CDT Days 35-44: Wolf Creek to Monarch Pass

From Cumbres Pass by the New Mexico border, it didn’t take long for the big, majestic Colorado mountains to appear. It also didn’t take long for a healthy dose of discord and adventure to ensue. The pounding winds of the South San Juan Wilderness so violent I couldn’t sleep or hike straight up, the food poisoning I got in Pagosa Springs, the lightning at Wolf Creek Pass so thick I went back down into Pagosa, the entire San Luis Valley side quest I set out on, and the discovery that mountain lions chirp like birds (how did I not know this!?) all contributed. With big mountains comes big adventure, and though I’m exhausted today while writing this and want to sleep for days, I’m so here for it Colorado.

South San Juan Wilderness: 69 miles

With the sort of alpine beauty that makes you want to cry tears of joy, I was so grateful to have this landscape as the initial gateway into Colorado.

Feeling on top of the world again and ecstatic to be ridge walking again, initially I just chuckled at the powerful West winds. I did not take the thunderclouds as lightly though, and on my first day going through here I did choose to drop down into the trees at one point and use deer trails for about 1.5 miles. It slowed me down for a bit but was worth the peace of mind, since the ridges were so exposed. While navigating the made of deer trails I came upon a tiny, perfect sleeping doe in the grass. My heart stopped momentarily as I was stunned by both the immense cuteness before me and the threat of a parent deer charging me. I bolted away, happy with the mental image. 

Down in the trees, about 4 miles from where I planned to camp up by Trail Lake I met CDT hiker Oof, who questioned me about the snow ahead. Based on the lack of snow so far, and seeing that he was from Alaska and had his ice axe, I told him not to worry and that the mountains ahead were incredible! I continued up, jumping from stream to tarn to lake as water poured off the divide and the golden hour light illuminated them. Nestling my tent in a group of small trees around 9pm, I hunkered down for a windy evening that kept me in twilight sleep.

Tired from the chilly, windy evening before I started out around 8am, getting a proper beating by the icy wind before the trail started to drop down a bit. Sitting on a rock for a quick water break, I saw Oof passing me and jumped up to follow him as we were essentially going cross country at that point. It was nice to follow someone for a change; I’d maybe hiked 10 miles with another hiker so far on my entire thruhike. I caught up to him and we chatted for a while, the miles going by quickly as for once I had a distraction other than just an audiobook. Taking lunch against a log near the chimney of a bygone homestead at Blue Lake, Oof offered to make me coffee and I offered him a vanilla cream cookie. Since I don’t usually carry a stove or coffee while thruhiking, (I honestly hate backpacking food and try to take caffeine breaks), this was quite a treat! I continued up the trail alone, again returning to my audiobook for a bit, and seamlessly wove through snow patches that had seemingly melted just enough to expose the trail beneath. My feet didn’t even really get wet. We really were going through here at the perfect time for easy hiking. And then I came upon my favorite stream so far, in a valley expensively green. I soaked my feet in a cold pool, down a large serving of potato chips, and took a nap on a soft, flat spot next to the water. 

Continuing down, down, down and then back up around 12,000 feet in a bowl below a pass, I positioned myself far enough into the section that I could make it to Wolf Creek and Pagosa Springs the next day. Along the way, I heard what sounded like a very loud, strange bird somewhere near the trail. I later realized by chance that this had indeed been the chirp of a mountain lion, when a video popped up on my feed with the sound. I don’t know how I didn’t know this after growing up in mountain lion country and being trained how to deal with them from when I was a young girl, but this new information shattered my whole concept of the world and I am currently rebuilding. For now, most birds are also being shouted at as my enemy.

The spot I pulled myself up to through yet an even greener valley, quite a steep part of trail for the last couple miles of the day, had been marked as a water source and tent site. But, as I discovered, the snow near the protective cliffs there had not yet melted out and so there was no real protection against the angry winds. Dusk setting in, and only higher ridgelines ahead, I tried to nestle myself into the bushes in the hopes that they’d provide some sort of barrier. It didn’t work. I stayed up late sitting up in my tent, trying to prevent my tent from being ripped from the ground. Knowing from the night prior that the wind would not be stopping at all that evening, I tied my tent to the bushes where I could and tried to get some sleep. Constantly being ripped from sleep, when I’d grasp by tent until falling asleep again, I estimated I got maybe two hours of shuteye. 

I started out early, around 6:30 a.m. because it wasn’t like I was going to get any real additional sleep and I knew that the storm clouds were only building that week. The trail, so high up that it somehow seemed still, and frozen in time despite the winds that were knocking me sideways almost completely off of my feet. If it wasn’t so magical that morning I might have been cursing, but I was enamored. Rolling through the ridges, I eventually took a short detour on a road walk where the “green line” alternate started and got to breathe for a moment outside of the winds so strong they took my breath away. The trail turned into more of a survival experience rather than a jaunt not to long after that as it laced the west slope and offered me directly to the winds. Head down, knees bent, leaning sideways into the wind and towards the edge of the trail with steep scree below, I pushed on. At one point the wind jerked me so hard that I stepped on the edge of a rock chunk in the trail. It hit my ankle so hard that it was swollen for days. I cursed aloud at that one. As I finally approached the highway, a car with some hikers and their dog offered me a ride before I could even stick my thumb out, and I was relieved to be heading towards Pagosa Springs and a very proper zero day.

Hiker Trash Takes Pagosa

When I’d finally completed the mile or so walk to my unit from the check in, passing the grocery and liquor store along the way, I was shocked to see how fancy the place I’d reserved for two nights was.

