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Day 1 and Already Have a Poop Story: Colorado Trail Re-Attempt
August 12, 2023 – Day 1 (?)
Day 1 dawns bright and early. I wake up filled with apprehension and what feels almost like dread. I feel tingly and I’m not sure if it is the anticipation or the Diamox. (Diamox, or acetazolamide, is a medication to help prevent acute mountain sickness – tingly fingers is a common side effect.)
I turn to my husband, Alex, and say, honestly, “I don’t remember why I want to do this.”
There is so much to anticipate and I can’t shake the anxiety of it all as we pack up and drive the hour to the trailhead at Cottonwood Pass. About halfway there, I start to leave the fog of my worry and notice what is happening outside the rental car: rain. I live in Seattle, so I am quite used to rain, but the Coloradan in me is disoriented by morning rain in Colorado. Summer in Colorado means afternoon storms, and morning storms are unusual.
By the time we get to the trailhead, it is fully pouring. We check the weather reports, and find it is supposed to rain all day. Collegiate West segment 3, where I am returning to trail, is almost entirely above treeline. Right now, it is just raining, but the forecast indicates that this could become a thunderstorm at any point. The last place I want to be when lightning shows up is above treeline. It’s pretty clear that I am not starting today.
I am very grateful that I have the flexibility to postpone by one day. We quickly reschedule travel plans, book a night in Buena Vista, and then try to figure out what to do with our bonus day in the Colorado mountains. It turns into a good bonus prep day. But the best part is what happens to my nearly paralyzing apprehension. The sudden fear of losing the hike, and needing to reschedule the start – even by just a day – allows me to be excited that it still is happening. I am still hiking. I am still following my dream, and I feel even more ready.
The start! Blue skies – much better.
August 13, 2023 – Day 1 Take 2
We arrive at the trailhead for the Collegiate West segment 3, at Cottonwood Pass, around 8 am. Things look much better. Blue skies, clear views, and a more promising weather report that thunderstorms will stick to their normal afternoon time slot. I’m planning a shorter day to ease into the hike and hope to be to camp before the forecasted storms arrive.
What a stunningly beautiful place to start. Alex hikes with me for a mile to the first high point at 12,500 ft elevation. I feel positive but anxious; there is so much trail in front of me and so little I can predict. It’s now up to my body, the trail, and the famously unpredictable Colorado weather. I decide to take it one climb at a time, one day at a time.
Alex and I have an emotional goodbye and he returns to the rental car as I embark on the journey to complete what I started. Miles and miles of trail await, so all I can do is start walking.
Alex and I at our goodbye spot, 1 mile from Cottonwood Pass.
On My Own Again
I am overwhelmed by emotion as I hike away from Alex, looking back often until I can no longer see where we parted. A longer and higher climb is just ahead, so I try to refocus on the task at hand. Ordinarily, I am steady and consistent climber. I am not fast, but I stick with it and rarely take breaks. But I quickly realize that is not the case here above 12,000 feet. I am trying not to push myself but do notice I need to take more frequent pauses to catch my breath. I don’t think too much about it as I crest the climb and stop for a snack.
The next climb is much longer and even higher – it goes to 12,700 – so I enjoy my break and watch the clouds starting to form the coming afternoon storm. The clouds don’t worry me yet because it is still early, but I start on the next climb.
Lost Lake from above in CW3. The CT Databook says you can camp here, but it is quite a ways off trail.
Altitude Blues
As I start this much longer and harder climb, I find myself getting into my hiking groove. I’m smiling at the marmots and pikas while enjoying the wide open vistas and the ability to see the trail ahead for miles.
But then the climbs steepens. I feel so slow, as though someone tied weights to my ankles. I find I am physically unable to go any faster than a molasses speed uphill and even so, need to stop at every switchback to gasp for air. Challenging myself, I try to make it two switchbacks before I stop. Nope.
I can see the top, but it feels so far. The clouds are gathering and start to take on their darker, stormier appearance. I feel so frustrated, wanting to outrun the clouds over this high pass and being completely unable to move any faster. I find tears of frustration and fear springing to my eyes, but slowly, I make it. The climb levels out, the storm clouds are still a ways off, and I know I can go much faster downhill.
The First Camp
With the forecasted storms and anticipating a hard first day, I tentatively planned to camp early. Knowing I won’t be able to hike over yet another pass before the storms arrive, I am grateful for this plan. I round a bend in the trail and there is a beautiful flat outcropping with space for plenty of tents. It’s only 1:30 pm, but I set up camp. The instant the tent is up, the storm arrives – perfect timing.
Dramatic tent shot taken just before it started pouring.
I hide, cozy and dry in my tent, and hope other hikers are safe in this precarious segment. Just as the thunderstorm passes, I hear voices on the trail and peek my head out.
“Do you know if there’s other camping nearby?” It’s a father/son duo hiking the Collegiate Loop, and I invite them to take one of the many spots here. We eat dinner together overlooking the valley, and I learn that the father is close friends with the woman I hiked with on my very last day on trail last year. Lisa was a true angel that day, and got me through a confusing talus field, two difficult stream crossings, and my emotional decision to leave. It feels like a good omen that she is connected to me on this first day of my return.
Moose Poop
After dinner, I find a private copse of trees to dig a cat hole. The copse is on the edge of the outcropping, before a steep slope to the river valley below, so it provides a lovely view. I busy myself digging (Colorado is notoriously difficult for this task), and as I turn around, I realize I am being watched. In the river valley below, maybe 50 feet down the slope, is a bull moose with eyes locked on me.
