So, I thought that before Nicholas and I left on our final Collegiate Peaks shake-down trip on the Lost Creek Loop, I should post our current gear list.
We very carefully selected each piece of gear over the course of six months, with a good balance of weight and comfort in mind. We are not out to break any ultra-light backpacking records on weight, we just wanted high quality, strong gear that we can trust, that feels good, and that allows for a good night's sleep, but also doesn't weigh 50 lbs. We often joke that we're somewhere between backpacking and glamping, and we're okay with that. For now. Our upcoming shake-down trip might change some of that, which is exactly why we're doing it.
Your base pack weight (BPW) is everything you carry excluding consumables - food, water, fuel, toiletries, etc. - because those greatly vary depending on the trip and how long you've been on the trail. I still count the weight of the empty bear canister and bottles in the BPW, as well as all the clothing I don't plan to wear regularly (down jacket, rain gear, thermals, extra socks).
We also calculated our full pack weights, with the amount of dehydrated food we'd each be carrying, plus full water bottles, fuel, and other consumables. Keep in mind, the full pack weights are based on five days of hiking, since we have a resupply about every five days on the Collegiate Peaks Loop. Our packs should never be heavier than our full pack weights, and never lighter than our base pack weights.
Many hikers calculate what is called their skin-out weight, which is literally everything you have with you and on you, including clothes and shoes you are wearing, trekking poles, etc. We have not calculated that weight, and we don't really plan to because I find it superfluous. We are used to walking around with clothing and shoes on, and to us that just seems like part of our general body weight. If my trekking poles weighed 2 lbs. I might reconsider, but they don't.
Before I dive into specifics, I'll give the overview:
Kaitlin
BPW: 18 lbs. 1.8 oz.
Full Pack Weight: 25 lbs.
Nicholas
BPW: 17 lbs. 12.8 oz.
Full Pack Weight: 29 lbs.
So, we're not going ultra-light by any means, but not too shabby! A BPW of under 20 lbs is still considered "light-weight," so I consider it a win. The sleeping system is a little heavy, but that's one of the areas in which we prioritized comfort over cutting weight. In addition, a resupply every five days keeps our consumables fairly light, so our packs don't rise too much above the BPW. I had originally planned on carrying the entirety of the tent, including the fly and footprint, but those equaled several pounds that put my BPW far above Nicholas', so he will carry those parts of the tent. There are other pros for splitting the tent weight, such as us both being able to finagle shelter if we somehow get separated on the trail. I'd have the poles and mesh, and he'd have the protective outer tent parts that he could make a shelter out of using his trekking poles and other resources. Since Nicholas carries the larger bear canister, his full pack weight increases much more than mine with every resupply, making the pack weight to body weight ratio more even.
To break it down more, here is the list of everything I'm carrying in my BPW:
(I've included some links to certain items for easy reference)
Pack: Osprey Aura 50 AG, size small (47 liters) (color: Silver Streak) - 3 lbs. 12 oz.
Tent: REI Quarter Dome 2 - 3 lbs. 12 oz.
Sleeping Bag: REI Joule 30 Sleeping Bag - 1 lb. 9 oz.
Compression Sack (11 liters): 2.8 oz
Sleeping Pad: Big Agnes Insulated Air Core Ultra (Petite) - 1 lb. 4 oz.
Pillow: Sea to Summit Aeros Premium (regular) - 2.8 oz.
Head Lamp: Black Diamond Spot Headlamp (with batteries) - 3.2 oz.
Water Bottle: LifeStraw Bottle - 7.8 oz.
Bear Canister: BearVault BV450 - 2 lbs. 1 oz.
Microspikes: Yaktrax ICEtrekkers (small) - 12 oz.
Down Jacket: Mountain Hardware Nitrous Down Jacket (medium) - 11.3 oz.
Rain Jacket: Kuhl Jetstream Trench Rain Jacket (small) - 11 oz.
Thermal Pants: Patagonia Capilene Thermal Weight Bottoms - 4 oz.
Underwear: Patagonia Active Wear (small) - 1 oz.
Socks: SmartWool Hiking Socks (x3 pairs) - ~3.5 oz.
Sock Liners: REI Silk Sock Liners (x2 pairs) - ~1 oz.
Maps/Journal/Book: ~6 oz.
Tent Lamp: Coghlan's Tent Light - 3.5 oz.
Whistle/Compass: Coghlan's Four Function Whistle - ~1 oz.
Camera: Nikon Coolpix S33 13.2 Megapixel (Shockproof, Waterproof) - ~4.5 oz.
Charger: Tzumi PocketJuice 15,000 mAh Portable Charger - 12.8 oz.
Pack Cover: Osprey Ultralight Pack Raincover (30-50 liters) - 3 oz.
Now for Nicholas' BPW breakdown:
Pack: Osprey Atmos 50 AG, size large (53 liters) - 4 lbs. 1 oz.
Tent Fly/Footprint: 2 lbs. 4.8 oz.
Sleeping Bag: REI Igneo 25 Sleeping Bag - 1 lb. 12 oz.
Compression Sack (11 liters): 2.8 oz.
Sleeping Pad: Big Agnes Insulated Air Core Ultra (Petite) - 1 lb. 4 oz.
Pillow: Sea to Summit Aeros Premium (regular) - 2.8 oz.
Kitchen System: GSI Outdoors Bugaboo Backpacker Cookset - 1 lb. 12.8 oz.
Utensils: Light My Fire Spork (x2) - .4 oz.
Stove: MSR PocketRocket - 2.6 oz.
Hammock: Eno Double Deluxe - 1 lb. 12 oz.
Hammock Straps: Eno Atlas Hammock Suspension System - 11 oz.
Head Lamp: Black Diamond Spot Headlamp (with batteries) - 3.2 oz.
Water Filtration: Sawyer Squeeze - 3 oz.
Water Bottle: Nalgene - 3.5 oz.
Bear Canister: BearVault BV500 - 2 lbs. 9 oz.
Microspikes: Yaktrax Walker Traction System - 4 oz.
Down Jacket: REI Co-op Down Jacket Men's (large) - 10.5 oz.
Rain Jacket: REI Co-op Rain Jacket Men's (large) - 9.4 oz.
Thermal Pants: ClimateSmart Pro Extreme Performance Baselayer (XL) - 4 oz.
Underwear: Exofficio Give-N-Go Briefs - 1 oz.
Socks: SmartWool Hiking Socks (x3) - ~3.5 oz.
Journal: ~3oz.
Whistle/Compass: Coghlan's Four Function Whistle - ~1 oz.
Pack Cover: Osprey Ultralight Pack Raincover (30-50 liters) - 3 oz.
So there you have it! Right now, I'm very happy with our packs and gear, but I'm sure it will change either after our shake-down trip or the Collegiate Peaks. It will be interesting to find out how our trail needs change, and what we realize we needed that we didn't have vs. what we had but didn't need. It's all part of the learning process, and part of the fun!
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Friday, June 9, 2017
Collegiate Peaks Loop 15-Day Itinerary
Below is the tentative 15-day itinerary, complete with daily mileage and our planned campsite, for our Collegiate Peaks Loop (June 26 - July 10, 2017). Leaving out the two layover days we scheduled in to make sure we had time to relax and enjoy the scenery, our average daily mileage comes out to 12.3 miles per day. We planned two resupply points, although I do believe the trip can easily be done with just one resupply. Some hikers start from the southern end of the loop and resupply at Twin Lakes exactly halfway through the hike. We chose two resupply points to lighten our packs, and because one resupply would require two large bear canisters, and we happen to already own one large and one small bear canister. With a resupply every five days, we can use the canisters we have and carry less at one time.
