Part nineteen: winter is approaching

I. Snow (Hey Oh)

The snowflakes fell silent like a soft ash of the black sky, blinking in the orange halo of the streets of the streets and gently placing the humid concrete. Just the day before, I got off Mount Elbert, the highest peak of Colorado, and hooked me to the city of the twin lakes. The locals had warned of a storm that pushed from the west, bringing strong snow and strong wind. So I decided to take a zero day in the inn, the hostel of the clouds, where the walls would keep me warm and dry, and the storm could happen without me.

The laughter and cutlery of the cutlery filled the dinner room. Around the table, «Tench», «Unit», «Bam», «Korn» and some other vagrants sat sharing complete food dishes. Outside, the snow thickened, burning the cars quickly. Inside, it was dry, full of belly and grateful.

The next morning, the shelter owner returned an elevator to Twin Lakes. The sky hung up. A heavy layer of fog swallowed the ridges, which were not seen anywhere.

II. The university peaks

I connected with the path and pointed to Hope Pass. Four miles of tireless uphill: three thousand feet won through curves and snow paths. Yesterday’s snow was delayed and still painted parts of the white forest. The pines on me cried with dough water while the sol tried to make its way.

At the summit, a milestone was with prayer flags floating in the wind, like the ones you see on a Himalayas crest. Behind me, the Valley opened tall. The Earth was deployed in layers, rich and deliberate, as if it were the work of the brush of a painter: the snow covered the highest blanks of white, giving way to bands of worn gray rock, deep green forests and, finally, the burning yellow and the burned oranges burned underneath. The university peaks extended through the horizon, a section of the Sawatch range of the rock mountains located in the Colorado center. They included some of the highest mountains of the rock mountains.

I descended to the forest, wrapped in the warm gold of Aspen Groves. The light leaked through the leaves, throwing me in yellow and fire tones. My foot hurt again, so I camped early next to a stream. He tried and could not light a fire; The wood was too humid by the thaw.

The next morning it was cold, so cold that Frost kissed every herb sword. Even so, the sky was clear and the sun was bright. I jumped again with «Korn», a German hiker that I had met in Leadville. We create a pass and look at a sea of ​​clouds underneath.

The long descent that followed made my foot more than usual, and the pain slowed me. Keep my head down, my eyes on the road. Suddenly, around a curve, the earth shook, a great deaf noise. I froze. A cow alce burst from the brush to my right, his calf on his heels. Before I could think, a bull came out of the shadows to my left. Big. Old. A missing host, probably broke into a fight that happened in a different season. And he was standing between him and his family, the worst position to be.

My low and stable voice, slowly backed away, whispering soft words that I expected to understand it. When there was space, I diverted from the path and walked around them, keeping my eye in the bull. Just once I spent safely, I turned and looked back. The bull had not moved, but he could feel the weight of his gaze.

The path went up again, crossing a road, reaching a naked crest. I caught the sunset from the chair, and then the next morning, the dawn. I saw the light spilled on snow -covered passes and place the earth. It was a good day on high ground. The snow was not deep enough to delay me, but enough to make the landscape even more beautiful, and enough to remind me that the season was changing. The university peaks were quickly becoming my favorite section of this long path, and I was glad I had not taken the low route. A few miles before the camp, I met «Captain», an old face for many months ago. He was close to the end of his walk now, ending at Cottonwood Pass. We share a moment, a smile, a handshake. I wished him the best. The day had been beautiful, but the pain, still there, following me closely as a stalker. Part of me told New Mexico.

III. The effect of the butterfly

Wednesday, September 25-Cerca de Monarch Pass/US-50

For the first time from Twin Lakes, I woke up without frost in my store. The heat remained during the night, and I slept well. In first light, I packed and followed the path while curving around a mountain shoulder, before falling into a basin towards a lake underneath.

Suddenly, a rumble behind the curve reverber, heavy and fast. Something big was running, something that made the earth tremble. I felt it in my chest before I reached my ears. It was close. Curious, I kept walking, with my eyes very open, scanning the slope.

When I folded the corner, they appeared suddenly: a herd of alces, perhaps thirty yards under me, alert and observe. They stopped, tense. The hunting season had begun, and I was among the enemy. Then, after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, they screwed uphill, crossing the path. I stayed there, calm, hoping that they knew that there was no damage. The greatest of them, a high dollar, stopped on the crest, letting others pass. Our eyes met. I nodded once to show my respect and admiration, and he held my gaze one more moment before disappearing behind the crest. He felt as if he understood.

I crossed a final pass before starting the long descent along a river, towards a dirt road that would eventually take me to the road. There, I arrived at the butterfly house: a shelter made of two worn houses and reused buses located right next to the road.

I called the first door, near the entrance, waiting strangers. But when it opened, I laughed aloud with disbelief.

«Lennon! What are you doing here?»

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