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Colorado has been beating me harder than a cowboy beats a
rented mule.
Vomiting Six Times in 12 Hours at 11,500 feet in a Snowstorm
A few hours after going through snowy Cumbres Pass, near the
southern border of Colorado, I started feeling ill. My
30-pound pack, loaded with crampons, ice axe, and warmer
clothes, felt like it was 60 pounds. I finally did something
I rarely do: sit down and take a break. Within minutes I
felt so nauseous that I threw up on the snow.
I’ve had Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) before and this
wasn’t it because I didn’t have a headache. I got up and
stubbornly started walking like a zombie again.
And hour later I vomited again.
Menacing clouds formed all around and the temperature
started to drop below freezing. The wind picked up. I fell
to my knees and threw up again.
“This is stupid,” I thought.
Although I prefer to hike until sunset, my nausea was making
me an inefficient walker. So I set up my tarp near a meadow
that was relatively snow free. I woke up every couple of
hours to vomit some more, mostly just saliva and water at
this point. I probably had food poisoning in Chama, New
Mexico. I ended up throwing up six times.
I woke up the next day and couldn’t recognize my campsite. A
foot of snow had fallen overnight and was continuing to
accumulate. My Mountain Laurel Designs tarp was sagging as
heavy snow tried to bury it.
My stomach was still unsettled; I didn’t feel like eating. I
packed up and pushed on into the storm.
There’s a fine line between stubbornness and stupidity,
and I frequently cross that line. In fact, I spend most of
my time on the stupid side.
The snow finally stopped falling that afternoon. I ran into
two snowmobilers. One just looked at me, looked at the
ground, and shook his head.
“Unbelievable,” he mumbled to himself about three times.
He couldn’t believe that someone was daring to cross
Colorado’s Continental Divide in May. He couldn’t believe
that someone could be that stupid. I assured him that I was!
With those two snowmobilers, the tally of people I’ve seen
on the CDT is now three. (The other person was a day hiker
in the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico.)
Losing My Maps in the Middle of Nowhere
After bagging a 13,000 foot peak in the Weminuche
Wilderness, which had several cornices and signs of
avalanches, I glissaded (slid on my butt) down the mountain.
When I got up one of my maps was blowing in the wind. It had
fallen out of my backpack. I ran after it, stomping in the
snow, and finally caught it after five minutes of chasing. I
was smiling as I went to put it away with my other maps.
Then my smile vanished.
The other maps weren’t there.
They had all blown away. I scanned the snow-filled mountain,
hoping to see them, but they were gone forever. Around me
were rows upon rows of snow covered mountains. And I had
little idea where I was.
Deep in my backpack I had a Colorado state map.
Wise Saying of the Month: Don’t try navigating
through craggy snow-filled mountains with a state map.
Looking at the state map, I guessed that Lake City was
basically north of where I was. I looked north and spotted a
drainage that headed down. Taking it would probably be
smarter than attempting to follow the Divide east since I
wouldn’t be certain where it went. For once I did the smart
thing.
I followed the drainage until the sun set. I camped having
no clue where I was. The next day I got up early to continue
following it down. Eventually, I ran into a forest service
road, which took me to a paved road, which took me to the
charming small town called Lake City.
The San Juans kicked my butt and drained my energy. I was
lucky to find the Cataract trail that led me to Cottonwood
Creek and out of the San Juans safely. However, Colorado was
just getting started in beating me to a pulp.
Sinking in Snow
Someone who thru-hiked the CDT twice advised me to bring
crampons for the month of May. I did. However, the snow is
soft, so my crampons have been useless deadweight. I should
have brought snowshoes instead. At times I have been
literally swimming in snow. It feels like I’m sinking into
icy quicksand. I’ve been up to my neck in snow, desperately
trying to climb out of the icy grave.
One day it was particularly bad and I screamed profanities
so loudly that it echoed across the mountain and probably
even made the bears and mountain lions shudder. I was angry
for the first time in over a decade. The CDT, unlike any
other trail, finally broke me.