I carefully planned out this itinerary with the use of the Colorado Trail Guidebook, 9th Edition, and the maps and mile-markers included within. This book carries great information about what you can expect to encounter on the trail, where decent campsites may be found, resupply options, etc. It has been a highly valuable resource to me throughout this planning process!
Here is our complete itinerary:
Day 1: 9.4 mi
Drive 3.5 hours to Twin Lakes Trailhead
Turn left to start at the Northern terminus of the Collegiate East side.
Camp: Clear Creek
Day 2: 15.2 mi
Camp: Three Elk Creek
Day 3: 12.3 mi
Camp: South Cottonwood Creek
Day 4: 11.3 mi
Camp: Mt. Princeton Hot Springs
Day 5: 0.00 mi
Resupply & Layover Day
Camp: Mt. Princeton Hot Springs
Day 6: 14.7 mi
Camp: Squaw Creek
Day 7: 12 mi
Camp: S. Fooses Creek
Day 8: 7.3 mi
Turn right to cross over to Collegiate West
Camp: "dry campsite" on C. West
Day 9: 12 mi
Resupply at Monarch Crest Store
Camp: Boss Lake
Day 10: 0.00 mi
Layover Day at Boss Lake
Camp: Boss Lake
Day 11: 16.6 mi
Camp: Near Tin Cup Pass Rd.
Day 12: 13.8 mi
Camp: Lost Lake
Day 13: 14.1 mi
Camp: Illinois Creek
Day 14: 15.4 mi
Camp: Before Hope Pass (dry campsite)
Day 15: 9.8 mi
Back to Twin Lakes Trailhead
FINISH!
Note: Some hikers don't like itineraries, and prefer to wing it on the trail, camping wherever they need to. Of course, itineraries and plans should always be flexible, because you never know what you're going to encounter out there on the trail and how plans will change. However, having a tentative plan for each day gives the worriers and organizers like me a sense of security and structure that can lead to a much smoother and more enjoyable trip. The longer a hike is, the more an itinerary is subject to change. Our 160 mile trip is not a very long hike by some standards (think Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail, or Continental Divide Trail), but it's much longer than either Nicholas or I have ever done. Fifteen days seems a very doable distance for sticking to an itinerary, so we hope to stay as close to this schedule as possible.
I carefully planned out this itinerary with the use of the Colorado Trail Guidebook, 9th Edition, and the maps and mile-markers included within. This book carries great information about what you can expect to encounter on the trail, where decent campsites may be found, resupply options, etc. It has been a highly valuable resource to me throughout this planning process!
Here is our complete itinerary:
Day 1: 9.4 mi
Drive 3.5 hours to Twin Lakes Trailhead
Turn left to start at the Northern terminus of the Collegiate East side.
Camp: Clear Creek
Day 2: 15.2 mi
Camp: Three Elk Creek
Day 3: 12.3 mi
Camp: South Cottonwood Creek
Day 4: 11.3 mi
Camp: Mt. Princeton Hot Springs
Day 5: 0.00 mi
Resupply & Layover Day
Camp: Mt. Princeton Hot Springs
Day 6: 14.7 mi
Camp: Squaw Creek
Day 7: 12 mi
Camp: S. Fooses Creek
Day 8: 7.3 mi
Turn right to cross over to Collegiate West
Camp: "dry campsite" on C. West
Day 9: 12 mi
Resupply at Monarch Crest Store
Camp: Boss Lake
Day 10: 0.00 mi
Layover Day at Boss Lake
Camp: Boss Lake
Day 11: 16.6 mi
Camp: Near Tin Cup Pass Rd.
Day 12: 13.8 mi
Camp: Lost Lake
Day 13: 14.1 mi
Camp: Illinois Creek
Day 14: 15.4 mi
Camp: Before Hope Pass (dry campsite)
Day 15: 9.8 mi
Back to Twin Lakes Trailhead
FINISH!
Note: Some hikers don't like itineraries, and prefer to wing it on the trail, camping wherever they need to. Of course, itineraries and plans should always be flexible, because you never know what you're going to encounter out there on the trail and how plans will change. However, having a tentative plan for each day gives the worriers and organizers like me a sense of security and structure that can lead to a much smoother and more enjoyable trip. The longer a hike is, the more an itinerary is subject to change. Our 160 mile trip is not a very long hike by some standards (think Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail, or Continental Divide Trail), but it's much longer than either Nicholas or I have ever done. Fifteen days seems a very doable distance for sticking to an itinerary, so we hope to stay as close to this schedule as possible.
Deer Mountain
Next in the series of "shake-down" hikes for our Collegiate Peaks Loop came a lovely little 6 mile day hike up Deer Mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park. It wasn't really a shake-down hike because we didn't use all our gear, but this hike had a specific purpose: to test blister prevention methods, and further break in the new boots! We also hiked with our full packs, because it's good for us and the more used to them we are, the smoother our big hike will go. This also marked the day that I tied my green bandana to my pack as a symbol to other women on the trail that I am member of our awesome little group, "The Women of the Colorado Trail." Those ladies have given me so much insight and inspiration in the past weeks, and I'm proud to be one of them!
Nicholas learned on the Little Matterhorn Loop/Day Hike from Hell that his boots were in no way waterproof or fit to be used in snow. His feet were sloshing around so badly, and although it didn't give him blisters, putting them back on the next day would have been miserable. Our Collegiate Peaks hike is sure to present snow on the Western side, so new boots had gone on the list with new trekking poles for him. We had since accomplished both missions, so it was time to check them out. Nicholas ended up liking the same pair of boots I had recently bought - Oboz Sawtooth Mid-height boot.
I preferred these over the Merrell's I had been wearing because the arch support is so much better for me, but you heard my blister horror story from them last time. On this hike, I was using several methods of blister prevention that I hoped would work, but I wanted to make sure on a shorter hike so I wasn't stuck with my mistakes for a long hike (again). I warned Nicholas about the heel blisters with this particular boot, and that maybe he should wear bandaids just in case, but of course everyone's feet are different and respond to the same boot differently, and he needed to see where he would get them before using any prevention methods.
He got a nasty blister on his heel.
As for the blister prevention I used on this hike, I used super tough band-aids (the kind that won't come off for DAYS even if you wanted them to, and when you eventually peel them off they take a little bit of your soul with them), coupled with silk sock liners under my thick SmartWool socks. I dared those band-aids to rub off this time!
Well, about halfway up Deer Mountain, I start feeling the familiar sting of the hotspots starting on my heels. Are you kidding me?! What else do you want from me! But, it did not feel near as intense as last time, so I didn't even check them. Also, funny story, given that we had our entire lives on our backs for this day hike, I had failed to bring the two items we could have actually used: the ibuprofen and more bandaids. Derp.
We got up to the top, where we were swarmed with chipmunks and little mountain squirrels. They were certainly not shy, and one was crawling all over Nicholas.
As we were about to leave the summit, we heard the thunder, and dark clouds were rolling in behind us. Normally, I get a little bummed when rain rolls in on a hike, because I'm not as big a fan of rain as Nicholas (or most people) are. Probably three times a week in random places, I hear "Oh I love the rain." Yeah, I don't love the rain. Never have.
But, since we were on a low mountain and were leaving the summit, we weren't really in danger of lightning strikes, so this was a good time to embrace the rain and test our rain gear out for the first time!
