BUENA VISTA — After a month on , I’ve seen some things.
I watched a leaping weasel chase a butterfly through a flower-speckled meadow. I’ve listened to baby bighorn sheep baa-ing in their nursery high in the crags. I’ve lunched with a moose, had an elk bed down near my tent, been serenaded by coyotes. I wake up excited for what each new day brings, and even when I’m slogging up a muddy trail or another pass, I feel blessed.
I listen to my body and my intuition. I know when to take the pack off and shelter up ahead of a rain. I find myself feeling the wind, studying clouds and the trail for moose (lots), cat (one) or bear (zero) tracks, and other humans. There were many until I skipped ahead to the Collegiate West. Now, there are few.
A month in, I get into one of my resupply boxes, and I wonder what idiot packed it. (Me!) I’m not in love with some of the meals I thought I’d be in love with when I was planning out my food. But all the gear has worked out. When the overnight raindrops were frozen on the tent one recent morning, well, that was a little scary. Winter’s coming. A chain of friends got my heavy-duty bivy bag and wind pants to me over the weekend. A good thing. The season for the rain kilt and lightweight mosquito bivy is over.
Gear, cold, food — that’s all manageable. The toughest thing has been going it alone.
Each section of The Colorado Trail has had its own special challenges, but the has, so far, presented me with the most mental gymnastics.
The Collegiates are my favorite mountain range in Colorado. They’re just the way mountains should be: dense and steep, with sharp, craggy peaks that brush the sky and spear the clouds, with passes higher than the tallest mountains in many other ranges. There’s running water everywhere. You don’t cross streams on bridges in the Collegiate West. You ford them. And the woods and meadows are populated by all kinds of critters.
The Collegiate West is a lonely place, in the way that a wild place should be lonely. I miss sharing things with someone else. There’s no one to say, “Hey, look at that!” No one to discuss dinner decisions with. No one to make weather speculations with or to puzzle over strange forks in the trail with. There’s no one to share in the misery of wet socks and wet shoes and a cold morning start. You get the picture.
There used to be other hikers on the trail to socialize with and catch up on the news with. Not now. There’s no one to ask about anything and no one to blame for anything. Just me. I’m the only one out here.
Being alone, it’s hard to self-motivate, to get up and get going. Truthfully, some mornings I just want to lie wrapped in the warmth of the sleeping bag.
Keep moving. That’s my mantra, rain or shine, long or short, slow or fast. Keep moving. Except when it’s time to nap.
Not everyone that sets out from Denver to Durango or vice versa finishes the trail. When I land in a town, I hear news about people I met along the way leaving the trail. There are all kinds of obstacles on the trail, and not all of them of the wild variety. Blisters, dehydration, medical and family emergencies, cold, heat, burnout, loneliness, sickness. All take their toll on hikers. I give myself permission to turn back, to hike out to a road and take the big hitch back to Denver every day. And by doing so, I also give myself permission to go on.
Dean Krakel: dkrakel@gmail.com, instagram.com/dkrakel
Editor’s note
Former Denver Post photo editor Dean Krakel is thru-hiking The Colorado Trail this summer and sending in dispatches whenever he comes off the trail to resupply. For photos from this year’s hike and his latest from the trail, follow Dean at dpo.st/coloradotrail.
