Denver to the Divide

I truly enjoy multi-year section hiking projects. In 2014 and 2015, I cleaned up a few missing miles of the Appalachian Trail in Maine. I spent many of my vacations in the 2015-2018 era plugging away at the Hayduke Trail. And now, having moved one state to the east, the Colorado Trail (CT) beckons. There's one crucial difference of course. Those expeditions in the mid-teens were invariably solo affairs. But this Colorado Trail section hike represents an opportunity to make long-distance hiking memories with Steph. 

We sketched out a rough plan. Assuming a week on trail each summer, the CT will take us 5 or 6 years to complete. During a life-stage where thru-hiking isn't really in the cards, the CT can act as an anchor point and a chance to reconnect with long-distance trails each year. 

We chose to start on the eastern end. The CT begins in metropolitan Denver and gradually gains elevation as it meanders west toward the Continental Divide near Breckenridge. This section is perhaps the least scenic section of the CT (though still rather nice), so it made sense to knock out the 'mundane' miles at the beginning of the multi-year project when our stoke level is still high. But we still found plenty of highlights to enjoy in this section. And, best of all, we spent eight days in the mountains, far away from the world of work, wedding planning, and moving.  

Day 1

We left Montrose at 6:45am and parked near Copper Mountain by mid-morning. We rode the bus to Denver, took light rail to the southwest suburbs, and Ubered the rest of the way to the CT's eastern terminus in Waterton Canyon. All in all, from front door to trailhead took about eight hours. Not too shabby!

Photo: Steph Seitz

We both deployed our silver umbrellas for the sweltering afternoon walk along the South Fork of the Platte River. Along the way, we spotted a herd of wild bighorn sheep hanging out near the trail. After about seven miles of busy multi-use urban pathway, we ducked into the woods, finally along proper singletrack. Steph in particular was suffering in the heat, and we collapsed into camp after a fairly long day of transportation logistics and hot hiking.

Day 2

After a couple of early morning miles, we sat down for breakfast with a few hikers at a scenic viewpoint. As we chatted and exchanged names, I realized that I'd met two of them - a German couple - on the PCT up in Washington!

 

We drifted downhill back toward the South Fork of the Platte. While we found a delightful riparian lunch spot, we dared not linger long, as clouds were threatening. We gobbled down a quick lunch, loaded up our packs with a ton of water, and trudged uphill as the skies darkened. We scampered through a large burn area and found a nice pocket of trees to shelter in, right as the skies let loose. We played cards in Steph's tent for a couple hours as the thunderstorms rolled through. 

Photo: Steph Seitz

Once the weather let up, we hoisted our packs again and continued what seemed like a never-ending climb. Though it wasn't particularly steep, we were both toting plenty of water, which seemed to sap our energy. We passed up several nice campsites, hoping to make a couple extra miles. It probably wasn't a great call, as we soon left the trees and found ourselves hiking through the burn area again. We made camp just before dark on top of a ridge. It was another long day, and more than a bit exhausting. 

 

Day 3 

A little sprinkle passed through about midnight, and then things got very quiet. Snug as I was in my quilt, I could feel a thick blanket settling over our campsite. And sure enough, the next morning, sun filtered through a dense fog. To our south, a peak jabbed through the fog, seemingly floating on a sea of white. It took about an hour for the sun to burn everything off, and once it did, we found a nice place to eat breakfast. 

Photo: Steph Seitz

The rest of the morning consisted of circuitous but well-maintained trail graded for mountain bikes. We found a very nice lunch site along a gorgeous creek and took an extended lunch. Steph was hurting a little. She'd tweaked her knee a few weeks prior, and while the knee itself was fine, all the other joints in that leg were giving her grief, perhaps due to overcompensation. Such is the life of a hiker - we term it the 'rotating buffet of random pain'. 

The afternoon so-called 'climb' was once again pleasant and gentle, and we found plenty of water along the way. We pushed through an ugly clear-cut logged area to find an amazing, perfectly flat campsite in a beautiful lodgepole forest about a mile later. We celebrated a great day with - you guessed it - a game of cards. 

Day 4

We packed up our gear and immediately began climbing. By Colorado Trail standards, this was a steep one, with only minimal switchbacks to ease the grade. Plenty of streams attended us along the way though, and soon we reached the top of the grade, our first point above 10,000 feet on the trip. 

