Colorado Trail: Day 4

STATS: 25.2 miles; +2,305/-2,471 feet

---

Sometime in the night, a moose was walking through our campsite, dangerously close to Chris’s tent. I wanted to cry out and warn him, but I couldn’t vocalize a sound. Then I heard another one walking beside my tent. Again, I found myself yelling without a voice. Just as the moose was about to step on me, I abruptly woke and bolted upright. I glanced out my mesh door, fully expecting to see a large hoof and hock. My hazy mind hadn’t caught up to my adrenaline rush yet.

I laid back down and realized it was my bladder who took my voice, but I ignored its pleas. What if moose are really out there, I thought. Do moose have good night vision? Will the waxing moon shining on my middle-aged mom moon amuse rather than enrage them? How many more hours is it ’til morning, and can I hold it that long? For who knows how long, I drifted in and out of sleep, only to be woken each time by my increasingly obnoxious bladder.

“For crap’s sake, Nancy, it’s just a dream and you gotta get up,” I whispered finally, proving to myself that I still had a voice and that this was getting ridiculous. I fumbled for my headlamp and escaped the confines of my tent’s paper thin DCF walls to pee. Not a single moose appeared.

After we packed up camp in the morning, we hiked along the edge of the long meadow, the terrain easy under our feet. Chris spotted a moose and two elk in the meadow. We heard another animal in the woods beside the trail, crashing through the brush above us. Another hiker coming toward us was headed to the spot, after having been told there was a moose there by someone else who had seen it. Hmmm, maybe my dream was fueled by a smidge of reality after all.

Upon leaving the meadow and later in the morning, we entered the woods and encountered a gentleman wearing knee braces and noticeably struggling to hike. We said hello, but he didn’t seem all that interested in conversing. We encountered him again while we were filtering water, watching him take several minutes to scout a location to cross the tiny creek we’d just rock hopped in less than five seconds. Finally, he nearly crawled across its narrow width but made it across without incident and with dry feet.

After he passed, Chris shared a story with me from his PCT thru hike, tears welling in his eyes as he spoke, nearly convinced this was the same man he’d met during that thru hike (it wasn’t–he asked). The man he met on the PCT was severely affected by a stroke he’d had twenty years prior, but he chose not to let it handicap his attitude. Battered and bruised from frequent falls, he still hiked as best he could. The encounter left an indelible imprint on Chris’ heart.

Meanwhile, as we watched the man struggle to get across the tiny stream together, my mind immediately imagined a search and rescue scenario in which this man would need to be carried out of the woods in a litter rather than walking out under his own power.

After Chris shared his PCT story, I was ashamed at my knee jerk reaction. The hiker we encountered was getting by fine on his own, taking his time and thinking through his challenges, albeit unconventionally. Besides, the reality is this: more often than not, the hikers my team rescues from injuries are able-bodied individuals who let their guard down in easier terrain, slipping and falling when they least expect it. But Chris summed up our mutual feelings best–“the middle” is where we should all live as hikers, weighing the risks and rewards in relation to our abilities.

Later in the morning, we entered a much more exposed area of the trail without the protection of a easy-to-reach wooded edge to duck into if the weather shifted. The clouds were building and beginning to hint at thunderstorms. We passed by a brother and sister pair of thru hikers, Polar Bear and Tambo, whom we’d first encountered at the firehouse two days prior. They were eating lunch while waiting to see what unfolded above. It was clear they took lightning risks seriously, and it was refreshing to witness. At their ages, I didn’t hold my mortality as carefully in the backcountry. 

We pressed on, not quite spooked enough to hunker down (yet). Plus, we had plans to meet a new-to-me friend, Cate, on trail soon. A Golden-based SAR member in the austere environment of the Colorado Rockies, I instantly liked, admired, and respected Cate when we met a couple of weeks prior at The Swag, the inn where Chris and I guide guests on hikes in the Smokies. She was staying at The Swag with her lovely Asheville-based family, and they quickly became some of my all-time favorite guests. Cate and I had been texting to arrange meeting up on trail. 

While I had my phone out of airplane mode to text Cate with our location, I thought to check the USPS tracking number on my resupply package I’d sent to Breckenridge from my home before I left. “Returned,” it read, indicating I’d sent the package to an undeliverable address. WTF?! Surely this can’t be right, I thought. I’d gone straight to the Fireside Inn’s website to copy and paste the address.

