Backpacking (Intentionally, this time!)

Two weeks after my "grand adventure" (getting lost), John and I went backpacking in the national park. My knee was still aggravated from all the extreme downhill bushwhacking I had done, so we chose a site only 1.7 miles in from the trailhead. Just in case my knee was still killing me, at least I wouldn't have to walk too far with that heavy pack. The yellow thing you can see peeking out near the top of my pack is a bear canister. With our food in it, it weighed about 5 pounds, I think. Not a ton, but every pound matters when you're carrying it all with you. Thankfully, my pack mule (I mean, my husband) carried in our tent and sleeping pads, so I only had my clothes and sleeping bag and pillow (and daypack and 2 liters of water and a few other items) to carry in besides the bear canister. Some areas allow bear bags (which must be strung up from a tree), but the RMNP requires these canisters, which are to be set on the ground 200 yards away from your campsite.

We hiked in from the Fern Lake Trailhead. Here's a fern and a cool Dr. Seuss-ish plant:

Our campsite was near The Pool, a very popular day hike. This ground squirrel would not leave me alone when I was sitting by The Pool, trying to read. I get the feeling he's been fed by humans before.

This is The Pool, where the Big Thompson River and the Fern Creek meet:

With The Pool being such a popular destination, I was afraid our campsite would feel like we were car camping, but thankfully, no. It was a true wilderness site. We couldn't hear or see anyone from the site, and it was surprisingly large. I think the limit is 4 people, but there was easily enough room for 10.

After setting up camp and relaxing for a bit, we hiked over to Cub Lake. It was only 1.2 miles away. The last time we hiked to Cub Lake, we had been from a different trailhead, so it was fun to try a new approach.

A wildfire had been through here since last time we were here, but it was long enough ago that there was lots of new growth. Totally different look from last time we saw it. The wildflowers were amazing (as they have been everywhere we've hiked this summer).

 I slept amazingly well for being in a tent. Probably thanks to the sleeping pads John hauled up there for us! I love this picture John took of me drinking coffee just after sunrise. It captures the peace and quiet of that morning:

 And here's the two of us, drinking coffee and eating Dinosaur Eggs oatmeal (for nostalgia's sake - our kids loved that stuff when they were little!):

A highlight of the morning was seeing this deer circle around our site a couple of times:

Video:

My parents hiked up to our campsite at 7:30 to join us for a day hike to Fern Lake and Odessa Lake. My dad had a knee injury worse than mine (his from mountain biking), but he was a trooper - he just wrapped it, took some vitamin I, and kept on hiking.

 Fern Falls:

Fern Lake:

After Fern Falls, we continued up to Odessa Lake. That was the only part of this hike I had never done before, and WOW, I am so glad we did. The approach to Odessa Lake is perhaps the prettiest in the entire national park. The pictures don't do it justice, but here they are:

It was a great trip, all-around. Next year we're going to make reservations in advance in a different area of the park and probably camp a couple of nights.

Not all who wander are lost . . . just some of them

I left at 1:40pm on July 3 to do a quick hike up Taylor Mountain. I'd never been up there before, but you can see it from our cabin, so it seemed simple enough. I started on the forest service road and saw a few people having fun on 4-wheelers and in Jeeps. I initially missed the turn off for the trail because where I thought it was had a sign that said "dead end". So I kept walking up the main road, looking for another turnoff, until I got to the Bright Creek Trailhead. I've done that hike before, so I knew I had gone too far. It finally dawned on me:
     Oh, "dead end" is probably for the motor access, and the foot trail continues beyond that.
So I went back to what my instinct had told me was the turnoff initially and continued on my way. I had no trouble the rest of the way up and even had thoughts like
     This is a beautiful hike. I'm glad to discover it. It's so close to the cabin; I'll have to make it a regular excursion.

Once I left the area where motor vehicles were allowed, the trail was rough and ill-defined. Towards the top, the trail disappeared altogether.
     No big deal. I can see the summit, so I'll just head for that. I'll pay attention to landmarks like this uprooted tree I'm skirting around, so I can find my way back down.
Sure enough, I reached the top by 3:00 . . . plenty of time to get back down before 4:00, when I told John I would be back. We had plans to go to the yellow cabin and have dinner with a large part of my extended family at 5:30.

The "trail" towards the top:

 Summit selfie:

As I headed down, I quickly realized there were a LOT of fallen and uprooted trees. I headed down the direction I thought I had come up, but I never found the trail again. I knew within 10 minutes that I was lost, but I thought if I just kept heading downhill, I would run into the trail eventually. Um, nope. Never saw my trail or any other trail for the rest of the day.

I pulled out my compass and headed roughly north and downhill. Turns out our cabin is not north of Taylor Mountain. Oops! Now I know.

From 4:00 - 6:00, I stopped every 10 minutes to shout "Hello" and "Help" and the yodeling-type yell that my Mammaw used to do, as well as blow "S.O.S" on my whistle. I later learned that John was out looking for me and shouting for me during that same time range and we were both on Taylor Mountain at that point, but we never heard each other. We were probably on opposite sides of the mountain by then.

I kept going downhill over super steep terrain. I didn't even see any deer trails. Just bushwhacking the whole way.
     I'm not afraid of dying. I'm mostly worried about my family being worried about me because I'm unable to let them know I'm alive and okay. 
I hiked uphill occasionally to see if I could get cell reception anywhere. I took a photo of my compass readings and tried to send it John. When I had one tiny dot on my phone, I tried calling him and 911, but got "Call failed. . . try again" repeatedly.

