Glorious Colorado

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison is the steepest gorge in the US, so named because the cliffs are so sheer that sunlight struggles to find its bottom (some parts get 33 minutes per day!). Other canyons in America are longer, wider and deeper, but none combine the depth, sheerness, narrowness and darkness of the Black Canyon. 

At certain points the cliff walls descend in a sheer drop for almost 3000 feet - more than double the Empire State Building. 

I've never had a problem with heights, but this was heart-stopping, vertigo inducing to peer down. My pulse was racing after this little peek away from the protective fences. 

We explored the park, and were then treated to yet another amazing sunset. 

Duly mesmerised, we camped for a night in the park, very careful not to do any sleep-walking. 

The next morning we headed off to Mesa Verde, a long 5-hour drive to Southwest Colorado, and home of the former cliff dwelling Pueblo Indians.  

I'd visited this park with my own family back in 1977, and I'm not sure if the archaeological record has created new insights, or if I just remember it poorly, but this was even cooler than I remembered. 

Firstly, there are hundreds of these dwellings, if only a few big ones, and these weren't even the biggest dwellings the Pueblos had at the time. They were an industrious tribe, with advanced agriculture, building techniques, and cities with tens of thousands of people, all in the arid desert of the American Southwest. Charlotte and I were captivated. 

After spending so many days, camping and travelling from site to site, (by the way, I've stopped mentioning all the wildlife we've seen because it's daily - we've seen over a hundred deer...!) we then headed for a little break in Durango. 

Durango is yet another charming Colorado town with heaps of character. Like the other places we've fallen in love with, they seem to have a ban on chain franchises on their Main Street. From the design of the buildings, to the privately owned shops themselves, it just feels like  you're walking through an American town from the 1950s, albeit with wifi and good coffee. 

This is consistent throughout various towns we've visited, including Silverton and Crested Butte. If they have a Walmart or McDonalds, which some do, they're not located (allowed?) in the centre of town. 

It all just reaks of a welcoming, genuine charm and style.  Obviously, the tourists coming for the mountains creates the economic platform for discerning zoning laws, so this is even possible.  But I've visited so many tourist destinations where local design is so full of plastic commercialism (Egypt, Cannes, St Tropez, Miami..., er, all of Florida, to name a few) that it spoils the experience. 

Colorado is exceptional. 

Ironically, by the time we got to Durango we felt almost 'beautied out' - theres only so much time you can spend standing agape, full of mesmerised wonder. Luckily, I knew just what we needed. They had an impressive rec centre, and Charlotte and I just love games, so we decided to spend a couple of days competing at ping pong, fusball, eight-ball, racquetball, basketball...

 

...and working out. 

For the record, Charlotte is now much better at basketball than me, but I can still lift more weight than her. 

After that little sojourn, we were ready for another fourteener. Mount Sneffels was on the cards, so we pitched camp before another glorious sunset...

...and decided to go for a sunrise summit. This would mean waking up at 2:30am, and climbing the mountain in the dark, with only our headlamps to guide us. 

This is easier said than done. At night, the limited perspective that a headlamp creates means that trails can be hard to follow, especially trails over rock, which are sometimes hard to follow in the day. 

We got lost two or three times, and although we thought we'd found the trail again, we ended up clambering up a huge 300 metre long, steep incline of loose scree, which meant that for every step forward our feet would slide back half a step. Disheartening. Not knowing whether we were on the right trail meant that I kept looking out for signs of potential Avalanche, but it never got that steep, fortunately.  It wasn't until daylight and the down-climb that we realised this part of the trail was just rough - we were in the right place, although we found a firmer route to descend. 

Fortunately, I'd got the time of sunrise wrong, so despite out wayward efforts, we still got to the saddle just before sunrise. 

So we got to sit back and enjoy Mother Nature do her thing.

Again, the photos don't do the experience justice, but here's a few anyway. 

