A Walk in the...

Woods, except only harder and wetter. 

Former firefighter colleague Doug M and I decided to backpack a stretch of the Eagles Nest Wilderness. I'll admit our trip research was on the mild side. We're just TOO BUSY! 

Our planning went like this:

Me: "Doug? See that Cataract Trailhead on the north side of the Eagles Nest map?

Doug: "Uh-huh."

Me: "Let's start there and go south to Boulder Creek Trailhead. I guess we'll stop at a few lakes along the way." 

Doug: "OK! See you on the 27th." 

Not exactly Lewis and Clark inspirational. Is it? 

After shuttling vehicles to the trailheads, we gathered our packs and started up. The forecast for our ramble was in the 80%-90% dicey to damp range. There was a 100% chance of mosquitos. 

Most of our journey would be on the misnamed Gore Range Trail. From our tree-lined avenue the spiky, formidable and rugged mountain range was a distant rumor. We caught tantalizing glimpses of the Gore's every few miles. Then the pines and aspens would close in on us once again. The trail itself was an obstacle course. We had to hurdle over truckloads of downed timber. There was some crawling involved as well. (That really sucked for the 6'4" Tall Texan). Progress was slow and tedious.

Then the rains came. We lost our Mojo. A four night backpack trip became half of that. We met our goals of walking from Point A to Point B. 

But Hey! We were in the Great Outdoors and not working! Doug caught me up on the latest Poudre Fire Authority gossip. His straight talk made me bless the fact I'm still gainfully unemployed. Life is better in retirement. I dare say a wonderful time was had by all. 

Now a Colorado History Lesson: The Gore Range was named in dubious honor for Sir George Gore, an Irish Baronet. In 1854, Gore hired the mythical Mountain Man Jim Bridger to lead him through central Colorado and beyond. His Mission? Murder and mayhem for thousands of large scale wildlife type animals. His entourage consisted of 

30 heavily laden wagons and 50 servants. The Baronet wasn't a big believer in "Leave no trace" Wilderness ethics. It was more like "Thread heavily." I betcha he didn't even burn his toilet paper. Goes to show you, anyone can have a scenic mountain range named after them. Go figure.

Cheers from cool and cloudy Buena Vista, Colorado 

Hark! Is that an Happy Hour IPA I hear calling my name?

Yes! It is. 

Mother Nature is beautiful, unless she..

kills you. 

Ever since I've seen the lyrically named Music Pass on my Sangre de Christo (Blood of Christ) Wilderness map, I've wanted to backpack there. According to Google info: beyond  the pass, there's alpine lakes teeming with chubby trout. Rimming the Valley and basins are numerous 13,000 foot-plus mountains beckoning the peak-bagging crowd. The terrain is steep and Ireland-green with vegetation. The landscape sums up the notion of the 1964 Wilderness Act, "an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” 

I like that. So...I went.

I left my non-4x4 Barley Van at the lower parking area. After sauntering uphill for a few road miles, my hike  began to Music Pass. Of all the Welcome to "such and such" Wilderness notices, the placement of the Sangre de Christo sign was the most dramatic I've seen. (See photo). Now, we're talking sublimely luscious. 

I descended down the valley only to eventually go back up to 11,460' Lower Sand Creek Lake. This would be home for two nights. I found a nice piece of Federal Real Estate where I set up my tent to mark my turf. After hastily stuffing a day pack, I took off to see Upper Sand Creek Lake. Mind you, at this point dreary gray clouds were beginning to evict the summery blue skies. I heard gurgling thunder, but it was a distant rumor. Two-and-a-half miles later, I was at the Upper Lake. I shot a few photos. 

Shortly after, I heard a whisper in the wind. "Gotcha!" Then all hail broke out. Ice pellets ranging from pea to grape-sized slammed into me. I quickly donned a few layers of fleece and a "My Trails" ultralight poncho over my sweaty cotton tank top. The temperature plummeted as I was getting pummeled. I began to trail run down  through polar puddles of crystalline solids. My feet were numb. I splashed through fast flowing creeks. The water felt like a tepid shower. The storm wouldn't let up. First a flash, followed all too quickly by a belch of thunder. I was running in the epicenter. As I closed the gap between me and my shelter, I began to worry, will I find nothing but ripstop nylon confetti where my Big Agnes tent was once standing? 

Nope! Good tent! I crawled inside and into my snuggly warm down sleeping bag. It took over a hour for me to defrost. The hail continued in total for three hours, followed by light showers. Mind you, the forecast was merely a one in five chance of any precipitation occurring.

Moral of this post? Be prepared. Mother Nature is beautiful, but she can kill too. 

For a great read check out "Deep Survival" by Laurence Gonzales. 

Hey "My Trails" and "Big Agnes" I just gave you a plug! 

Cheers! And be safe out there,

Jeff

"Weren't you the guy who saved his...

Wife by performing CPR on her, after she got struck by lightning?" 

I asked this question to Nelson, a stranger to me up to that awkward introduction.

His humble response, "Yes, that was me." 

This scenario played out thirty-seven years ago in Fort Collins, Colorado. We've been acquaintances turned beer and backpacking buddies ever since. Nelson now makes up the better half of the "100% Kosher Sub-Eleven Foot Adventure Team." I'm the other half.

Besides being short in stature, we share a few other common traits. We both have a deep love for wild places, especially mountains. Freud's conjecture would be we are making up for our lack of inches by achieving peaks where we can finally look down upon others. Maybe so.

We sweat our way to the summits in hiking styles as antipodal as a tropical rain forest is to a Saharan desert. 

Nelson finesses his way up. He analyses the terrain and chooses the path of least resistance. I, on the other hand, take the direct approach. There's the top, go for it! Oftentimes, this isn't the wisest choice. I.E. false summits, exposing myself to more exposure and the possibility of a much longer and steeper tumble. Nelson is a ballet dancer, I'm a fullback. He's smarter. 

Nelson's wardrobe appears to be out the Activewear issue of a AARP magazine. He looks professional. His trousers and shirt sport perfect creases. (I think he hauls in a iron and board to look sharp.) He's clean! I buy my outdoor wear from Big 5 Sporting Goods, Walmart and Goodwill stores. It's a sloppy disheveled look. I guess it's me. 

Nelson's organized. He's a "place for everything and everything in it's place" type of guy. I'm the "there's some space, cram it in" sort of fella. That's why I can't find necessary gear and he can. 

Most of all, Nelson has many endearing qualities. 

He's a man of humility. He doesn't toot his own horn. His achievements have to be coaxed out of him. I now know he taken more than a few award winning photos. He's an artist of the shutter speed, aperture setting and tripod. I recently discovered he's summited Mera Peak (21,247') in the Himalayas without oxygen! 

 Most of all Nelson is a Mensch. From Merriam-Webster :  a person of integrity and honor. I try to be a Mensch. I estimate my batting average to be about .650. Nelson nails it at 1000. He consistently does the right thing. I wish I could be more like him. 

I'm honored he considers me a friend. 

Sometimes inspiration comes in small packages. 

For more posts about this interesting man, please check out:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-sub-eleven-foot-expedition-team.html

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/08/nothing-meek-about-mount.html

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/06/another-brother-from-another-mother.html

Cheers! 

Jeff