Monarch Pass to Twin Lakes
About an hour above the pass, you have the option to stay on the crest or follow the "red line" (because in the FarOut app the main trail is red) down a meandering way among alpine lakes into a valley. In this case, taking the crest saves about four miles of walking!
But I've learned a few things. That savings is usually lost in steep snowbanks, or difficult talus fields where every step exposes shifting alliances in the blocks you teeter across. Plus, it's easy to breezily say you climb over "only" three summits, however, by the time you've rasped and panted over the last one, your thoughts are as often full of regret as they are illuminated by the generally better views.
These are, of course, the complaints of an older person for whom the effort of leaving the porch is no longer necessary. It's not only that it's hard to get up and out there... It's that the fire of desire for the "up there" no longer burns so hot. I am actually content. So I followed my red line dutifully down, smiling inside and ignoring the hectoring voice of the younger Michael who stood aghast at my "quitter mentality." Eventually he went away, though he'll be back, I know, at the next opportunity to exhaust myself.
Blocks of ice bobbed in the first lake. I was surprised by Numbers and Mummy, two silent and swift men who had a way of sneaking up on me in the next days despite my searching glances backward over vast, empty tundra. I wondered how Mummy got his trail name...I imagined it must have come from his sleeping posture: hands folded over heart. Thin lips, compressed.
Down to a hot dirt road and a man teaching a boy about fishing lures, surrounded by a minor industrial complex of American Camping (TM). He gave me a suspicious hello....I probably deserved that. Having heard so much about the "trail magic" dispensed by an adoring public on the through hikers on the Appalachian Trail, I probably approached everyone at trailheads with an acquisitive gleam in my eye. Goodies? For me?
I continued for miles up to Chalk Creek Pass, lost in my own thoughts and listening to music. Before long I'll be in country where I can't do that anymore. Grizzly bears don't like to be surprised! Below the pass, there was a railroad grade along which I walked for miles, with scenic granite walls in the left. I came to a solitary tent, with SlowPoke inside. We exchanged news of the trail, and I kept walking another two miles to a lake where we'd roughly planned to meet up. I suspected Gargoyle and mishap would have gone over the top, and that leftovers would have followed the red line as i did. It had been 23 miles, and I was worn out.
I got in my tent, my little home... Ate dinner, read a bit of Sherlock Holmes, and settled into sleep.
But then I heard a distinctive cough in the darkness outside. "Mishap!" I called. She answered. She'd come over the top and down a complex way to the low country. Wet from falling into a stream when a snow bridge collapsed, she fussed with her gear and gradually made a home. In honour of those difficulties, we'd sleep in and start walking at nine the next morning. We wondered where Gargoyle was, but were certain that he'd found a good home for the night somewhere.
We descended to a valley, then started grinding up a steep south wall, first in forest, then exposed and windy slopes with dramatic views. By the time I reached the crest, I was alternately aided by the wind and bullied back by it, depending on the switchback direction. By the end of the day, the wind would become an oppressive psychological force.
Mishap and I climbed in and out of hanging valleys on the east side of the crest, trending north. Places to rest out of the wind were rare, so we crouched in shrubbery and nibbled our provisions like the furtive pikas dashing between the rocks. Marmots, in contrast, had grown fat and lazy, moving out of our way with sullen disregard.
Gargoyle caught us in the last eastern valley, sharing tales of adventure. For example, in the forest of the steep climb, a tree fell on the trail just behind him, showering him with splinters of debris.
Feeling tired already, I set out with resolve for the last seven miles of the day to Cottonwood Pass, climbing to the crest across snowfields, then battling my way down the other side in hurricane winds. A stunning view of a great lake and a new range of peaks, marching off to the west in golden, early evening light. Keeping my eyes on the narrow path, I wound down and north, then back up to the screaming crest, the wind thing to puncture my eardrums. It seemed to help if I moaned at a similar pitch. Cold and swift, this wind wore me down. Feet soaked from wet snow, muscles aching, I wondered why i was compelled into this place. What parts of me want this? Why do those parts abandon me when the wind screams?
Day Three
I shivered through the packing up, then climbed above Cottonwood Pass to the sun. Warmth comes from effort out here. Gargoyle was sleeping in, and Mishap was already off ahead. We'd lost track of leftovers, but we thought (correctly, as it turned out) that he took a lower option to avoid the terrible wind of the day before.
I really enjoyed the five mile trip down through a lovely forest unravaged by the silver pine beetle. The only downside was fording Texas Creek in knee deep water. I'd tried so hard to keep my feet dry! Oh well...
Later, I found Mishap, then Detour sprung up out of grass he'd been sleeping in, and filled us in on his peak bagging adventures. I'd last seen him at a breakfast in Chama, New Mexico. Knowing they were both from Chicago, I put on headphones and listened to a glorious audiobook by Dion Fortune, while the two of them shared impressions of favourite restaurants and other Chicago marginalia.
As Fortune described the unfolding of a universe from relatively simple interactions of flowing force and constricting form, into the tapestry of emergent complexity we behold every day, I climbed steadily, fueled by energy bars and pepperoni. We were making for Lake Ann Pass. Blueberry was here five days before, and sent me an intimidating picture of the difficult conditions getting down the north side:
Yikes! I hoped it would be better by now, but still, I'd feel better once down.
At the top, Mishap traversed out on a line away from the overhanging cornice, kicking good steps that I might be able to use.
However, I saw that it would be better for me, with no crampons or axe to just go straight down. This worked well, then I heard a yelp as Mishap slipped, falling about ten feet into the rocks, getting a big bruise on her thigh, but otherwise okay, thank goodness.
Lemonhope came though a few hours later and slipped in the same place.
But once this was behind us, I felt way better. Mishap was happy as well.
We bounced happily down, now reunited with Gargoyle, coming to a low elevation forest where I took a road and the others followed trail on the left. I like taking roads sometimes, because I can look up and around more. I slept in a warm, quiet forest, learning later that Lemonhope saw my tent and walked silently by.
In the morning, we were soon climbing steeply to Hope Pass.
Me relaxing.
Descending to a trailhead near Twin lakes, we met Mishap's lovely mom and incredibly loving dog Blue, who would help us in the next days. She'd share food and drink with hikers in addition to allowing us to hike without heavy packs, returning to town at night. Cool!
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