Part Sixty Five

     October 10th - 12th             Rocky Mtn Ntl Pk, CO                   (Go to Pt 1)

And that raised the question as to whether it was even worth going out to La Poudre Pass at all. I mean, it was going to take me two days of pretty rough travel to get out to the pass, flip around, and hike back to the exact spot where I was now camped.  

After thinking about this for a spell, a smoldering argument reignited in my head between two, conflicting personalities that had argued in the past, the ‘Divide guy’ and the ‘Mexico guy’.  In fact, these two guys had been arguing for months.  The Divide guy was that part of me that still felt committed to adhering as close to the Continental Divide as possible, whereas the Mexico guy just wanted to find a way south by the most expedient route available.

At this particular juncture, the Divide guy was pointing at the Grand Ditch trail and La Poudre Pass as the obvious route to follow, given our whole ‘Walking the Continental Divide’ theme, while the Mexico guy was complaining loudly that the damn, ditch trail was going in completely the wrong direction from Mexico and early-winter snow conditions higher up the mountainside would probably make the Ditch trail impassable anyways, which couldn’t be known unless I made the arduous climb up and out of the valley to find out.

Click on the map for a larger image

The argument in my head finally came to a head, so to speak, and quite frankly, the more I looked at my situation the more frustrated I got that I had even walked up this valley at all. I was thinking Mexico guy was right, I was going in the wrong direction and the mountains between here and Grand Lake were just too big for me to traverse across.  I probably should have ignored this whole northern bend of the Continental Divide altogether.

The following day, I hiked out the Kawuneeche Valley the way I’d hiked in, arriving back at Grand Lake later in the afternoon.  I sat on my pack out at the edge of town and studied the maps once again.  Two separate trails led out from Grand Lake: The East Inlet trail, which climbed back up into the southern end of the National Park, and the Shadow Mountain Lake trail, which bypassed the National Park altogether to track south along the shores of Shadow Mountain Lake out to Lake Granby. 

Again, the argument in my head erupted.  As far as Mexico guy was concerned, the Shadow Mountain Lake trail was a no-brainer; easy, trail hiking along the valley floor headed south for Mexico.  But this time the Divide guy stepped up and was like, ‘Aw, come on, man!  How can you turn your back on Rocky Mountain National Park without even going up into the mountains?  You’ve already blown-off the Never Summer Range… you gotta take the East Inlet trail back into the Park.’ 

I hesitated, waffling, so the Divide guy finally said ‘Jesus, if you can’t, or won’t, go up into Rocky Mountain National Park, one of the crown jewels of the entire Continental Divide, then you might as well go home.  All you’re doing now is copping-out for the fastest, easiest way to get to Mexico, and you know what, man?  Fuck that.’  Woah, that was quite the rebuke coming from me, at me. Mexico guy did not interrupt.

It was clear from the maps that by taking the trail south along Shadow Mountain Lake I’d be leaving Rocky Mountain National Park behind with nothing more to show for it than a walk up the Kawuneeche Valley.  The East Inlet trail would at least take me back into the National Park and up to below the Continental Divide where I thought I might be able to do a traverse over into the Paradise Creek Valley.  
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If, in fact, I did get over into the upper basin of Paradise Creek, and assuming I could get out of the basin on the other side, then there was a good possibility of putting together a shorter route down to Georgetown that more closely followed the Continental Divide.  Going up the East Inlet trail would make sense if I could get across two ridges that, from the map, looked very doable, provided they weren’t too snowed-in.  So, this time I sided with the Divide guy. 

