Muddy Pass to Encampment: August 4th - August 11th, 2025
* Day 0: Zero day in Steamboat Springs. Susan snags bagels and coffee from the hotel grab-n-go breakfast and we enjoy it alongside fried eggs, so pleased to have our own little kitchen. Chat with an old couple visiting from Texas who are very impressed with how far we can walk and give us a quick ride down across the street to the visitor center. Chat with the woman working there and get goody packets of snacks and coupons. Who ever said you can't earn anything through a life of leisure? It's a day out on the town, cruising on the surprisingly convenient local bus. Ace Hardware first, out west, then downtown for the bakery Norm recommended (it really was that good), doing shoe math on the bank of the Yampa River and calling the Lander post office to forward our box because that's at least 100 miles too far and I don't want to sew my shoes together again, getting Susan a new pair of earrings. Hoping she's not allergic to the metal. We picked up a couple cheap bathing suits from Walmart, barely finding ones that fit, so we could spend a few hours soaking at the town hot springs. The goody bundle included a BOGO coupon, although it still wasn't cheap and we were disappointed they didn't have a sauna. The "ice bath" was warmer than any of the mountain water we ever dip in. But the hot pools still loosen achy knees and ankles and calves and quads and hamstrings, and lift off some of the perma-dirt lodged in the wrinkles of our hands. Spend a lot of time talking with an older guy, Trapper, who is also hiking the CDT, but chunks at a time, presently from Wyoming (but not the basin, he already did that) down south through all of Colorado. The first time through he got so dehydrated it damaged his muscles and he couldn't walk for 5 weeks. He's from the most remote part of the Virginia panhandle, recovered from MS, which is typically fatal within a few years, and encourages us to be present and find happiness in the current moment. The type to go on preaching, but because he's animated by an energy that can only come from truly believing you've caught a glimpse of the underlying nature of the Universe and grasped a bit of Truth. While we talk the rough, dry scent of ash permeates the air and the sunlight becomes increasingly orange. Turns out those storms over the last few days days kicked off a bevy of new fires in western Colorado, and the wind wants to make sure a lot of people know. Back at the hotel - although it's closer to an apartment, with a lofted bedroom, complete oven, couch, table, cookware - we get laundry going and cook up halloumi-bacon-avocado sandwiches for a decadent dinner. Keep the windows closed - bacon grease is a more appealing smell than forest fire. Relish in the fact that I don't have to rush around taking care of last things because we're not even heading back out hiking tomorrow, although I'm maybe too relaxed and know in the back of my head that later I'll pay for not getting more done now. But TV and couch are a powerful cocktail...
Smokey day in Steamboat Springs
* Day 00: Double zero day in Steamboat. Another good breakfast - eggs are so luxurious - but Susan has to be the huntress to bring back bagels, because when I go down to fetch them I apparently looked right through the breakfast table. And they're out of coffee. Maybe that's why my eyes aren't working yet. Never mind - we can use the drip machine in the room, and we have free coffee coupons that lure us out of the hotel and over to the Dusky Grouse. A long walk down the pot-holed and tarred drive that leads to our "Legacy Hilltop" hotel and the "Hilltop" neighborhood; every time, we go with the bargain place and it's up a steep hill just to make sure us pedestrians (or cyclists) always have to work a little hard. Second coffee, second groceries, this time back to the store to stock up on five full days of food to get us across the state line and finally finish CO. Feel good about only spending $135 at Safeway until we remember the additional $60 in backpacking meals from the gear shop. Sigh. That's our only errand today so we're happy to scurry back (more like slog up) to the hotel and spend the rest of the day inside. Constantly grazing while in the room, although we take a break to do second laundry and indulge in the hotel jacuzzi. Can't turn down opportunities to soak in hot water! Our legs and backs will thank us. Do more prep and chores around the hotel room; Susan tries to repair some failing velcro on the tent while I try to catch up on the blog but and find procrastination lurking behind every word I put down. Finalize our route for the next section - a substantial deviation from the Red Line. The official CDT dives off and skirts the west side of the North Park Range and Zirkel Peak, and I'll not have the final mountains of Colorado off in the distance while I hike through dry foothills. Plus there's a group of mountains called the Sawtooth Range, and any place with that name is definitely worth checking out. The paper maps offer a few different alternates, but after a few hours studying them and online trip reports I stitch together my own plan - we'll start on one alternate, join a different trail, bushwhack up Gilpin Creek, climb Big Agnes mountain, and then jump between other trails and cross-country until we meet up with the Encampment River. More than 30 miles of trail parallels the river and leads down right into the town of Encampment, skipping a difficult hitchhike. Susan's on board - we'll see if it goes according to plan! Still keeping the windows closed because of the smoke.
