Cottonwood Pass to Tennessee Pass: July 10th - July 15th, 2025
* Day 0: Zero day in Buena Vista (or BV, as many locals call it). Fighting with my body because it tries to be awake around 6 AM, when the room starts to lighten, but I'd really rather sleep in til at least 7:30. Breakfast and coffee from Brown Dog Coffee Company, and we walk out of there with our hands full of scones and brownies for later. Then it's off to Wally's Laundromat to clean our less-dirty-than-usual clothes (do we really even need to do laundry? Well, yes) and the grocery store. Continue our proud zero day tradition of spending too much money on food. But I don't look like I've lost much weight since Lake City so that's a good thing. This is honestly probably the healthiest clutch of food we've had yet, only 2 candy bars and not even any cookies (still have Pop Tarts though). Found MTV Classics on the TV and had 80's music videos in the background for a while, causing some mild concern about our parents. Did Prince's "Batdance" music video really need to be that long? Did REM really think those dance moves in "Stand" were any good? They even Rick-Rolled us. But then the power cut out so that was enough TV for us. Sirens had been sounding on the highway with noticeable frequency. I stepped outside to see if anyone else lost power, and the guy cleaning rooms confirmed the whole building was out. In fact large swathes of the valley from Salida to Leadville lost power. More sirens and government cars whizzed by. He thought maybe someone(s) drowned in the Arkansas River. But soon he got the real news - a house fire started in a subdivision northwest of BV. They'd de-energized the power lines as a precaution. The sheriff's "Mobile Command Center" trailer sped by and Susan and I went back to packing, interspersed with nervously checking our phones for updates on the now 20-acre wildfire. Thankfully they restored power before it got too late, and the fire was pretty far from the trail. Also K's Dairy Delight had managed to open back up after the power outage, so we got the milkshake and burger I'd wanted ever since hearing about K's Dairy Delight. It must have been one of few restaurants able to reopen; signs in front of many others turned patrons away for the day, and by the time we finished eating in the adjacent park a long line of customers threatened to spill into the street, while the cashier apologized profusely over the loudspeaker for the wait times despite the fact that the staff of 3 was totally kicking ass. The fire's at 60 acres but hasn't spread to Federal land. Hoping for good luck hitchhiking tomorrow.
Hard to believe a place with a sign like this...
...would have a bathroom like this
Pretty McPhelemy park in Buena Vista
Hopefully this is about 10,000 calories each for the next 2.5 days of hiking
Morning storms in the mountains over BV* Day 1: Wake up probably later than we should and check for fire updates. Nothing yet. Walk to Loback's bakery for sausage rolls and coffee, have them with scones from yesterday in the motel room, and check for fire updates. Still nothing... Doesn't seem to be relevant for our itinerary. Excellent. Head out to hitchhike, walking down Highway 306 with our thumbs out, figuring we'll need to get at least 2 miles out of town to catch the traffic actually heading to Cottonwood Pass. But after 20 minutes someone in a white Mazda pulls a U-turn and offers us a ride. I guess he saw us while he was going home from walking his dogs, and decided to come back and pick us up. He was looking for an excuse not to start his workday. He and his wife work running Trail Sisters, a trail/ultra-running network specifically for women. His wife had been up in Silverton for a race the day before, but then had to drive back in a hurry because of the fire. Because she's also the county commissioner for Chaffee County. She sounds high-achieving. We're back to the trail by 9:00 AM, far better than expected. It started above treeline but then led us downhill for nearly 6 miles, taking us to a gentle fording of Texas Creek. The trail cuts through thick forest, and I have fun inspecting the trees because I had looked up the differences between pines, spruce, and fir the day before. Turns out mighty spruces shaded us all morning, even though at first I thought they were lodgepole pine. Disclaimer: any time I've described seeing specific tree or plant varieties in an attempt to sound outdoorsy and poetic, it's highly likely I was wrong. Along the way we pass several people decked out with face glitter, and I finally remark upon it to two young women. Turns out they're the ones handing out the face glitter and I'm quickly peer pressured into receiving some. I feel a little foolish but then again this whole thru-hiking enterprise is a little foolish so who cares? Except later I realize the problems - glitter feels crusty, like a build-up of old sweat, it comes off when I put on more sunscreen, and when it does come off I'm trying not to leave little pieces of plastic litter all over the forest. They say not to knock something until you try it, and I think I have an excellent new addition to my stable of high-horses. Finally the trail starts heading back uphill; we have about 2600 vertical feet to get up to Ann Pass. Sunny and hot at first but the weather is supposed to turn stormy for most of the afternoon. By the time the cliffy peaks are fully revealed above the trees they're backed by dark grey-blue clouds that look awfully heavy and rumble occasionally. At 3 PM we pause at the last best camping below treeline and cook dinner, waiting to see how the storm behaves. It continues to rumble and spits at us and seems to linger exactly where we need to go. Annu, a hiker on the Collegiate Loop who we chatted with at Butterfly House, is actually there, and he pitches his tent, making the call to just start again tomorrow. By 5 PM the thunder hasn't lessened so we decide the same, calling it after only 10 miles despite the lucky hitchhike. Spent enough time feeling like lightning-targets last summer - there's no mountain to descend, no rappels, we have enough food, we won't die if we just wait until tomorrow. Have some good chats with Annu over dinner. Spend a few hours in the tent feeling grateful for the excuse to take it easy. Tomorrow might be a big day - hoping to make it over the rest of Ann Pass, then Hope Pass as well.