From the trailhead at the outskirts of Grand Lake I hiked a couple of miles up the East Inlet trail to where it broke out into a small but stunning meadow overshadowed Mount Craig’s enormous, Goliath-sized topography dominating the upper valley.  Camping in this vicinity was probably prohibited but, again, given the time of year, I didn’t see how my setting up a tent for a quick, nomadic overnight was a problem for anybody. ​

Camped under a large tree near the meadow, I lounged in the tent half buried in my sleeping bag while cooking supper in the tent’s vestibule.  Meanwhile, back in the Hobbit book, the wee-lit’le lads were just setting off on their wee-lit’le journey… blah, blah, blah. 
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The past few days had seen the temperatures grow colder but, overall, the weather had continued to be friendly with clear skies and very little wind.  Indeed, when I blew out the tent candle to go to sleep that night the sky was brilliant with stars, but when I peeked out of the tent in the morning, I was met with a low-lying, ice fog shrouding the meadow.  

Everything was encased in a thin veneer of ice; the tall grasses in the meadow, the billions of pine needles on the trees, the rain fly covering my tent, everything.  Ahh, sweet permission to roll over and sleep-in. I dozed until the sun had had enough time to clear the eastern ridge and burn off most of the fog. ​

When I finally emerged from the tent, the mist was evaporating into a beautiful morning and the warming sun made for a much more pleasant start to the day. I loaded my gear, hoisted the pig, and started up the valley. 
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The trail climbed up out of the meadow a strenuous 1,200 vertical feet, past Lone Pine Lake, into an upper valley that opened out dramatically onto Lake Verna.  I dropped my pack on a sunny rock along the lakeshore and pulled out a granola bar.

I was getting my first close-up look at the conditions above 10,500ft and it was as I thought, a pretty good dusting of powder snow covering the boulderfields and gullies that led over the ridge into the Paradise Creek Valley. I wouldn’t really know how navigable the conditions were until I got further up into the valley but I was starting to get anxious about what I was going to find.  If I didn’t make it over the ridge into Paradise Valley, Mexico guy was going to tear me a new one for having taken this route.

After a brief rest at Lake Verna, I made my way up to Spirit Lake then on up to Fourth Lake, searching for a route over the ridge.  It was still early enough in the afternoon to make a go at it if I could find a relatively easy gully or slope that would get me across. 
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At Fourth Lake I dropped my pack and hiked a little further up into the basin, to below Fifth Lake, and could see that the upper cirque was too steep and iced over for me to climb out that way, so I flipped around and hiked the short distance back down to Fourth Lake where I had seen a possible route.

From Fourth Lake, I started up a slope through altitude-stunted trees to a boulderfield above.  I was punching my boots through a shallow, crusty layer of snow and by the time the trees gave way to the snowed-over boulders above, it was becoming clear this was a much more serious endeavor than I had anticipated it would be.  

Snow drifting between the rocks hid countless, leg-breaker voids and the angle of the slope was steeper than it had appeared from below.  I backed off and returned to the lake.  It was fairly evident by now that I didn’t have near enough afternoon remaining to get over this ridge, so I worked my way back down to the inlet of Spirit Lake where I had spotted another possible route while working my way up through the valley earlier in the day.  

At the inlet I dropped my load in an open patch of alpine meadow and slumped out onto the ground, lying back against my pack.  I closed my eyes and felt the relaxing warmth of the afternoon sun wash across me.  My mind was a cacophony of conflicting opinions, options, directionless intent, and wishful thinking.  If I didn’t get over into Paradise Valley then coming all the way up here was not only going to be a waste of time, energy, and supplies, but possibly fatal to my motivation and moral.
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I thought about Craig as though he were sitting in the meadow with me.  We’ll figure this out, I thought.  I laid in the sun with my eyes closed for at least an hour or more, until my mind had completely wandered off into Gilligan’s Island re-runs and movies I’d watched in the past; I laid there until I had completely forgotten all about the ridge.

The temperature started to drop and when I finally opened my eyes it was a jolt back to reality.  The sun was on the verge of casting itself behind the ridgeline, taking with it whatever warmth remained while the menacing ridge itself stood frozen deep into the dark shadows above, devoid of any interest in me, whatsoever.  I quit looking up at tomorrow’s predicaments and got busy settling into my tent.

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Go to Part 66

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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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