Passing scenic Red Hill in an area called the Red Desert, RockStar spotted a hollowed-out nest in the ground with three greyish eggs a little smaller than robin's eggs. We looked at them but didn’t touch, hoping mama bird would return to care for her eggs.
Trail leaving the highway was well marked, but we immediately had to roll under a fence and confront a multiplicity of arroyos (gullies) above the flat basin. We luckily chose the correct arroyo to descend and then just followed our route, a straight line extending as far as we could see across high desert sage.
It was hot, and we were glad we had chosen to walk this section in early spring. Various animal bones along the track indicated a harsh environment. The snow on Ferris Mountains, which we’d seen the day before, was now melted and gone.
Besides many antelope even on our dry basin crossing, there were flowers: lavender fleabane and a nice stand of yellow peas a couple miles from Bull Spring, another solar well. We set up our tents partially sheltered from persistent desert wind, and it was so nice to have abundant water that I filled my Ziploc and had a bath, and we both did some wash.
Alas, wind shifting, the sage didn’t protect us from the wind as we had hoped. By evening I suggested to RockStar that there was a more protected spot tucked in the taller sage that would be big enough for both tents. She wasn’t interested in moving as she was eating her dinner and relaxing. I hoped the wind would die down at dark, another false hope. About 11:00, after getting no sleep and listening to the wind try to tear down our tents, she asked if I thought we could move the tents in the dark. Yep. So we did.
By headlamp, we threw heavy stuff like water in packs and zipped loose or light stuff into the tents. Carefully pulling out tent stakes, we carried each tent one at a time, quickly erecting each one in the new spot protected by high sage bushes. We did get some wind, but nothing like the gale that had been hitting us before, and we promptly went to sleep. Thank you, tall sage.
The next day was another walk through a sea of sagebrush on a very straight double track dirt road. Imagine looking as far as you can see down a double line of dirt to the far horizon, walking to that spot and seeing the same thing. Repeat endless times.
The other constant besides the double lines of dirt through the gray-green sage was the wind. Yet even in the sea of sagebrush there were flowers, bright patches of purple vetch, yellow peas, paintbrush and sulfur flower.
As we neared the road to the last BLM (Bureau of Land Management) solar well (1 mile off trail), a truck came up behind us on the desert track, and we didn't even hear it until he beeped his horn because the wind was loudly roaring in our ears.
The driver was checking on the solar pump providing water for wild ponies. We passed numerous very large piles of horse poop. Did you know wild horses poop together in massive piles all together? Funny, both meanings of the word.
So what was our reward for trudging on endless roads through the sagebrush? Lots and lots of antelope and then wild horses. We saw too many antelope to count, and, more exciting, we saw seven or eight bands of wild horses, some with foals. Sorrels, bays, blacks, whites, and pintos looked down at us from nearby ridges. Wild horses running were especially beautiful, the epitome of freedom.
Finally topping the ridge we had walked toward for miles, we started down the other side, and my left knee decided to hurt at every step. I was worried, but after two miles of limping down the road, it just as suddenly and inexplicably stopped hurting. Go figure. It was swollen when we stopped and would only bend about 90 degrees. I hoped a good night's rest would fix it.
The wind was too strong to bother with tents, so we cowboy camped at the reservoir after getting water from the outlet. I liked cowboy camping, but I’d seen one tick, and RockStar had seen several, making us nervous not to be in our mosquito-net enclosed tents. Still, the blue water in the reservoir was pretty, even with no trees in sight, and there were interesting water birds with black-and-white markings on their breasts on the water. Cows could be heard lowing in the near distance, and the moon was full and beautiful as dusk fell, and we slept.
“Did you see us? Weren’t we beautiful? Weren’t you impressed?”
We had a cold start when the sun rose, and the temperature was 32. The wind, which had died down in the night, picked up again to add wind chill as we trudged down more dirt track roads over more hills and valleys of sage. We watched the antelope watching us.
