Colorado

It's been a minute since my last post. I've mostly been hanging around Saint Louis taking care of various adult responsibilities and catching up with friends. seeing everyone a recouping is great, but now that I've caught the travel bug, I was itching to hit the road again. I was Colorado bound!

I headed to Rocky Mountain National Park because northern Colorado had the closest mountains I'd never been to. Arriving on a Wednesday afternoon, I asked a park ranger about some of her favorite hikes. This yielded such an enthusiastic answer, I asked a few other rangers. Requesting their personal favorites resulted in a lot more interesting options than just asking for recommendations. So simple!

View across Beaver Meadow

Loaded with tips from the rangers, I planned out my stay and started hiking. All the trails and destinations were gorgeous. I saw lots of wildlife, especially moose. Only one thing was lacking; none of the trails included the summit of a mountain. In all the hiking I'd done in the previous weeks, I'd not climbed up a single mountain peak. Lots of alpine lakes, lots of high passes, but no actual mountaintop. It was time.

Thunder Lake

Ranger cabin at Thunder Lake

One of the 8 moose I encountered. They were all busy eating, eating, eating.

Long Meadow.
The sign at the turnoff read "Unmaintained trail".
My heart replied, "Yes!"

Canyon area below Timber Lake

I had the whole place to myself (c:

Pausing while scrambling over a landslide area to take in the view

After two days of the above loveliness, I decided to again seek a ranger's advice. I had lots of maps, but it wasn't clear which trail had what I was looking for. I felt confident that, strength and endurance wise, I could do any trail in the park. However, given the high winds and tricky weather, I wasn't sure how wise it was to just pick one and go it alone.

As luck would have it, I had the exact right conversation with the exact right person. She and I had a good chat about solo hiking in general and in the park specifically. She got where I was coming from, and was both affirming and frank in her cautions. Her tips were solid. She even drew in a couple short trails unlabeled on the park maps.

Encouraged, I decided to save that hike for Monday and spend the weekend in the Indian Peaks Wilderness south of the park. Ultimately, I didn't explore Indian Peaks much. Saturday my stomach felt kind of puny, so I spent most of the day sitting on top of a picnic table alternating between reading and people watching. In the evening, I strolled around a nearby lake. It was a quiet, lonely day.

Sunday, still feeling less than awesome, I explored some simpler trails near the headwaters of the Colorado River. It was also the first outing I took the Friends on after their misbehavior at Craters of the Moon (more on that later). That night, I stuck around for the ranger-led night hike. After spending 99% of my time in solitude, I was hoping for some human interaction. This plan backfired somewhat because I was in the bathroom during introductions. Then, surprised by the ranger saying he thought there are about 50 moose in the park, I awkwardly blurted, "But I've seen 8!" Lastly, between the bright half-moon and being comfortable with the dark, I didn't use my flashlight and accidentally startled a few people. Ultimately, I had a good time. Everyone was nice, but I don't think they knew what to make of me.

The Colorado Rive as a baby with the Never Summer Mountains in the background.

Monday morning I immediately I felt better because I woke up HUNGRY. Hungry for food and hungry to reach that mountaintop. Deciding a hot breakfast was well worth a delayed start, I didn't hit the trail to Flat Top Mountain until 10:30 or so. Plenty of time.

The hike up was lovely and scenic and all the things you'd expect, but I don't remember much about it. I've talked before about my long-standing fears of finding myself unwelcome in wild and beautiful places. In my mind, whenever I picture those places, it's usually a high mountain peak. While I was nowhere near as anxious as I was my first day backpacking in Idaho (see 'Soloing in Sawtooth'), I was still...wary? Unsettled? Uncomfortable, maybe? I don't know how to put it into words, but I do know I was less afraid of the mountain than I was of what would come after.

Around the time I reached treeline, the weather changed. Some clouds near the summit looked like they were considering becoming a storm. The wind blew stronger. It was spitting rain and sleet. Oddly enough, I found this encouraging. A few weeks prior, strong wind in my face would've screamed "Unwelcome!" This time, however, it was simply part of it. I was watching the clouds - no lightning ever came - but I was resolved not to lose the head game.

When I reach the top of Flat Top, it was...anticlimactic. It was really pretty, but indeed flat. Not peaky at all. The wind was blowing harder than ever and no one else was in sight.

One of the trails the ranger drew on my map was to Hallett Peak, a short distance south. I didn't see a trail, but the Peak was right there. Feeling more uncomfortable and more determined than ever, I made my way towards it. Eyeing the top skeptically, I noticed a woman beginning the climb down. I don't know what it was, but all remaining doubts dissolved. The wind was dying down, and when I got to where the real climb began, I found the elusive trail, well marked with cairns all the way up.

