CDT - Salida to Twin Lakes

Published on 2022-06-13 by Michael Stanton

To go back to days 53 and before, click here.

68.5 miles, 16363 feet elevation gain.

This entry includes lots of text verbatim from the blog entry for the section.

June 13, Day 54, 22.9 miles

First, a brief morning drama. In the night I had lost a sock. I realized that Shredder, who used the dryer around the time I did must have taken my sock out to his tent outside by accident. I didn't want to wake him if he was taking a zero day, but finally I had to go and do that. Sure enough, the sock was with him. Sock recovered! We laughed about this.

Pretty soon, 4 of us stood by the road on the outskirts of Salida. Me, Gargoyle, Leftovers and Mishap. Mishap had told us about a funny story hitchhiking along the Pacific Crest Trail in Washington State. Their group wasn't getting a ride, so Mishap, moved by a sudden inspiration, cocked her hips provocatively, and immediately a sports car pulled over. A man, apparently with good humor, let the whole party cram into his rather small car.

I found it interesting because it seemed clear that something like sex drive was the reason why he pulled over. And yet at the same time, the result was not in any way bad or disrespectful. He was probably unconscious of the fact that he really did pull over because of Mishaps hip movement. It was just that the group now had an air of attractiveness to it.

And now, here...well, in fact, at first we were three standing by the side of the road, as Mishap had been driven to town for an errand. The owner of the house brought her back and let her out to stand with us. Some several cars had already gone by. As she stood with us, a few more did too, ignoring our thumbs out. She said, "time to deploy the hip!"

Incredibly, she executed her patented hip motion, and RIGHT AWAY a big white van pulled over. It was hilarious.

We got in to meet a couple from Indiana, the wife was in fact a pastor in a small church. Seeming to contradict the hip theory, she said that she got a sudden inspiration to pick us up...they'd never picked up hitchhikers before. Hmm...did the hip work on her?

We were lucky for the big van. They had just finished visiting their adult daughters and that's why it was empty enough to take us and our packs. Anyway, they were so nice and we enjoyed a wonderful conversation.

This poster was in a little store at Monarch Pass. It would be very nice to have!

Mishap and Gargoyle inspecting a "geotagging" site.

We went into the store at the pass and bought some last minute things. Gargoyle is a "geotagger," and knew of a secret location a little bit above the pass along the trail where a small box could be found with names and small plastic toys inside. He and Mishap investigated that, while Leftovers and I wandered on. We followed trail and bits of road in a ski area, then reached that high grass and snowbank country along which the way unrolls. It was windy, but not too much. We sat for a while in a sheltered area, then kept walking. I got ahead, as I was faster than Leftovers on the uphills.

Higher, you have the option to stay on the crest or follow the "red line" (because in the FarOut app the main trail is red) down a meandering way among alpine lakes into a valley. In this case, taking the crest saves about four miles of walking!

But I've learned a few things. That savings is usually lost in steep snowbanks, or difficult talus fields where every step exposes shifting alliances in the blocks you teeter across. Plus, it's easy to breezily say you climb over "only" three summits, however, by the time you've rasped and panted over the last one, your thoughts are as often full of regret as they are illuminated by the generally better views.

These are, of course, the complaints of an older person for whom the effort of leaving the porch is no longer necessary. It's not only that it's hard to get up and out there... It's that the fire of desire for the "up there" no longer burns so hot. I am actually content. So I followed my red line dutifully down, smiling inside and ignoring the hectoring voice of the younger Michael who stood aghast at my "quitter mentality." Eventually he went away, though he'll be back, I know, at the next opportunity to exhaust myself.

Just north of Bald Mountain, the trail leaves the crest for this unnamed lake. Hunt Lake can be seen a bit below.

From the lake, looking back up to the crest.

Looking back south from Chalk Creek Pass on my trail.

Blocks of ice bobbed in the first lake. I was surprised by Numbers and Mummy, two silent and swift men who had a way of sneaking up on me in the next days despite my searching glances backward over vast, empty tundra. I wondered how Mummy got his trail name...I imagined it must have come from his sleeping posture: hands folded over heart. Thin lips, compressed.