By 9 p.m. I was at 12,000 feet and the darkness and frigid
air enveloped me. Wet and tired, I was desperate for a
suitable campsite. I trudged through the waist high snow
until I got down to the tree line. The slope was steep. With
my ice axe, I carved a mini-ledge. I wouldn’t be able to set
up my tarp. I knew it would be a miserable night.
My body heat melted the snow around me and the wetness
seeped into my down sleeping bag. I woke up every hour,
shivering and I moved vigorously to generate body heat.
Starting a fire would have been hard with few trees and with
everything covered in snow. Instead, I toughed it out and
anxiously waited for the sun to rise so I could get moving
again.
I was nearly done with the San Juan Mountains. And I was so
done with its 10 feet of snow pack.
However, I refused to give up. I put my wet socks and frozen
boots back on, and headed straight for the highest peak in
the area.
Almost getting struck by lightning
I promised myself that no matter how much snow I had to
face, I would tackle my first 14er on the CDT: San Luis
Peak, a 14,014 foot mountain. It’s not officially part of
the CDT, but it’s right next to do it, so I couldn’t resist.
I was still frustrated with the soft snow and my angry mood
compelled me to conquer that stupid peak.
As I climbed above tree line, a thunderstorm gathered.
Curiously, it started snowing/hailing simultaneously. It’s
weird to have thunder and snowfall at the same time, but in
Colorado anything is possible.
As I approached the summit, thunderclouds and lightning were
nearby, but not directly over me. I dropped my backpack and
sprinted the final 500 feet to the summit.
As soon as I reached the top of the mountain, I immediately
heard a buzzing sound. Even stranger, I felt static
electricity on the top of my skull. It felt like someone had
a tiny stun gun and was firing it on the top of my head. It
was a subtle electrical shock and sent shivers down my
spine.
“Wait, I've read about this!” I thought.
Lightning strike survivors say this is what happens
immediately before the bolt strikes. Electrostatic energy
builds around you, your hair starts to rise, and then BLAM!
At temperatures of 28,000 °C (four times hotter than the
Sun’s surface) and a charge between 100 million to 1 billion
volts, it’s amazing that anyone can survive a lightning
strike. The best hope of surviving the electrocution is to
have someone nearby to perform CPR. Otherwise, you’re dead.
I looked around. Surprisingly, nobody was around.
The buzzing and static shock on my head continued to build.
I stopped pondering the marvels of lightning storms, I
jumped off the summit, and scrambled 10 meters down the
mountain and crouched down, ready for the blast. I was:
-
On my toes (to
minimize the amount of my body touching the ground, which
can conduct the electricity. Often the electricity will
travel along the surface of the ground for a significant
distance. Many people who are “struck” by lightning are not
hit directly by the main lightning channel, but are hammered
by the “side flash” as it travels along the surface of the
ground, especially if the ground is wet).
-
Putting my hands on my
ears and closing my eyes (sight and hearing injuries
are very common among lightning strike victims)
-
Holding my breath
(some people have been seriously injured when they breathe
in the superheated air that surrounds and expands out from a
lightning bolt)
Within one minute, the sky lit up and a second later the
roar of thunder exploded in my eardrums.
I opened my eyes.
“Ha!” I yelled, “You missed, Zeus!”
Now comes the stupid part.
I was disappointed that I didn’t have a Kodak moment on the
summit, so I sprinted back to the summit to take a quick
picture. I figured that it would take at least a minute for
the static electricity to build again and for Thor to unload
again.
At the top I snapped two crappy photos and then noticed a
tube that contained some papers that folks sign to indicate
that they made it to the top. I picked up the tube, was
tempted to sign it, but thought that I shouldn’t push my Mr.
Magoo luck. I ran down the mountain, retrieved my backpack,
and looked for a way down the snowy slopes. Thunder boomed
behind me.
While I was still above the tree line, the snow started
falling hard. The lightning and thunder intensified. I
couldn’t get down fast enough.
There was only one risky option to get below the tree line
fast. I took it. I glissaded down the steep slope to take an
express way down the mountain. I dropped over 1,000 feet in
less than a minute, clutching my ice axe in case I lost
control. It was fun and got me to the tree line just in time
to witness the lightning tearing open the sky.