Morning views from Cottonwood Pass
* Day 2: Early alarm to get a good start on these passes. Golden sun slowly creeps its way into the shadowy bowls and we duck in and out of shade as the trail traverses under several peaks. Annu is hiking with us, partially because he's a little nervous about what's coming up at Ann Pass. We talk a lot about travel and the conversation helps keep me from thinking about how far uphill we have to go. We run into our first other hikers of the day, going the other direction, south on the CT, and one man tells us that finishing up Ann Pass was the scariest thing he's ever done. Apparently the remains of a cornice still obstruct the trail, so a 3-to-8-foot-tall wall of vertical snow blocks you from following the final couple of switchbacks. Susan and I aren't too concerned but Annu isn't sure how to deal with this. When we reach the crest one woman is up there still coming down from a panic attack, having apparently scrambled too far up some rocks, and one more hiker is coming around the end of the snow through a fairly steep hill of loose talus. Susan and I walk along the snow and check out the situation, and decide to head down the left side instead. Everyone else is trying to skirt around the snow on the right and dealing with loose talus and small cliffs, while on the right there's a nice little moat where the snow has melted back from some solid rock, so we can slot right into there. I go first, for a brief moment perched awkwardly facing into the rock and fearing I've made a mistake, but then manage to kick out a platform, and a couple scrambling moves lead down to 6 feet of snow ramp that's easy to finish by sliding on our butts. Annu and Susan descend without issue. We rejoin the trail, come across several more anxious hikers heading up, and Susan does her best to explain the path we took and why; everyone opts for the other side. Eventually we just start telling people that the cornice is navigable and they'll be OK. Finally make it down to Lake Ann, a beautiful turquoise pool overseen by the craggy visages of the Three Apostles. Annu takes a dip; it seems pretty damn cold. From here we drop down, down, down along the south fork of Clear Creek until it turns a corner to join the main fork, and after catching our last glimpse of the Apostles we're back in a dense spruce forest where you could almost forget about the earthen giants that rise in every direction except where the water flows. Eventually split up with Annu because Susan and I like to take too many breaks while filtering water. Us underachievers spend too much time hanging out around the water cooler. Eventually turn at the junction and start our second big task for today: up-and-over Hope Pass. About 2,400 feet in one shot, probably the biggest single climb we've had to do yet; some hikers say it's the steepest trail they've ever done. It is mighty steep at first, trail that seems to go straight up except there are in fact some tight switchbacks, so you know it could be worse. Starting at 10,100 feet, the sun beats down into the cooker that the valley has become, seemingly all the more powerful for finding us at a higher elevation, as if the tale of Icarus was true. Thankfully there's a good forest shading most of the trail, including some tight groves of mature aspens all striving to outgrow each other even though they're technically all one organism. Annu comes charging up behind us, apparently quite refreshed from a little siesta and eager to try to get into Twin Lakes today. Goodbye! There's supposed to be a chance of storms but the skies seem friendly enough so we pass the last option for the camping and push above treeline. The grade of the trail mellows out towards the end but still drags on; the elevation seems to hit me harder starting from 10,000 compared to when the whole day is above 11,500. Skies steadily darken and the wind buffets occasionally, but no thunder ever rolls out so we keep on trucking up. At the summit of the pass a friendly runner who came up from Twin Lakes takes our photo and we all bask in appreciation of the fact we made it up here without getting hit by one of the storms that seem to be threatening all around us. But the wind is cold and getting stronger so time to head down! Susan and I hem and haw about some campsites but finally commit to hiking like 0.7 more miles to get down lower. Having dinner by 6 PM - not too shabby for a long day. Some hikers still trickle by, going up toward the pass; comes downhill and says he's trying to get all the way to Twin Lakes (about 6-7 miles farther) even though he's already at 31 miles for the day. He's stoked to tell us how physically exhausted and beaten he is. You know you can stop, right? One more challenge tomorrow - hope to take a big shortcut by fording the creek that feeds into Twin Lakes, which can sometimes be impassable. Lately people are saying it's pretty mellow, though, and coffee will be waiting on the other side...
