The San Juans were certainly a highlight, and not only because the trail seldom dipped below 11,000 feet in the last week. The trail also took us through some rugged and beautiful terrain. Steep peaks, deep valleys, high plateaus, well defined ridgelines, wildflowers and WATER. Flowing creeks, high alpine lakes, snowpack, rain, hail and frost: we found water in all it’s natural forms. Of course, some of these forms of water depend on COLD, and we had that too.

The wildflowers were simply stunning, bold and beautiful, elegant, showy, simple and sublime. Every niche of habitat and of the senses was filled. Hiking 16 to 20 miles a day in such country does not lend itself well to botanizing, but it’s safe to say that the individual species numbered in the hundreds.

All this was in stark contrast to New Mexico, where dryness ruled and rock formations replaced fields of flowers for our photos.

In planning our approach to the CDT we had set out segments so that we would be able to experience the San Juans in their glory days and not be forced to walk around them or through them when snow whiteness ruled the landscape. We succeeded, and the experience fulfilled our expectations.

We come to the end of this year’s segment with mixed feelings. Anxious to complete our journey, to return home, to rest up, soothe some aching muscles and to appreciate the creature comforts we so often take for granted. But sad at ending the journey, with a heart tugging to go on, to follow the ridge line up and out of Spring Creek pass and onto Snow Mesa and keep going north.

But, we will wait until next year and then come back to see all that lies between here and Togowatee Pass at the north end of the Wind River mountains in Wyoming. These are the dreams that help sustain us through the winter months.

Miles 820

A cold night brought ice on the inside of the tarp, again. Morning brought more early clouds. We walked back up to the ridgeline trail and followed it along the rolling grasslands east towards the pass, our finish line for this year.

The rugged panoramic scenes of the San Juans were fading behind us. We stopped often to turn around and just take in some last, lingering views of this magnificent country and to marvel at the twisted topography through which we had just spent the last 7 days walking.

At Jarosa Mesa, the last high point before we would fade into the pass below, we turned around for one last look, and a final goodbye, to the trail we had followed for a week through the San Juans and for two months since the Mexican border.

We descended the mesa with mixed feelings. The twinges that I have felt developing in my right calf and left hip, the cold icy nights and rain soaked days all suggest that this might be the right time to return home. Yet the heart still yearns to follow the allure of the trail life. Relief and sadnesss mingled as we sat on the “lee” side of the final hill, out of the wind, eating our last trail lunch.

All morning the storm clouds grew, and around us we could see isolated cells raining. We had been fortunate to be followed by a “bubble” of sunlight. Now we sit at lunch and count 7 or 8 storm cells forming a rough circle around us, some distant while others more near. Inevitably one of them crept closer for final farewell rain shower which hastened the end of lunch and launched us down the hillside for a last leg of walking.

Although Spring Creek pass itself was out of sight, ahead we could see the final slope which would drop into the pass, and, just beyond it, the ridgeline and mesa which next year we would follow up and out of the pass and back to the divide. We could see our future. A future wich would have to wait until next year to follow.

For now, as we walked down the mesa we met our friends, William and Colleen from Buena Vista who had hiked in to join us in walking the last several miles of this summer’s hike. As we approached the pass, Molly and Steve, friends from Sandpoint, joined us also. Together we would make our way to Spring Creek pass, pause for a brief celebration of the moment and the journey, and with a vow to return next year, we began our two-day drive home. We would have time to slowly decrompress, process the memories and begin dreaming about next summer’s final leg of the CDT.

Miles 11.0

We startd the long climb up back to the divide, up Pole Creek. Pole creek follows a wide open valley, sparsely treed but with lots of grass, wildlfowers and willow brush. And cows, the first we’ve seen since leaving Wolf Creek Pass. We’re out of the Weminuche wilderness now.

We had breakfast on a high bluff with views up the broad valleys of both the west and middle forks of Pole Creek. Storm clouds were already brewing on the crest. We resigned ourselves to facing yet another rainy day.

Continuing up Pole Creek, with occasional spritzes of rain and hail partnered with occasionally sunny breaks, we joined the divide and climbed to a pass at 12,900 feet. It’s an idyllic spot tucked tight between two mountains and the divide, with a spring right below the top of the pass. It’s a spot we camped in about 12 years ago. We take lunch and enjoy a commanding view of the valley below, watching 3 hikers climb the pass. Our lunch is shortened by an emerging storm. We walk on to stay warm. The rain comes and goes, sometimes heavy. After an hour we’re tired of battling it and concerned about the upcoming pass which is even more exposed, so we find a small clump of trees to take some shelter from the wind-driven rain and hail.