We put on our rain jackets and pack covers, and the sprinkle commenced.
Side note: We are aware that we look like we tried way too hard to match, but we actually tried NOT to match - our jackets are different brands and were both on clearance, they just look the exact same. We were actually across the store from one another when we picked them out separately on the same day. The pack covers are the same brands as our packs, which also accidentally match. Add this to our accidentally matching boots, and we just look spectacularly derptastic. But we love our gear and it works, so whatever!
Though it wasn't a torrential downpour, which we expect to see on the Collegiate Peaks multiple times, the rain gear did work well! I wish my hood had a little bill to keep it from falling in my eyes, but it's nothing I can't live with. Mine is a Kuhl jacket, and Nicholas has the REI rain jacket. Both are very lightweight, and mine felt very breathable! The number one complaint I've heard from other hikers about rain gear is that it's almost not worth it to wear it because you sweat so much underneath it that you might as well just get wet from rain. That was not my experience - I stayed completely dry and happy! I also love that my jacket comes down to my thighs instead of ending at the waist. It doesn't get all bunched up under the pack when I move around or bend over, protects more of my body, and just looks much more flattering 😋.
The pack covers also seem to do their jobs well, but I do have very slight reservations about that somewhat unprotected place between back and pack. The pack cover cinches down over the top and bottom of the pack, but I wonder if, in a serious downpour, the rain will make its way down my back and into the uncovered part of the pack that lies against my back. Because of how our particular packs are built, with that epic mesh suspension system, I sort of doubt it. The actual pack doesn't touch my back, just the wide mesh that makes carrying it so much more comfortable. It shouldn't actually touch a pack wall, therefore keeping all my gear dry. Just to be safe though, I will bring a trash bag liner for the inside of the pack as well. Just in case. The last thing I want on a 15 day trip is a wet sleeping bag or something.
Nicholas, whose camera has panoramic capabilities, took this sweet picture:
Now, back to those blisters...
After we returned from the mountains, I finally took off my boots and socks and assessed the damage. The apocalypse band-aids stayed on - yay for small victories! So I was like... why do my heels still hurt? I took the band-aids off and saw that I still got blisters under the bandaids. Not the kind that rub your skin clean off, like last time, but the slightly bubbled kind of blister. I've never seen that happen before. At that point, I declared war on my new boots. It is on. Next time, I'm wearing apocalypse band-aids and silk sock liners, I'm lacing my boots differently to eliminate heel movement based on this video, and will also put Vaseline over the top of my band-aids so any slippage that does occur does not pull so brutally on the band-aid, and thus my heel. There are many ways to tie your boots to reduce slippage, but my boots are only mid-height, not whatever the word is for "really tall" boots, so I only have two hooks instead of three. This seems like a more realistic approach for my boot type. If it doesn't work, I'll try something else!
Think all those blister prevention techniques will work? We'll find out about a week from today, when Nicholas and I go on our final, and longest, shake-down trip on the Lost Creek Loop! We plan to spend three days on about 35 miles of trail in the Lost Creek Wilderness. I have read and heard from several sources that this loop should be pretty snow-free at this time, as it lies at a much lower altitude, so fingers crossed that's true, and we complete our first backpacking loop together! After we return from Lost Creek, we will only be home for a week and two days before we set out on our Collegiate Peaks Loop!!
Nicholas learned on the Little Matterhorn Loop/Day Hike from Hell that his boots were in no way waterproof or fit to be used in snow. His feet were sloshing around so badly, and although it didn't give him blisters, putting them back on the next day would have been miserable. Our Collegiate Peaks hike is sure to present snow on the Western side, so new boots had gone on the list with new trekking poles for him. We had since accomplished both missions, so it was time to check them out. Nicholas ended up liking the same pair of boots I had recently bought - Oboz Sawtooth Mid-height boot.
I preferred these over the Merrell's I had been wearing because the arch support is so much better for me, but you heard my blister horror story from them last time. On this hike, I was using several methods of blister prevention that I hoped would work, but I wanted to make sure on a shorter hike so I wasn't stuck with my mistakes for a long hike (again). I warned Nicholas about the heel blisters with this particular boot, and that maybe he should wear bandaids just in case, but of course everyone's feet are different and respond to the same boot differently, and he needed to see where he would get them before using any prevention methods.
He got a nasty blister on his heel.
As for the blister prevention I used on this hike, I used super tough band-aids (the kind that won't come off for DAYS even if you wanted them to, and when you eventually peel them off they take a little bit of your soul with them), coupled with silk sock liners under my thick SmartWool socks. I dared those band-aids to rub off this time!
Well, about halfway up Deer Mountain, I start feeling the familiar sting of the hotspots starting on my heels. Are you kidding me?! What else do you want from me! But, it did not feel near as intense as last time, so I didn't even check them. Also, funny story, given that we had our entire lives on our backs for this day hike, I had failed to bring the two items we could have actually used: the ibuprofen and more bandaids. Derp.
We got up to the top, where we were swarmed with chipmunks and little mountain squirrels. They were certainly not shy, and one was crawling all over Nicholas.
As we were about to leave the summit, we heard the thunder, and dark clouds were rolling in behind us. Normally, I get a little bummed when rain rolls in on a hike, because I'm not as big a fan of rain as Nicholas (or most people) are. Probably three times a week in random places, I hear "Oh I love the rain." Yeah, I don't love the rain. Never have.
But, since we were on a low mountain and were leaving the summit, we weren't really in danger of lightning strikes, so this was a good time to embrace the rain and test our rain gear out for the first time!
We put on our rain jackets and pack covers, and the sprinkle commenced.
Side note: We are aware that we look like we tried way too hard to match, but we actually tried NOT to match - our jackets are different brands and were both on clearance, they just look the exact same. We were actually across the store from one another when we picked them out separately on the same day. The pack covers are the same brands as our packs, which also accidentally match. Add this to our accidentally matching boots, and we just look spectacularly derptastic. But we love our gear and it works, so whatever!
Though it wasn't a torrential downpour, which we expect to see on the Collegiate Peaks multiple times, the rain gear did work well! I wish my hood had a little bill to keep it from falling in my eyes, but it's nothing I can't live with. Mine is a Kuhl jacket, and Nicholas has the REI rain jacket. Both are very lightweight, and mine felt very breathable! The number one complaint I've heard from other hikers about rain gear is that it's almost not worth it to wear it because you sweat so much underneath it that you might as well just get wet from rain. That was not my experience - I stayed completely dry and happy! I also love that my jacket comes down to my thighs instead of ending at the waist. It doesn't get all bunched up under the pack when I move around or bend over, protects more of my body, and just looks much more flattering 😋.
The pack covers also seem to do their jobs well, but I do have very slight reservations about that somewhat unprotected place between back and pack. The pack cover cinches down over the top and bottom of the pack, but I wonder if, in a serious downpour, the rain will make its way down my back and into the uncovered part of the pack that lies against my back. Because of how our particular packs are built, with that epic mesh suspension system, I sort of doubt it. The actual pack doesn't touch my back, just the wide mesh that makes carrying it so much more comfortable. It shouldn't actually touch a pack wall, therefore keeping all my gear dry. Just to be safe though, I will bring a trash bag liner for the inside of the pack as well. Just in case. The last thing I want on a 15 day trip is a wet sleeping bag or something.
Nicholas, whose camera has panoramic capabilities, took this sweet picture:
Now, back to those blisters...
