First trip of the 2011: Great Sand Dunes National Park.

To travel is one thing. To adventure is another. The two are very distinguishable, yet are often used interchangeably. Who cares, for they are just simple words after all. The way I see it, people travel to Disneyland, and they adventure across the wilderness. But that is a different story.

The trip that is worth of explanation this time began weeks ago when Mel and I decided that we should go backpacking for a week through some national park. Slightly psychotic considering:

1) it is WINTER in COLORADO!
2) we were (are) both ridiculously poor.
3) it is WINTER in COLORADO!

But regardless, we took off after a short 4 hour nap at 4:45 AM for the 320 mile drive to Great Sand Dunes National Park in southern Colorado. Racing through the early morning twilight, we drove. And we drove until finally getting to the sketch, podunk hick town of Walsenberg where Carl‘s Junior and Shell stations are scattered around the likely historic town on the edge of endless mountains and emptiness. This is after screaming through Pueblo, which is officially the ugliest city I have ever seen in Colorado. For real, I saw no nice parts of it, and the smoke billowing through the air as far as the eye could see was beyond disgusting. But it’s ok because we were just a couple hours away from all of this.

Cruising through the 2 lane road, winding around and over the mountain passes, and dropping down in the valley below Blanca Peak was nothing short of a sign of things to come in the following days (and over summer when Blanca and Humboldt will be climbed… hopefully).






Pulling into the visitor center parking lot, we still had virtually no idea where we would end up in the upcoming 5 days. That is, until a ranger gave us some better ideas than just wandering around the back country. Once we got our free permits saying we weren’t bums wandering around federal land, we were off again.


The car was to be parked in a lot deemed “The Point of No Return.” Fitting, considering how terrible the road really was. Fitting, too, in that it was a dirt road, and one that Edward Abbey would be proud of.




Embarking on the trail before noon was the plan, and it was successful even though we had to completely repack everything for the perfect weather conditions of 30 degrees and sunny. Just another perfect day in Colorado…





It wasn’t long before we realized how tough it was really going to be. We were on a ridiculously easy pathway/road, yet carrying more then 50lbs on my back, it was only minutes before the “complaints” began. I say complaints carefully because they were complaints of happiness-of suffering and enduring that proved a point. That the human body is capable of more than we give it credit for, and we far too often forget about this.

The human body is also capable of freaking out big time when the unexpected wanders in front of you. In this case, we didn’t actually see anything crazy, but only the remnants of what had passed in just the past couple days… a decent sized bear.


Following all of the deer, rabbit, mouse, and bear tracks along the road, we marched on. No longer were there human tracks along the road, and it became clear that we were the only ones out there for miles in all directions.

And suddenly, there was a sign of civilization… well not quite. Abandoned cabins that looked to have been built in the early to mid 20th century were nestled nicely near the frozen yet slushy river. Equipped with an outhouse, we tried to explore but there were locks on all doors, and they meant business. Talk about a bummer, but the nearby leafless aspen trees had a story to tell, fully inscribed with initials and dates as far back as 1957. We had a quick lunch here and then continued on with our trek, wondering what else we would find engraved in the endless lumber that surrounded us.



We continued to follow the tracks up until we reached a sign near the Little Medano campground that said “Leaving National Park,” followed by one that read “Entering National Preserve.” This was good news, considering we were both getting ridiculously tired and sore, but we still had a solid 3 hours of daylight.


When two psychotic people trek through the woods, there can be no stopping until someone either passes out due to sheer exhaustion or it gets too dark and cold. It took a while, and we marched another 2 miles up a steep, 4x4 access road that was blanketed with 8 inches of snow that had long since fallen, but we finally got to our campsite at the 2.1 mile marker.



After nearly 5 hours of nonstop walking through snow and uphill, lugging 1/3 of my weight, we had reached a spot that was, at the time, one of the most breathtaking campsites I had ever seen. 6 miles from the car and nestled in a valley with towering rock faces more than 500 feet above, I cooked my dinner-freeze dried chicken fettuccini alfredo. Needless to say, it hit the spot. And then, nestled snug in my bag, sleep tried to overcome. But soon after, the wind and sudden realization that there was something walking in the snow near our tent quickly overcame.

Luckily, it was nothing that meant business, otherwise my hot-off-the-sales shelf down bag may have become bear dental floss… no thanks.

Day 2:

Waking around 9 and thankful to be alive, we slowly made our way out of the tent, gathered water, and made breakfast. There are only a handful of things better than oatmeal and hot chocolate in the warm morning sunlight. Leaning against a recently fallen, charred timber, we ate, drank, and talked about how amazing the seclusion was. Nobody around for miles and miles in an already desolate and remote part of the state. It is crazy how people of all walks of life used to do this sort of thing with half the gear for, well, forever. They seemed to have their heads on straight then, and now we have all of this stuff to make life “easier,” but it instead makes things fundamentally worse and ridiculously complicated.

