2016-07-03 - Maroon Bells - Trail Rider Pass
On day 2 of my first backpacking trip ever. I woke up feeling better. After filling up our bottles with water from the nearby stream, I returned to prepare and eat breakfast. By the time we'd taken our tents down, with shoes on, ready to go, it was about 8:30 AM. We wanted to conquer two of the trip's four 12000+ foot passes today, safely leaving but one for the last day. The trail led us past a few streams and then swung down the cliffs. Brian repeatedly expressed the nagging feeling that we were descending too far, and that the lake was now above us. I agreed that this section of the trail seemed quite a bit longer than I'd expected. But in consulting the map, we reassured ourselves we had chosen the right way. Eventually we reached a river crossing. As we stared across, we tried to hold in our disappointment and surprise at discovering that the trail here was clearly not maintained. Most people must stick to the short inner loop and refrain from swinging counterclockwise to Snowmass Lake.
The river water was frigid and slippery but we made it.
The trail evened out eventually, and besides the river crossing, we were making good time. The landscape was unendingly beautiful, our constant companion. It felt like we had walked into a jungle strewn with giant animal paw prints. Whether the prints belonged to a big cat or a hiker's dog, we never knew. What we did know is that they were many times bigger than those Tessa, Brian's border collie, left in the dirt and snow. I checked my compass and did a double take. Then I turned to Brian and told him I thought we were going the wrong way. Brian couldn't think of where we might have missed a turn. He remained convinced the trail we were following would lead eventually to the lake. Some campers nearby confirmed the unhappy truth -- that we had hiked about two miles in the wrong direction, rendering basically the entire day thus far a waste, and that the route back would be uphill. I have no doubt I would have realized this sooner but for the altitude sickness. I didn't realize until that point how much my mind had been affected.
On the way back, we took the advice of some other hikers and risked using a beaver dam to cross the river. I had to help Brian carry his dog a few times, but we made it. It didn't really save any time compared to crossing in the water but at least we had the benefit of staying dry. The uphill hike proved to be slow for me, demoralized as I was and dragged down by altitude sickness. Brian, trying to stick to schedule, moved much faster. Along the way we ran into Austin who was also headed along the wrong path. Lucky for him we were there to turn him right back around, and together we walked back to the previous night's campsite, there to continue forward via the shortest possible route this time.
Brian, seeing how sluggish I had become so early in the day, expressed concern over my ability to finish the backpacking trip. With three of four passes still to go, we both needed to finish by the next day. And it was already 11am by the time we'd doubled back to our Snowmass Lake campsite! I looked at the map, doing the math, and assured him that I would finish. If we did about twelve miles today, we would only have twelve left for the day after. Still hesitant, he nevertheless let me hike on instead of turning back. Being stranded in such a wild place without cell signal would suck, to say the least, but I was determined to go on, and our troubles fell to the backs of our minds as we climbed up through the mud and snow to greet the dazzling expanse of Snowmass Lake.
On the way back, we took the advice of some other hikers and risked using a beaver dam to cross the river. I had to help Brian carry his dog a few times, but we made it. It didn't really save any time compared to crossing in the water but at least we had the benefit of staying dry. The uphill hike proved to be slow for me, demoralized as I was and dragged down by altitude sickness. Brian, trying to stick to schedule, moved much faster. Along the way we ran into Austin who was also headed along the wrong path. Lucky for him we were there to turn him right back around, and together we walked back to the previous night's campsite, there to continue forward via the shortest possible route this time.
Brian, seeing how sluggish I had become so early in the day, expressed concern over my ability to finish the backpacking trip. With three of four passes still to go, we both needed to finish by the next day. And it was already 11am by the time we'd doubled back to our Snowmass Lake campsite! I looked at the map, doing the math, and assured him that I would finish. If we did about twelve miles today, we would only have twelve left for the day after. Still hesitant, he nevertheless let me hike on instead of turning back. Being stranded in such a wild place without cell signal would suck, to say the least, but I was determined to go on, and our troubles fell to the backs of our minds as we climbed up through the mud and snow to greet the dazzling expanse of Snowmass Lake.
Yes, snow had returned to bar our paths, many feet thick in places. Another backpacker described the next section of trail as the trickiest traverse of the entire loop. Steep slopes slick with snow and rumbling rocks lay before us in an open challenge. I made sure to fall towards my left at all times, as falling the other way would risk broken bones. Austin and Brian were happy to go at my slow speed to enjoy the scenery and take photos. The blue waters receded behind us as we climbed up to Trail Rider Pass. The going was extremely steep. Eventually, Brian and Austin and the dog took off ahead while I followed slowly behind. Every thousand foot increase in elevation felt like the impact of another hammer, pressing a nail deeper into my skull. But I had to make it. Survival, that's what this was. By the time I reached the top, I was greeted only by a cold wind and the warm remains of Tessa's bathroom stop. My three companions had already started hiking down.
Experience by then having gifted me with a better understanding of my ailment, I knew that higher places and slower heart rate meant less oxygen to my brain and therefore more pain. So I barely stopped at the top and instead I started running down. Letting gravity pull my significant weight downward, I flew. I trusted my eyes to analyze the ground before me in fractions of seconds and relied on my flexible feet and ankles to adapt to the changing angles of rocks and dirt. My boots, determined not to cooperate, kept coming untied, causing my toes to rub up against the front. I tried my best to retie the laces but time and again they came undone. I bit through the pain and kept going.
I soon caught up to my mates and then passed them, knowing they would catch up to me on the uphills. Finally I was moving at a speed appropriate to what I knew my fitness level was! I was more fit than I had ever been in my life and I could really feel it. It felt great! We dropped by about two thousand feet into a valley. The landscape was, as ever, achingly beautiful, riven by another ice cold river crossing, the waters fed directly by snow melt.
I soon caught up to my mates and then passed them, knowing they would catch up to me on the uphills. Finally I was moving at a speed appropriate to what I knew my fitness level was! I was more fit than I had ever been in my life and I could really feel it. It felt great! We dropped by about two thousand feet into a valley. The landscape was, as ever, achingly beautiful, riven by another ice cold river crossing, the waters fed directly by snow melt.
We trekked through forests populated by titans of wood and leaves. A massive waterfall appeared in the distance and soon we could hear it too. We speculated -- could this be the waterfall we were to hike alongside? Yes! Excitement aside, the steep ascent proved too taxing and the elevation was starting to kill me again. We picked a spot to camp. I managed to eat a bit more than the day before but still, I knew, less than a third of what I was burning. More than food, what I needed was rest and sleep. We had gotten close to the third peak, but due to the extra four and a half miles our stupid mistake that morning had added to the journey, there remained two peaks to climb the next day. Vowing to start out early, we went to bed.