We descended into a sublime mountain meadow and walked along its edge for miles. We spotted the remnants of glacial moraines along the way - another reminder that we had finally reached the high country. Lunch happened at an 11,000-foot pass, where Steph attempted to nap, only to be swarmed by ants. Can't win them all, I guess!

We contoured around for a while and walked through a sickly aspen grove. Hardly any trees were growing, and fallen timber littered the area. We were all too happy to hustle through back to the land of shady pines.

We crossed a stream and watered up, intending to do a couple more miles before nightfall. But just then, we heard a rumble of thunder, and decided to make camp. Quick as a jiffy, we set up our tents, and just as Steph finished cooking her dinner, the rain began. It wasn't much rain, though - just a few showers, plus an impressive lightning show. More on that later.

Day 5

The next day dawned cheerfully, and with it our spirits. The forest teemed with squirrels - chattering at us from above, chasing each other, and generally causing a pleasant ruckus. We stopped to watch as one cute fella grabbed a truly enormous mushroom in his mouth and climbed a tree. The mushroom probably weighed more than he did, and he had trouble navigating around little twigs with such a heavy, ungainly burden. 

"Just don't throw it down on us, bud", mused Steph. At that very moment, the squirrel released the mushroom and it splatted down on the ground next to my foot. Friends, at least one squirrel has managed to learn English - and he's got an attitude! :)

We soon crossed US 285 at Kenosha pass and walked through a campground, where we snagged some truly awesome trail magic from the camp host. He'd hiked several long trails, including the Appalachian Trail in the truly horrendous weather year of 2003, where everything and everyone got soaked for months on end. He mentioned that he'd seen over a hundred hikers per day back in the early part of July, but now things had slowed to a trickle. We mused that we'd much rather be out here now, when things are quieter. Though of course, wildfire detours are more common in August than in July.

Little did we know how accurate that last sentiment was! As we hiked along an escarpment, I noticed a fresh plume of wildfire smoke. Apparently all that dry-ish lightning we'd had the previous day had started a fire not far from where we camped. Yikes! Close one.

Both of us were feeling pretty ragged that evening, and we set up shop along a slightly-buggy creek. Tomorrow would be the big climb.

Day 6

We woke up a half hour early, as we were dealing with a long climb and uncertain forecast. The first thing we noticed, as we ascended, was the thick smoke. We weren't quite sure which fire it was coming from, but noticed on the WatchDuty app a small fire near Breckenridge, upwind of where we'd be. There was absolutely no information available about this fire, and we didn't know if it was active or not. We reasoned we'd climb a bit higher, find some cell service, and then make our decision with hopefully better information. 

The climb itself was rather easy, if a bit long, and soon we found ourselves atop the broad summit of Georgia Pass at almost 12,000' along the Continental Divide. We also realized once we were up there that this 'fire' was a whole lot of nothing, and that we'd be good to proceed as planned. 

As we descended, we marveled at the gorgeous scenery, the first truly high-alpine environment one encounters on a westbound CT hike. We also ran across my old friend, the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). The CDT joins up with the CT for about 300 miles through central Colorado, and seeing those turquoise trail blazes brings back so many pleasant memories.

 

Of course, being on the CDT, it was fitting to play fast-and-loose with the designated trail routing. After a long, frustrating, rocky descent to a river, we decided to roadwalk around a truly offensive PUD (pointless up-and-down). Rather than doing an extra couple thousand feet of vertical with no water and a dubious forecast, we cruised a couple miles of easy, quiet road, followed by a couple miles of annoying ATV traffic before rejoining the trail. 

We camped that evening in a pretty marginal site. We were now close enough to Breckenridge and the other communities of Summit County that the trails are heavily used. As a consequence, our campsite consisted of fine dust pulverized by generations of mountain bike tires, and everything we owned got caked. But it was good enough. We played some cards, and got some sleep.

Day 7 

Town day! We got up and hiked a few easy miles down into Breckenridge, where we caught the very convenient free bus over to the nearby community of Frisco to eat breakfast. We ordered three entrees between the two of us and generally gorged ourselves. We made stops at the grocery store for ice cream and fried chicken, and after a couple hands of cards, headed over to a brewpub in Breckenridge.

We didn't intend to eat dinner there. But after a couple of delicious appetizers, we were both still quite famished, so we ordered entrees. After a long 7-day food carry, both of us were a bit behind on our nutrition, and now it was time to catch up!

Having dodged most of the afternoon's rain by hanging out in town, we headed out in the evening and made a couple miles up the trail. We found a secret little campsite deep in the woods and went to bed early. We had a big day tomorrow - up and over a 12,400' pass. Call it a grand finale for this section of the CT.

