The Colorado Trail, FS-560 to McCurdy Creek

I did it!  I got back on the horse and spent a night on the trail by myself and I found my cache from my CT attempt last year, which was hidden between two pine trees about sixty feet from the trailhead at FS-560. I completely forgot about it, but Glenn's been asking after his ammo can. Glad I found it, because I had not idea where it could've been.

The trip was a total of 17.8 miles round trip, 2,440 feet of vertical (2,180 on the first day) - every step of it hard-fought ground; I am extremely out of shape. The Colorado Trail is really lovely in this segment - a peaceful walk through an almost ethereal forest until the trees thinned out into a vast green valley.  I encountered only two hikers - the rest of the time was just me, and the occasional black squirrel which chittered loudly at me any time I got too close.

I had the daylight and the energy to go further when I reached my destination, McCurdy Creek, but it was so pretty and peaceful that I decided to set up camp anyway, within a grove of trees with the burbling of the brook just within hearing.  Instead I read my novel until I lost the light.

Despite the temperate weather during the day, the night got cold.  Even with a sleeping bag, a liner, an emergency bivvy, and three layers of clothes, I shivered through the night.  I really really want a new sleeping bag, but since my camping season is practically up, I'll save the expense for next year.

I think I figured out where I strayed last year. The Colorado Trail in this particular half of this particular segment weaves in and out of an old forest road; at the time of year I was hiking, there were snow drifts everywhere, and I believe that the place where I strayed from the trail was at one of those junctures - however, there was a snow drift covering the juncture with actual trail so I continued along the road instead.  I had absolutely no trouble this time, and now I know to take a second look at snow drifts when I think the trail has gone cold.

The forest was rich with fungi, this Mario-esque red one being my favorite.  I've got pictures of a dozen different mushrooms I spotted, from big brown pancake ones that were a foot across to tiny white buttons that were smaller than my pinkie nail.  I'm going to see if there's a mushroom-spotter's guide the way there are birdwatching ones - it'd be cool trivia to know which of them I can eat and which are poisonous.

A Personal Entry

Tomorrow, I'm doing a few miles along the Colorado Trail, west from the FS-560 trailhead to the point where it intersects with the branch of the Brooks-McCurdy Trail that leads to Lost Park Campground, about 9 miles. I've got (three) maps and my compass, I've walked myself step-by-step through my day to make sure I have everything packed that I'll need, and it's a really well-worn popular trail so it's not like I'm bushwacking in the wilderness - but to be completely honest, I'm terrified.

I haven't done a lot of backpacking lately (in fact, none at all this year, I think), and publicly I'll say that it's because between work and school, I have no time to disappear for even a quick overnight, but I have to admit, I never got over the experience of losing my way when I attempted a portion of the CT last year. I lost the trail and had to turn back; luckily I was near a popular campground in a familiar area and managed to hitch my way back home after only a few miles of road-walking, but it was completely humiliating and shook my confidence to the core.

There's a Daniel Boone quote that goes, "I have never been lost, but I will admit to being confused for several weeks."  But still, what if I hadn't been in such a convenient position, where I was a short walk from other humans, where I had ample water, where I knew where I was on the map, even if I didn't know where to go next? What if I was really and truly lost? I could've wandered out there until I died. After I got home, my dad told me a story about how he got lost hiking once - really lost, not just confused - and how it turned him off hiking for the rest of his life; he said that he didn't want that to happen to me, and I don't want it to either, but I don't know how to get rid of this knot of fear in my stomach.

Except by getting back on the horse.