Part Sixty

     September 30th to October 3rd     Zerkle Wilderness, CO       (Go to Pt 1)

The next morning was cold, grey, and dreary and felt like a really good day to head into town. I only had a dozen or so miles to get down out of the mountains, so I was in no particular rush to roll out of my warm sleeping bag.  As such, it was mid-morning by the time I set off from Summit Lake and when I finally did, I really wasn’t in the mood to hike.

However, despite the sluggish start and a less-than-inspired walk down from Buffalo Pass, I still got into town with plenty of time to check-in at the Rabbit Ears motel and walk up the street to the Post Office to collect my resupply box from general delivery.
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The previous week, when I’d been in Rawlins, I had called my parents to let them know I was out of the desert and also that Craig had been forced to drop out of the trip.  I could tell from the dead silence on the other end of the line that this latter news had taken them off-guard.

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They asked what I planned to do and I told them that I was at least going to continue on to Steamboat Springs, so I knew they would be anxious to hear from me as soon as I got out of the mountains.  After getting my supply box from the Post Office, I sat down and gave them a call.

Following the initial chit-chat, my Mom asked if I wasn’t getting tired and suggested that maybe I should consider taking a break and coming home. “You’ve made it so far,” she said “maybe now would be a good time to take a break. You know, you can always go back, and I just think maybe next summer would be a better time than trying… you know, trying to do it now, by yourself.” 

Then my Dad interjected, “We just feel that it might be best if you took a little time off right now.  Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks. You have a lot to be proud of in getting as far as you have, and without Craig… and… you know what those Rocky Mountains can be like in the winter; we’re just concerned that maybe you’re taking on too much.”

As they talked, I realized three things, in this order: The first was, I didn’t even want to think about going back home and facing all of my friends in the outdoor community with only half of the Divide completed.  The second thing was the weather and the terrain; the good weather and moderate terrain provided no cover at all for justifying a bailout.  And finally, unlike Craig, I was uninjured and healthy.  In short, I had no credible excuse for abandoning the trip.  

I was listening to what my parents were saying but I just knew I couldn’t walk away from this endeavor now, and there would be no coming back at some later date.  I finally answered their query and said, “If I stop now, either work or school or both will get in the way of me ever getting back out here, and…  well, I think I should keep going while I can.”

Of course, it never occurred to me that I was worrying my parents out of their wits with this little stunt of mine.  Many years later my Mom confided to me the deep level of chronic worry she’d endured during the entire enterprise, but especially when I decided to keep going on alone.  

As for my Dad, I think he could understand where I was coming from, at least from the ‘now or never’ viewpoint, and he didn’t press the issue further, simply advising caution and saying if winter set-in, I should consider coming home.  My Mom had little more to say.  After I’d hung-up the phone, I felt satisfied and committed to my decision but unaware that my parent’s seed of retreat had been planted.

Next, I dug through my resupply box which contained winter clothes, my winter sleeping bag and, among other things, a new pair of boots.  I needed the boots but did not look forward to the break-in.  Back then, mountain boots were constructed from thick, heavy leather and had unusually stiff soles for mountaineering.  With boots like these, I really wouldn’t know what I had until I was back-up in the mountains, and hopefully not by the side of the trail bandaging blisters.  

I tried on the boots and walked around the motel room and the fit was okay, there was room for my toes and little slippage in the heels, but they felt like walking in a pair of cinder blocks.  I looked hard at those boots and wondered how much of a fight they were going to give me before they gave-in. Straight out of the box they appeared to be a formidable opponent.

The other note on my list was to pick-up a book while I was in town.  For five months I’d been buying throw-away novels at rural, western grocery stores but in Steamboat I actually found a small book store with a selection to choose from.  I figured I’d better get at least a couple of books to send ahead so I didn’t get stranded bookless again. 

That’s when I ran across Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings”, three fat volumes that would last for months.  I didn’t know if ‘fantasy’ was my genre or not but I had read the Hobbit in middle school and liked it, so I figured ‘what the hell’ and bought them.  In hindsight, I wish I’d bought something else – reading Lord of the Rings while walking the Continental Divide turned into a psycho-drama all its own.

Also, while I was in Steamboat, a friend of mine had given me the name and number of a friend of his, Jeff, that lived in the area and told me to call him when I got to town, so I rang him up.  Jeff had heard that I was walking the Continental Divide, so when I talked to him on the phone he was excited to have me come out and stay at his cabin on the Elk River, which I did.  

I was intending to just stay overnight but once Jeff and his friends found out it was my birthday, or close enough, they hauled me back into town to some dark, downstairs bar decorated like an ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’ prom, and introduced me to a bottle of brandy.

Of course, this was all riotous fun for the first couple of hours but as the evening wore-on I began to fade.  I was used to going to bed around dark, so by 11:00 pm, and I don’t know how many shots of brandy, I was twice baked-over, toast.  

Back at the cabin I stumbled getting out of the truck, blacked out, and somehow woke-up in a bed the next morning.  But, boy, did I pay for trying to hang with people possessing advanced degrees in partying.  I sheepishly stayed over another night because I was too hung-over to get out of bed that day.

Following my hangover day, Jeff drove me out to the Fish Creek Falls trail just east of town.  As we were driving out there, and being an outdoors guy himself, he started asking me about my equipment, if my stove was working okay, “Yep, stove’s working great”, if I liked my pack, “Yeah, it’s riding pretty good”, and if I had a good tent.  “A good tent?” 

I flashed on the old Gerry Year Around tent with its 17 stakes, seams stretched beyond the limit, poles bent with no shock-cord, a thousand pin holes in the floor, and to his question replied, “Nah, the tent’s pretty beat, I’ll probably have to get a new one.”  

“Huh, what kind of tent would work out there on the Divide?” he asked.  “I don’t know,” I said, “something smaller, you know, lighter weight, more of a one-man tent.”  Shortly afterwards, we arrived at the trailhead parking lot.  

Before letting me off, Jeff wanted to confirm that I would be in Georgetown for my next resupply stop. “That’s my plan,” I said, “provided I get that far.”  “Best of luck, man,” Jeff offered with a big handshake, “drop us a postcard when you get to Georgetown and, seriously, be careful, it’s hunting season out there, you know.”  I liked Jeff; he was a nice guy.

 I started from the trailhead under a crisp, autumn-blue sky, and hiked the twelve or so miles back up to the Continental Divide.  Near the top of the Divide I came out to the Fish Creek Reservoir and considered making camp but decided to push-on a little further to Round Lake, which turned out to be a shallow, dark patch of water in a thicket of haggish-looking, fir trees.  ​

I got the tent pitched and was unloading my pack when, for no particular reason, I started to feel uncomfortable.  I didn’t know why, but this black-water pond with all those dark, witchy-looking trees surrounding it seemed threatening.  I felt like I was invading into a space I shouldn’t be and, despite the idyllic campsite, this Round Lake did not feel friendly.

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Go to Part 61

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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.

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