After we returned from the mountains, I finally took off my boots and socks and assessed the damage. The apocalypse band-aids stayed on - yay for small victories! So I was like... why do my heels still hurt? I took the band-aids off and saw that I still got blisters under the bandaids. Not the kind that rub your skin clean off, like last time, but the slightly bubbled kind of blister. I've never seen that happen before. At that point, I declared war on my new boots. It is on. Next time, I'm wearing apocalypse band-aids and silk sock liners, I'm lacing my boots differently to eliminate heel movement based on this video, and will also put Vaseline over the top of my band-aids so any slippage that does occur does not pull so brutally on the band-aid, and thus my heel. There are many ways to tie your boots to reduce slippage, but my boots are only mid-height, not whatever the word is for "really tall" boots, so I only have two hooks instead of three. This seems like a more realistic approach for my boot type. If it doesn't work, I'll try something else!
Think all those blister prevention techniques will work? We'll find out about a week from today, when Nicholas and I go on our final, and longest, shake-down trip on the Lost Creek Loop! We plan to spend three days on about 35 miles of trail in the Lost Creek Wilderness. I have read and heard from several sources that this loop should be pretty snow-free at this time, as it lies at a much lower altitude, so fingers crossed that's true, and we complete our first backpacking loop together! After we return from Lost Creek, we will only be home for a week and two days before we set out on our Collegiate Peaks Loop!!
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Little Matterhorn Loop
Currently, Nicholas and I are gearing up for a relatively long backpacking trip - the 160 mile Collegiate Peaks Loop, which covers the Collegiate East and Collegiate West sides of the Colorado Trail. Our original plan this summer was to spend three weeks hiking the 220 mile John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevadas, but 2017 decided to be the year for record breaking snowfall in the High Sierra. Given that most of the passes on the John Muir Trail will be very dangerous without mountaineering gear, coupled with impassable rivers, resupply points being closed, and the road to our trail head still being closed, we decided to postpone our John Muir trek to a time when we can really enjoy it.
That being said, the Collegiate Peaks Loop was already on our list for a future summer, so we decided to bump that up to this summer! Those dates are set for June 26 - July 10.
But before taking off on our first long hike, we needed some shake-down trips. We had been acquiring the gear since December, and it was finally time to test it out. On the evening of Sunday, May 14, Nicholas and I headed out to Estes Park, looking to camp that night and begin the 16 mile Little Matterhorn Loop in Rocky Mountain National Park early the next morning.
The plan was to camp in Estes Park on Sunday night, hike from Cub Lake Trailhead to our Upper Mills Creek campsite on Monday, and finish out the hike on Tuesday. Spoiler alert: The mountains just weren't having it on that trip. We did not end up completing that loop, but we did learn a lot, and we did get to see the most beautiful waterfall!
Back to Sunday night...
After much ado, and many more campers than I expected for a Sunday night, Nicholas and I found a campsite in Estes Park that miraculously was not taken, and set up our camp for the first time. This is the first time our new backpacking tent (REI Quarter Dome 2) had seen dirt.
Nicholas and I had already delegated camp chores for this trip, and all trips we will take together (including Collegiate Peaks). Nicholas is completely in charge of the menu and all food-related things, including planning, testing, cooking, and washing dishes. I do get veto power on meal choices, but have only had to use them once or twice 😜. In turn, I am in charge of any and all logistical planning, and setting up camp. So, I find and plan the routes, plan parking, campsites, resupplies, daily mileage, etc (Nick gets veto power on these decisions as well, but has yet to use it), and when we reach camp, I pitch the tent, inflate the sleeping pads and pillows, lay out the sleeping bags, all that good stuff. For this reason, Nicholas carries the "kitchen" (stove, fuel, pot, bowls/cups, cutlery) in his pack, and I carry the tent. We both carry our own sleeping gear other than the tent, and bear canisters with food and our personal toiletries - anything smelly a bear would be interested in - though Nicholas has the large canister and I have the small one.
So, we get to our campsite on Sunday night. I pitched the tent in probably the least efficient way possible, but it still came together in about five minutes. I also realized I had never put the rainfly on, so that was a learning curve. I know it will get much faster as I do it more. The sleeping pads and pillows were easy enough, but I can see how they might make a person dizzy trying to inflate them at high altitude. Note to self - take a break between each sleeping pad and avoid passing out. Here it is all together!
Nick made black beans and rice for dinner on our adorable little camp stove, and he did a bang up job! He even brought the stuff to make us Old Fashioned's with Maker's Mark. While cleaning up the dinner mess, he blew my mind with his "flashlight on the water jug" trick, making a lantern that cast a soft light over the whole area. 10/10 impressed.
We made a toast to the adventures that lie ahead with our little plastic camping cups of Old Fashioned's by our campfire, and went to bed early.
The first thing we learned about the sleeping pads and pillows is that they are far more comfortable if not inflated 100%. This allows them to move and mold more to your body. I also learned that two side-sleepers in a two-person tent results in the lighter party waking up with their face in the tent mesh.
The next morning, it was a little below freezing temperatures. I had been a little chilly off and on throughout the night, but nothing unbearable in my 30 degree REI Joule sleeping bag (20 degree lower limit). Sleeping in my comfy Patagonia thermals certainly helped. I did learn that it is very smart to have my down jacket in the tent with me for when the warmth of my sleeping bag is much stronger than my will to get out of the tent. Nicholas was smarter than me on that front, and he was already bustling around camp making tea while I sat shivering, so he was kind enough to bring me my jacket.
The hot tea helped warm me up, and I commenced breaking camp while Nick cooked breakfast. The tent was really wet from condensation and dew, and I wasn't sure what to do about it. I dried it off as best I could before rolling it all up into its bag. The good news is, this tent packs up super easily, as long as I use half a brain cell. The sleeping pads are a bit more particular about how they like to be packed up, and that will take some getting used to. The valve end has to be the last thing to roll up, and it needs to be facing outward so the air can continue to escape as I compress it. Keeping it folded multiple times as I roll it up is the tricky part. Many times, I ended up with what resembled a botched attempt to re-roll the toilet paper after the cat has gotten to it... and that doesn't fit into a pack very nicely.
Finally, we were ready to go. We picked up our backcountry permits and hit the trail from Cub Lake Trailhead. The ranger at the Wilderness Office said, and I quote, "You might run into a little bit of snow," but said that it shouldn't be much of a problem. We did run into little patches of snow on the way up to the highest point of the hike, but by the time we hit Fern Lake, it was straight up snow-covered. I was testing out new boots on this hike, fully aware I would be fighting blisters, but not prepared for the fact that they would already be painfully out of control in the first couple of hours. I kept stopping to apply bandages, then duct tape, then MORE bandages and duct tape, but they all rubbed off. My socks were soaked with nasty blister pus and blood, and that was even before the whole trip went downhill.
Past Fern Lake, the snow got much deeper and became treacherous. You know those trails that are cut into the side of a mountain? They're really pretty and neat in the summer time, but when the whole slope is covered in snow, that cut out trail completely disappears, and you're just kicking footsteps into the side of the mountain and trying not to fall. I did fall, several times. The first time, I slid about four feet before hitting a tree and catching myself, and was able to scramble back up to the trail. I turned around, wondering where Nicholas was - turns out he had fallen at the same time behind me.