As I was investigating the issue further on the hostel’s website, I noticed something in the FAQ section I hadn’t noticed before: “We only accept packages from UPS or FEDEX.” Well, damn. The food was easy enough to replace in town (although I was bummed about missing out on some of my favorites I’d made from Backcountry Foodie’s website). But I had also sent myself more appropriate clothing for the cooler temps we’d probably start experiencing in the higher elevations after leaving Breckenridge.

And most importantly, I’d sent myself town-specific toiletries, including a dollop of my beloved hair gel. Curly hair without product to tame the frizz after washing it, even in a dry climate, is nowhere I wanted to venture! I suspected my trail name might morph from Seal Mom to Gilda–as in Gilda Radner.

“Chris, how did you send your package to Fireside?” I asked, grimacing. “Just the postal service– pretty sure it’s how I sent them my CDT resupply last year.” Ruh roh.

Turns out, it wasn’t the way he shipped it last year, and he just hadn’t paid enough attention to his CDT spreadsheet to remind himself of how he should send it. At least I wasn’t the only one who missed the memo!

There was nothing we could do about it now except visit the post office when we got to town, in hopes the packages might still be hung up there. If not, I could ask Larry to ship the clothing to one of our next town stops, if my box returned to our home quickly enough. The weather had been warmer than we’d expected, so I wasn’t too concerned about continuing on a few more days without it.

After a quick lunch break and determining the riskier looking clouds appeared to be moving in a different direction, we resumed walking uphill where we finally encountered Cate and her handsome dog child, Odie. Cate greeted me with a warm hug and her bright smile, and we began hiking together, sharing stories while marveling at Odie who was running laps around us while chasing every squirrel he saw (who had all probably been to this rodeo before and were able to easily dodge him!). 

We reached the Kenosha Pass trailhead and Cate’s car which was packed with cold drinks and a smorgasbord of amazing snacks. As soon as the ice cold Coke hit the back of my dry throat, which had become increasingly irritated in an arid landscape I wasn’t accustomed to, I couldn’t remember a time I felt more refreshed.

Thank you for everything, Cate, if you read this! 🥰

When we finally tore ourselves away from Cate’s good company and care, we agreed to stop hiking for the day and camp at the Kenosha Pass Campground nearby. It had primitive bathrooms, a water pump, and the hosts even had a hiker box full of donated goodies to pilfer through—what more could we want?! 

But as the minutes ticked by and we realized how refreshed we felt after the long break, even after hiking nearly twenty-two miles, we just couldn’t stay put. We were returning to our modus operandi after having spent the first few days pulling back from it. Rain was forecasted in the days ahead, and we felt it was advantageous to get to Breckenridge, our first resupply point, a little quicker. Plus, we were climbing to our highest and most exposed pass yet (Georgia Pass) the next morning. The earlier we could crest it, the better.

As we hiked the additional three miles to our campsite, we ended up enduring the first FKT we’d experienced as friends. Nope, not that kind of FKT, but rather our “First Known Tiff.” The story behind the scuffle is irrelevant–it was a first world problem, and the tension between us was fueled by emotion rather than logic. But we were navigating without a compass through this uncharted territory of our nearly 8-year friendship. And at that late hour of the day, after hiking nearly 25 miles with little sleep thanks to bad moose dreams, I felt punchy and unwilling to silence my opinion to keep the peace, like I might normally do (which Larry would say I never do 😉). Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, we were able to work through our grievances without much lingering awkwardness.

We crossed Guernsey Creek, and on the other side was a sizable campsite near a big field and a dirt road. As I pitched my tent, I wondered if we’d have late-night bipedal visitors instead of moose, ready to throw down and party in the field (we didn’t).

While we were setting up our tents, Tambo and Polar Bear passed by the site. They said they were hiking a few miles further so they could get an even bigger head start on Georgia Pass the next day. It was still clear that they, especially Polar Bear, didn’t want to get caught off guard with bad weather at a high-elevation pass. They were even going to try and push all the way into Breckenridge a day early, twenty-nine miles from where we were standing, to avoid the worst of the front coming in.

After they left, I mentioned to Chris that we’d done much crazier things than hike twenty-nine miles in a day, hoping he might bite at the idea brewing in my head. I didn’t sense that he connected the dots. Or perhaps, I thought, he didn’t want to dismiss the idea so soon after what had transpired between us an hour prior. I decided to let it go and possibly bring it back up the next day when we had a better idea of what kind of weather we’d be up against.

That night, I drifted off to sleep smiling, thinking of how much Cate’s gentle and kind spirit reminded me of my mom, both giving so much of their heart to others while asking for nothing in return. And how grateful I was that Chris and I could quickly move past our disagreement and pick up where we left off before it started. What a gift, both of these friends, and the joy they bring to my life.