It might be annoying but the hilltop location does have good views
* Day 1: The alarm goes off, indifferent to how late I stayed up doing a few last chores (like sewing holes in my clothes). Early start to make sure we catch our ride up to Muddy Pass - the Colorado Bustang. There's actually a public transportation option to our trailhead with a schedule that works and the tickets are only $5, so that seems a lot easier than hitchhiking. But it means we have to catch the city bus by about 7:15; we run out of time to make a stop by the cute local donut shop and have to settle for Starbucks instead. Susan noticed a potential group of trail crew gathered around white trucks, but as we left saw they were actually fire crew. The bus driver is super nice and understanding and offers to drop us off closer to the trail instead of Muddy Pass proper, so that saves a mile and a good amount of uphill. Although in the remaining mile of highway walking I manage to trip and head for asphalt face-first, scraping my knee and palm. And here things were going so well. Wander through some filled-up campgrounds then eventually make it to the true trailhead. Several day users are out hiking, all of us enjoying the temperate air, bright sun, clear skies, and displays of late-summer wildflowers. Fields of fireweed fan fuschia fountains from their stalks, intermingled with bright aspen sunflowers, yellow petals a hue of saturated sunshine. All day the trail more or less wanders up and down rolling forested hills and meanders around the many small lakes, clear as glass, and lily ponds crowded and murky as a city night. Slowly but surely we gain elevation, heading north through the remainder of the Rabbit Ears Range. As the day goes on the sunlight takes on the wan, yellow color that means it's filtering through smoke clouds. Slowly that turns to the flame-echoing orange lighting that means the smoke is thickening and the day is getting late. I think we're supposed to have some panoramic views of the upcoming mountains but the horizon is all blurred and washed out by a thick curtain of haze. At the end of the day we arrive at Buffalo Pass and a USFS campground; there's a site available, and even though it's slanty amenities like a table and vault toilets are too good to pass up, so that's home for the night. As we sit at the table, sprawling out food and clothes and sundries because it feels indulgent to take advantage of a flat surface, white flecks of ash quietly gather on the pale green tent rainfly. How far away are those fires supposed to be? No cell signal here. At least we're at a place with people and cars.
Walking the highway to the trailhead in the morning, Rabbit Ears in the distance
* Day 2: Warmer in the morning than we expected, and even catch a little sunshine between the trees before heading out. Really enjoy waking up somewhere with a picnic table and toilet. Striking out north through the Park Range today, into the Mt. Zirkel Wilderness; finally finished tracing the Divide east to west. The landscape shifts as we slowly ascend, belieing the deep geological forces that built within the Earth until huge masses of granite rock welled up and lifted the crust high above the surrounding plains, creating space for pine, spruce, marmots, pika, and a whole new ecosystem. The blocky plateaus and expanses of exposed, gently sloping granite remind me of the Montana Beartooths. We roll up and down a while, still steadily gaining elevation, past the numerous small lakes that collect in basins whose bedrock stymies the deep-blue water from seeping further downhill. Our trajectory culminates near the summit of Lost Ranger Peak. Yet by the time we reach it our clear and pleasant day has changed - the patiently-building wind now whips and buffets and shoves us around every so often. And the wind brought the smoke; any fires burning to our west or south were surely exploding under this atmospheric bellows, the forest vaporizing and traveling our way at a molecular level. At least we're descending now, but it still doesn't feel great to be sucking down this sooty air. Hit the junction where we bad planned to split from the official CDT; Susan's inhaler is broken, so she struggles even more with the smoke, and a surly wind still pushes and knocks. And we don't have a good idea of where to camp or where to find our next water tonight. Morale is trending down. But we're stubborn and there's no escaping the smoke no matter which way we go so we continue on the Wyoming trail and hope we can still scale Big Agnes tomorrow. If Susan's inhaler doesn't start working, it might be more like Big Asthma. Not much trail tread from here on; mostly just hiking cairn-to-cairn. The first stream we check for water still flows confidently from the meadows above, so it's easy to make dinner. Susan fixes her inhaler by cleaning it out a little with a needle, and the wind and smoke actually relent a bit. Morale is trending up. Yet the last mile we need to do after dinner drags on and it's tough to find a decent spot to camp. Nestle up against some spruces on some only slightly slanty ground. Based on the flailing of the spruce branches and the constant breathy exclamations of the wind, we're pretty dang lucky to have this much shelter. The tent stands strong and pretty unbothered. Hoping conditions improve by tomorrow.