The snow was a complete disaster. It was exhausting and scary, and before long my leg muscles were shaking with the extreme effort of keeping balance and testing every step. Nicholas and I are pretty accustomed to winter hiking in Rocky, with spikes and snowshoes on frozen snow, but that is an actual cake walk compared to spring hiking on melting snow. As we neared Odessa Lake, the location of the trail was anyone's guess. At this point, tracks were going several different ways, and we wandered around for several hours (and extra miles) trying to figure it out. I was under the impression that we needed to get down to Odessa Lake to find the trail out towards Mills Creek. Since we could not for the life of us figure out how to get down there, we both tried to go down a certain steep section of the trail, and we both fell pretty hard. I scraped up my arm and hand, but we were otherwise fine.
We took a break at Odessa Lake and tried to find the trail that would take us out and away from the lake. There was one set of footprints leading away from Odessa, so we followed them. The post-holing here was REAL, and every step was utterly exhausting. At one point, a deep pop sounded from underneath us, and there was a rush of cold air coming from the ground. We had been hiking along a river that was covered over with ice and snow, and it had just cracked. From then on, we avoided the river big time.
We followed those footprints up a steep ridge, which I was only able to climb using Nicholas' footprints as stairs, and came face to face with a horrifying realization. We were not supposed to be in this valley. This was not the way out, and there was no way out behind us. The footsteps we had been following looped all around, and eventually disappeared over the top of an impossible ridge before us. I have no idea who made those prints or how, but apparently they are capable of walking on vertical snow. Looking at the map and our surroundings, we recognized that we were at Grace Falls, and our trail was supposed to turn away from Grace Falls behind us... up on the ridge we had so gracefully fallen down. There was no way forward, and clearly no way we were getting back up the way we had come. To make matters worse, the weather chose that moment to turn sour, becoming very threatening in a matter of minutes.
With no other options, we made the decision to backtrack the last mile back to Odessa Lake in hopes of finding a better way out of the valley. I did not have a warm fuzzy feeling about all this, with the sky growing darker every second.
Halfway back to the lake, we heard a loud crack that made us both jump. Thinking it was thunder, I spun to look at Nicholas, but he was staring at the peak ahead of us. An avalanche had started down the mountain, straight toward the valley we were standing in. Luckily (I'm looking at you, mountain spirits), it did not pick up speed and stayed contained on the mountain top. Nicholas' exact words, as calm as could be, were, "All right, well, let's get out of here, shall we?"
And get out of there, we did. We made it back around the lake, and found the place we had originally fallen down into the valley. We searched for a good while for a better place to climb back up to where we knew the trail was. I found a place that didn't seem too steep, and said I thought we could make it up. Nicholas went first, making giant stairs in the snow as he had done before. It was a tough task to follow, as I have much shorter legs. I clung to the dense trees for support and leverage to help pull my body up. We both breathed a huge sigh of relief as we found that the trail was exactly where we thought it was, and we recognized our own boot prints.
Once out of the valley, we had two options: try to find the trail forward and press on to our planned campsite, or backtrack to the trailhead and call the whole thing. According to our map, we were equidistant from both options, and it was getting to be late in the afternoon. We decided to try pressing on. We found where our path went wrong hours earlier, and found the faint but correct route around the ridge over Odessa.
Unfortunately, the snow here was even worse. It completely obscured the trail, and the fall would be nasty should a slip occur. The snow was holding firm for the most part, until all of a sudden it wasn't anymore. I postholed to my hips and lost balance, only catching myself from falling by jerking my pack weight to the high side of the trail, causing my torso to lean away from the drop-off side. I had no leverage to help myself out, and no guarantee that I could put weight on any of the snow around me, as it might be just as rotten.
Somehow, Nicholas found good footing behind me, and after about ten terrifying minutes was able to help extricate my lower body from the snow via my pack straps. Admittedly shaken up, we very gingerly turned around on the trail and threw up deuces to this trip.
We backtracked away from Odessa and back towards Fern Lake starting at about 5:00pm. I knew the sun would set a little after 8:00, so the question was: Could we get back through the snow we came through earlier and make it back down the trail that had taken us about eight hours to hike, in three hours? We were going to find out.
The snowy part remained slow going. Footing was still treacherous, and after my little incident, I felt nervous about every step. Nicholas slipped along the trail back, and caught himself with his trekking pole - so hard, in fact, the the pole bent almost in half. He bent it back, but after catching himself with it a second time, it was obvious that the aluminum was compromised. New trekking poles went on the REI shopping list for Nicholas. But we did eventually make it out of the major snowy part and past Fern Lake, and after that the pace picked up considerable.
I hadn't even had time to think about my blisters for the past several hours, so concerned I had been for our lives. But now that I was out of the snow, the pain in all parts of my body, from blisters, to leg muscle exhaustion, to shoulder pain from my pack apparently being adjusted weird, came flooding into my consciousness. We plodded down the mountain about four times faster than we had climbed it, doing our best to reach the trailhead by dark. We didn't beat the sunset, but we did beat total darkness, which was a victory to us.
That night, we stayed in the Rodeway Inn in Estes Park and ordered pizza from Dominoes, camping plans be damned. As we sat in the hotel hot tub in what was basically our underwear, we figured that we had hiked a solid 17 miles out and back to the Lake from Hell, with all the looping around and backtracking we had to do.
Things I learned:
1. Snow sucks
2. Blister prevention is a thing I need to take VERY seriously
3. Make sure everything is out of the tent before you pack it up (my glasses spent the whole day packed away in the tent bag because I'm a genius)
4. Don't inflate the sleeping pads and pillows all the way
5. Leave your jacket in the tent for the cold mornings
6. Nicholas learned not to leave your socks on top of the tent overnight...
7. It's better to make smart choices and not finish a trail, than to push forward when it's unsafe. Know your limits.
That being said, the Collegiate Peaks Loop was already on our list for a future summer, so we decided to bump that up to this summer! Those dates are set for June 26 - July 10.
But before taking off on our first long hike, we needed some shake-down trips. We had been acquiring the gear since December, and it was finally time to test it out. On the evening of Sunday, May 14, Nicholas and I headed out to Estes Park, looking to camp that night and begin the 16 mile Little Matterhorn Loop in Rocky Mountain National Park early the next morning.
The plan was to camp in Estes Park on Sunday night, hike from Cub Lake Trailhead to our Upper Mills Creek campsite on Monday, and finish out the hike on Tuesday. Spoiler alert: The mountains just weren't having it on that trip. We did not end up completing that loop, but we did learn a lot, and we did get to see the most beautiful waterfall!
Back to Sunday night...
After much ado, and many more campers than I expected for a Sunday night, Nicholas and I found a campsite in Estes Park that miraculously was not taken, and set up our camp for the first time. This is the first time our new backpacking tent (REI Quarter Dome 2) had seen dirt.
Nicholas and I had already delegated camp chores for this trip, and all trips we will take together (including Collegiate Peaks). Nicholas is completely in charge of the menu and all food-related things, including planning, testing, cooking, and washing dishes. I do get veto power on meal choices, but have only had to use them once or twice 😜. In turn, I am in charge of any and all logistical planning, and setting up camp. So, I find and plan the routes, plan parking, campsites, resupplies, daily mileage, etc (Nick gets veto power on these decisions as well, but has yet to use it), and when we reach camp, I pitch the tent, inflate the sleeping pads and pillows, lay out the sleeping bags, all that good stuff. For this reason, Nicholas carries the "kitchen" (stove, fuel, pot, bowls/cups, cutlery) in his pack, and I carry the tent. We both carry our own sleeping gear other than the tent, and bear canisters with food and our personal toiletries - anything smelly a bear would be interested in - though Nicholas has the large canister and I have the small one.