Interesting note. For some reason, on this particular day, there was no wind in the mountains. None. So as day broke, as the light began filling out our vista with each craggily detail, as our world came into view, we were in complete, overwhelming silence. It was beyond magical. It was like watching life begin, without fanfare or distraction.  So pure and simple. 

We felt so incredibly blessed. 

Off-road Antics

Mount Yale was intense. The next day, our entire bodies seemed to lag, so we were pleased to wake up in Salida. We enjoyed perhaps the best overall breakfast, and finest omelet, I've ever had at the River's Edge restaurant. 

It was a non-hiking day, so we sauntered slowly around town, and what a treat. About half the shops in town were art 

galleries (half!) and only a few carried the  generic painting-of-mountain-scenes I expected. Most were filled with truly creative interpretations of classic western art - industrial sculptures of Dream Catchers, abstract mountains, and my favorite, sculptured busts of mystical monsters, a la The Gruffalo. 

This town had modern soul, with style, whilst keeping an authentic foot in the past with consistent, border-town architecture.  Charlotte said it looked like a movie set; I was just smitten.  If time allows, we'll be back. 

After I enjoyed a great coffee (they made my Cortado beautifully),

we had a schedule to keep, and were soon en route to the Garden of the Gods. Rarely could such a grand name live up to expectations, and my first impression was that this one fell right in the middle of hyperbole. 

The visitor center and trading post were packed to the gills like a Disney amusement park.  I hate Disney.  To share some perspective, I once took my kids to Disney Paris on the hottest, busiest day of the summer just to ensure they would inherit my disdain and never ask me to take them again. They haven't. 

So it was with deep foreboding that I began the safari-like drive around the park. 

Once again on this trip, it was Charlotte who proved to be right as the Gardens of the Gods were beautiful,

and so well spread out that the crowds failed to undermine the enjoyment of them, especially once we were out of the car and enjoying them up close and personal. 

Yes, that's Charlotte in front of the fingers, and then both of us before another. 

Our plan was to hike Mount Bietstadt the following morning, so after an hour dallying with the gods, we drove south.  To Charlotte's joy we found some dirt roads, and she got her first chance behind the wheel. 

Unfortunately, about a mile after this photo, we learned what the guidebook meant when warning, "we recommend a serious 4x4 vehicle for this road".  I gave the F150 truck we'd rented, a 2-wheel drive, every opportunity to prove the guidebook wrong, but to no avail. We had to turn around and find our next adventure, which was a pretty nice drive anyway. 

That night we stayed near Alamosa, a town whose entire purpose may be to prove that not all Colorado towns are charming. 

The next morning we visited the Great Sand Dunes. Unlike the Garden of the Gods, which is one of these geological curiosities which took millions of years to create, the Sand Dunes are a relatively modern phenomenon. 

Through a councidental combination of rock type, dominant winds, water flow and climate, the tallest Sand Dunes in America abut the Rockies. 

It's visually arresting, and really neat to experience - Charlotte and I had a fab time. 

We then headed for Handies Peak which would be our next 14er.  The summer storms found us, and the road to the trailhead was as exciting as it looks,

but by the next morning the skies had cleared.  We were soon huffing and puffing our way up our third 14er,

which was, in places, just covered with more glorious wild flowers. 

The last mile may have been the steepest yet, even a bit scary at times, but as usual, the views at the top were just amazing. 

The local red sandstone combined with the lush Colorado green,

to create a stunning vista. 

We'd started the climb quite early, so we had some time to kill, and decided to drive around some of the local roads and enjoy some views.  Little did I know we were also giving our truck the chance to redeem himself, as we soon encountered more feisty 4x4 road conditions. 

I'm pleased to share that our truck was the only non-4x4, or non-ATV for that matter, at the top of Cinnamon Pass. 

 

Some motorcyclists said they were 'stunned' to see our little F150 make it over some of the rocks we did. 

which made us proud. Until we noticed what our efforts had done to the tires. 

Whoops. 

We're now back in Gunnison, and half way through our trip. Two weeks today we'll be back in Denver, so we've about to review our plans for the rest of the trip. 