45 minutes later there’s a break in the squall so we move on. The temperature has dropped, so we layered up, short and long polypro shirts, rain pants and jackets and gloves.

We climbed on trail then jeep roads, sometimes very steeply, and reached a gap in a ridgeline on the divide. Turning east, we faced another long, steep climb towards a summit on the crest.

Rounding a false summit we followed yet a few more switchbacks of trail and finally we top out at 13,250 feet, our highest point in elevation of this year’s journey. The views are stunning, especially looking back at the area we’ve just walked through. The continental divide does a big loop around the headwaters of the Rio, so we’ve spent a week and covered 100 trail miles to look aout 20 or so miles back at where we began.

To the south of us, the divide we walked on a couple days ago is getting blasted by a severe storm cell, dark swirling clouds, heavy sheets of rain so thick they obscure everything.

Our path ahead includes several miles of high exposed ridges around 13,000 feet with occasional dips into shallow passes or gaps. There seems to be an opening for us with a fairly benign front of clouds behind us, so we continue on.

It’s a high elevation walk with stunning panoramas, but the terrain ahead is more like a rolling plateau than a series of peaks and valleys. Pleasant walking, but a definite change. It feels as if one mountain range is ending and another beginning.

The San Juans have been rugged and difficult, but rewarding, so it’s with mixed feelings that we move forward through this new landscape.

The low gaps in this plateau offer little flat sheltered areas for camping. With another very severe storm forming in the main valley to our north we keep walking. A broad pass ahead looked flat enough but what was supposed to be springs are stagnant pools of water and seeping wet ground. We keep going.

The next saddle is nothing but slope. We keep going.

It’s getting late when we finally drop into a notch with some small stunted willows and drop down a hundred or so feet to find a very small bench, just big enough for one tent, but it’s at least somehwhat sheltered from prevailing winds by the slope. From the quantity of elk “sign” we know the area should be reasonably sheltered. We’re low on water, but will make do with what we have.

On our last ridge walk we came across a very confused and panicked Pika. He ran circles around our footsteps, finally stopping right beside the trail in a small clump of grass, motionless.

From our camp we watch tall dark thunderheads glow red and orange at their bottom funneling the setting sun’s rays from the top down, “raining fire in the sky.”

Miles 17.0

The morning walk was a cold bath, walking through willows wet from the heavy dew. The water ladens branches and leaves were just waiting for a passing hiker to wash. Turn your head, don’t forget to get behind the ears. Completely wet from waist down.

We climb gradually to Nebo Pass, the most dramatic pass on the hike so far, a reward worth the effort. Tall, steep peaks soared above a vally so deep it’s depths were hiden from view. In the foreground a small lake sat in a high basin just below the pass reflecting clouds and mirroring the nearby ridges.

it was an awe inspiring place and the morning’s clear skies were starting to cloud up so we took an early lunch. Spreading everything out we managed to dry gear and clothes as clouded shade alternated with bright sun.

After lunch we quickly dropped 1,000 feet before the trail turned to go back up another vally. We climbed back up 1,000 feet to Hunchback pass. I am convinced that Hunchback Pass got it’s name because climbing the step trail makes one lean so far forward to keep from falling that by the time you rech the top your back becomes hunched over and it’s hard to stand upright. The trail in this section is old, so old that it was built before the invention of the switchback.

The drop and climb between Nebo and Hunchback passes, like other parts of the CDT, could have benefitted from another invention, the water bar. Serious erosion is the result of runaway trails and when this condition, erosion, meets “steep” the result is a trail choked with rocks and too difficult to walk so another path parallel to the first one is pioneered creating unecessary scars on the landscape.

The afternoons thunderstorms geared up with heavy rain, thunder and lightning. We got only a few droplets, but were concerned about the upcoming walk across a broad plateau high above timberine, very exposed and with no good options for nearby shelter which defined the divide for several miles.

So we chose the old Colorado trail route, down the Bear creek jeep road. It didn’t have broad panoramas but did offer some nice views.

We made camp a short ways up Pole Creek.

17 miles

We climbed a high ridge and followed the divide as it rolled along to high points (as high as 12,700) and lower basins. A heard of elk occupied one basin. As we watched them, from high above grazing, a chorus of coyotes echoed their calls off canyon walls a mile or so away. The elk took notice and moved to the cover of willows in a midslope area.