So, we get to our campsite on Sunday night. I pitched the tent in probably the least efficient way possible, but it still came together in about five minutes. I also realized I had never put the rainfly on, so that was a learning curve. I know it will get much faster as I do it more. The sleeping pads and pillows were easy enough, but I can see how they might make a person dizzy trying to inflate them at high altitude. Note to self - take a break between each sleeping pad and avoid passing out. Here it is all together!
Nick made black beans and rice for dinner on our adorable little camp stove, and he did a bang up job! He even brought the stuff to make us Old Fashioned's with Maker's Mark. While cleaning up the dinner mess, he blew my mind with his "flashlight on the water jug" trick, making a lantern that cast a soft light over the whole area. 10/10 impressed.
We made a toast to the adventures that lie ahead with our little plastic camping cups of Old Fashioned's by our campfire, and went to bed early.
The first thing we learned about the sleeping pads and pillows is that they are far more comfortable if not inflated 100%. This allows them to move and mold more to your body. I also learned that two side-sleepers in a two-person tent results in the lighter party waking up with their face in the tent mesh.
The next morning, it was a little below freezing temperatures. I had been a little chilly off and on throughout the night, but nothing unbearable in my 30 degree REI Joule sleeping bag (20 degree lower limit). Sleeping in my comfy Patagonia thermals certainly helped. I did learn that it is very smart to have my down jacket in the tent with me for when the warmth of my sleeping bag is much stronger than my will to get out of the tent. Nicholas was smarter than me on that front, and he was already bustling around camp making tea while I sat shivering, so he was kind enough to bring me my jacket.
The hot tea helped warm me up, and I commenced breaking camp while Nick cooked breakfast. The tent was really wet from condensation and dew, and I wasn't sure what to do about it. I dried it off as best I could before rolling it all up into its bag. The good news is, this tent packs up super easily, as long as I use half a brain cell. The sleeping pads are a bit more particular about how they like to be packed up, and that will take some getting used to. The valve end has to be the last thing to roll up, and it needs to be facing outward so the air can continue to escape as I compress it. Keeping it folded multiple times as I roll it up is the tricky part. Many times, I ended up with what resembled a botched attempt to re-roll the toilet paper after the cat has gotten to it... and that doesn't fit into a pack very nicely.
Finally, we were ready to go. We picked up our backcountry permits and hit the trail from Cub Lake Trailhead. The ranger at the Wilderness Office said, and I quote, "You might run into a little bit of snow," but said that it shouldn't be much of a problem. We did run into little patches of snow on the way up to the highest point of the hike, but by the time we hit Fern Lake, it was straight up snow-covered. I was testing out new boots on this hike, fully aware I would be fighting blisters, but not prepared for the fact that they would already be painfully out of control in the first couple of hours. I kept stopping to apply bandages, then duct tape, then MORE bandages and duct tape, but they all rubbed off. My socks were soaked with nasty blister pus and blood, and that was even before the whole trip went downhill.
Past Fern Lake, the snow got much deeper and became treacherous. You know those trails that are cut into the side of a mountain? They're really pretty and neat in the summer time, but when the whole slope is covered in snow, that cut out trail completely disappears, and you're just kicking footsteps into the side of the mountain and trying not to fall. I did fall, several times. The first time, I slid about four feet before hitting a tree and catching myself, and was able to scramble back up to the trail. I turned around, wondering where Nicholas was - turns out he had fallen at the same time behind me.
The snow was a complete disaster. It was exhausting and scary, and before long my leg muscles were shaking with the extreme effort of keeping balance and testing every step. Nicholas and I are pretty accustomed to winter hiking in Rocky, with spikes and snowshoes on frozen snow, but that is an actual cake walk compared to spring hiking on melting snow. As we neared Odessa Lake, the location of the trail was anyone's guess. At this point, tracks were going several different ways, and we wandered around for several hours (and extra miles) trying to figure it out. I was under the impression that we needed to get down to Odessa Lake to find the trail out towards Mills Creek. Since we could not for the life of us figure out how to get down there, we both tried to go down a certain steep section of the trail, and we both fell pretty hard. I scraped up my arm and hand, but we were otherwise fine.
We took a break at Odessa Lake and tried to find the trail that would take us out and away from the lake. There was one set of footprints leading away from Odessa, so we followed them. The post-holing here was REAL, and every step was utterly exhausting. At one point, a deep pop sounded from underneath us, and there was a rush of cold air coming from the ground. We had been hiking along a river that was covered over with ice and snow, and it had just cracked. From then on, we avoided the river big time.
We followed those footprints up a steep ridge, which I was only able to climb using Nicholas' footprints as stairs, and came face to face with a horrifying realization. We were not supposed to be in this valley. This was not the way out, and there was no way out behind us. The footsteps we had been following looped all around, and eventually disappeared over the top of an impossible ridge before us. I have no idea who made those prints or how, but apparently they are capable of walking on vertical snow. Looking at the map and our surroundings, we recognized that we were at Grace Falls, and our trail was supposed to turn away from Grace Falls behind us... up on the ridge we had so gracefully fallen down. There was no way forward, and clearly no way we were getting back up the way we had come. To make matters worse, the weather chose that moment to turn sour, becoming very threatening in a matter of minutes.
With no other options, we made the decision to backtrack the last mile back to Odessa Lake in hopes of finding a better way out of the valley. I did not have a warm fuzzy feeling about all this, with the sky growing darker every second.
Halfway back to the lake, we heard a loud crack that made us both jump. Thinking it was thunder, I spun to look at Nicholas, but he was staring at the peak ahead of us. An avalanche had started down the mountain, straight toward the valley we were standing in. Luckily (I'm looking at you, mountain spirits), it did not pick up speed and stayed contained on the mountain top. Nicholas' exact words, as calm as could be, were, "All right, well, let's get out of here, shall we?"
And get out of there, we did. We made it back around the lake, and found the place we had originally fallen down into the valley. We searched for a good while for a better place to climb back up to where we knew the trail was. I found a place that didn't seem too steep, and said I thought we could make it up. Nicholas went first, making giant stairs in the snow as he had done before. It was a tough task to follow, as I have much shorter legs. I clung to the dense trees for support and leverage to help pull my body up. We both breathed a huge sigh of relief as we found that the trail was exactly where we thought it was, and we recognized our own boot prints.
Once out of the valley, we had two options: try to find the trail forward and press on to our planned campsite, or backtrack to the trailhead and call the whole thing. According to our map, we were equidistant from both options, and it was getting to be late in the afternoon. We decided to try pressing on. We found where our path went wrong hours earlier, and found the faint but correct route around the ridge over Odessa.
Unfortunately, the snow here was even worse. It completely obscured the trail, and the fall would be nasty should a slip occur. The snow was holding firm for the most part, until all of a sudden it wasn't anymore. I postholed to my hips and lost balance, only catching myself from falling by jerking my pack weight to the high side of the trail, causing my torso to lean away from the drop-off side. I had no leverage to help myself out, and no guarantee that I could put weight on any of the snow around me, as it might be just as rotten.
Somehow, Nicholas found good footing behind me, and after about ten terrifying minutes was able to help extricate my lower body from the snow via my pack straps. Admittedly shaken up, we very gingerly turned around on the trail and threw up deuces to this trip.
We backtracked away from Odessa and back towards Fern Lake starting at about 5:00pm. I knew the sun would set a little after 8:00, so the question was: Could we get back through the snow we came through earlier and make it back down the trail that had taken us about eight hours to hike, in three hours? We were going to find out.