The fantastic parts of the day were two bands of wild horses. Instead of running away from us as others had, they ran towards us and past us. The first band made at least three passes, dominance behavior that seemed to us as if they were showing off. Panting and heaving from their run, they finally stopped near us, as if to say, “Did you see us? Weren’t we beautiful? Weren’t you impressed?” Yes, yes, and yes.
The second band of 10 or so beautiful horses included many colors: white, black, grey, pintos, a white and gray pinto, sorrel, bay, and a reddish chocolate brown. Exhibiting the same behavior as the first band, though not quite as close, perhaps because foals were in this group, they passed us twice. RockStar took great video of both groups as well as still shots.
As the last band of horses galloped off, we saw Tailwinds drive up to our prearranged meeting place, and we walked to her car. Sitting inside out of the wind, Tailwinds fed us chicken, watermelon, and spinach salad till we were stuffed. Then she made the comment that if it had been stormy, she would have taken us to Lander or Riverton for the night. Since it was so windy, it was still a good idea. Would we like to go?
How could two dirty, tired hikers turn that down? So Tailwinds drove us across half of Wyoming and we found ourselves in an unplanned motel in Riverton, clean, fed, and on real beds. I iced my knee, and RockStar teased a tick off the back of my leg.
Tick City and Deafening Wind
Tailwinds drove us back to the trail in the morning, and we started hiking just a little before 8:00. Our packs were heavy with five day's food and two day’s water. Four miles in, we discovered a lovely spring, so I drank extra water and filled up the load again.
As we climbed out of the Basin into Crook’s Mountains, we saw many flowers, white phlox, small yellow daisies, balsam root, pretty cinquefoil, purple vetch, tiny, desert primrose, golden draba, and tiny white daisies. We also had more interesting terrain, rocks and TREES. After days of nothing higher than sagebrush, trees were a welcome sight. RockStar said it was more interesting to follow roads with squiggles than perfectly straight roads.
Antelope and a few wild horses were too far away to be interested in us. Shooting stars looked incongruous among the sage along with bistort, a little white-fringed star, and buttercups. As we descended to Haypress we saw lupine, swelling buds of iris and budding onion. Stopping early, both of us contentedly drifted off to sleep before it even got dark.
After our lovely campsite warmed by the rising sun, we left trees behind, and spent the day with vast views of sagebrush rippling in the wind like the waves of the sea. Looking north, we could see the white, snowcapped Wind River Range.
Taking a break looking at sheared sheep on a hill, we said hello to Julio, a sheepherder from Peru. I tried to converse in my fractured high school Spanish, but this time I couldn’t shake the words loose from the back file in my brain.
Walking through tick city, RockStar and I each pulled one off skin having a nibble and flicked off and stomped others, who were crawling on our clothes. Where there were cows, there were ticks. And there were cows.
Though happy to reach our water cache, my replacement knee complained bitterly at the load of water. I limped down the trail another three miles before we finally found a spot to put our tents, not easy in seas of sagebrush. We hoped we didn't have any ticks in the tents with us.
Packing up in the morning, we traveled over more billowing seas of sagebrush. It was fairly uninteresting. Black and brown cows just didn’t have the same cachet as antelope and wild horses.
An energy draining, strong wind, headwind or from
the side, blew all day long. RockStar put on her tunes and her earbuds, and I sang Girl Scout songs in my head while the wind drowned out conversation, beating on our ears, bodies, and psyches.
Concrete posts told us we were now on the historic California and Oregon Trails. The Wind River Range was definitely closer, its snow-covered peaks a magnetic beacon drawing us forward. Making camp in a grassy meadow mostly out of the wind, RockStar found another tick crawling on her. I squished it with tweezers.
We saw more traffic as we neared the Sweetwater River. After the arid terrain we had traversed, the Sweetwater looked like a huge amount of water. While eating lunch at a corral with a CDT information kiosk, we watched a band of dark clouds and lightning pass north of us. Phlox and shooting stars grew thickly by the river, perfuming the air and iris bloomed a pale lavender blue. There was moose poop at Sweetwater, too, animals changing with habitat change.
