Chance Encounters
Part Four: Removing the Shackles
The descent into Cochetopa Creek was a major transitional time on our hike. This is when and where we left the San Juan Mountain complex— which includes, among other ranges, the South San Juans, the San Juans and the La Garitas. We now had five days of relatively low hiking before we entered the mighty Sawatch Range, home of Mount Elbert and Mount Massive, Colorado's two highest peaks. We would follow Cochetopa Creek for 15 downhill miles and, as we made our way toward the Eddiesville Trailhead, we suddenly found ourselves nearing the 9,000-foot level for the first time on this hike. You know you've been traversing some lofty terrain when you look at 9,000 feet as lowlands, but that's exactly what we were doing. By the time we left the La Garita Wilderness, it was 85 degrees with perfectly clear skies. We were now 600 feet lower than my house in Breckenridge. It's weird to think that, only three hours before, we were atop San Luis Peak in a gathering gale with the temperature hovering around freezing.
This was the most tired I had been on this hike. We agreed to stop at the first decent-looking campsite after we left the wilderness but, unfortunately, we had to hike several miles before anything even remotely level presented itself. Not only was I dragging, but I was also getting a brand-new set of blisters. Those new Super Feet insoles I bought in Pagosa Springs were already starting to go, and the only part of my feet that had not been blister-infested back in the South San Juans— the blades of my heels— were now completely raw. I tried in vain to stoically walk without limping, grimacing and moaning. I don't know why it's so important to me as a person and as a backpacker to maintain this impassive on-trail demeanor while I'm in near-mortal agony, but it is.
Between the heat, the fatigue and the blisters, I was in a sour mood, and the fact that I have always felt there is no excuse for bad moods out on the trail made me feel even more surly. Once we found a campsite, I quickly dropped my pack and ran down to the creek. Since we were so low, the water is not as cold as usual, and for the first time since Cumbers, I completely immersed myself. After a few minutes, I started to feel better. I have always been amazed at the curative powers Mother Nature boasts in both the short and long terms. Back home, it would have taken many hours and many aspirins to extricate myself from such a foul mood.
Still, I fell into bed shortly after dinner. But I did not sleep well, as the night air was constantly shattered by the grating noise of jets passing overhead. This was eerie on several levels. First, we hadn't noticed many planes up to this point on our journey. All of a sudden, out here in middle of one of the most remote parts of the state, we have happened under the major flyway. But more than that was the nature of the noise. Whenever a plane flew over, it was more than 15 minutes between the time the first dull rumble came over the hill and the time the noise finally dissipated. It was like we were at the heart of some sort of auditory vortex. This went on all night, one plane after another and, basically, this went on for the next 200 miles. I had no idea there were so many planes crossing Colorado's lustrous skies.
I had been dreading this day's hike ever since we left Cumbres Pass. Once we left Cochetopa Creek, we had to traverse 10 hot, dusty, shadeless, waterless miles through Saguache Park, and every one of those miles followed hard-packed Jeep trails. Even the best dirt roads wreak havoc on the feet when you're carrying a backpack, and these were not the best dirt roads. They were rutted and rocky, presenting ample opportunity for twisted ankles and stone bruises. By the standards established by the trail so far, the views were nonexistent. But, at least those 10 miles were mostly level, and we arrived shortly after noon at Los Lake, the last water before North Pass, where Gay was to meet us with a food drop the next day.
When all those Colorado Trail hikers were griping about the lack of water along this stretch, Los Lake was the epicenter of their descriptive venom. Verily, it was not the sort of water source around which you would likely plan a vacation, and its image will never adorn a scenic calendar. It was a small, well-trampled stock pond that had much evidence of recent mass bovine visitation, but, once again, Gary and I ended up pooh-poohing the toughness of the CT hikers we had talked to on the subject of water. Los Lake just wasn't that bad.
Still, Los Lake made us truly appreciate having water filters instead of iodine. Though it took me almost 45 minutes to filter enough water to see me through an afternoon, evening and morning, at least, once the chore was done, I had three gallons of clear, fresh-tasting and odorless agua. I had three gallons of clear, fresh-tasting and odorless agua. If we had to rely on iodine at a place like Los Lake, the water would end up tasting like cream of mud soup.
The only real problem with camping near Los Lake centered around the unbelievable numbers of cow pies (though, surprisingly, there were no cows to be seen). And these were some healthy cow pies. I was thinking in terms of contacting the Guinness Book of World Records. I don't know what the cows eat around here, but they eat a lot of it. We literally could not move without coming into contact with cow droppings. If you had the misfortune of stepping into one of these monstrosities, you would easily sink up to your knee. After a few hours, we started getting comfortable with all the cowpies; we started thinking of them as decorations or even furniture. It got to the point that we were using them as ashtrays and water bottle holders.
After a beautiful and easy 8-mile stroll through a dry but sun-dappled section of long-abandoned, leaf-covered timber roads, we arrived at North Pass. Gay and Cali were waiting for us, exactly as planned.
Gay drove us 30 miles into Saguache for a plateful of unbelievably greasy and delicious Mexican food and to see if I could buy some new insoles. Gary had given me a spare pair at Los Lake. (Yes, he actually had a spare pair of insoles in his pack; Martha Stewart would be proud.) Since his feet are twice as big as mine, I had to cut them down to size. Though they felt a lot better than the now completely deformed Super Feet insoles, I needed to get something better fast. Saguache isn't exactly Manhattan, and the closest thing I could find to insoles at the local three-aisle grocery store was a pair of size-5 Odor Eaters. Not exactly what I needed.
I resigned myself to limping three more days on Gary's old insoles to Monarch Pass. From there, we planned to take a day off in Salida, a town that has several backpacking stores, where, surely, I could deal with my feet/insole problems once and for all. The good thing about all these blisters is that I am developing one tough set of toe-to-heel callouses. In another couple of weeks, I will be able to walk barefoot if need be.
There are only three dependable water sources through the little-visited Cochetopa Hills between Highway 114 and Monarch Pass, so we had to plan our hiking days accordingly. Two days past North Pass, this meant setting up camp after a very short and easy day on the side of Tank Seven Creek, a lovely babbling brook about two feet wide and six inches deep. It was such a prototypically beautiful Colorado summer day neither one of us minded in the least parking it early. As I was sitting in my Crazy Creek camp chair reading, with the birds tweeting, the creek gurgling and Cali, who had rejoined us at North Pass, wrestling with a stick, I realized how completely relaxed I was. All the civilization-based detritus that felt like a vise around my noggin back when we started this hike 26 days ago was now a distant memory. I felt totally liberated from the shackles of workaday life for the first time in many years. The hard exercise and the absorbing demands of trail life certainly had a lot to do with that. But I believe those aforementioned curative powers that Mother Nature possesses were most responsible for my current tranquil state of being.
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