For only $60 total per night I had a separate room with a comfy king bed, a nice tub, a kitchen, and in-unit laundry! And the eloquent San Juan mountains loomed in the distance just outside of my window. I hadn’t had a zero day since returning from Southern California after the recent passing of my dad, and I needed this escape from everything, even the trail, desperately. 

I rested and wrote vigorously, not leaving the suite for an entire day, after which I finally stopped by the gym to do some foam rolling and yoga before taking the bus into downtown. Kips offers a free beer for hikers who purchase a meal, so I took advantage of that for lunch, stopping by the gear shop for bear spray (my mini pepper spray had just fallen off of my pack) and then hitching back up to the trail. It did look a bit stormy when I returned, but realizing that morning that I’d gotten food poisoning from Beny’s Mexican Restaurant, I figured I’d just camp near the trailhead anyway instead of at the lake five miles in like I’d originally planned.

Diving back into the trail, I searched around for a flat spot with some shelter from the trees, a difficult task in much of Colorado with all of the bark beetle damage. As I looked, my eyes met the horizon as a fat lightening strike hit the ground in the near distance. My phone buzzed as my lightning tracker app notified me of the strike I’d just seen, about five miles away. The storm was coming directly towards me, and so I decided heading back down to the trailhead itself, the lowest point I’d be able to muster out here. As I descended, I could feel the thick of the storm getting closer and closer as my intuition screamed and I picked up my pace. Getting down to the highway at a jog, I again looked in the direction of the storm as I saw a bolt strike just across the highway, maybe one mile away. High alert was now on as my mind said “BAIL, BAIL, BAIL!” I needed to get inside of a vehicle, NOW. I got into hitching position along the highway, but this time instead of a thumb I crossed my trekking poles into the emergency signal often used in places like ski resorts and waved my arms in distress. The first car to pass, a long-time Wolf Creek ski area employee, stopped and let me in. My adrenaline was going, and we descended back into Pagosa as lightning flashed bright and the flooding rain made it hard to see anything around us. Eyes wide, I was back in downtown, where I didn’t get any cell service and the bus had stopped for the day, and was now paying for another night in town. Luckily Motel SOCO, a very cute place at the edge of downtown, offers hikers discounts but it was still pricey and I looked forward to returning to my tent the next day.

San Luis Valley Side Quest: 108 miles

Awakening groggy and still nauseas from the food poisoning, I decided to head down the highway into South Fork for the evening and see how I felt after another lighter day. It felt safer anyways after how much lightning had been in that area the evening prior. 

As I passed above major RV resort with hundreds of visitors, I saw this fading sign on the ground and couldn’t have agreed more. After stopping by the Dollar General and pizza place, I settled into the hotel, put on a movie, and crashed out.

The next morning I still felt drained and hadn’t regained my water chugging abilities, which are a very important superpower on trail especially with the high altitude. I felt more relaxed continuing down the highway towards Del Norte rather than joining the Creede cutoff. So I went from the red line to the blue line to green line, enjoying the character of the San Luis Valley filled with log cabins and the South Fork Rio Grande. I Strolled along, falling deep into my audiobook (my sister got me into the Sarah J. Mass fiction books and I do recommend them). 

Hipster paradise aka central Del Norte provided good eats and another place to watch the world go by. I set out on the green line the next morning, giant cinnamon roll in tow.

I’d now left the river behind, bounding through the open valley, anticipation for returning to the official trail beginning to grow again. At a point where the trail crosses Hwy 114 I was able to get a ride into Saguache that evening to the one place still open, a pizza joint. Stopping into the bathroom before leaving, when I returned a couple of the young folks sitting at a table behind behind had paid my bill and left, not wanting anything not even my name or a chat. They saw that I was a hiker and simply paid. I almost cried at how nice of a gesture it was. Pitching a tent just out of town on some BLM land, every dog bark in the nearby distance now jolted me after my traumatic dog experiences coming out of Cuba, NM. But I managed to fall asleep, awaking early the next day and walking back into town for a breakfast burrito and a coffee. I figured nobody would pick me up that early anyway. 

And I was right. Even after breakfast it took me two and half hours of trying to look friendly on the side of the road before someone finally stopped. The Forest Service wildlife biologist and his cute dog, on their way to Gunnison, scooped me up and we chatted about the state of public lands as well as the lone Gray Wolf they’d reintroduced to the section I was heading into. After a relatively short exchange I was finally back at the red line, feeling better and back on track.

Hwy 114 to Monarch Pass: 46 miles

Storm clouds still followed as I reveled in the wildflowers of this section, and even managed to find a campsite in a meadow where the air was still that night. 

There were a lot more trees than there had been south of here on the trails I’d taken, and I soaked in the shade.

As I got closer to Marshall Pass, motorbikes began zooming down the trail, and I was initially extremely caught off guard. I was again grateful for how perfectly the snow had melted out.

Approaching Monarch Pass, the traffic turned into later afternoon mountain bikers, presumably getting in a post-work ride. 

Feeling fairly zoned out, I stopped just before the highway to change into my sleep clothes, since I’d managed to get my hiking dress so dirty on this last section of trail. In my sports bra, slipping my thermal top on, a woman and her dog met the dirt road just before the parking lot. We started chatting and as I told her about first hiking the PCT back in 2017, she told me she’d hiked the Colorado Trail back in 1996, us both awknowledging how truly fast time flies by. Her trail partner was an adorable and calm mini Australian Shepherd and all I can say is I WANT ONE. Cutest dog ever at my feet, they wished me the best on trail and dropped me at the Monarch Lodge for dinner. At the lodge, almost no one was around and it felt like being in a high up mountain monastery. 1970’s style furnishings, whatever, this place was a sanctuary and I wasn’t going to take it for granted.

My Doctor’s Without Border’s thruhike fundraiser has now raised about 75% of the funds to match my Colorado State miles!