Down to a hot dirt road and a man teaching a boy about fishing lures, surrounded by a minor industrial complex of American Camping (TM). He gave me a suspicious hello....I probably deserved that. Having heard so much about the "trail magic" dispensed by an adoring public on the through hikers on the Appalachian Trail, I probably approached everyone at trailheads with an acquisitive gleam in my eye. Goodies? For me?

Peaks of the crest from near Chalk Creek Pass in the afternoon.

I continued for miles up to Chalk Creek Pass, lost in my own thoughts and listening to music. Before long I'll be in country where I can't do that anymore. Grizzly bears don't like to be surprised! Below the pass, there was a railroad grade along which I walked for miles, with scenic granite walls in the left. I came to a solitary tent, with SlowPoke inside. We exchanged news of the trail, and I kept walking another two miles to a lake where we'd roughly planned to meet up. It was growing dark, and I lost the way once or twice in snowbanks as the trail climbed. I reached a little pass and waited there a bit for any sign of Gargoyle or Mishap, for they almost certainly went over the spine of the crest.

On the railroad grade.

On the railroad grade below Williams Pass.

Looking into Tunnel Valley, my home for the night.

Soon I kept walking. It had been 23 miles, and I was worn out. I saw another tent, called out a hello, then found a relatively flat spot a little bit further on. I got in my tent, my little home... Ate dinner, read a bit of Sherlock Holmes, and settled into sleep.

But then I heard a distinctive cough in the darkness outside. "Mishap!" I called. She answered. She'd come over the top and down a complex way to the low country. Wet from falling into a stream when a snow bridge collapsed, she fussed with her gear and gradually made a home. In honour of those difficulties, we'd sleep in and start walking at nine the next morning. We wondered where Gargoyle was, but were certain that he'd found a good home for the night somewhere.

June 14, Day 55, 19.5 miles

To give Mishap a break after her rough night, we got a late start.

We descended to a valley, then started grinding up a steep south wall, first in forest, then exposed and windy slopes with dramatic views. By the time I reached the crest, I was alternately aided by the wind and bullied back by it, depending on the switchback direction. By the end of the day, the wind would become an oppressive psychological force.

Mishap and I climbed in and out of hanging valleys on the east side of the crest, trending north. Places to rest out of the wind were rare, so we crouched in shrubbery and nibbled our provisions like the furtive pikas dashing between the rocks. Marmots, in contrast, had grown fat and lazy, moving out of our way with sullen disregard.

Gargoyle caught us in the last eastern valley, sharing tales of adventure. For example, in the forest of the steep climb, a tree fell on the trail just behind him, showering him with splinters of debris.

On a bench between Emma Burr Mountain on the left, and Morgans Gulch below.

In Mineral Creek, with the bulk of Mount Kreutzer ahead. I have to go around that bulk to the right, then continue north.

Mishap comes hiking along in this long, northerly journey.

Looking back into Mineral Basin as I slowly climb to meet my bane: the wind!

Last steps in Mineral Basin.

Feeling tired already, I set out with resolve for the last seven miles of the day to Cottonwood Pass, climbing to the crest across snowfields, then battling my way down the other side in hurricane winds. A stunning view of a great lake and a new range of peaks, marching off to the west in golden, early evening light. Keeping my eyes on the narrow path, I wound down and north, then back up to the screaming crest, the wind trying to puncture my eardrums. It seemed to help if I moaned at a similar pitch. Cold and swift, this wind wore me down. Feet soaked from wet snow, muscles aching, I wondered why i was compelled into this place. What parts of me want this? Why do those parts abandon me when the wind screams?

Outrageous, violent wind up here on the crest on the long approach to peak 12792 and Cottonwood Pass beyond.

Cottonwood Pass, with a marker for the two great oceans and the national forest boundaries.

Mishap and her pack and my pack pose for a candid photo at Cottonwood Pass.

At the pass a nice family gave me some water, which was great. Two of their members were setting out on the Colorado Trail the next day. I was deeply tired, and cold, too. I finally got warm enough in my sleeping bag to fall into dream.

June 15, Day 56, 20 miles

I shivered through the packing up, then climbed above Cottonwood Pass to the sun. Warmth comes from effort out here. Gargoyle was sleeping in, and Mishap was already off ahead. We'd lost track of Leftovers, but we thought (correctly, as it turned out) that he took a lower option to avoid the terrible wind of the day before.