Reaching the summit was a quiet moment. No epiphanies. No sobs. No shouts. Just quiet. I'd compare it to the feeling of finally sinking into a comfy chair at the end of a long day on your feet. I felt myself relaxing, relaxing into what I know to be true and what will always be true. Relaxing into my fears, they felt both acknowledged and conquerable. Relaxing into my hopes, they felt grounded and achievable. It was a moment of release.

PIkachu feeling the freedom

Sitting in the quiet, eating my peanut butter on a stale spinach tortilla, another hiker came up. He was in the midst of a solo backpacking trek. We chatted quite a while, swapping stories from the trail, suggesting other places in the area and around the country. Starved for conversation, it was refreshing to talk with an amiable person long enough to exchange names and contact info.

Hallett Peak to the left; Tyndall Glacier hiding in the shadows to the right

My lighter mood made the walk down more fun. Reflecting on the irony of meeting an interesting person moments after finding my chill, I started to wonder how many similar opportunities I'd missed because my anxiousness got in the way. Yes, I know. God forbid I cut myself too much slack. Fortunately, that train of thought did little to lessen my mood. However, I do believe the idea may be helpful moving forward.

Alpine tundra

My mood was so light, I made a minor wrong turn, adding a couple extra miles. This ended up being a boon. Because of that wrong turn, I 1) saw a spectacular view of a valley, 2) encountered a bride in her gown, a groom in his kilt, and two photographers seeking that perfect shot a couple miles up the trail, and 3) passed through a mildly creepy area filled with dozens and dozens of huge burn piles. I believe this was an effort to control pine borer beetles.

The new-to-me valley

Just a few of the burn piles.
Imagine the blaze!

The next day, Tuesday, was my last full day in Colorado. It was pretty low-key. I spent most of the day poking around Estes Park, then visited a couple last places in the park. I also went for a trail run, confirming that I still need to work on running uphill. It was a good way to end.

An alluvial fan that formed when a dam broke, causing a violent flood back in the 80s

Using photography as an excuse to catch my breath mid-hill

A Very Important Question

Warning: this one is a little gross and involves dead animal remains.

At the end of August, when I was on my way to Farmington, I stayed the at one of the Ozark Trail trailheads in the Mark Twain National Forest. In the amongst the trees, I noticed the remains of a deer. There was a rib cage, a skull, and a few other bones. I wasn't really creeped out until I saw the second skull. I shook my head, chalked it up to redneck Missouri, and forgot about it.

Then, staying in the Arapaho National Forest in Colorado, I found the carcass of what I believe to be a mule deer near my parking area. It's head and limbs were missing, and its entrails gone, but there was enough flesh left to give the magpies a healthy breakfast the next morning. Additionally, there was the spinal column of some large animal not too far away.

My question: Is this a regular thing? Given the number of bodies and proximity to the road, I assume this is the result of hunters dumping their kills. Is this the case? Can any of you offer any insight?

So...Do you have a job?

The answer is yes, I do have a job.

As mentioned briefly in earlier posts, I have recently been hired at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing (HMH). I am a per diem associate. The job entails visiting schools and training teachers on how to use and incorporate the HMH curriculum resources. I'm on the sales side, so I'll primarily be supporting teachers during pilots.

I have now worked exactly one day.

Last Thursday I observed a training for the Farmington School District. I will be attending another one later in September. Soon I should be meeting with a couple of my managers to learn and practice making presentations myself.

Once trained, I will be able to make my own schedule, beginning with school visits in Missouri.

After that, I will branch out into the whole Missouri-Iowa-Kansas region.

Ultimately I anticipate being to called into other regions and travel nationally.

This last one, while not a 100% guarantee, is actually very likely. Most per diems like to stick with only one subject or age group. I, on the other hand, feel comfortable with a variety of subjects, many of which are hard to fill. Luckily for me, most people confident in math and science go for higher paying jobs than education.

I'm so grown

I do not know how long this will take to progress, but I feel optimistic. Even if HMH doesn't go the way I hope, it is a means to an end. Already I've learned a lot about what I want from a job in the context of work-life balance.

Questions come up rather often about my employment status. People are politely curious about how I'm able to do this. I don't mind. Often it amuses me to see folks having their own internal struggle with comprehending my less traditional choices.