Are we any better off now than we were 50 years ago? 100 years ago? That, I truly do not know.

The sun was rising, there was camp to be taken down and more trail to be explored. We hung our bags out to dry on the pine and aspen, packed up, and set off for what we thought would be the north side of the great dunes. However, a late start proved to complicate that. But we took it in stride and the payoff was well worth it.

Reaching the boundary and ultimately the Sand Ramp trail head, our journey quickly turned north. Through the knee deep snow, we trekked, at times losing the trail but soon to rediscover it. With each rediscovery, a sense of accomplishment and of winning “the game” quickly overcame. But, naturally, each feeling of victory would soon be quieted by the bear tracks that loomed around every corner, dispersed evenly with bobcat/mountain lion tracks.

It seemed that we kept gaining in elevation, quickly reaching the 9,000 foot level. Of course, with the elevation and hills came some of the most breathtaking views of the dunes and mountains we had experienced yet.


Suddenly, we were dropping in elevation and were actually on the dunes. After a sudden change of pace, of walking strategy, and some quick lunch, we continued on. Shortcuts sounded like a great idea, but soon we found that the trail became the path less traveled by.




We figured trekking up the side of a steep ridge would put us back on the trail, and then I hear “Hey, look at this!”



Mel had found a deer hoof sticking out of the ground that had been clearly bitten off. Just the sight you hope to see when following animal tracks in hope that they knew where the trail was better than ourselves. Pausing to relish in the pure nature that had happened here in weeks past, we tried to find where we were going. Luckily, the trail found us and we were well on our way.


After what was ultimately the hardest day of hiking, we made the decision to abandon the plan to make it the extra 2 miles up trail and count our losses at the Aspen Back-country Campground. Not a bad decision. This, by far, was the most breathtaking and spectacular campsite I have ever even seen, let alone camped in. Though nearly a foot of snow, the relatively flat top of the mountain gave us views of the charred forest to the south, towering peaks further south, rising bluffs and rock faces to the north and immediately around us, and the great sand dunes that endlessly stretch for tens of miles to the west.




Though tranquil and remote, the threat of animals ransacking our area loomed, and we had to bear-proof everything. The planning of winter camping is so much more time consuming that we often think. Even just planning who goes out in the snow to hang the bags and when to take off shoes becomes the biggest chore of the evening.


I guess if that is that most difficult part of life, I’ll take that over financing and taxes any day.

Day 3:

Usually, mornings are the hardest part of backpacking trips, especially in the winter. You plan it the night before, readying your dry and wet clothes, hand warmers, and boots. You have to be mentally prepared for the cold, even before you sleep the night before…

That is unless the view out of your tent is something like this…



It makes everything worth doing when you can see everything around you. When the morning is crystal clear and the views endless, life just seems perfect. It was at this point that I realized for the first time in possibly years I didn’t have a care in the world.


Embarking from our little piece of paradise, we took another Jason shortcut and soon were back on the trail following the northernmost ridge of the Sand Ramp trail. With views of towering sand dunes to the left and alpine wilderness to the right, we walked.


And walked. And got slightly turned around, but ultimately found our way into the creepy valley of death known as cold creek.

The mind seeks to connect things in moments of absolute exhaustion, and this was one of my moments. When walking or running, I have a tendency to touch signposts as they pass. Well, hoping to demonstrate my enormous brain (or break the record setting 27 second silence) I attempted to medically link touching signs, concussions, and wilderness survival together.

“Do you believe me?”

“No way! You totally made that up!”

“Yea…”

But alas, it became one of many inside jokes, and those are the things that can link humans to humans regardless of their differences.


At this point we were in dire need of refilling our water jugs. Once I found a weak spot in the ice, I loaded up with water and sand- A truly delicious combination for sure.




We had a decision to make. We had planned to go further northwest to Sand Creek to camp, but we were growing concerned about how far we could go in the sand the following day. Decision time: camp in the dunes due west of cold creek.



After hiking up the ridiculously steep incline of the dune, we found a site that looked good. A trip to the nearby forest area to gather firewood was in store. And yet another example of what the human body is capable of was found. We had roughly a quarter mile walk up hill back to our camp. Rather than deal with balancing the wood and teamwork, I decided to throw it over my shoulder and race back to camp with it. 40lbs of a delicate balancing act and 5 minutes of sheer torture and pain later, the wood was sitting in a pile, ready to be transformed into a good time of ash and smoke.

That evening proved to be, well amazing. It was slightly warmer on the sand, and the campfire was long overdue. It has been months since I had burned anything, and we got the fire started right up. As brief as it was, it was an amazing time filled with country singing and alien spacecraft.

It was soon 8 o’clock and time to sleep again. When the sun sets and the cold comes rushing back to your blood, there is not much else to do besides plan your upcoming morning. This time, though, there was no need to fear bear attacks unless it was one determined forest dweller, in which case it could go ahead and have me. I was content.