Mr. Magoo Luck At Its Finest
Although I felt safe in the trees, I was soaking wet from
the glissade and my sleeping bag was still wet from the
previous miserable night. I didn’t have a chance to dry it
out and now, with the snow falling and the temperature
dropping, I had little hope of drying out. As evening
descended, I followed a creek down the mountain until it
opened up to a meadow and then I couldn’t believe my eyes.
A massive log cabin stood in a meadow. Wet and cold, I
hopefully tried the knob of the cabin door. It opened!
The cabin was enormous, capable of sleeping a dozen on its
mezzanine floor. Most importantly, it had a wood stove! I
quickly made a warm fire, shed my clothes, dried my sleeping
bag, curled up with some hunting magazines and had one of
the happiest nights of my life.
Sure, I was blatantly trespassing, but I would happily go to
jail for this. It was so worth it.
I later realized that in my rush to get off the chaotic
mountaintop I had followed the wrong drainage down the
mountain. I should have been one valley over. However, had I
navigated correctly, I would have never run across this
oasis in the storm. The takeaway: it pays to be an
incompetent navigator.
When I left, I made sure to leave no trace. I swept the
ground and cleaned all the counters. I kissed the floor and
said goodbye.
Two suns in Colorado
About 80 percent of solar systems have more than one sun.
Indeed, binary star systems are the norm in our Milky Way
Galaxy. Our single star system is somewhat unusual. In fact,
Jupiter was supposed to be our second star, but our Sun was
a hog and took most of the surrounding matter. Even though
Jupiter emits more light than it absorbs, poor Jupiter is
still the little star that couldn’t.
High in the mountains of Colorado in mid-May, I feel like
I’m living in a dual star system. When Zeus isn’t flinging
thunderbolts at me, one star hits me from above and the
other hits me from below, off of the snow. I’m getting
battered by UV all day and I’m caking on the high powered
sunscreen. This reminds me of
this funny short audio piece.
Passing the 1,000 Mile Mark
I’m now at Monarch Pass, which means I’ve walked 1,000
miles. That makes me feel pretty good until I realize that I
have 4,800 miles to go.
The Monarch Mountain Lodge learned about my milestone and
treated me to a free night stay (see details below).
Colorado has been the toughest backpacking I’ve ever done.
I’m barely halfway through the state. Somehow I’m still
alive. I think the saying goes: Whatever doesn’t kill me
now, will only kill me later.
I expect the conditions to improve. The snow is melting fast
and the temperatures are going up (it’s still below freezing
at night). Surprisingly my body hasn’t gone on strike yet,
so I hope to press through the Rocky Mountain National Park
and eventually get to Wyoming before the end of May.
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the hot tub, sauna, game
rooms at the Monarch Mountain Lodge. Notice that I’m NOT
going to use the fitness room.
Sponsor Spotlight: Monarch Mountain Lodge
The Monarch Mountain Lodge, located just 6 miles down from
the Continental Divide, holds packages for CDT Hikers, free
of charge. Whenever a private company does this I like to
splurge at their facility, as a thank you. Usually this
means I buy stuff at their store or eat like a pig at their
restaurant.
However, when the Lodge’s Owner, Theresa, found out about my
crazy yo-yo hike, she offered to put me up in a room for
free. Now that’s trail magic!
The Lodge is a place to indulge yourself. It has:
Restaurant & Lounge - Indoor Pool - 2 Outdoor Hot Tubs -
Sauna - Fitness Room - Basketball & Racquetball Courts -
Game Rooms - Direct TV - Guest Laundry - Conference Rooms -
99 Rooms - Suites - Efficiencies - Pet Rooms - WI-FI
Although the Lodge can’t give everyone the same generous
deal I got, their summer and fall specials are unbelievable.
My favorite is the 5 night special, for only $195. That
works to $39/night. Pretty awesome considering you get the
above amenities and glorious CDT hiking nearby.
They also have a 6-day Family Camp for $1095. It includes
rafting, horse back riding, boat tour, tram ride, and gold
panning!
Finally, they have the Raft & Stay package, which starts at
$78/person.
Please visit:
The Monarch Mountain Lodge! |