Solo in Sawtooth

I spent the first full week of August in the Bitterroot Mountains of western Montana. I heard of them for the first time while buying a new pair of trail running shoes at Runners Edge in Missoula. My wonderfully helpful sales associate suggested the area along Highway 93 as a good place to explore.

Over the next several days, I slowly made my way south. I hiked. I poked around the various small towns. I tried several restaurants. I hung out in parks making phone calls and catching up with people. I was thoroughly enjoying this new life style.

Taken on my first trail run with the new shoes.

Decided to skip a mountain lake in favor of climbing a pass at the MT-ID border.
Definitely made the right choice.

There was only one problem: I wasn't meeting any new people. Not really. Yes, I would have pleasant and friendly encounters here and there, but that was about it. As and introvert, I'm usually pretty content being by myself. At the same time, I get tired of doing everything on my own. I like people and conversation. Also, I get kinda weird when I spend too much time alone with my thoughts. So, knowing I would be continuing south into central Idaho and the Sawtooth Wilderness, I decided to be more proactive about seeking people out.

One of my hopes was to connect with group that I could backpack with. While I've gone backpacking several times, I have never gone backpacking with other people. I do well, but I still have a lot to learn, mostly the subtle things that come from experience and watching people with experience. Additionally, I was incredibly nervous about the idea of my first doing first Rocky Mountain backcountry camping experience all alone. Neither the Ozarks nor even the Badlands felt so wild or intimidating.

A series of Internet searches quickly revealed I wasn't going to be able to find a group that way on such short notice. I resigned myself to sticking with day hikes, but resolved to seek out future trips to join. As I did these these shorter hikes, it was not uncommon to come across lakes and other inviting areas and find several people camping there. My instinctive reaction to this is, "Ugh. Too many people," and to move on quickly. While often this is the best course of action (like when the group of boy scouts were loudly arguing over who had messed with who's tent), I also recognize that you can't meet people if you constantly avoid people. I call this the Introvert's Dilemma.

That Sunday I hiked a loop that was at least 18 miles long and went past several lakes. As I headed  out towards the first lake, several people who'd spent the night were hiking back in. Most folks were friendly but understandably doing their own thing. However, two groups in particular had an openness that led me to believe that, had I'd been camping at the same time, they would have welcomed me for at least a portion of their trip. Since I still really wanted to go backpacking, I decided to plan an outing that had me staying in one or more of the popular places.

Alice Lake
Popular with campers

Happy to reach the top of the pass;
Alice Lake is in the background

There were a lot fewer people on the other side the pass.
I liked having the place to myself.

Planning my route was trickier than I'd anticipated, mostly because I kept getting stuck in the tension between wanting to go and see as much as possible with my desire to meet other people. After some advice from a friend who's visited Sawtooth, and guidance from a ranger, I settled on starting at Sawtooth Lake and staying out three nights total. I liked the idea of doing a loop, but was open to setting up camp in one place, then doing out-and-backs from there. I wanted to play it by ear and see what came up.

I parked at the trailhead the evening before so I could head out the next morning. As I was getting my gear and food together, various groups and families return from their own day hikes or backpacking trips. Watching them laugh and cheer about finishing made me feel antsy to get going.

My route: Day 1 - Iron Creek Trailhead (#5) to Sawtooth Lake
Day 2 - Sawtooth Lake to Alpine Lake (bottom center)
Day 3 - Alpine Lake to Marshall Lake (near #4)
Day 4 - Marshall Lake back to Iron Creek

The next morning was very chilly. I got off to a slow start because it was hard to leave the warmth of my blankets. Fortunately the day was otherwise pleasant and warmed up quickly. It was only about 5 miles to Sawtooth lake, so it didn't take long to reach my destination. My intention was to hike to the southern end of the lake and setup camp. However, it turned out that Sawtooth Lake is nestled in amongst mountains, giving it a steep shoreline. I continued on past the lake to where the terrain flattened out. Despite there being plenty of space to pitch a tent, the narrow valley didn't feel very inviting. Between being rocky and short on plants, I felt exposed. Additionally, there was a strong wind funneling between the mountains. It wasn't the place for me. I considered venturing further south, but I still wanted to camp near others. I opted instead to backtrack to a much smaller lake just north of Sawtooth and out of the wind.

This was a very difficult decision. Not for any practical reasons - this kind of thing comes with camping - but because it hit right in the middle of my biggest emotional triggers.

Long story short, for years I have been uncomfortable with mountains and other wild landscapes. Not because I didn't want to visit them or any concerns for my safety. Rather, I have a deep-seated fear that I would arrive at the top of the mountain or some other splendid wilderness and somebody or something would tell me to leave. That these beautiful remote places were not for me to experience.