The snowy part remained slow going. Footing was still treacherous, and after my little incident, I felt nervous about every step. Nicholas slipped along the trail back, and caught himself with his trekking pole - so hard, in fact, the the pole bent almost in half. He bent it back, but after catching himself with it a second time, it was obvious that the aluminum was compromised. New trekking poles went on the REI shopping list for Nicholas. But we did eventually make it out of the major snowy part and past Fern Lake, and after that the pace picked up considerable.
I hadn't even had time to think about my blisters for the past several hours, so concerned I had been for our lives. But now that I was out of the snow, the pain in all parts of my body, from blisters, to leg muscle exhaustion, to shoulder pain from my pack apparently being adjusted weird, came flooding into my consciousness. We plodded down the mountain about four times faster than we had climbed it, doing our best to reach the trailhead by dark. We didn't beat the sunset, but we did beat total darkness, which was a victory to us.
That night, we stayed in the Rodeway Inn in Estes Park and ordered pizza from Dominoes, camping plans be damned. As we sat in the hotel hot tub in what was basically our underwear, we figured that we had hiked a solid 17 miles out and back to the Lake from Hell, with all the looping around and backtracking we had to do.
Things I learned:
1. Snow sucks
2. Blister prevention is a thing I need to take VERY seriously
3. Make sure everything is out of the tent before you pack it up (my glasses spent the whole day packed away in the tent bag because I'm a genius)
4. Don't inflate the sleeping pads and pillows all the way
5. Leave your jacket in the tent for the cold mornings
6. Nicholas learned not to leave your socks on top of the tent overnight...
7. It's better to make smart choices and not finish a trail, than to push forward when it's unsafe. Know your limits.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Four Pass Loop
As promised in my "Welcome" blog post, I thought it would be beneficial, and also probably pretty hilarious, to include a post here on my first attempt at a backpacking trip. I did some Google searches, and found a hike that fit in the time frame I had available, and seemed really beautiful. This hike was the popular 26.6 mile Four Pass Loop in Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness near Aspen, CO.
Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing, or what I should expect. All I knew was that after a year of wishing and dreaming, I wanted to get out there and just do it. My gear list was a bit lacking, to say the least. I did not have, nor could I afford at the time, a tent or a sleeping bag. I had in my possession my pack, my hammock, shoes, a bear canister I bought for the trip, a stove and fuel, a heavy, space-hogging pot, and some Mountain House meals I picked up from REI.
I borrowed a very heavy sleeping bag that was in no way meant for backpacking. I mean, it wouldn't even compress down. I had to roll it up and tie both ends, and shove it under the top flap of my pack in order to secure it. This alone made the pack incredibly top heavy. As for the lack of tent situation, I didn't see any harm in hammock camping for a few nights. This was July, after all, so there shouldn't be a problem, right? I did, however, realize that I was hosed if it should rain. Since those hammock tarps cost more than I could spend at that time, I went to Wal-Mart and picked up one of those huge gray tarps and some rope. I figured I could finagel a tarp shelter if need be, but honestly had no idea how to make it work should the need actually arise. But I felt better having it - all several pounds of it.
On the morning of July 4, 2016, I hit the trail just excited as could be (notice that colossal blue sleeping bag tucked under the top of the pack).
I had brought enough food for a stove-cooked meal each night, but on my first night I'd ever spent in the mountains, I was far too exhausted to even think about it. I ate a piece of beef jerky, put my bear canister 100 yards away from my hammock, got in my sleeping bag, and passed out.
I wish I could say it was a restful night, given how tired I was, but I awoke about every half hour because I was freezing cold. Also, fun fact, my ridiculous sleeping bag was constantly falling out of the hammock, threatening to take me with it. I woke up several times hanging halfway out of the hammock. My main problem, however, was my face and feet. My face was exposed, and my feet were higher than the rest of my body, so both were constantly cold. I finally curled up in a tight ball, pulled the sleeping bag over my head, and slept pretty soundly for the last couple hours.
The next morning, I was relieved to find that I had not been eaten by a bear, and neither had my food. I was sore, but I was in high spirits. If I could make it through yesterday, I could do anything! The sky was clear, and the mountains looming over me as I emerged from the wooded camping area were absolutely gorgeous. I knew today posed some tough challenges. My little trail guide thing (which I apparently failed to read all the way through on day 1 - a mistake I would not make again) told me I would be climbing 1,000 ft in one mile. I really didn't know what that meant, having no point of reference, but I found out real quick. It translates loosely to "really effing steep." But still, nothing I couldn't handle. I just took it slow. I learned that tiny little steps at a snail's pace was better than charging forward at normal speed and then stopping to rest for an equal amount of time. I passed a lot of hikers with my embarrassingly tiny footstep method that day.
Eventually, I started to get out of the valley into more exposed terrain, and WOW those views were amazing. Honestly, the part between climbing 1,000 ft in one mile and Trail Rider Pass is tied with Buckskin Pass (the next day) for my favorite part of the trip. This was my view from the top of Trail Rider Pass (first), and my view looking over into the next valley down to Snowmass Lake, where I planned to camp my second night (second):
Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing, or what I should expect. All I knew was that after a year of wishing and dreaming, I wanted to get out there and just do it. My gear list was a bit lacking, to say the least. I did not have, nor could I afford at the time, a tent or a sleeping bag. I had in my possession my pack, my hammock, shoes, a bear canister I bought for the trip, a stove and fuel, a heavy, space-hogging pot, and some Mountain House meals I picked up from REI.
I borrowed a very heavy sleeping bag that was in no way meant for backpacking. I mean, it wouldn't even compress down. I had to roll it up and tie both ends, and shove it under the top flap of my pack in order to secure it. This alone made the pack incredibly top heavy. As for the lack of tent situation, I didn't see any harm in hammock camping for a few nights. This was July, after all, so there shouldn't be a problem, right? I did, however, realize that I was hosed if it should rain. Since those hammock tarps cost more than I could spend at that time, I went to Wal-Mart and picked up one of those huge gray tarps and some rope. I figured I could finagel a tarp shelter if need be, but honestly had no idea how to make it work should the need actually arise. But I felt better having it - all several pounds of it.
On the morning of July 4, 2016, I hit the trail just excited as could be (notice that colossal blue sleeping bag tucked under the top of the pack).
I knew I was gunning for West Maroon Pass - the first big pass of the Four Pass Loop. Why the idea of FOUR passes on a THREE day trip didn't dawn on me sooner, I'll never know. But West Maroon Pass was a real struggle. It was muddy, slippery, steep, and scary. A little snowfield covered the path, so I had to find my own way up. I likely did not choose the best route, but I got there. Below is a photo of the valley I climbed through to reach West Maroon Pass.
By the time I got to the top of the pass and started descending, it was about 5:30pm. I saw trees and a trail in the valley below, and had every intention and heading down that way to camp for the night.
But, the trail had other ideas. I realized at 6:00pm that my path was not heading that way. It had taken a turn to the right, and was heading for the next pass, Frigid Air Pass. I had a moment. I looked at my watch, looked at the sun's position in the sky, looked at the ridge, looked at those trees below me.... I took a deep breath, and decided the only way to do this was to keep pushing. I thought, if I could just get over that ridge before dark, I'd be okay.