Day 8

We hiked by headlamp for about fifteen minutes before it got light. As the sun came up, it illuminated our intended destination, the high alpine spine of the Tenmile Range. Our early morning rewarded us with the best views of the entire trip.

As we climbed up the long pass, the chattering in Steph's ankle became a bark, which became a scream. We'd both been managing plenty of minor-moderate aches and pains all week, but this was different. It's nothing major or long-term - just an inflamed Achilles - but it's somewhere between painful and impossible to walk on, especially uphill. We sat down, gobbled down some of yesterday's fried chicken, and made some tough decisions. Given the day's dodgy forecast and the state of Steph's ankle, we decided it'd be best to save the pass until our next trip, and just hike down into town. We were both disappointed to have to change plans, but given the amazing free bus system in Summit County, it caused us no inconvenience at all. Right as we got to the trailhead, a big storm rolled in, validating our choice to back down. 

A quick bus ride later, we were back at our car and driving home. We even managed to give a CT hiker a hitch as we passed her on the highway!

Overall

This was a wonderful section. Though its beauty is often overshadowed by other parts of the CT, our section did not disappoint, and both of us enjoyed seeing the transition as urban corridor gave way to foothills, and eventually the high peaks of the Rockies themselves. We are so blessed to live in a place with easy access to such marvelous trails - and established long trails, at that.  

The Other Escalante

The Escalante is one of my very favorite landscapes. The main river canyon, together with its tributaries, slickrock wonderlands, moqui marbles, and verdant riparian plant life, holds an enduring appeal. Of all the backpacking regions in southern Utah, it reigns supreme, at least in my opinion.

There's another Escalante - a famed hiking route deep in the Grand Canyon's inner gorge. To call it 'awe-inspiring' would be an understatement of the first degree.

And there's another, other Escalante, this one much closer to home. The Dominguez-Escalante National Conservation Area protects a stretch of the Gunnison River in western Colorado along with several side canyons. All of these canyons burrow into the Uncompaghre Plateau, a vast uplifted region west of the towns of Montrose and Delta.

With a three-day weekend at my disposal and Steph jonesing for a chill weekend at home. I decided to explore this "other" Escalante by foot and packraft. After all, what could be more pleasant than toting six pounds of boating gear for 50 miles up and down mountains, all for a three hour float at the end? Friends, I think there's something wrong with my brain :) 

Day 1

I left on Friday evening, making the short drive from Montrose down to my starting trailhead. I walked next to some railroad tracks for a couple miles, composing in my head at least three paragraphs' worth of boring train facts, from which I will mercifully spare you, dear reader. I crossed the Gunnison River on an ornate bridge and soon headed up Big Dominguez Canyon.

Camping is prohibited in the lower part of Big Dominguez, so I hiked deep into the gathering dusk to find a legal place to set up. Along the way though, I couldn't help but follow the sound of crashing water to a little waterfall hidden behind a rock outcrop. And I saw plenty of traces of cultures from many centuries ago. The biggest highlight, however, was the night sky. With the moon nearly new, and the humidity hovering around 5%, I was treated to one of the most vivid Milky Way viewings of my life. More than once I wondered how much better the ancients had it, in terms of night skies. It really put context to God's promise to Abraham, that's for sure!

Day 2

As I continued up the canyon the next morning, the pines got taller and taller, interspersing the red rocks of the inner canyon. The trail played peekaboo with the creek and I gratefully drank from it at every opportunity. I saw a single pair of hikers along this stretch. 

Everything changed when I arrived at a campground that marked the upper end of the Big Dominguez trail. On this Memorial weekend, every Side-by-Side, ATV, dirt bike, boombox, barking dog, and slightly-tipsy frat bro in Mesa County had descended upon the ordinarily-quiet campground. I made sure to collect water upstream of the aforementioned frat bros frolicking in the water and stirring up muck, and noped out of there as quick as I could. I climbed onto the Plateau using a Forest Service road and got dusted by all manner of jeeps and four-wheelers for the next six miles. I don't begrudge others for enjoying the outdoors with the aid of internal combustion engines, but I can't say I love the noise, speed, and dust they generate.