As soon as Charlotte wakes up. 

Mount Yale

After our decision to focus on 14ers, we hitched a ride and slept in charming Gunnison, Colorado - a town of 5,000 with one foot firmly planted in its soul.  Even though it has a Walmart, the bookstore and shops at its thriving centre evinced a sense of simple, homespun community.  

After a great coffee at The Bean, we were on a mission - soon collecting our rental truck from the small local airport, where we were surprised to learn they land 747s in winter!

The day was clear and angelic, and after a winding 3 hour drive we were at the base of Mount Yale, ready to start the hike at about 2pm. The guidebook said to allow 8 hours, but we figured that as we'd ascended Elbert in 6 hours when the guidebook said 9, it must be a wimpy guidebook. We would rue that assumption. 

The first couple of hours of the hike meandered up and down, and we couldn't understand why this climb was rated difficult. Bubbling streams and lush forest undergrowth unfolded forever, but finally gave way to a proper hike about 4pm, when the tree line gave way to mountainous views. 

After a good hour or so, the incline got pretty steep for a hike, and we thought we understood the rating. 

The thin air and sharp climb strained the system; it was slow going.  But my heart and breathing were normal - it's hard to describe but I could tell the fatigue reflected the effort. There were none of the sharp inhales like before. 

Finally about 530 pm we were on the cusp of the summit. There was no clear trail, so we ended up climbing up a jungle gym like rock formation, to enjoy a truly exalted view. 

We were surrounded by mountains on all sides,

And truly felt like we were on top of the world. 

Charlotte was both relaxed and excited at the same time - her first 360 view summit. 

It was about 630, and I realized I'd forgotten to pack the headlamps. First mistake. The sun sets about 830 around here, and we had a big hike down. Then, from the summit we could see what looked like a trail meandering down the west side of the mountain, towards the north side where our trail had ended. Second mistake - I broke one of the cardinal rules - unless you know the mountain, go down the way you came up. 

I had assumed I'd just missed the trail, but it proved not to be a trail, and now rather than a simple jungle gym climb down to our trail, we were about 100 foot down the wrong side of the mountain, scaling our way across to the north side. The climb itself was easy (5.4ish, for the climbers out there), but that wasn't the point. It was untested, the rock could be loose, the drop was mild but still looked painful, I was leading Charlotte, who'd never done any climbing so needed to go slow for her, but it was also getting late, and we had a big hike down the mountain with no headlamps, so I needed us to have some urgency. In short, it was a far edgier situation than was needed (like the pun?). 

 

Perhaps the most worrying part was that, owing to the thin air my own thinking wasn't very clear. I can't explain it now - it wasn't altitude sickness as described online.  I had no headache or nausea, my movement was dexterous, and my energy was strong. But Charlotte told me that I repeated myself on several occasions and I was surprised to hear it - I didn't remember saying whatever the previous time..!  At one point, I couldn't remember the code to unlock my own phone! 

So I can only say my head was in the air, which I guess explains why I would try to descend a different route (but it did look like a trail!!)

Regardless, it was 730pm by the time we got to the head of our trail at the cusp of the summit, with a long way down. 

The impending sunset looked gorgeous, but we had no time to enjoy it. 

We then ran down the trail as quickly as the steep incline would allow. Looking back, it was pretty exciting - we jumped and ran and did a mountain version of parkour, but at the time we had no idea how far we would get with the light we had. It was intense. 

Finally, we just got to the meandering bit of the hike just as the dark night descended.  We walked hand in hand for the last hour of the hike, swimming in the shared exhilaration of what we'd just experienced. 

Change of Plan

After the heroics of our first leg, I guess it was inevitable the power and majesty of the Colorado Rockies would remind us who is boss. Never underestimate Mother Nature. 

Before we get to that update, however, some catch up is in order. 

After we glided so magically into Leadville a day and a half ahead of schedule, we decided a little white water rafting would be in order.  So we hitched back to Twin Lakes..