Well, I did get over the pass by dark. I even made it back down the ridge, which is a miracle. I was basically walk-running (what Nicholas and I refer to as "squaddling") to the shelter of the trees below Frigid Air Pass as the sky grew darker. The mountain spirits were looking out for me that night, because just as I reached the tree line at about 9:00pm, I spotted the most perfect hammock campsite you've ever seen, with a babbling brook just out of sight for an easy water source. I hung my hammock for the first time and threw my super heavy sleeping bag into it, and camp was pitched.
I wish I could say it was a restful night, given how tired I was, but I awoke about every half hour because I was freezing cold. Also, fun fact, my ridiculous sleeping bag was constantly falling out of the hammock, threatening to take me with it. I woke up several times hanging halfway out of the hammock. My main problem, however, was my face and feet. My face was exposed, and my feet were higher than the rest of my body, so both were constantly cold. I finally curled up in a tight ball, pulled the sleeping bag over my head, and slept pretty soundly for the last couple hours.
The next morning, I was relieved to find that I had not been eaten by a bear, and neither had my food. I was sore, but I was in high spirits. If I could make it through yesterday, I could do anything! The sky was clear, and the mountains looming over me as I emerged from the wooded camping area were absolutely gorgeous. I knew today posed some tough challenges. My little trail guide thing (which I apparently failed to read all the way through on day 1 - a mistake I would not make again) told me I would be climbing 1,000 ft in one mile. I really didn't know what that meant, having no point of reference, but I found out real quick. It translates loosely to "really effing steep." But still, nothing I couldn't handle. I just took it slow. I learned that tiny little steps at a snail's pace was better than charging forward at normal speed and then stopping to rest for an equal amount of time. I passed a lot of hikers with my embarrassingly tiny footstep method that day.
Eventually, I started to get out of the valley into more exposed terrain, and WOW those views were amazing. Honestly, the part between climbing 1,000 ft in one mile and Trail Rider Pass is tied with Buckskin Pass (the next day) for my favorite part of the trip. This was my view from the top of Trail Rider Pass (first), and my view looking over into the next valley down to Snowmass Lake, where I planned to camp my second night (second):
I knew for sure this time that there were no more passes for the day. As I said, I planned to get down to Snowmass Lake and camp there, and I had made relatively decent time getting up Trailrider Pass, for how epically steep it was. I figured I would be in camp in a matter of hours, and would actually get to relax, cook dinner, and read the book I'd brought, "The Call of the Wild" by Jack London.
The descent was pretty sketchy, with large expanses of snow covering the steep trail at several places. I could see where hikers before me had kicked footprints into the snow, but it was pretty clear that one slip from these established footprints meant a very hefty fall down a very vertical mountain face. At one point, I stopped and took stock of how many more snow patches there were, and weighed the pros and cons of sliding down one said snow patch on my butt. Sliding down won, and I rejoined the trail several switchbacks below.
At this point, I was mighty proud of myself. I was leading the whole group of hikers that had left our camping area from that morning, and I had every reason to believe I would just waltz into camp around 4:00pm, pick out the best campsite, and watch the other hikers roll in.
That is not what happened.
At about 3:30pm, I encountered an unexpected rockslide over the trail. This may not have been so bad, except for the fact that the far side of the rockslide, where the trail became clear again, was completely covered in snow. At this point in the afternoon, the snow was rotten and melting, and was by no means safe to cross, especially since unpredictable boulders lie beneath it, and stepping through the snow into a gaping hole between boulders would for sure mean a broken leg or worse.
As I stood assessing the situation, the rest of the hikers caught up to me. There were probably about eight or nine of us standing there like... "Well. Shit." But I felt better that I wasn't alone. Several of them started to scramble up the rockslide, and I had the pleasure of saying "That way is a dead end." Some turned around, and some didn't believe me, only to find out I was right and turn around later. Two hikers with weirdly specific gear for a July hike made it across the snow, but the majority of us were not about to try it. Instead, we tried to find a lower route, nearer to Snowmass Lake, where we knew we were eventually heading.
Remember how I said that my pack was intensely top heavy because of my sleeping bag? This is where that really came into play. Where the other hikers had no problem balancing themselves and their packs on this unchartered terrain, I had a real struggle of a time. I eventually got left behind by their little trail-finding expedition group, and was left to my own devices, and this is where things got hairy.
Essentially, the run off from the snow above us had resulted in a seasonal waterfall down this steep mountain side with no trail. I knew the trail was about 200 feet above me, and that it was unreachable. I either had to hike down to the lake, or fall with style. I did a weird combination of both. At one point, my pack was too much of a liability with the balance issue, so I ended up taking it off and either pushing it ahead of me or pulling it after me, while clinging to trees and other vegetation that could keep me from falling. For the most part, it was a relatively controlled mud-glissade, but some parts got pretty terrifyingly out of control. After a good final tumble, I ended up on the banks of Snowmass Lake, which (again, thank you, mountain spirits), had a faint trail leading all the way around it. I was able to follow this trail around to the campsite, which by this time was full. I have no idea what path those guys found, but it was clearly better than mine, and I got some "Hey, glad you made it's," as I rolled into camp about two and a half hours later than I had planned, scraped, bruised, and covered in mud. I'm sure I was quite a sight to behold.
My campsite that night was not near as glorious as the night before, given that it was slim pickin's by the time I arrived. I did, however, make the effort to cook dinner that night. I made ramen noodles with cheese and eggs that I brought, and it was probably the best thing I'd ever tasted. Didn't even touch my Mountain House meals because I wasn't familiar with them and just wanted something I knew I couldn't screw up. That night, I wore my thermals and my clean, dry socks, along with my jacket, and I slept much better!
Day three found me incredibly sore and stiff, with some hella blisters to boot. The blister patches I had brought were completely garbage, so I didn't even deal with it. I took three ibuprofen, got dressed, rolled up my gigantic sleeping bag, and got on the trail. Just one more pass left, Buckskin. Hopefully it wouldn't be a life-threatening one.
I was lucky to have completely clear, gorgeous skies for the third day in a row, and the trek up to Buckskin Pass was just as breath taking as Trail Rider had been (in the good and bad way). The cool thing about Buckskin Pass was that it was approached by a gentle saddle, which is literally the coolest quarter mile I have ever hiked in my life. I had never felt so on top of the world as I did standing on top of Buckskin Pass (pictures below):
The valley I climbed up to Buckskin Pass
The saddle leading to Buckskin Pass
The view of the other side of Buckskin Pass
With my last pass behind me, all that was left was a trek back to the bottom. Most of the snow was behind me too, thank goodness. I only had to go off-trail once on the descent, and was able to pick a safe path with rocks sticking out from the mountain side for footholds. It was a longer hike down to the bottom than I had imagined, but I finally made it. On the way out, the day hiker crowd was thick, and several people approached me (probably because of my painfully obvious pack) to ask about my backpacking experience. I hadn't processed the trip yet, myself, so I don't even remember what I said, but I remember that their responses were all like "Wow, that's so inspiring, we really want to do something like that someday!"
When I made it back to Maroon Lake, and the trail head I had started out on three days and two nights ago, a fellow Four Pass Loop hiker and I took turns taking pictures of one another.
When I got back to my car, I cried. I can't even tell you why, exactly, but I cried. It might sound corny, but I had just experienced the most intense hiking of my life, by far. The amount I learned about backpacking, camping, hiking, and myself on this trip was staggering to me. As I drove home, I was already scheming up another backpacking adventure, and couldn't wait to get back on the trail. Oh, and I never used that ~3lb tarp once. 😂
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