Retrieving our water cache, we saw no reason to stumble cross-country through tick-infested sage with the nearby road running parallel to our route. We could see the Wind River Range clearly now when storms or low hills didn’t obscure it.
Finding a rare sheltered spot in shining sun, we stopped for the night. Shortly after 6:00 a lightning storm hit, but we were snugged in, had dinner already eaten, and were as prepared as we could be as thunder boomed over our heads.
Awakening to gray skies, the wind already blew cold, and my fingers felt frozen by the time we were packed. Warned by a hiker journal about the large numbers of ticks, we again chose the road instead of sagebrush. I walked fast, trying to get warm in the blasting cold wind; RockStar began more slowly with smaller steps. The wind hit us both, a headwind all day, no matter which direction the road turned. I wore a hat, a headband and my rain-gear hood, but the wind was still deafening. We couldn’t hear cars or talk unless we were yelling face-to-face. We were sick and tired of the wind, but it didn’t care about our feelings and blew even more ferociously.
The road, however, was smooth and gradual as we road walked to South Pass City. The rain showers missed us. We liked the mines outside South Pass City and the historical video we watched while eating lunch inside the old dance hall out of the wind.
Somewhat reluctantly, we prepared for our last 2.8 miles to the highway. We could see an approaching storm and knew our luck was running out. We were going to get very wet. But as we stood taking pictures of the Continental Divide Trail information board, a car drove up behind us, and we were happily stunned to see Tailwinds. Hooray.
Taking the easier option, we ended our hike at South Pass City instead of facing the battering wind and rain on the last 2.8 miles to the highway. It wasn’t a tough choice. Tailwinds drove us to her home by way of Farson, and we had another ice cream cone.
Finishing New Mexico and adding the Great Divide Basin for a spring hike added 309 miles to my total for the CDT before RockStar and I headed north to the Tetons and Yellowstone to play tourists. Yellowstone (the hiker) met us for a day of personal touring, Yellowstone (The National Park) was her office. Cool beans. To fly home RockStar left me at Jackson, and I drove to mine. Our spring hike and touring was over, and it was time to plan the next hike.
Chapter 39 August 2013
CDT – Colorado - Hikers Four
Before driving to Colorado, I had a lovely visit when my daughter's family drove across the country to Washington, a whirlwind of a week with five children eight and under. There were trips to beaches and playgrounds and taking William, Sara’s oldest, to the archery range with my son and his two kids. All played in Grandma's backyard and picked Grandma's veggies. We had great fun and it was a bit of a zoo. The day before leaving, everyone was all together, and there were 12 for dinner. I loved it. I loved being Grandma. Unfortunately, perhaps from my grandchildren, I came down with a nasty head cold the day before leaving for Colorado. Happens.
It took three days of driving to set up two cars and connect assorted people, who would be hiking in Colorado: RockStar, Grapevine, Trew, and me. Grapevine’s husband David would be trail support for the first week. He decided his trail moniker should be Trucker 1. Eventually we all piled into David's truck, and our group was finally assembled from the far corners of Arizona, California, and Washington.
Driving to the end of a road near the Colorado/Wyoming border a quarter-mile from the trail, four hikers walked a short way in to set up our tents as Trucker 1 drove away. Trew (a hiker from Arizona) hiked a bit farther along the trail, so the ladies would have privacy, and so would he.
On the CDT by 7:00 in the morning, we ladies were all moving slowly; Trew could have done the distance twice to our once. There were many flowers this first day, and all were lovely. We barely made out rugged peaks east of us though smoky haze.
On the last descent of the day, Grapevine fell and gashed her elbow, ambushed by loose rocks on a steeply descending road. We cleaned it up, treating with antibiotic cream and Band-Aids. Trew also fell on that descent, and due to our slow speed, we barely made our destination before dark.
Starting early the next morning, we listened to elk bugle and coyotes howl as we walked in a very lovely meadow with large swaths of white pearly everlasting. Each descent from valley to valley contained a few treacherous spots, but no one fell.