Then I would head downhill again, thinking eventually I would reach a river and eventually a river would pass by civilization. Greta has been off-leash this entire time and has been such a trooper. In the middle of the forest, Greta growled at nothing.
     Okay, maybe I'm not scared of dying, but I'm scared. Being run over by a moose (I've seen lots of signs of moose in the area) would hurt! I am scared of being hurt and unable to keep going. I'll turn and go a different direction now. Keep heading downhill. Just keep swimming! Oh, the irony that Helene and I just watched "Finding Dory" yesterday.

I saw several ravines that were too steep to be helpful until I finally found one that I thought we could get down into and follow to a river. I had to put Greta back on her leash because there were times she really didn't like the route I had chosen and refused to follow me. I had to climb down boulders, reach back up and lift Greta down from some 4-5' tall boulders. There were times we had to climb back up out of the ravine because drop-offs were too big for us to handle. We climbed back up to a spot where I could see that my logic had paid off - the ravine emptied into a river that I was pretty sure was the St. Vrain! Eventually, after lots of zig-zags up and down slopes, we made it down to the river, and I decided to follow it downstream. I had plenty of water, but it was nice to not have to share with Greta anymore. We hiked alongside the river when we could, but there were times when the banks were too steep (more of a canyon), and we had to walk in the water and cross to the other side or to the beach area that went down the middle of the river. In a few of the deeper areas I had to carry Greta (she thought the current was swifter than it actually was). Eventually that center beach was impassable (fallen trees), and the side of the river I had come from was too steep to climb up, so we walked across a big fallen tree (confession, I actually scooted on my behind the entire way - no point in falling into the water and drowning at this point) over a swift current to reach the lefthand bank.

We hiked up to a ridge line (still no cell service) and I saw a barbed wire fence. We followed that to an open gate and went through it. Shortly after passing through, I saw a tent in the valley below us.
     Hooray! These backpackers should be able to tell me what trail they took down here and I can follow it out of here! It's around 7:00...I should have at least another good hour of sunlight.

Two twenty-something guys (Bobby and Kevin) were starting a campfire, and I asked them directions. They didn't know the name of the trail they had taken, but they said it was a well-defined trail once you get to the top of that mountain over there. Between the campsite and the top of the mountain, though, was a steep hill with no clear trail. They estimated it would take me an hour and a half to get up it; then I would still have to take the trail for another half hour (and it would be dark by then), and that would dump me out on a tiny jeep trail with no traffic after dark. They kindly offered me a spot in their tent, or a hammock if I felt weird about sharing the tent with them. They seemed genuinely concerned about my safety, my comfort, and my emotional comfort level from the very beginning. They said they would hike me out and drive me home early in the morning. I decided to stay the night. It seemed the safest and smartest choice.

These guys were wonderful and kind the entire time. They gave me dry clothes and warm food and even let me sleep on the one air mattress they had, since they didn't have a sleeping bag to spare. With the air mattress under me and Greta on top of me, I was plenty warm. Too bad I couldn't relax enough to sleep. Anyway, before I tried to sleep, we sat by their campfire, played cards, played 21 questions, talked about my kids and their siblings...they were great at distracting me. When I told them my daughter is a writer, they tried to come up with book/blog titles for my adventure:

A Night on My Own...
Bullshit in the Woods with Strangers... (BS was the name of the card game we played)
and so forth...

At about midnight, while I was wide awake listening to every little rustle in the grass:
     Is that a bear? Is my family going to find me and two young men mauled to death in a tent and have no idea what I was doing there?...
I heard someone shouting my name from far away. I woke up the guys and they listened for it. When we were all sure it was a person and not a coyote or a hawk screeching, I blew on my whistle and we shouted and shone our flashlights. We saw their flashlights on top of the ridge across the river from us.
     Relief. Love. My family sent out a search party for me! And now they can get the word back that I am safe. I felt loved and protected the entire time I was out, and now I could let go of my anxiety about causing everyone else to suffer.

The search and rescue team saw and heard us and hiked down to the river on their side. We yelled back and forth across the rushing water and I assured them that I felt safe and they didn't need to cross the water in the dark to rescue me (the river was deeper and swifter here than where I had crossed). They said they would send a separate team down the path my backpacker buddies had come down and they would hike me out, so I accepted. At 3am, John (of Front Range Rescue Dogs) and Big John (of Rocky Mountain Rescue), arrived at the campsite and hiked me out. It took about two hours to hike to their truck (enjoying the sunrise on the way), and then another half hour in the truck to get back to our cabin, so I'm glad I had not attempted it the night before. It was fascinating to hear stories of the types of rescues these people do and to learn more about search dogs. We discussed other options for titles:

My First Night Hike...
Sunrise on the 4th of July (or Rockets' Red Glare)...

I am so touched by how many people volunteer their time and energy to help others in this way. The Allenspark Fire Department and Boulder County Sheriff's Office were also involved in the search.

I made some mistakes along the way:
  -I should have known which cardinal direction my destination was, not just trusted my eyes.
  -I should have had a map with me (compasses are more effective when used in conjunction with a map and some orienteering knowledge).
  -I should have stayed on Taylor Mountain and waited for help, not tried to find my own way.
  -I should NOT have taken that spare pair of socks out of my backpack!
  -I should have had a real flashlight and extra batteries in my pack (not just the flashlight on my phone).

But I am also proud of some of my actions:
  -I always tell John where I'm hiking and when he should expect me back.
  -I always bring lots more water than I think I'll need.
  -I always bring extra snacks.
  -I keep a hat and gloves and long sleeve shirt and fleece-lined rain jacket in my pack.
  -My pack has a whistle, and I used it.
  -I survived relatively unscathed.

Speaking of unscathed, this is why I often hike in pants, even in the summer (just not on this particular day, unfortunately):

I'm home. I'm safe. I feel loved and looked after. Thank you all for your prayers and search efforts.