I really enjoyed the five mile trip down through a lovely forest unravaged by the silver pine beetle. The only downside was fording Texas Creek in knee deep water. I'd tried so hard to keep my feet dry! Oh well...

Later, I found Mishap, then Detour sprung up out of grass he'd been sleeping in, and filled us in on his peak bagging adventures. I'd last seen him at a breakfast in Chama, New Mexico. Knowing they were both from Chicago, I put on headphones and listened to a glorious audiobook by Dion Fortune, while the two of them shared impressions of favourite restaurants and other Chicago marginalia.

As Fortune described the unfolding of a universe from relatively simple interactions of flowing force and constricting form, into the tapestry of emergent complexity we behold every day, I climbed steadily, fueled by energy bars and pepperoni. We were making for Lake Ann Pass. Blueberry was here five days before, and sent me an intimidating picture of the difficult conditions getting down the north side. I hoped I could do it with neither spikes nor ice axe!

I can be found by a partially built log cabin in the valley before the climb to Lake Ann Pass.

Looking up to Lake Ann Pass (not an official name) from the south.

Looking back on the country of the morning from near the crest of the pass.

Mishap contemplates the descent...

It is rather tricky!

At the top, Mishap traversed out on a line away from the overhanging cornice, kicking good steps that I might be able to use.

However, I saw that it would be better for me, with no crampons or axe to just go straight down. This worked well, then I heard a yelp as Mishap slipped, falling about ten feet into the rocks, getting a big bruise on her thigh, but otherwise okay, thank goodness.

Lemonhope came though a few hours later and slipped in the same place.

But once this was behind us, I felt way better. Mishap was happy as well.

Safely down :). Check out the cornices behind her.

Enjoying a walk above Lake Ann.

Lake Ann.

Mishap is resting for a bit in the alpine country.

Home for the night in South Fork Clear Creek, just a bit down from Lake Ann.

We bounced happily down, now reunited with Gargoyle, coming to a low elevation forest where I took a road and the others followed trail on the left. I like taking roads sometimes, because I can look up and around more. I slept in a warm, quiet forest, learning later that Lemonhope saw my tent and walked silently by.

June 16, Day 57, 14 miles

In the morning, I wandered into the Winfield ghost town and ate breakfast in front of the school. Posted in a window were rules for the schoolteachers, largely about how they can't be alone with a man in various situations.

Breakfast at the Winfield ghost town.

In the great trunk valley east of the Winfield ghost town.

We read that today and imagine a society of blighted people who just wanted to "keep women down." But they were protecting everyone. The women...the men...and ensuring that if children come into the world they'll have a married mother and father. That is very important.

I got tired of walking a road east, so I bushwhacked a bit up into the trail on the north side of the road, continuing to the point where the trail turns left (north) and begins the climb to Hope Pass. I ran into Lemonhope here.

I enjoyed hiking with Lemonhope going up passes, because he's so enthusiastic for the climbs. That's the best way to feel about them! This was probably the steepest section of trail ever, but the view was increasingly good.

Lemonhope appears for the first time in a week!

Again, Lemonhope.

I rest and say goodbye to the Collegiate Peaks in the south.

But Lemonhope and Gargoyle look down to the Twin Lakes country. Mount Elbert rises on the left.

After a great rest looking back and forward, too, to the flatter Twin Lakes country, I started down. Others got ahead of me and I wended my way down the valley alone. The forest was particularly beautiful and full of rushing streams.

I turned left, to round the lake on the left side rather than the very long right side (where the official trail goes). We planned to meet Mishap's mom at a trailhead here, then walk the road a mile or so to the Twin Lakes townsite.

Sure enough, she was there, along with the dog named Blue. She had drinks for us, and we sat and enjoyed all this in the shade of a tree by the river. What hospitality... it was really nice.

A gorgeous rushing river above Twin Lakes.

I forgot where I saw this, but it was funny.

Mishap got new shoes! Nothing makes a hiker happier...

We shared a little cabin east of Twin Lakes after a good pizza dinner in Leadville. Lemonhope went off alone, preferring to continue hiking after getting his share of ice cream in the town.

Plans were made for the next day's climb of Mount Elbert, and we all went to sleep.

To go forward to days 58 and beyond, click here.