On top of a rocky plateau we came across a Ptarmigan and four chicks, well camoflauged, until they moved.

By the time we dropped into a long creek walk to Weminuche pass, the morning clouds were organizing into an ominous storm cell. For about an hour it dumped heavy rains and hail on us. Fortunately we were well below the ridgelines as the lightning, wind, rain and hail unleashed themselves, falling hard. We got thouroughly drenched as the storm really dumped on us, turning the trail to streams. The flowing water pushed hail pellets into banks several inches deep in places.

It was the kind of rain which felt like it would never stop. Of course, it did stop, but then started up again - periodically for about 4 or 5 hours. There would be no chance of drying the tent or sleeping bag at lunch.

The rain brought colder temps, in fact the whole day felt more like a day in September in the north Cascades. Walking all day with a stiff and sore back did not help the disposition much either. But we pushed on, as it was warmer walking than resting and the back stayed less stiff the less it rested.

Finally as we approached timberline after the long, 2,000 ft climb back out of Wemenuche Pass, the couds started to break up a little and we saw some actual sun, at least enough to raise the spirits.

We made it to Ute Lake, our goal for the day, as the sun was setting. A very cold and damp evening continued the feeling of autumn.

19.5 miles

As the divide turned north it dropped into the first of two “Knife Edges”. The first was really more of a “butter knife”, slighty rounded on top. At the end of this ridge the trail took to a contour on the east side of the divide, going in and out of several high basins. Occasional elk and mule deer were in the basin grazing on the lush green grass and having wildflowers for dessert.

We took an early lunch in the last basin before the “steak knife” edge (this one was seriously serrated). The thunderheads had come on early and it was raining in many places. A big rumbler was organizing itself right on top of the divide, right above us and in close proximity to where the trail topped out the knife’s edge. Not a good place to get caught in a storm. It’s hard to “bail off” downhill when it’s a sheer drop. So we waited, ate lunch, waited some more. Finally the worst of the storm cell moved on taking the thunder and lightning with it, but leavings us some light rain to walk in.

And so would the afternoon go, walk some, wait some, get rained on some. The storms seemed more numerous and the rain more widespread today. We managed to get back up and over a major ridge or two, following the trail as it moved back close to the crest.

Dropping into Squaw pass we saw three moose off in the distance in the willows just above Squaw creek and, later on, we saw another moose in the basin above Squaw Creek. This latter one was about 100 yards away and seemed very intrigued by us, following our moves closely. None of the moose seemed to mind the rainy day which left the willows all wet. Walking along the trail, the willows would keep us soaked even when it wasn’t raining. But, again, the moose don’t mind.

We pushed on late into the evening trying to make up for miles lost, waiting out storms. We managed to get to a high lake basin just before dark and camped on a bench above it.

16 miles

We came around a bend high on the divide and were within 50 to 60 yards of a herd of Elk. Mostly cows and alot of young calves, laying down in the grass soaking up the warm early morning sun. It took them a while to notice us but when they did they took off, some seeming reluctant to give up their prime location.

The ridgewalking was so nice that we kept right on walking past a trail junction where the CDT drops. Not a major delay, but it added about three quarters of a mile.

Today was our turn for rain, the first storm setting in as we were leaving Piedra pass. At least it waited unitl we were done with lunch. The rain was steady but not so bad that we couldn’t keep walking. Until we started to rise to open slopes and the clouds began to produce thunder and lightning. We sheltered ourselves beneath some smaller trees and waited.

Hiking again along ridges, the afternoon was turning to evening when another storm cell began a steady rain mixed with some small hail. We walked on. As the evening rain was letting up we came across another herd of elk. This one numbered several dozen, but they must have been without a leader as the herd was very indecisive. First they moved towards the uphill, then cicled a few strides, then finally went down the creek into the cover of heavier woods.

Across the landscape large swaths of trees are all brown, dead, or dying, likely the result of severe insect infestations, which are plaguing parts of Colorado. Our vocabulary is insuffucient to describe to the situation. We tend towards words implying destruction, devastation and loss. And yet, that is only part of what is happenning. Even on this scale, some ecologists believe these disease and insect outbreaks to be part of larger, poorly undertood, natural cycles of death and regeneration. While this may be true it’s hard not to be struck with sadness over the loss of so much green forest. On the trail, there are also a couple of immediate, and profound, impacts.