The graceful art of descent, coming down Ann Pass
Wilderness boundary
* Day 3: Wake up and make quick work of a few downhill miles before finally coming to Lake Creek. Plenty of runners training for the Leadville 100 race head up past us, trying to put in some face time with Hope Pass. The creek isn't very high and the ford is at a nice wide spot, so we make it across with ease and wash our faces before showing them around town. We're treated to glimpses of a couple herons circling the water. A little bit of highway walking takes us into Twin Lakes, just about one week after we departed with Susan's parents. Second breakfast with good coffee from the yellow VW camper bus, then restocking from the general store, which seems to have every kind of bar and little accessory a hiker could need. Shopping is a lot cheaper because we got some food for free - we ran into Annu one last time and he gave us his one last backpacking meal, and then a CT hiker, noticing we were accepting donations, gave us a rice and chicken meal he couldn't fit in his Ursack. Feeling more and more like racoons. There's quite a few Colorado Trail hikers bumming around town, especially near the general store and its community power strip. It's me and Susan's wedding anniversary today, so we treat ourselves to even more town food - completos! Seems like appropriately fine dining for a pair of racoons. What better way to reminisce about our first adventures together than to eat the type of decked-out hot dogs you'd find in Chile. No palta, though, so Chileans would probably turn them down. Funnily enough, this is our third anniversary, and each one so far has been in a different country - Norway, France, now finally the USA. OK, about time we started hiking again, so we start up a dusty Forest Service road to take a bit of a shortcut. A crew of college-aged Coloradans crawl by in a stock Toyota Highlander and ask if we know how rough the road gets, and we shrug. A short distance later we hear a "thunk" and then find the two guys inspecting the back bumper and exhaust. Play a little leapfrog and then find them staring down a particularly rutted ditch in the middle of the road and spinning their tires; sometimes walking is faster. The trail here stays pretty low, around 10,000 - 11,000 feet, so we get a good taste of the valley heat while crawling uphill ourselves. Stop to admire a particularly massive beaver pond with a huge lodge - beaver mansion. They've cleared a whole small field of aspens and trees all along the fringes sit in various states of gnawed preparation. How many beavers does it take to drag one of these trees around? Thunder sounds, cracking and roaring and crashing more than rumbling now, and things cool a bit as the rain finally finds us. Happy to be below treeline now. Make it to the Mt. Massive trailhead, and enjoy dinner next to Halfmoon Creek, sheltered in one of the dry patches that belie where the lodgepole boughs are catching most of the rain. A couple more miles after dinner to get another hill out of the way and make the last day shorter; the rain lets up so I don't have to make the calculation as to whether heading uphill in the rain jacket will still render me just as wet with sweat. Easier than yesterday.
More wilderness
Creek fording... Spot the herons!
* Day 4: Left camp about 7:30 AM but the sun still hadn't found us. Spent most of the morning in the trees, catching glimpses of the shining snow still clinging to Mt. Massive or down to the Arkansas Valley and the Mosquito Range across the way, when afforded enough of a clearing. Cross several rushing streams small and large, each tumbling down as much of a waterfall as it can muster. While it's still sunny and hot we take a quick dip in the pool below one showery cascade whose square edges betrayed its man-made origins. A couple hikers passing by probably catch the yelp the frigid water rips from my chest. Thunder started rumbling concerningly early this morning, by 11 AM. Mostly we luck out because the thick clouds don't let the sun roast us during the uphills on the rolling terrain, but they also never douse us. Very buggy, though, and Susan seems to be wishing a harsh storm down on us just to suppress the mosquitoes. We cross into the Holy Cross Wilderness, the third wilderness area we've been in in as many days. Climb up to the highest point we've been all day, about 11,800 feet, and get good views of Mt. Massive and some of the craggier peaks immediately adjacent, warm, reddish hues of grey and tan. The thunder has grown sharper lately, and now hits like rolls on a mighty snare drum or timpani. Small rain drops abruptly increase in volume until suddenly a proper shower is coming down, and I run across a field to the trees on the other side. Susan just keeps walking because she's not as scared. We get all the rain stuff on and ready... And then 5 minutes later the rain stops. Somehow, on a whole day full of storms, that's the most precip we ever get. Saw more Colorado Trail hikers than rain. Stop hiking just a bit early because Susan's foot hurts and we've both been tired all day and there's a good chance the fresh horse poop on the trail means some horsepackers could already be occupying the campsite .3 miles ahead. There's a very nice campsite here, but this valley seems to have gotten more rain. It feels cold and humid and the sun is already too low to provide any more warmth today. We may not have needed rain jackets for storms, but they sure are protecting us from the mosquitoes. Get into the tent as quickly as possible after dinner.