I saw a mother and baby moose last year on trail, but this is the first bull moose I have seen. I try to remember what I know about moose: bad eyesight, unpredictable, charge when threatened. Assuming he was triggered by movement, I freeze. If he charges, I’m pretty limited in my ability to react with my pants around my ankles.
He stares for an uncomfortably long 30 seconds before finally turning away. I breathe out the air I was holding, and subsequently set a personal speed record for cleaning myself up and filling in the hole. I slowly creep away and laugh to myself. The first time I see a bull moose, and it was mid-poop. Amazing. I don’t know what a day 1 like this means, but I feel like it is an auspicious start.
Hiking off on my own at the beginning of the segment
Day 1 Stats
7.3 trail miles hiked
1750 gain/1950 descent
Campsite elevation: 11,800
7.3 miles into Collegiate West Segment 3
226.6 total CT miles hiked
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Comments 10
It was fun reading about your encounter with that moose. It reminded me of a self-experienced, in retrospect comical situation from last summer. I was on a day trip in the mountains with some friends. Over the course of the morning, my body reminded me with ever-increasing strength that something had to come out. When I realized that it could not be delayed any longer, I found an opportunity to withdraw from the group and find a suitable hiding place among the rocks. I had just squatted down when I heard someone walking in the vegetation behind me.
I felt myself getting quite stressed. But when I looked over my shoulder, luckily, my fears were immediately dispelled. It wasn’t any of the others in the group, nor any scary animal. It was simply just two sheep that wandered up to my side.
They stopped less than 6 feet from me, looking partly at each other, partly at me, while they continued their rumination. That’s how they stood, apparently paying close attention to everything that happened until I was done and could pull my pants up. Then one sheep baaed and the other answered, and they both turned and went away.
No one is going to tell me that animals don’t think, but it would have been fun to know what they thought of the aging man who allowed himself to poop in their territory. They didn’t look angry, so I hope they were very understanding of the situation.
Ha, that is hilarious! Those sheep must have been trying to figure out what you were doing there. Love it!
Laughed out loud at both stories. Another one, a bit similar, from me too. Last summer when mountain biking in Central Norway. Out for the whole day. After my first coffee break things had to be done. No toilet there. I went well away from the trail into an area with dense mountain birch forest, the type of terrain you only approach when you want to be alone. I found a suitable spot and squatted down in the unmistakable position we all know as typical of a person with acute needs. However, I couldn’t quite relax because I felt watched.
Immediately I understood why. A cow’s head stuck out from between the branches. She evidently noticed that I spotted her, because then she said “moo” a little gently, and turned and left me alone. When I had finished and returned to the trail, she was there too, standing peacefully watching me putting on my backpack and getting on the bike. When I rode off there came a distinct “moo” from her.
I obviously don’t know cow language, but afterwards I enjoyed the thought that the first, weak “moo” might mean “sorry” and the last, stronger one, could be understood as “have a nice day”. In that case, a very polite and considerate cow, I must say.
I observed several other cows around. Hopefully, she didn’t tell this as a funny incident to her friends. The behavior could indicate a certain sense of propriety!!
I laughed out loud at this, too! I had some hilarious encounters with cows on the Colorado Trail but most seemed annoyed by me. Yours seems quite polite!
Heh, heh, at least the cow was so polite that she left a needy man alone with his unmentionable task!
By the way, thanks for the initiative to start this fun story telling! There are probably lots lots of such small incidents from outdoor life that people have, but never tell about. Verbally they become a bit “pale”, sometimes even a bit embarrassing to tell, because they concern situations we don’t really like to talk about. Thus, they appear to do much better in written form afterwards.
Still I regret that I forgot to take a picture of my random cow-friend. It would have been a good memory from this particular trip. Showing it to family and friends, they would have said: “What a nice cow!” and I could have added: “Polite too”, without giving any further details, if not appropriate.
Funny stories! But most of these probably only remain in the personal memory and are rarely told to others. I can also contribute with a summer memory from Spain.
I had climbed over a stone fence and walked a good distance away from the path and found a hiding place behind some dense bushes. No sooner had I squatted down than a donkey appeared, fortunately alone, without the farmer’s presence. It stood perfectly still, watching me for a minute or two. Then it let out a poo before wandering peacefully on!
Indeed, humans and animals have a lot in common, I thought with a smile as I finished my toilet affairs as we humans do. It would have been really funny to know what the donkey was thinking when it saw this aging lady in her rather private moment.
Hilarious! Seems like the donkey just wanted to join you in your backcountry bathroom quest. I love it!
Really a lot of funny stories here. It’s a shame that we are often a bit embarrassed to share them with others. The animal I fear the most when I’m squatting with my pants around my knees is homo sapiens. They tend to suddenly appear behind bushes and rocks some distance from the trail, especially along very popular trails. But fortunately they quickly run away, because it seems as if they are at least as frightened to meet me as I am to meet them.
Agreed – this story exchange in the comments here brings me great joy. And also agreed on the homo sapiens – thankfully, I’ve avoided any unpleasant encounters while squatting, but I did have one ask me “where I went for so long” after taking care of my business away from camp in the trees.
Oh yeah! Curiosity is a genuine human quality! Sometimes it is nevertheless somewhat “out of place”. Once one of my hiking buddies started looking for me as she were eager to continue. Somewhat embarrassing just then, but afterwards both of us were able to smile of it. Thanks for your comment to my posting. Nice of you to start this amusing exchange.