The dead trees increase the amount of downfall across the trail, especially older growth, large downfall. The big trees are sometimes impossibe to go over, or under. On a steep slope, the hike uphill to go aorund a tall tree is not easy. When a large number of trees are down, the trail tread can be so obscured that, after going around the first two or three treees, finding the trail again can become a guessing game.

The rat-a-tat-tat-tat drilling of the Hairy Woodpeckers reminds us that nature uses the niche opportunity provided by all altered habitats, even large swaths of dead and dying spruce trees.

Eventually the rain stopped and we enjoyed the setting sun as it cast late day, bright light on mountain ridges set against dark clouds.

We made camp in a small pass covered with spruce and fir, mostly green ones. Camping around or under the dead trees being a game akin to “Russian Roulette”.

17 miles

Lots of people on the trail: an overnight backpacker from Boston, day hikers, horse riders out for the day and a youth group from Dallas. The Weminuche wilderness is a popular place to be. And rightly so, as the Weminuche wildernees is the largest in Colorado at almost 500,000 acres.

We stay close to the divide for much of the day, with all it’s ups, downs and convolutions. Sometimes we are in woods with deer and elk and some of the day we spend on high open ridges. The views are always shifting and never unsatisfying.

Thunderheads form and move on, leaving us pretty much alone. As evening comes the sun drops below the clouds and cast long yelllow, golden orange rays up the mountains and ridges. A herd of elk in one of the deep valleys is already in their “night” mode, grazing contentedly. We drop into a small pass and set up camp in the shelter of some stunted trees, with views of nearby Sawtooth Peak glowing in the setting sun.

14 miles

The Colorado Rockies of the South San Juan Wilderness are wild and rugged lands. Stunning scenery and sensational summer wildflowers, unfolded in greater dimensions with every step.

For us, since leaving the Mexican border, it was the first time we hiked above 12,000 feet (hitting 12,700 for those who are counting numbers); crossed our first snow fields; and hiked our first days without a jeep (or other) road in sight, or under foot. We traversed the first areas above timberline and enjoyed our first true alpine areas. We found our first marmots and picas and made our highest camps (at just over 12,000 foot). And donned fleece hats, polypro bottoms and actually used the fleece jacket for more than just a pillow. First hail. And, most significantly, these were the first days that we did not have to weigh ourselves down by carrying lots of water. We had frequent springs, streams, cascades, creeks, rivers and rivulets. No water worries. Well, you get the idea, we were finally, at last in “real” mountains.

No offense to afficianados of New Mexican mountains, but it’s hard not to extoll the virtues of the high Rocky Mountain peaks of Colorado. New Mexico - be happy with your unique and stunning red rock mesas.

Pagosa Springs is our last town/resupply stop. Tommorow we head back to the Rocky Mountain high country and a final week in the San Juan mountains before we finsih this summer’s segment of the Continental Divide trail.

705 miles done (115 to go).

The trail never strayed more than a few hundred yards from the actual divide from our camp south of Elwood Pass to Wolf Creek pass, so we were walking on the crest or contouring on high slopes all day.

We continue to see more amazing wildflowers, vibrant colors, clinging to unlikely places, thriving in talus slopes or wind blasted slopes. Sunflowers dominate the scene. The way that light is attracted to the talus abundant sunflowers makes them seem to light up as if the were giving off light and standout from their “competition.”

Rainshowers developed early again with rumbling by mid morning and widespread blanket of clouds, storm cells and sheets of rain by mid afternoon.

Amazingly we only got sprinkled on just a couple times, even as we saw both near and distant deluges of rainfall.

As we roll along the series of ridges towards Wolf Creek pass we drop enough in elevation that bare ridges mix with heavily timbered slopes and passes. There is an incredible number of downed trees in several stretches, many of them quite large and obscuring the trail and making it difficult and time consuming to get by them.

Towards the end of the day we are on top of the Wolf Creek Pass ski area. In the summer the detris of their operation, which is covered in the winter season, shows, leaving an unattractive mark upon the landscape in marked contrast to the wild highlands through which we have otherwise walked the last four days.

We pushed hard the last few miles, going 2 1/2 hours without a break to get past the storms, ski area, and down to Wolf Creek pass early enough to get to Pagosa Springs for a room, shower and dinner.

We got an amazing ride, just three minutes after arriving at the pass and make it to Pagosa Springs in the early evening.

19 miles