Lost Ranger Peak marks the high terrain in the distance
Smokey in the evening, looking toward coming mountains
Sunrise at camp
* Day 3: The wind never really died down overnight. Since sundown periodic, heavy whooshes have disturbed the spruce boughs and made us toss and turn in the tent. The smoke seems to have returned, also; the moon hangs close to the horizon and orange in the slightly sour air as we gather camp by headlamp. I don't think either one of us is expecting to make it to the top of the mountain today. Down the rest of the Wyoming Trail; a little difficult going marker-to-marker in the dark but tread shows up when we need it and guides us down a few steep hills as dawn enters the sky. Eventually connect into the Gold Creek trail, then onto the Gilpin Lake trail. With the sun still fresh on the hills we crest the pass and get our first views straight into the cluster of mountains that sit at the heart of the Mt. Zirkel Wilderness. Dramatic rocky towers rise steeply from the valley floor, disguising topography the map swears is back there; a little piece of the North Cascades in Colorado. One of those times we look across and think "We're going up *that* mountain?" Gilpin Lake rests resolutely blue as gusts distort the surface in swiftly moving wrinkles. Down the other side, through some folks camped down near the creek, make friends with Leila the dog, and then abruptly turn off the trail and through the untamed alder. The smoke's subsided some on this end of the range and the steep valley walls keep out the most ferocious wind, so let's give that mountain a try! This shelter from the wind won't last forever, though. Luckily neither do the alder, and soon we're weaving through trees and around boulders and across small meadows nestled in bowls of the bedrock, slowly ascending the drainage that will lead us to the south side of Big Agnes. We're tracing the base of a sub-summit whose rock is broken with grassy patches on some sides and sheer on others, morphing as we circle around and discover which bits are stand-alone spires and which flow together in continuous ridges and faces. Behind us sharp needles of rock jostle for prominence between ridges and peaks, capable of cutting even God's foot were he to step on them wrong. Get drawn a little off course and scramble up a glacial knob, only to discover the tarn we're looking for is actually farther to the right; over another boulder field. Here the navigation doesn't get any easier, as we spend a good chunk of time staring at the small bumps in the ridges high above us scratching our heads and wondering "Where the heck is Big Agnes?" Decide to trust the GPS line I drew, if nothing else, and hike up the friendliest-looking gully on the north side of the tarn, one steep, labored step at a time. Up on the ridge the wind reminds us that it never really left. Connect onto another ridge and debate options while looking at the final uphill and hiding on the leeward side of the saddle. The wind is fierce but not constant, and the smoke hasn't moved in nearly as thickly, so I'm ready to head to the summit and talk Susan into it. We ditch the packs and start clambering up, disappointed every time we realize the next bump on the skyline was just a false summit, and another jumbled heap of black rocks stands above. A conspicuous block of white, large-grained granite, sharp and crystalline, announces that we've made it to the final few feet of the south summit, where we scramble up to the jutting blocks that make up the top. That's enough for Susan, so she heads back to the packs while I tag the central and north summits - why not do all 3? Mostly straightforward navigation and a couple bits of putting hands on rock takes me there and back. The north and east aspects drop precipitously into rocky cirques, the ridge of Big Agnes' triple summits stretches like a saw to the south, and yet getting there took relatively gentle terrain and no fear of grievous injury. Fun! Meet up with Susan and we make our way down toward Mica Lake, dropping out of the wind and impressed we made it to the top of the mountain. Sadly, my joy is short-lived because by the time we're filtering water I'm crashing, nauseaus and tired and generally feeling like walking is really hard. But we really still need to go farther, so Susan encourages me back up. Going up and around Little Agnes from here is a sting in the tail of the day, especially because once we pass over the first shoulder and turn to the next side we find a completely barren burn zone, devoid of shelter from the wind or a real trail. Sideways hiking along a 30° hill hurts my ankles. Thank God that as we get to the other shoulder of Little Agnes some faint switchbacks still lead down the one section of hill that doesn't cliff out, although the trail disappears again once the terrain eases up. I can barely force myself along so we call it at the first flat spot with a convenient stream nearby, potentially a little early but also having done far more than we thought we might this day. This whole drainage maintains the fire-bombed ambience of the other side, but it's been long enough that most of the ground is stable and the water flows clear and cold through the new channels it discovered in the aftermath of the fire. Susan ventures a guess that I might be dehydrated, and an electrolyte packet pretty quickly bounces up my mood and appetite, even if the fatigue remains. Still learning to associate nauseau as a dehydration symtpom - I should probably just ask myself whether I feel hungover. What a day.
