16 hours in the tent, sleeping through most of it and stirring only to eat. 
​
The new day, however, beckoned as I clambered out of the tent into crisp temperatures under a cloudless sky.  All at once I was anxious and excited to pack my gear and get going, I wasn’t far from crossing over into Colorado.  As I headed out I could hardly believe how spectacular the day was with it’s deep-blue skies, autumn temperatures and flaming-gold aspen trees.  Maintaining its southerly bearing toward the Colorado boarder, I continued along the leaf-covered jeep track I’d been following the day before.  

Later in the morning, still several miles from the border, I began to notice deer in considerable numbers and it was a bit odd because there were so many and they were all just milling about, not really a herd but more deer than I’d seen on the entire trip.  I continued to see small groupings of deer all the way to the Colorado boarder.

Then something strange happened.  Not long after my lunch stop I crossed over the Colorado/Wyoming boarder and it took me a couple of miles to notice, but I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen a single deer since walking into Colorado. That seemed odd. I was wondering where they’d all gone when I heard a gunshot off in the distance, and not long after that another one, and then another one.

Ah, it was early hunting season in Colorado and the deer were keen, they had crossed over into Wyoming where hunting season in the Medicine Bow National Forest had yet to start. I found it intriguing that the deer knew exactly where the boarder was and just how far they had to go to be safe.  I continued on and by late afternoon the path had climbed out to the top of a bluff overlooking the Three Forks Ranch and the Little Snake River valley.  

The scene was striking and I dropped my pack to gawk at the landscape beyond. The sparkling waters below drifted through a wide expanse of golden meadows which were backdropped by the deep, forested green of the mountainsides. Spangled throughout the evergreens were clusters of iridescent yellow and orange aspen and the river bottom was embroidered with explosive, green-gold cottonwood trees.  The late afternoon sun created a soft, golden light, illuminating the colors in a shimmering brilliance.

Sitting serenely atop the bluff, absorbing the grandeur of the glowing landscape below, it suddenly occurred to me that it was September 26th.  Or was it the 25th?  No, I ran the days through my head and it was definitely the 26th.  Well howdy-doody, it was my fuckin’ birthday!  I was 22 years old.

---

Go to Part 59

---

The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

---