Where Charlotte got to enjoy a ride in the back of a pickup - always a highlight.  

We booked the guys from Elk Mountain Adventures, and drove out beneath Mount Hope..

to have a blast on some Class 4 rapids down the Arkansas River,

which Charlotte thoroughly enjoyed,

even if her paddle rarely seemed to find the river!  :)

That evening we found a straggling hiker named Rummy who had little money, no room rented, and a trail-beaten expression. We asked our incredibly warm and charming host Bruce from WindSpirit cabins if she could just put her tent in the grass outside our cabin, and he offered that plus a shower and laundry. Bruce, as you know, you have three more raving fans. We had a lovely evening of a campfire with smores. 

The next morning we set off for another 4000 ft incline up to Hope Pass with this encouraging sign. 

We didn't see any mountain lions, but we did have this hike profile to look forward to:

For some reason neither of us really understand, our feet were like lead. Every step seemed a chore, every switchback a crisis. Maybe the marshmallows were bad, but both of our tummies were unsettled and we had, shall we say delicately, a non-solid intestinal foundation.  We felt rotten.  

Even getting to the summit of the pass itself, the achievement of which is normally guaranteed to lighten any difficulty, seemed a faded relief. 

And the view that greeted us seemed like an ill omen, a harbinger of torment, with grey clouds looming ominously. 

We didn't speak much, and hurried down the mountain ahead of the sound of cracking thunder in the distance. 

That evening I felt a growing unease. I hadn't said anything, but I'd had several instances when I'd had to really gasp for air since the beginning of the trip.  I exercise a decent amount, and this wasn't a normal gasp. I knew it was my system getting used to the altitude, and concluded that if I just powered through the discomfort, my heart would grow accustomed to the lack of oxygen.  As many know, I've had two open-heart surgeries, with both my aortic and pulmonic valves being replaced due to a congenital malformation.  So I now have moderate regurgitation.  My cardiologist had approved the trip, with the understanding that any shortness of breath should not be ignored.  

Of course, I'd ignored the first few instances, but rather than fade, the symptoms seemed to be getting worse.  The Rockies are just plain badass. I've also had several migraines, and frankly wasn't enjoying much of it myself, but vicariously enjoyed watching Charlotte do so incredibly. I figured it was a time for dad to grin and bear it. 

So it was with haggard enthusiasm that I entered the collegiate peaks. 

As the next day dawned, and we started up another huge incline to Lake Ann Pass, I finally shared with Charlotte the difficulty I was having. 

Rather than be disappointed, she was amazing. She helped me realise the one leg of the trip that I'd been truly spritely was the hike up Mt Elbert. While this was the highest altitude we climbed, it was the only leg of the trip where I hadn't carried a heavy backpack - we had pitched the tent beforehand, stowed the gear, and only had water and clothes in the pack. Rather than carrying 30 lbs, I was carrying five. 

Charlotte also confided to having some discomfort with the pack and the altitude, but hadn't wanted to disappoint me!

So we talked it through and came up with a change of plan. We figure my heart was ok hiking without the weight of the pack. So rather than hike the rest of the Colorado Trail (we've already done about 100 miles of it), we're going to rent a truck, and go hike up 9 more 14,000 ft peaks. We won't have to carry heavy packs, and we'll actually do about the same amount of climbing as doing the trail itself. 

So the Rite of Adventure will be 100 miles and 10 peaks. Not bad. 

Decision made, we traversed Lake Ann Pass, and spent a day and night and another day hiking and hitching through driving storms and hail and thunder and lightning.   

 

When you're in the middle of nowhere, getting somewhere takes a while!

Along the way, we met this beaver like creature, who got as close to us as the photo looks. Anybody have any idea what this thing is?!

Now we're in Gunnison, where we'll soon rent a F150 pickup truck and head to Mount Yale, a classic 14er. 

Its a change of plan, but still a big challenge, and now even more of an adventure.