Colorado Trail: When everything goes south, go east

Week 3: Twin Lakes to Salida, 78-ish miles

Going west

Standing at the crossroads, making the decision at the trail junction to turn right and take the Collegiate West route over its slightly easier and shorter variant felt big — and it was.

Our first day on Collegiate West started at 4 a.m.

We woke up in the dark, begrudgingly creeping out of our sleeping bags to face the cold morning air. Morning air? It still felt very much like nighttime.

In that moment, we sent a silent thank you to our ultrarunner friend Rachel, who in the first week ran uphill for miles to bring Ariella a new sleeping pad. Without it, the night would have been especially cold for her.

The stars were dazzling as we hit the trail, the three of us hiking in a silent line, trying not to think about the wildlife in the forest watching our flashlight beams bounce down the trail.

We didn’t see any mountain lions, but in retrospect, I would love to know how many mountain lions saw us.

Or bears.

The trail took us over logs across streams, up steep hills and, finally, up to tree line, where we got our first view of the highly anticipated Hope Pass — the gateway into the Collegiates.

Waking up early was meant to do us two favors: get us back down below tree line before the notorious afternoon storms and beyond the pass before hundreds of trail runners — running the famed Leadville 100 Ultramarathon — were scheduled to run up and over the very same pass.

We were already slogging along … we didn’t need the reminder that there were hundreds of people running the route that we were very slowly walking.

As we broke the tree line, we started to see race supporters dubbed The Hopeless Crew, setting up medical tents, sitting around a campfire and getting ready for the first runner to come by. They’d also brought llamas to help carry their supplies, and the llamas grazed in the field below the pass, giving me the happiness boost I needed to climb the rest of the hill.

It was hard. Really hard. But as we trudged up and over the top of the pass, the morning light still fresh, the world opened up in front of us, exposing several fourteeners — 14,000-foot-plus mountain peaks — and valleys dotted with trees as far as we could see.

The pain of the climb was gone in an instant, replaced by the awe and adrenaline of standing up so high and seeing so far.

Mount Huron, standing at 14,012 feet, towered before us. The trail snaked down the pass into the valley below, becoming a faint line, then disappearing entirely. Seeing the trail ahead slowly fade gave the landscape perspective.

We were waaaaay up high. And this was just the beginning of the Collegiates.

The next few days were equally hard and astounding, as the trail took us up and over one pass after the next. Some have been named, like Lake Ann Pass, which treated us to the bluest of blue alpine lakes, and others weren’t, but each one kicked our butts with equal gusto.

At each pass, we’d cheer, stop for a snack, take a photo, and keep moving. Up and down and up and down.

Six-moose morning

We awoke hours before the sun and trudged through the alpine bushes.

As the sun came up, I looked ahead and realized I was having a stare down with a bull moose.

“Hey, Ariella,” I said calmly over my shoulder. “Let’s back up a little.”

The moose towered over the bushes, eyes locked on us. Then I noticed a second bull moose, even bigger than the first, crouched behind. The two of us walked backward, giving the massive animals their space and trying to stay calm.

Lots of wild animals frequent the Colorado wilderness, but both of us had declared that we were most afraid of moose. They’re huge and, unlike bears, aggressive and generally not too afraid of us.

We waited for what felt like hours — it was probably minutes — before the two moose meandered toward the forest. We kept hiking, eyes wide and in moose-scanner mode.

Not five minutes later, I stopped in my tracks again. Two cow moose grazed in the field ahead of us with what looked to be a baby. We repeated the same steps, stopping and waiting, then continuing to hike as they wandered away.

On full alert, we both startled when a deer ran past the trail.

Then, around the next corner, Ariella called to me from behind.

“Hey don’t freak out, but there’s a moose to your right.”

A bull moose and female moose stood just beyond the trees, within easy charging distance of where I was on the trail.

I retreated to where Ariella was and, again, we waited it out. Good morning to us: Turns out high-altitude adrenaline works better than coffee, anyway.

When everything goes south, go east

The Collegiate West route offered an advantage to Ariella and I — an unusual resupply town.

Growing up, I visited Colorado almost every year to see a variety of family members who live across the state.

One such family member has a cabin in the small mountain town of Tincup, nestled just below Tincup Pass and only accessible from the pass via off-road vehicle.

My aunt, quite the adventurer herself, and her friend provided us the best trail magic that day — appearing up over Tincup Pass in an ATV with two empty back seats.

After a long day of ups and downs and back-ups, our tired legs were relieved when we hopped in.

We felt like trail celebrities, passing a group of other thru-hikers, who would likely not see civilization for another few days, in an ATV, whooping and hollering on our Indiana Jones-like ride to Tincup.

Aunt Sharon and her friend played tour guide, stopping us at the top of the pass so we could see the valley below, then again at Mirror Lake, where my aunt told me I swam as a young child.

Being in Tincup felt like being back home again. The cabin, which my family members built, was familiar and warm, providing us a much-needed rest. Aunt Sharon made us a warm homemade meal and resupplied us with everything we’d need for the next few days on trail. The stop felt like a gift from the gods.

It really was the trail providing.

We awoke the next morning to lightning and pouring rain. We were supposed to get back on trail, but the weather was telling us differently.

Like most of the Collegiates, the next section of trail would put us very high up. Mixed with electrical storms, mountain passes can be deadly.

As we had before choosing Collegiate West and every day since, we pulled a weather report.

The forecast had taken an intense turn for the worse.

Thunderstorms in the morning. Thunderstorms in the afternoon. Thunderstorms into the evening. There didn’t seem to be any kind of window for safe mountain passage.

After some debate over breakfast, we came to the sad conclusion that our safest choice would be to bail off of Collegiate West. Again, we weighed pros and cons. And again, we changed our minds over and over.

Aunt Sharon helped load our stuff into her car and we drove up and over the peaks to Mount Princeton Hot Springs, where the Collegiate East route would put us at similar mileage to where we were on the West route.

We’d start there, treat ourselves to a little soak in the hot springs, then finish up the Collegiates on the other side — below tree line and out of lightning’s reach.

Going east

Switching routes completely changed the landscape and, after our first day on the new route, we grew less sad about bailing from the West route.

We missed the tall mountain passes, the marmots and pikas, the incredible views spanning miles and miles around us. But the East route gave us warmer nights, new friends, reunification with old friends and beauty that we hadn’t expected from the route people told us was so much less exciting.

Suddenly, we’d gone from the alpine tundra to the desert forest, and it felt good to be a little drier and to be able to breathe a little easier.

The switch was a reminder, as well, that everything works out as it’s meant to.

Pinky and Siesta Queen joined us once again as we made the trek to the end of the Collegiates. Being around familiar faces renewed our trail excitement. The trail was once again providing.

On that stretch, we got the most amazing trail magic when a group of campers adopted us for the evening, letting us crash their camp and feeding us fresh melon and the biggest slice of chocolate cake I’ve ever seen.

“I miss the West," I said. "But the West didn’t have chocolate cake."

About the series