[Day 40] Low Route

I, again, woke up late and slowly. But, this morning, I had a “go” attitude. I was going to press on; there is no need to alternate around trail.

During my lathargic pack up, I decided to shoot a weather request to the almighty satellites above. It was a clear blue morning; there might be an afternoon thunderstorm, but it shouldn’t be concerning.

The ring of my Garmin InReach delivered my weather. Uh oh. The forecast was three days of clouds, thunder, and precipitation. That’s not an afternoon event; that’s a storm. I turn to look south down the v-shaped sights of the valley, and sure enough, dark clouds were rolling in at 8:30am. Time to get low, I thought. There’s no telling what this late spring storm might be like at 12,000 feet of exposed elevation. Usually, I’d say you are the best weatherman in the backcountry, unless your Garmin says days of storms are ahead.

The alternate plan was back on, and I started down Squaw Creek Trail. After about a mile of walking, a trail appeared from the snow at an elevation below 10,500 feet. Oh my. The trail was magnetic. My primal brain drew to it like a fly on manure. There must be a human instinct to follow paths. I was less aware to the bandwidth required to cut my own path and analyze the terrain of the mountains to make mileage as had been consuming my headspace over the past three days. My mind entered memory reallocation. It relieved the workload of processing heading and bearing, and instead freed space for formative thought.

I was back to my usual pace — three miles per hour. It felt good to move at this speed again. The clouds chased me down Squaw Creek as I headed for Thirty Mile Campground and Rio Grande Reservoir. Within nine miles of hiking, I was using the bathroom in an enclosed privy. It’s wild how unremote you are, even when you feel otherwise.

In the bathroom, my phone had just enough 3G signal to make a call to my mom. With her help, I evaluated my game plan. Originally, I thought my best move was to cut straight across the valley. This is where I remember a significant reduction in snow levels according to Postholer.com. My mom confirmed this, and I decided to continue with it. It bypasses about 40 miles of trail and difficult-to-access Silverton, and leaves me maybe a day or day and a half to Lake City.

I left the vault toilet with a plan, but the clouds were on my porch. I walked Forest Service Road 821 along Rio Grande Reservoir towards Lost Creek Trail. Along the way, two fisherman by the names of Steve and Tony (first humans I’ve in three days) pulled over and offered a Dr. Pepper and a couple Milky Way bars. I gratefully accepted. We briefly talked, and they mentioned that this weather system had been on their radar, that’s why they were out fishing today. How was I so oblivious to this in Pagosa Springs? They expected this would sock in the higher elevations and bring some snow.

After the soda and candy, I chugged along. Right at 2pm, as my Garmin had predicted, water began falling from the sky. And, it was a decent downpour. My pants and rain jacket wet out all too quickly. I hurried myself to the trailhead, and pulled over to wait out for a bit in the privy at the Lost Creek Campground. I waited for an hour, fiddling with maps on Gaia, sitting on the toilet. At the first sign of a break, I continued my walk. Fifteen minutes later, I was pulling on my poncho. I may have looked like a hunchback, but this poncho worked amazingly well, especially in an oncoming down pour. My sleeves were wet, but my backpack and top was dry. And, my pants were amazingly well protected. It rained on me for some four and a half hours today.

Lost Creek was pumping, and so were it’s tributaries. I had one slippery log crossing and two other knee high wades. Oh, and I can’t forget to mention the mud! The Rockies are a mountain range of dirt, and they get muddy with any amount of water. I sank below my shoes a couple of times, and nearly slipped on my butt more than a dozen times.

As I approached my last miles of the day, a break in the system appeared. I didn’t trust it. Heading up the valley towards the CDT, the clouds again chased me. Soon enough, I was socked in at 12,000 feet. Light snow fell infrequently as I finished off my last miles. On this drier side of the San Juan’s, there was about an inch of fresh snow on the ground and visibility was maybe 30 feet at times. It would not have been a safe situation trying to traverse the slopes of the more rigorous Weminuche San Juan’s with no visibility of the terrain or potential routes, and fresh snow on top of the already conplete snow coverage on the ground. I either likely would have traveled a mere eight miles or less on the day or had to hit the SOS button due to injury. A few days of such a storm would be risky. And, though I love the experience of the weather and the elements (it only makes for more memorable times), it would hurt to miss out on views of the San Juan’s grandeur.

Tonight, I’m camped by an old, dilapidated mining cabin. Snowflakes fall and patter the panels of my tent. I regret having to cut some of the dear San Juan mountains, but I will be back to collect those miles. They are well worth it. I guarantee.

Signing off,

Zeppelin