“True. Story!”

Day 4:


Finally waking, again slightly later than planned (though who really cares… there’s no clock in the wild), it was time to figure out our water situation. We had again run low and had to boil snow on the nearby northeast facing slopes of the dunes.



It took a loooong time, but we finally had enough water for the day and night. After a short battle with the frozen sand and tent stakes mother nature gave us, it was time to take off around 11:30. We knew that trekking across the dunes for the whole day would be taxing, but we had no idea just how amazing it would be.

We reached a peak a short walk from camp and decided that the best bet would be to follow a ridge line as far as possible and adjust our plan as we went. We knew the direction to the car, but we had no idea how long it would take. Picture yourself walking along the deepest beach sand you have ever walked in. Then factor in 100-300 foot sand peaks and 30 mph winds. That was the plan, and that is exactly what happened. We began traversing ridge after ridge, at times simply following the coyote tracks for several minutes. It turns out they are pretty smart and know the land better than we often think.





We set our sights on a gently rising peak that must have been 3 miles ahead. Naturally, we were drawn to the biggest, baddest looking peaks that were within range…

One of the strangest things about this barren land was what could be found resting on the surface of the sand. Sometimes vegetation, sometimes animal bones, and sometimes remnants of ugly desert fleas, it is amazing that it just rests on the surface with no record of where it came from and no way to completely decompose. Who knows what else could be buried...

Something about the sand makes you realize how truly isolated one can put himself. Wandering and often losing all connection with the greater world around you, walking is all that makes sense. Everything begins to blur together after a certain point, but it doesn’t matter. Life is good.

We came from all the way straight back, beyond where you can see.

Finally, we reached a dish in the dunes that offered protection from the seemingly imminent storm, wind, and anything else that might become a threat. After fighting with the changing wind patterns while setting up the tent, the greatest dinner yet was on tap. Pesto Salmon and Cheesecake-we were beyond spoiled to say the least.

Of course, one cannot eat and sleep before the sun sets. No, not here at least. So we walked a little bit and captured some amazing pictures…





After diving into some deep conversation and trying to stump the other with fancy medical terms, it was time to lay down for our final night away from society. The plan was to get out of camp by noon…

…And after looking out the tent flap at 7:45, it became clear we needed to get out… Fast. The black clouds racing overhead and blotting out the warming morning sun did not look happy to see our little tent in the day use area of the National Park. So we ate, packed, and were on our way to the car within just under an hour… record time considering all we had to pack. Blazing our own trail as was customary, we hoped we were heading in the right direction, but I had one last thing to take care of before concluding the trip.



Alex, it does not burn. At least not in winter.

And with a cluster of deer that seemed to wave goodbye, we were out of the dunes, back in the parking lot, and loading up the car.

5 days ago we were just getting here, beyond excited and slightly nervous of what lay ahead. How unpredictable would the weather get? Would we get sick, attacked, or injured in some way? Would we get tired of each other?

As we came to find out, everything went about as amazing as it could of. No injuries, no crazy storms, and we can still argue playfully. All plusses.



Reflections:

In addition to having a great time, it was a time to reflect. To reflect on simplicity and getting away from things. The thing about backpacking trips as I have come to learn through the few that I have taken is that they put things in perspective. Turning off the cell phone and not seeing anyone else for a full week makes you think. What drives us in the “real” world (money, fame) becomes of no importance in the wilderness. Instead, water, shelter, and safety as well as true companionship matter most. And that is not something that everyone can know or find. That in and of itself is somewhat frightening. Knowing that my limited amount of outdoor knowledge (and I admit, it is limited) is more than probably 85% of Americans scares me. What if something were to happen? Where would society be?

Further, the ideas of pushing the body can be explored more on trips like these. As a runner, I have grown accustomed to seeing what exactly I can force myself to do. How far can I run becomes how long can I hike. Where will the next aid station be becomes where will the next source or water trickle down. Even while with someone who you care about, you can still feel a much needed sense of isolation, looking only at the next peak, the upcoming ridge, or the ever-spanning valleys. It is just you and the miles and miles of endless terrain being sprayed by wind whipped snow and draped in ever warming sunlight.

Above all, the feeling that says the most about the trip was one of not caring. For 90% of the trip, my brain shut off the outside world. I didn’t think about work, school, money, cars, or bills for 4 days. I had no idea what day of the week it was for a most of the trip, and I only spoke from the heart rather than from the brain. You see, the brain does the thinking about the “real” world stuff we surround ourselves with. The heart does that which is more abstract, and ultimately more real.

It is trips like these that make me anxious as well. Anxious for summer; for the weekly trips up mountain faces and through steep walled canyons. Anxious for spring trips to Utah into Moab and the Canyonlands. All to attempt to gain the sense of carelessness for the things that, truly, do not matter. At least, they do not matter in the grand scheme of things. In the end, we truly do “got it made,” though we live an endless, burning illusion that says we don’t.