[Day 31] Chama

I was packed and walking by 6:30am. The early camp last night made an early rise pleasant, even with the solid frozen shoes and fully iced over tent.

The snow was hard on top, and I hiked it with maybe a couple centimeters of sink per step. There was the occasional posthole, but that’s to be expected when navigating atop the unknown earthen materials of the forest below the snow.

Before I knew it, I was at the state border. I wished the Land of Enchantment fair well, and marked my first footprints in the Centennial State. Based on snow tracks, I estimated myself to be the second hiker to the state border via the northbound trail corridor of the year — tack on a tolerance of plus two, minus zero hikers.

Miraculously, I made it to Colorado’s Cumbres Pass in less than seven miles. My maps estimated ten miles via trail. I guess the snow allows for some shortcutting when not navigating a predetermined path. The route finding of snow blanketed landscapes can be a joy like the 50°F blue-bird conditions of today. I zigzagged the rolling embankments of snow through trees, checking my heading occasionally to ensure target lock of my destination.

I reached Cumbres Pass to nonexistent westward traffic. I contacted the new outfitter in Chama, a kid by the name of Tumbleweed, who gave me a hitch into town.

We chatted a variety of subjects. He estimated I was the third person to the state border he was aware of. The first decided to get off trail, and the second was headed into the San Juan’s the day I had arrived. I trust his estimations; his shop, though new, is central in Chama, a town nearly every hiker needs a stop in. Tumbleweed reiterated the steepness of the terrain ahead, calling it “the sketchiest part of trail” of his 2022 hike.

Tumbleweed’s shop consists two campers and a sea train container on a weed-infested plot of land across the street from the post office. In half of the sea train, he and his accomplices run a small shop of hiker essentials and handmade micro-fleece mid layers. On the other side of the dividing cheetah curtain, Janis and Sweet Tooth were hand stitching together custom backpacks.

Janis, an athlete of well built physique, and I talked gear and gear design for a long while. Through our conversation, he mentioned he held the fastest known time for the 504-mile Washington state section of the PCT — 8 days, 18 hours, 35 minutes, 57 miles a day average. This journey has brought me to encounter some rare breeds, Janis and Legend being two examples.

I bought one of the mid layers and a backpacker meal off the upstart “Kennedy Meadows of the CDT.” Then, I headed to do resupply of candy and other carbohydrates from the Family Dollar in town. On my way back to the gear shop, a full hail storm broke out. I sheltered in the freight container with the gear shop people. Sweet Tooth meticulously cut fabric backpack panels on the floor beside me as Janis hemmed the edges of a nearly finished frameless pack.

The hail battered the metal box shelter for two hours, before it cut to a lighter rain storm. After another two hours of rain, I decided to play it safe and stay in town for the night. The week ahead should be relatively clear, excepting the typical afternoon thunderstorms of the Colorado mountains. I booked a room at the Cumbres Suites, grabbed two Subway sandwiches, and did my chores.

Signing off,

Zeppelin