Even though I knew it wasn't rational, Sawtooth Lake not being what I expected made me feel as if I were unwelcome. It brought all these old insecurities to the surface, including the fact that over the past few years, I've become increasingly resentful of having to do so much on my own. Just to be clear, I have an amazing amount of help and support and other good things from family and friends. In fact, many of you are reading this now, so THANK YOU! At the same time, when it comes down to making big life decisions, it comes down to just me. And this feels incredibly lonely.

So here I was in this beautiful, pristine place and unable to enjoy it because all sorts of doubts and shame were in the way. Even though several friendly people greeted me and chatted for a bit, I was too miserable to really engage. All I could see was how my personality and habits had led to an array of missed opportunities, and I despaired of ever changing the pattern. Knowing there were lies in this line of thinking only made me feel more ashamed.

It was a rough day.

Evening view from day one's campsite.
A beautiful place to feel miserable.

After a good night's sleep, I felt better. Ish. Mostly I was relieved that I could pack up and move on.

Sawtooth Lake

The first section of trail, starting from Mt. Reagan, then following along the north fork of Baron Creek (see map above), is traveled much less than the other trails I'd done so far. Therefore, they were less maintained. Long sections were full of overgrown shrubs that had to be shoved through. A dozen or more blown downs were blocking the trail, including a few HUGE Ponderosa pines, leaving no option but to climb over or crawl under. There were a couple of wide and tricky creek crossings. I was stung by a hornet.

All of this improved my mood immensely. Seriously. Scrambling through the ruggedness made Day Two a lot more fun than Day One. I still felt rather raw from the day before, but those feelings weren't so overwhelming. I knew they were being resolved. I just needed to keep going.

Upper Baron Lake

After climbing the pass to the Baron Lakes, I was tempted to stay the night there. However, something told me to continue for another couple of miles to Alpine Lake. I'm glad I did. There were several other campers there and the place had the laid-back friendliness I'd been hoping for. I pitched my tent next to a girl who was on her first solo backpacking trip. I enjoyed swapping stories with her and a few other folks. I can't say that I made any life-long friends, but it was really nice to actually talk with other people.

Climbing the pass between the Baron Lakes and Alpine Lake

Day Three was fairly pleasant and uneventful until I reached the area around the Redfish trailhead (#1 on the above map). I got so excited about making good time and arriving early to Marshall Lake that missed my turn. Feeling good, confident in where I was going, I totally followed a spur in the wrong direction. By the time I figured it out and got back to the turn-off, I'd added at least 5 extra miles. In my defense, the trail sign had fallen over and was hard to see, but really, my obliviousness had struck again. So much for getting to camp early!

Back on track, the correct trail was a lot steeper and the soil a lot looser than anything else I'd encountered so far. Even when it leveled out on the top of the ridge, the rocks and loose dirt made going difficult. My heels started to hurt some. Occasionally - particularly when going down the steep switchbacks - a wrong step would make me yelp in pain. Each time I'd role my eyes at myself for being so silly.

Once at Marshall Lake, I claimed the decent spot I saw. I heard people further down, but I didn't care. I was too tired. Taking off my boots, I was surprised to discover that the area all along the back of my heels and Achilles tendons was completely covered in blistery abrasions. No wonder I was yelping! Even though I'd cleaned my socks nightly, alternating between two different pairs, they had still collected too much sand. I cleaned and bandaged them up. Not wasting any time worrying about what I was in for tomorrow, I fell asleep quickly.

Korean deliciousness at Marshall Lake

Marshall Lake

The next morning, much to my relief, my heels only hurt briefly when I first put on my boots. After a few steps, I didn't notice them much any more. Hurray for bandages!

A hazy view from my the 4th and final morning

The hike back to my car was pretty and enjoyable and kind of a blur. It was a Friday, so as I got closer to the trailhead, I passed more and more people heading out for the weekend. Many of them asked me questions about where I'd been and whether or not I had any tips. As is common, several were surprised/impressed that I had gone out on my own. These brief encounters were very encouraging, but made me wish I was able to join a cheerful group that was just starting out. Next time!

Relaxing at "home" after 4 days on the trail

I am really glad that went on this backpacking trip. In a way, I'm even grateful for all the crappy feelings that came bubbling up. I've untangled myself from many of the situations that had left me feeling stuck. What remains are the doubts and fears I carry with me. It makes sense that they'd be more prominent these days.

I guess I'll just have to buck up and face them.

*blerg*