Summit panorama!
Spooky morning moon
* Day 4: I hit "snooze" a time or two extra this morning because yesterday was a bear and today should only be a cub. Sun finds us by the time we have camp packed up, a welcome opposite to yesterday morning's moon. Navigating down through the barren burn-scar is easy enough, and a faint social trail even starts to come and go as we descend to zones where the vegetation has regrown higher and higher and proved that time heals all wounds. Towards the mouth of the Agnes Creek drainage, though, the trail peters out, the drop steepens, and the forest didn't burn, leaving thick walls of vegetation and scattered fallen beetle-kill piled at erratic angles like pick-up sticks. The going becomes very difficult. We're basically descending down a double-diamond ski pitch choked with underbrush and fallen logs that are chest-high when you're uphill and shoulder-high when you're downhill. Sharp staubs threaten cuts and scratches and holey clothes and perhaps even a major puncture wound, depending how anxious you're feeling. It takes us more than an hour just to cover a half mile so our anxiety starts to mount. We thought this would go *fast*. Instead I'm caught in a purgatory of fallen trees that relentlessly bar progress at every step, and turn every bit of forward progress into a 3-D game of Twister, with the added bonus of a 30-pound backpack. Thankfully we're both fully aware we *have to* keep going - there's no magical escape chute - so stubbornly crash through the cluttered forest until finally reconnecting with a proper trail. Unbelievable that this portion of our route is actually a "recommended alternate", not even some half-baked Ben Polk original. I'm out of water by the time we're on the trail by Elk Creek but we have to be careful about what we drink because Susan got a notice that the Forest Service is poisoning some fish in the river and you're not really supposed to drink fish poison. Do manage to find a tributary stream, relax in the shade a bit, do our best to reset. Made it down with no injuries so that's a victory. The trail continues nicely for a bit and I start to think that maybe we can make our plan today. But then we turn uphill, back toward the Divide, and the hiking transforms into gymnastics and interpretive dance about how deadfall can stymie even the most ardent hiker. At least here the grades are reasonable and we can see what we're stepping on because the trail underneath is actually quite strong, but eventually we just cut off uphill anyway because it's clearer than trying to follow the path. Looks like we're gonna spend an extra night outside - really happy Susan had us pick up those extra dinners and breakfasts. Encampment Meadows yawns across the Continental Divide, reddish-grasses enjoying their final few days of being in marsh before August leaches the final bits of water. Meadows means no trees so for a minute the hiking is simple and smooth. Back behind us the cluster of summits of the Sawtooth Range brood like a little Fitzroy that got lost on its way to Patagonia. The views are spectacular and it's extra special knowing we stood on top of those mountains just about 24 hours ago. Meadow streams start to coalesce into the Main Fork of the Encampment River, and this will be our lodestar all way into town. This side of the forest is faring no better and we can't ever settle into a good, consistent pace. At one point freshly cut logs start to appear and Susan gives one a kiss, so excited by the prospect that perhaps our time contorting around deadfall is over that she can't contain it. But, alas, at the next junction the saw work continues down a trail of no use to us (believe me, we checked), and so we resume our regularly scheduled tribulations. We really took the level of maintenance on the CDT for granted. A little more saw work starts to show up as we approach the trailhead, though, so that helps make us feel a little less frustrated at covering about 15 miles in about 13 hours. Walk until 7 PM and finish dinner and camp chores in dark. Need less dark time... Or less awake dark time, anyway; saw one other person this Saturday. But did see some bats, ringing out from the darkness. Staying up late has its perks.