The water situation was a complete unknown on the Plateau, so the only prudent course of action was to pack five liters up from Big Dominguez Creek. I ordinarily don't mind uphill, but underneath a load of three days' food, eleven pounds of water, and six pounds of packrafting gear, I was really struggling underneath a heavy load. Shortly before I turned off the main road, I found a decent cow pond. I figured I'd find water at one of the ~10 sources I'd mapped, but which ones - and their quality - was impossible to predict. This first source, it turns out, would be the best.

Finally, the Moto Mayhem mercifully abated as I turned onto an old, somewhat-eroded jeep track. Around the same time, the clouds started to congeal overhead. The searing heat and screaming ATV's were a thing of the past! My next water source was quite green and nasty, but between a double dose of Aquamira, the old bandana-as-water-filter trick, and the well-known antimicrobial properties* of Great Value brand Fruit Punch packets, I managed to put down a liter.

*Professional driver on closed course; do not attempt. 

Soon, my quiet jeep road gave way to a long-abandoned antiquated two-track. On satellite imagery, the way forward appeared relatively clear. On the ground, however, I had to slalom through prickly brush, down a steep, eroded gully where a fenceline once stood. It was a frustrating end to a long day, and I collapsed in the first clearing I found, exhausted after a 20+ mile day that seemed, like your father's walk to school, uphill both ways. One moment of delight as I bedded down - I startled a cow elk, and she bounded away through the brush. What a magnificent sight!

Day 3

The next morning started out with a bang - a completely trail-less descent into a canyon, picking my way through thick brush and cliff bands. I got utterly tangled in some of the spikey bushes in the canyon bottom, floundering for a good five minutes in a mostly useless attempt to get un-stuck. The only thing less dignified than bushwhacking is bushwhacking with a boat and life jacket on your back! 

I emerged from the inner canyon bleeding and sweating, but I'd crossed it! I found a terrific series of elk trails going up the other side, and followed them until I rejoined yesterday's old eroded fence-gully thing. The climb was steep and unrelenting, but not nearly as brushy as I'd feared. I treated myself to breakfast once I finally hit the road I'd been aiming for. It was another quiet jeep track, and a welcome reprieve from the bushwhacking. 

I broiled in the hot sun over the next nine miles on the roads. I found another stock pond with water in it, but surrounded with a moat of mud so thick and loathsome that losing a shoe represented a virtual certainty. I checked out several other possible sources - all dry - as the sun crept higher in the sky. 

And then - a surprise! A source I expected to be dry had water in it - and clear water at that! Whoopee! I pounded 1.5L of water and tanked up. It was going to be a good day after all. Only after another mile, when I stopped in the shade to treat my water, did I realize my mistake: this water carried a pungent odor of sulfur. Horrified, I tried not to think too hard about it. Only three liters of good water remained, and my next source, the Gunnison River, lay 24 hours ahead. Rats.

I tried to limit my water consumption all afternoon as I trudged through the hot sun, but it was useless - there was no getting around the fact that I'd have to consume the Rotten Egg Water. More double-doses of Aquamira. More Great Value fruit punch packets. And yes, there were plenty of sulfury burps on the menu.

I turned off my quiet jeep roads onto a "trail". that led down from the highlands via a sloping prong of land toward the Gunnison River. Like many trails in little-used corners of our public lands, this trail probably hadn't seen a hiker - much less any maintenance - since the Cuban Missile Crisis. Cryptobiotic soil was growing in the treads of the trail itself, and cactus fields covered the entire area - trail and non-trail alike. At one point I lost the trail entirely for about three miles, and just made my way overland, trusting the trail would be there when I needed it most.

As I kept dropping in elevation, the trail became more consistent and apparent. And after two hard days, each 20+ miles with a heavy pack, I was tuckered. I curled up under a juniper, made a calculated gamble that the menacing clouds wouldn't rain on me, and passed out. 

Day 4

For the third day in a row, I was up at the crack of dawn. My foot protested a bit, only deciding to cooperate after about a mile. From above, I spied the thin ribbon of the Gunnison as the sun rose over the West Elk mountains to my east. I dropped steeply to the trailhead and pounded out a couple quick road miles down to the river.

Speaking of the river, it was really ripping! I inflated my boat and set off into the current. Even with a few float breaks, I found myself cruising along at 4 mph. The rapids and riffles along this section were a bit sportier than I'd been led to believe. I stopped a couple times to bail out my boat, and was grateful for the bright sunshine to keep me warm - even as thunderheads metastasized over the surrounding high terrain.