The last two miles were very hot as the trail went through old burn areas with no shade cover. Hiking in heat was never my favorite thing to do, and I was glad to see Trucker 1's white truck. Trucker 1 drove us to the campground, and soon four hikers’ resupply boxes and miscellaneous gear was disgorged from truck, tents were erected, and food sorting commenced. Trucker 1 also brought tasty salads and fruit. Good trail angel.
The next day was all climbing, hot in the afternoon even in relatively shaded forest. Grapevine said I should use the word brutal to describe the hike in my journal, but I told her I was saving the word for another day.
We passed several streams, a couple lakes, and a few ponds, though there was no water at our 10,700-foot campsite, which was tucked into a small stand of trees in a beautiful meadow. Lost Ranger Peak was a short distance away awaiting the morrow’s climb.
Grapevine and I summited Lost Ranger Peak one rest step at a time. (A rest step is a hiking or mountain climbing pace in which a brief rest is taken at each step, a little like stuttering with your feet.) The altitude was combining with my cold to make breathing going uphill difficult, so I took a Diamox. It was still hard to go uphill, but I seemed to breathe more easily even when panting. While we were resting and snacking on top, we saw three bighorn ewes.
Walking through high country, we saw many lakes, ponds, and great views of mountains all around us, nearby and far away. King’s crown and white gentian were flowers of the day. Mountain bluebirds darted by, and I saw three eagles in the sky as I lagged behind the others to take flower pictures.
A group of five guys and an equal number of dogs passed us, heading out for a week. Not long before we reached our campsite, we passed a fairly large group with llamas. The campers were smart enough to be settled into tents when we were still walking.
It was beautiful country. But the last mile and a half the regular afternoon thunderstorms on the Continental Divide brought us thunder, lightning, rain, and hail. Nothing like a thunderstorm at high altitude to get your adrenaline to speed you down the trail.
Grapevine and I huddled together under trees to avoid the hail. As we peered out at hail covering the ground in a blanket of white, she remarked how beautiful it was. The two of us tented fairly far from the others in order to find level ground without hail, perched above a lake. We saw a lovely rainbow. Sunset brought more lovely colors, and we could see over the plain to the east as lights in distant habitations turned on. It was a cold night with ice on the ground, wetness all around, and a breeze, but we were tucked into the tent, dry and warm.
The next day we walked through pretty scenery. RockStar powered up a hill ahead of us, and we didn't see her again until Fishhook Lake. Trew had lunch with Grapevine and
me, and he and Grapevine walked and talked together for a few miles. We passed lovely lakes. Trew spending an hour simply sitting and looking at peaceful Lake Elmo.
Not long before we reached our campsite, I recognized the orange shirt and unique hat from Bolivia on a hiker coming up the trail. I’d met Mike north of Wolf Creek Pass the year before. Always fun to meet a hiker seen in previous years.
Grapevine and I sang Holden Evening Prayer for her last night on the trail. She said she wanted to get up at 5:00 to hike out but RockStar and I talked her into 5:30. Very funny as the day before she’d expressed amazement at our 5:30 rise time.
Dumont Lake, blue water surrounded with fields of yellow daisies, was the scenic highlight of our day into Steamboat Springs. We met several bikers (bicycle) on the trail. All were very friendly and very excited about the big bike race the next day, the USA Pro Challenge ending a stage at Steamboat Springs.
Grapevine hiked the last mile to Highway 40 with one foot in a flip flop due to blisters. Trucker 1 met us and dropped RockStar and Trew at the motel and took me to my parked car. After showers and laundry, I visited a doc for some meds to fight my nasty cold. We all had dinner at Jalisco, a good Mexican restaurant, eating tons and taking the excess back to the motel.
A gap in the CDT required a five-mile walk on Highway 40, which RockStar and I clicked off in the morning. Trew and RockStar watched the finish of the big bike race, while I searched for needed items in stores. The bike race finish line was a couple hundred feet from our motel, and RockStar was so close she could have touched them as they went by. Trew was very excited he’d been able to watch the race. Trucker 1 cooked us all dinner, gluten free and vegetarian to suit everyone’s needs and desires. What a gem!
Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76 Page 35
