Colorado the end bit

We lay on our backs, deep inside our sleeping bags looking at the night sky.

Our faces are cold in the frosty air. Our beaming smiles are not frozen, they are warm, as we take in the thick twisted cloud of billions of stars that make up the galaxy. The vastness is deadly quiet.

Camped at 13,000’ we are in the final section of the hike in the state of Colorado; the San Juan Mountains.

From the beginning we have been in a race against time. An urgency to beat the autumn snows that have been known to arrive as early as mid September and abruptly end any attempt to complete the journey on foot from Canada to Mexico following the Continental Divide Trail.

The Great Divide, a watershed that determines rainfall’s destiny. Whether a raindrop follows a path to the Pacific, the Atlantic, the Arctic, the Hudson or the Gulf of Mexico.

Just this morning we made a cup of tea at our 1130 nut break from a trickle of a stream, known as the Rio Grande, as it began its 1896 mile journey to form a natural border between the States and Mexico.

Rio Grande

Almost daily, Sally and I have hiked 25 miles through Montana, Idaho, Wyoming and Colorado. We have met wonderful people, been exposed to cultures, wildlife and flora all whilst carrying our home and provisions on our back. Most days of hiking see us climb over 4,000 feet at altitudes where the air is thin as we traverse this continent defining feature.

Passing with each step through the geological, prehistoric, and recent past as well as present day.

Fear

I’ve just reread my last entry and it seems void of feeling. It’s just a list of the daily routine and places. The emotional stirring that the elements of the journey hasn’t brewed in my heart to create a tale of wonder and adventure.

I asked myself why.

I’m uncertain as to what happened over those recent weeks; I think though that fear is the silent killer.

And the fears that I can recall and have shared with you included; losing too much weight, being eaten by a bear (or other animal), mountain storms, the San Juan snows, and US immigration.

Fear is a bitch. It enters through a precautionary filter of general awareness, such as ‘watch out for storms’ and turns into a continuous radio announcement in your head. It plays out scenarios as far as your imagination can stretch and if left untamed with a firm “Shut the f🙈ck up” it steals things away from you.

Things; the beauty of nature, our moments alive, the joy of each breath, the certainty of a sunrise and trust in each other.

Fear is a thief, it takes away the feeling in our hearts that make us smile, and replaces them with needless, endless worry. How many minutes, hours, days did I worry about something? When I know that the perfect solution has always presented itself on these journeys as long as the work is done.

How many miles of beauty did I miss thinking about my illusionary deportation from the US? Why was it only on the penultimate day that I decided to suck up the Colorado beauty? I hate that people I don’t even know or care about have influenced me and stolen these moments and I hate myself for allowing it to happen.

Since the silencing of that internal voice, autumn has arrived.

Colours palette the treeline with large smudges of bright yellows, faded greens, bronzes, coppers and reds. Mountain tops with icing sugar dustings, frosted morning meadows run misty with icy streams. Blue skies promise great days ahead in valleys, forests, meadows, passes and summits.

I am fearless.

Beavers 🦫

I haven’t yet seen one but their handiwork or teethiwork is astounding. Almost hunted to extinction in the 1800s for their pelts to make hats 🎩.

These eco warriors create whole valleys of sustainably engineered wetland habitats.

Their dams, a marvel in their own right, slow down the pace of rivers as they flow down a valley. The river then floods a level area creating a lodge for the family and a habitat for other species.

They also recognise each other by smelling secretions from each others anal glands.

They did not become extinct. Why?Because hats went out of fashion.

Colorado

Over 700 miles of mountain paths following ridge lines, over peaks and summits and into valleys some hiding ski towns and prices to match.

At times the ski towns felt as if they had been squeezed into the mountains. As my sister calls them, ‘cookie cutter towns’ with blocks and chain stores. They at times have been too available, conveniently located every couple of days.

It is only now as we close the State with a five day expedition through the San Juans that we are able to fully feel the liberation of the distant trail. As such, I must say that the San Juans have been my most favourite part of Colorado. Maybe it is because I am fearless or maybe it’s the autumn Aspens.

Aspens

I cannot understand why autumn colours move us innately. Is it because it comes at the time of harvest? Is it because the weather is cooler? Or simply because we welcome change.

For whatever reason these cloned colonies, that can be thousands of years old, whisper gently as you walk under their cathedral of yellow stained light.

And from the tops of mountains create views of smudged valleys of brilliance.

They appear to me to be resilient to the beetle that devastates so many pine forests and are the first to recover from fires. Mr Moose and beavers like them too!

San Juan Mountains

San Juan Mountains, a snapshot

Hunters

It’s also hunting season and we have met, chatted with and even had lifts from hunters.

And it’s very interesting too.

Briefly, the game hunted are elk, goats, sheep, deer, bear and moose 🫎 (yes Mr Moose there is a target on your kill zone)

In order to hunt you need a permit. These are gained through a lottery system and the chances of a win is slim.

For instance one man we met in a valley was spotting goats for a 70 year old man who had won a permit after a ten year wait. He had been given a week’s window to hunt and was only allowed to use a bow and arrow. The spotter was convinced, as he directed his partner along the ridge lines, that the goat population would remain stable that week.

The rarer the species the fiercer the odds and the more strict the rules.

Magic Moments

Now that the fear has gone, every moment is magic.

Where we are

Just about to enter New Mexico.