Part Seventy Seven

     November 26th – 30th             San Juan Mts, CO                           (Go to Pt 1)

After lunch, my Dad had offered to drive me to the trailhead, several miles further down the road from Creede, but that was another half hour out of their way and I’d already come far enough by car, so it was just easier to say goodbye to everyone right there in Creede.

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We hugged and my Dad looked pleased while my Mom looked worried, and Dave, well, Dave just looked like good ol’ Dave.  I watched as my family drove away then shouldered my pack and headed down the road.

I camped that night along the shores of the Santa Maria Reservoir with Bristol Peak’s ridgeline of spires rising up behind the tent and Radio welcoming me back on the trail with old time rock’n’roll coming out of Taos, New Mexico. Well, if that didn’t light me up, I was listening to a radio station out of New Mexico!

In the morning, the high pressure system that had been sitting over southwestern Colorado appeared to be running out of gas; high, cirrus clouds streaked across the sky and the sun felt weak, without much warmth.  I continued along Santa Maria’s the north shore but not long after leaving the reservoir behind I began to run into snowpack.

By early afternoon, I was post-holing through shin-deep snow and the skies had grown overcast with snow clouds beginning to settle down onto the higher peaks.  When flurries finally started blowing into flakes I decided to set an early camp along South Clear Creek.  Looking up at the wintery sky, I worried that this might turn into one whopper of a snowfall; the big one was bound to come, sooner or later.

Before I could even unpack my pack, though, I first had to clear away snow for a tent platform and fight frozen ground to get my tent up, again requiring big rocks for anchors.  Then, after that protracted chore was done, I had to posthole through deep snow, down to the creek to collect water

Down at the creek I had with me both my one quart and two quart water bottles and after filling the two quart bottle, I set it aside to fill the one quarter, but no sooner had I turned around than the two quarter slipped off the bank into the river.

I lunged to grab the bottle, bobbing just out of reach, but had to watch instead as it disappeared under the ice.  Damnit, I needed that bottle.  I high-stepped it through the  snowpack, downstream to the next opening in the ice and waited for the bottle to reappear, which it didn’t.

Now I was getting pissed, I really did need that bottle, so I started breaking the ice back upstream until the bottle finally bobbed to the surface and I could grab it.  By the time I got back to camp I’d spent nearly an hour just setting-up my tent and collecting water.

Thankfully, the big snowstorm I was dreading did not materialize overnight and the next morning I was truly grateful to poke my head out of the tent to see only a few inches of new snow.  Nonetheless, the cloud ceiling was still low, grey, and dismal, eliciting no reason for me to abandon my warm sleeping bag until number 2 finally forced me out.

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By the time I got started up the valley it was pretty late in the morning.  I continued along the snowed-over road I’d been following, which by now had at least a foot of snowpack along with the three inches of fresh that had accumulated overnight. Reaching the upper valley required an exceedingly long and mundane slog that gave acute definition to the word ‘slog’.
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After Hermit Lakes, the road dwindled away as I pushed up and out of the valley, over the top, to the south side slopes above the Rio Grande Reservoir. The snowpack diminished significantly once I got on the south facing slope and the descent to the reservoir turned out to be the easiest part of the day.  ​

I made my camp near the outlet of the reservoir under mostly clear skies that had me thanking my lucky stars for having been spared from yet another, potentially crippling, snowstorm.  That evening, Radio was distracted and couldn’t hold a coherent station, while the Hobbits’ quest to carry the ring to Mordor was in complete disarray; Hobbits were scattered all over the place by the time I blew out the candle.

From the Rio Grande reservoir the next morning, I again had to climb my way out of the valley, this time by following a snowbound trail up Weminucha Creek to cross over the Continental Divide at Weminucha Pass.
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The snowpack in the Weminucha valley was deeper than I’d hoped, stacking up to just below my knees and drifting as much as 3 feet in places.  I only had four miles to reach the crest of the ridge but was reduced to a struggling, 1mph pace because of the deep snow.

The morning was gone and afternoon well underway by the time I finally reached the crest of Weminucha Pass, where I dropped my pack for a late lunch on the south side.  I was counting on the slopes over on this side to have less snow on them, and I wasn’t disappointed.  Not even a half mile down from the pass the snowpack began to shrink considerably and another mile further, bare ground began to appear.

By the time I’d reached the lower meadows of the Weminucha valley, the snow-zone was behind me and the trail I’d been following had come out onto a dirt road.  I made camp that afternoon in what appeared to be a primitive campground where I had another fight with the tent stakes, this time over river-bottom cobble.  On the upside, at least the water was easy to fetch.

I packed-up camp early the following morning because I wanted to get out to Pagosa Springs by day’s end, and Pagosa Springs was 25-plus miles away. Working to my advantage was the gentle, downhill-to-flat grade of the road which allowed me to push close to a 4mph pace.

For most of the day I hiked on autopilot, wondering about mindless stuff until the last four or five miles when my feet began to rebel first, followed in rapid succession by everything else that was bearing weight.  I did, however, make it to town by day’s end, dragging in just before dark and nine hours after leaving camp.
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Pagosa Springs was not a resupply stop-over, just a really comfortable place to camp for the night.  I was learning that I actually preferred indoor heat, a hot shower, and a soft, warm bed to living out of a tent, and in Pagosa Springs I found quality camping at the Wagon Wheel motel.

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Go to Part 78

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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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