Starting the day in the Little Agnes burn zone
* Day 5: Let ourselves sleep in until 6 AM - we need the rest. The world doesn't magically warm up between the hours of 5 and 6 so it's still frigid and ice clusters around the lips of our water bottles. The last stretch to Commissary Park and the Main Fork trailhead presents a few 3-D tree-puzzles to make sure we're awake. Cows bellow across the russet meadows with gentle forested hills spreading out above. Stop to chat with some campers and play a little fetch with a golden retriever (since we haven't seen Allie for a while) and plug them for info on the upcoming trail... Sounds like it should be mostly OK. Better than what we just had. So on up north along the Encampment River, which has grown up from the wiry streams higher in the hills to a full-bodied channel crashing around boulders and off cliffs rising straight from the banks. The sign-post for the Encampment River Wilderness makes it official - we've left Colorado! Now in the next box north - Wyoming. I wonder what's inside this box... Seems like an arbitrary line; the trail continues along the river, meandering closer and farther through far less dead trees than we had to deal with yesterday. Feel so good about our pace we stop to take a dip but even this far downstream the icy clear water quickly shocks us back out. Grill a passing hiker about trail conditions coming up and he assures us there's only a few blow downs. Within the next half mile we confront at least 10. Guess we got bad intel, or maybe a freaky massive sneaky gust of wind came by right after him. Either way it's back to contortions around fallen trees and a slow walk through the canyon. But eventually elevation lost wins out and the land opens to brown plains with dusky sage rolling on up and over hills. The heat picks up as the unfiltered sun finds us. But the river still rustles below, taking on the hue of the earthy orange and green rocks visible even at the bottom, and there's not nearly as many trees that could fall and block us. Pump the brakes as we pass a *perfect* campsite, flat ground next to the river and a nice cushion of duff provided by the sheltering pines high above. Sure there's a fee campground just a little more than a mile ahead, likely with tables and toilets that would make things just that much easier, but that sounds like a long way and pinecone-harvesting squirrels here provide entertainment. Eating nearly the last of my food tonight but a big breakfast should be waiting just a few miles away. There's not even much of a forest between us and town. My guess is that over the past two days of hiking we've crawled over and under and around and through about 1,000 trees and their snagging branches and spikey staubs. Susan's abs hurt from the full body workout. I have a bunch of holes in my pants including a gaping jagged tear that will require some serious repair.
Encampment River Wilderness - officially in Wyoming!
* Day 6: Wake up near the river, on the later side again, this morning feels so warm compared to yesterday, I guess this is what sleeping outside under 7,500 is like?? It's been a while. A helicopter starts doing laps up and down and around the canyon so that would have been our final alarm anyway. Squirrels clamber high up in pines, a series of cones plinko through branches and thwunk to the ground, followed by victorious chittering and the squirrel dashing down to start a mad back-and-forth stashing the cones in whatever secret hidey-holes they think they'll remember come winter. A few easy miles, mostly on roads, lead us into Encampment at last, about 16 hours later than intended. But we had the extra food and now 307 Pub & Grub is open to stuff us for breakfast. We're extra haggard and dirty and holey from fighting trees so throw on the midlayers to go in for food. I discover that no matter how hungry she is, Susan can still be stopped in her tracks by a cute amd cuddly cat. Reserve a cabin at the Riverside Garage & General Store but it still needs to be cleaned, but the waitress at the restaurant doesn't mind us hanging out in their patio for a while. Instead of more mountain ranges, high plains, hills, and basin loom around us, emptiness blowing through on the wind. On our walk to the cabin stop by the post office for our envelope of maps, Susan grabs Redwall from a little free library, then it's the Sinclair c-store, where we chat with a cloud of riders on adventure bikes motorcycling a local "backroad discovery route", then raid the general store attached to our lodging for hiking food - it's a little tough after getting used to the widespread grocery stores in Colorado. But we're grateful for what they have and take the excuse to grab fistfuls of candy bars. Dinner will be a little trickier. The small, rustic log cabin is cutely furnished with an old spring bed, the mounted animal head that seems to be mandatory in the West, and an all-in-one sink/gas stove/fridge unit the size of a modern oven. Although the fridge had been decommissioned and turned into a cabinet (the fridge the unit did have was by far the newest thing in the room). Happy for indoor plumbing. No laundry service or self-serve options at all in town, so Susan sucks it up and hand-washes all our clothes in a big red bucket. Maybe tougher than hiking. Some planning reveals a 30 - 40 mile hole in our route that lacks any dependable potable water. Soooo I guess we'll need to get the next section done in just 3 days instead of 4 - won't have to wear our slightly-less-clean clothes that long anyway. Feels really nice to have almost the whole day off after the last tough 3.
Bedhead
Thanks for the marmot ^___^
ReplyDeleteI wish for you less fallen trees and more cats!