One notorious rock at the mouth of Dominguez Canyon, called 'The Undertaker', demands portaging around. The BLM's website led me to believe that the best way to do that was on a small island. Unfortunately, when I got there, the the water had risen so high (several feet higher than when I'd scouted it from shore on the hike in) that I was forced higher up on the island, and ended up bushwhacking through ten-foot tall reeds while carrying my boat over my head. Once around the rock, I bashed through the reeds to the water's edge and belly-flopped onto my boat, a most undignified-but-functional landing. Next time, I'll take the very nice mainland trail instead. So much for good info from the BLM!

The last couple miles were uneventful. I paddled under that ornate footbridge and arrived at my takeout point. On Friday, there'd been a very nice beach to land on. Now, all of it was several feet underwater. I squelched my way up a short trail to the parking area and my waiting car, just as the rain clouds started to threaten overhead. 

Overall

I hadn't had a true thrasher of a weekend in quite a while. I managed to cover about 66 miles - 52 of them hiking - over the course of two very full days and a couple short ones. Throw in a dash of bushwhacking, plenty of vertical gain, intense heat, and a crappy water situation, and you've got a challenging trip. I loved it. It felt like the adventure of a thru-hike - particularly one on a seldom-traveled route - compressed into a weekend. And best of all, it was less than an hour from home. It may not be the world-class landscape of the "real" Escalante, but I found it beautiful nonetheless. And as always, any time outdoors is time well-spent.

 

 

Oppressive Heat and Impressive Scenes

From a backpacking standpoint, the last couple months have proved rather profitable. Steph and I recently took a pair of trips with friends - first with Paul and Joan to visit some archeological sites in southeastern Utah, and then with Justin and Emily to a pair of beautiful slot canyons in the Escalante region.

But it'd been a solid six months since we'd backpacked by ourselves, and Steph's brand-new packraft was just begging for a test-run. So we snagged a Canyonlands permit and prepared ourselves for a classic "triangle trip" - hike down to the river, paddle a a section, and then hike up a different trail back to the car. 

We parked our car on Saturday morning at a little-used trailhead that isn't even afforded the dignity of a proper parking lot. We stuck our thumbs out, and in short order, caught a ride a couple miles down the road to our starting trailhead. By time we hit the trail, the sun was beating down, and the heat only grew more intense as we dropped in elevation. We descended a steep series of stair-steps before reaching a wash bottom. There, we found occasional scraps of shade, but mainly broiled in the oppressive midday sun as we trudged toward the Green River. 

Oh, the river. That sweet, sweet river. We immediately belly-flopped in a small lagoon, allowing the cool water to cool our core temperatures. We both laid there submerged for about ten minutes, pure bliss overcoming us. In all my years of backpacking, I've very rarely experienced such a sudden transformation in circumstances. 

By and by, we inflated our boats and set off downstream. The heat proved much more manageable on the water, particularly because we took a mid-afternoon swim break and guzzled water continuously. It wasn't good water per se - the Green carries too much sediment for that - but it did the trick, as long as you didn't mind drinking brown water with an unmistakable dirt flavor.  

And the scenery! Lovely green cottonwoods in full leaf lined the shore, and occasional plump cumulus clouds framed our photos. It's impossible to capture the scale and depth of such a scene with a camera. The river made a huge loop, nearly doubling back on itself as it meandered southward - and with it, our little boats.

We paddled for a couple hours, eventually pulling ashore on a convenient rock ramp. We stowed our packrafts and filled every water container we owned, in preparation for a long, dry walk across the shadeless White Rim formation. Thankfully, by this time in the evening, shadows had grown long, and the walk was actually quite pleasant. Before long, we made a simple camp under the stars and gulped a little supper before turning in for an all-too-brief night of sleep.

Photo: Steph Seitz

We began hiking by headlamp the next morning, trying to beat the heat. God blessed us with a conveniently-placed cloud for the first part of the walk. Eventually, we left the White Rim formation and snaked our way up an increasingly-bouldery canyon. And then, the big climb. A giant slide of rubble between two huge rock towers marked our exit from the canyon. As we climbed up, we found an excellent, well-marked trail - an unexpected and much-appreciated surprise! While steep, we both found the climb far easier than expected. Atop the central plateau once more, we enjoyed some incredible views before meandering a toasty but easy mile back to the waiting car.

Photo: Steph Seitz

This was my first packrafting trip of the year, and Steph's first packrafting trip ever. Though we spent barely 24 hours in the backcountry, the world of work and ringing phones receded deep into the background. An excellent, adventurous weekend. What more could we ask for?