It’s Raining On My Parade

When I opted to thru-hike the Colorado Trail in August, I had high hopes for weather. Typically, storms are short-lived and consistent; I live by the saying “tree line by noon.” 

This year, the heavens have opened upon me day in and day out. Storms roll through at 10 a.m., 3 p.m., and midnight, making it impossible to predict when I should make my miles in the exposed alpine. 

A few days ago, my hiking partner and I made the big decision to go west — Collegiate West, that is. After Twin Lakes, the CT splits for 80 miles, give or take, where hikers can opt for a low or high route.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by

For those unfamiliar with this stretch’s notoriety, Collegiate West is known for its steep climbs, long and exposed segments, high-altitude passes, and epic wildflower-laden views. It’s counterpart, Collegiate East, runs lower below tree line, with more mellow grades and less exposure. 

In its promised glory, Collegiate West hasn’t wavered in its challenges. Each day has been a learning lesson, some of which I’d like to bestow upon you now. 

Don’t Quit on a Bad Day…or Four

The ol’ thru-hiking adage, “don’t quit on a bad day,” often lurks in the back of my brain. But what happens when it’s bad day after bad day, tenfold? 

As the terrain through the Sawatch range got harder, so did my days of hiking. Collegiate West takes no mercy either. The first three days force you into its initiation ritual: 4,000 foot climbs, at least one mountain pass per day, at 12,000 feet and above.

Already suffering from low morale going into this stretch, I found climbing the passes first thing in the morning to actually be the pinnacle of each day. Then, everything would go downhill, physically and metaphorically. 

Lake Ann in all her majestic glory

Most of my journal entries from this stretch, after climbing Hope, Lake Ann, and Cottonwood Passes, all begin with: “today was so hard.” 

Most nights, I would roll into camp dead on my feet, often not making as many miles as I’d hoped. Feeling defeated, the cold rain and incessant storms that pounded my tent at night only added fuel to the fire of questioning why I was out here. 

Following four bad days of rain though came my best day on trail so far, a shimmering light at the end of this pain cave. 

In Segment 3 of Collegiate West, a section notorious for hikers getting caught in electrical storms on its exposed, 16-mile ridge walk above 12,000 feet, I felt the most alive I’ve ever been.

High on life in the alpine!

Despite one of the hardest physical days I’ve had on trail, the miles and climbs cruised by. My cheeks hurt from smiling all day, whooping and hollering into the thin alpine air as the trail meandered along ridges. 

I camped that night in a grove of sheltered trees, an unobstructed view of the mountains from the comfort of my sleeping bag. The day was perfect, sunup to sundown. 

It’s always a good morning when you get to watch the sunrise from the coziness of your warm tent.

Celebrate the Small Wins

Tangentially to not quitting on a bad day, another lesson learned (and practiced) on this stretch has been finding the silver lining in each day, no matter how small.

Although climbing atop each panoramic, jaw-dropping pass each day boosts my spirits higher than high, I can only ride that adrenaline rush so long.

On the days where everything saps my energy, I’ve been taking stock of the small wins. 

Taking a lunchtime siesta, sprawled across the grass, with my shoes off and wind blowing gently on my skin. 

Dead to the world on top of Hope Pass. Best breakfast siesta yet!

Enjoying my favorite snack or devouring a delicious, filling dinner at camp that warms me to my core. 

Stumbling upon a field of vibrant wildflowers as far as the eye can see, a mish-mash of magentas, goldens, and plum hues. 

A quintessentially flat campsite overlooking a babbling creek with the perfect pitch — a rare win, I’ve come to find. 

Sipping a refreshing gulp of cold water straight from a spring. 

Unexpectedly “hitching” into the tiny town of Tin Cup via a bumpy, adrenaline-filled ATV ride to avoid climbing another pass for the hell of it all. 

The Early Bird Beats the Storm

Having lived in Colorado for many years, this lesson was not unbeknownst to me prior to my hike. However, I’ve miraculously become a morning person over the last two weeks, eager to take advantage of my weather window far before I hear the ominous rumbles of thunder off in the distance. 

On Collegiate West, getting up and over passes before storms is a non-negotiable. Waking up squinty-eyed at the crack of dawn, many of my miles through this stretch have been in the darkness. 

In anticipation of Segment 3’s ridge walk, I was on trail by 4 a.m., romped through the alpine amidst semi-clear skies, and set up camp by early afternoon to beat the impending weather.

Moose Are Everywhere 

Is this a learning lesson? I can’t fess up to that. In the wee hours of the morning up to Cottonwood Pass, I stumbled upon six moose in the span of a quarter mile — quite the wake-up call! 

While most simply ignored my presence or kept trucking on into the brush, a few gave us a hard time, staring me down through the dense willows until one of us conceded. 

Maybe there’s a learning lesson in exposure therapy or conquering your fears here. At this present time, I’d still like to believe I have a healthy dose of fear from these humongous creatures. 

Don’t Rain on My Parade (Thru Hike) 

Alas, the best laid plans often fail…especially on a thru hike. Despite my best efforts to finish out this journey on Collegiate West, a drastic change in the forecast now challenges my decision-making skills and risk aversion. 

An unexpected blitz in dawn-to-dusk storms means hanging out above 12,000 feet for the next few days is near impossible. With only a few short days to Salida, Mother Nature has taken the reigns on my plans. 

Though the disappointment of not being able to experience the rest of the West leaves a sour taste in my mouth, my heart (and fear of lightning) knows switching to the lower Collegiate East route is the only way to go. 

It’s raining on our parade, but we will persevere.