Morning deer
* Day 5: Wake up early in order to get to Leadville sooner and knock out some chores ahead of our proper zero day. Cool and shady morning miles go by quickly; we only take one break in the 8.5 to the highway, even though it was only supposed to be 7.8. Who stretched out this trail? Clear air to the west, where the walls of Galena Mountain bask in the morning sun. But the faint scent of smoke wisps through the air, and to the east only sillhouettes of the Mosquito Range stand dark in the haze. I wonder if the trees can smell the smoke on the air, if it smells like death and they know fear. Or maybe it smells like life and they know final, accepting peace. We come across a quite random wooden porch-style swing, shortly after some foreboding signs warning of trespassing charges and bodily harm; Susan has a relaxing sit and knows that life is nicely experienced through simple pleasures. We finally pop out at Tennessee Pass and check out the memorial to the 10th Mountain Division, the US' first force dedicated to fighting in the mountains, which trained extensively in the area. Tales of military exploits clash with my memories of what Italian and Austrian troops endured in the cold and bloody Dolomites during the stalemates of WWI. We stand at a slightly awkward spot to start hitchhiking, and literally the 2nd car stops for us, a black late-model Land Rover. I think this is the first time I've seen ever actually ridden in a Land Rover. The driver says he never stops for hitchhikers. Drops us off in the middle of Leadville shortly after 11 AM - hot damn! Sure, we can't check into the hostel until 3 PM, but now we have plenty of time to stink up the gear shop, the post office, a convenience store, and the grocery store. Ditch our packs on the porch of Inn the Clouds hostel and walk to Safeway accompanied by a guy from Czechia via Manchester who loves to talk but not necessarily have a conversation. The chicken food truck we wanted to go to doesn't actually exist, so we have to settle for fried chicken from the Safeway deli, and I'm kinda disappointed we didn't stop at the BBQ food truck that was on our way. We take the 4-piece bag to the smokers' table next to the loading dock, because there's a tattered umbrella offering some shade at least. The umbrella and table are the same dingy shade of greyish light-brown. We don't have any napkins and Susan asks if we're raccoons as I gnaw the last bits of meat off chicken bones and lick my greasy fingers. I can feel myself becoming dehydrated and grumpy. This makes it exceptionally difficult to shop in the crowded Safeway, aisles clogged with tourists and re-stocking employees who can barely manage to keep up with the insatiable appetite of this sounder of holiday-goers. Yet we work through the list and manage to do almost $200 worth of shopping. Colorado's banned plastic bags so we awkwardly corral 2 stuffed paper bags each for the three-quarters-of-a-mile walk back to the hostel, the most upper-body work we've done in the last 2 months, and it leaves us both feeling even grumpier. But shortly after returning we get to check into the hostel, dig up some loaner clothes that kinda-sorta-fit, get laundry going, shower, and air out the damp gear in our packs. Bought groceries to cook at the hostel; chop up eggplant, onion, bell pepper, and mushroom to have on top of cheese ravioli with pesto. Another simple pleasure - chopping up some vegetables amd cooking them yourself. It's been too long. The hostel has a super nice kitchen with industrial fixtures, a few cozy common rooms with the sort of couches so well-loved and used that they nearly swallow you. A group of younger guys watches Pineapple Express in the upstairs commons and one of them seems to find it much more hilarious than the others. We manage not to be too social but must be feeling better because we go ahead and engage with the Manchester man and hear more of his encyclopedic knowledge of long-distance hiking routes and strong opinions on music festivals, camping, and immigration. Apparently most everything used to be better back in "the day". Very much looking forward to a zero tomorrow with big-ticket items like laundry and groceries taken care of. I've got the top bunk.
...at the Safeway; I think our calorie needs do in fact vary, so we'll be taking some donuts...
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