The Continental Divide Trail: Indian Peaks Wilderness, James Peak, and Berthoud Pass in September

A genetic predisposition

«Carry on with my wayward son»

-Kansas

tThe largest living thing in the world is not a whale or a sequoia; It’s an aspen forest in Utah called Pando. Aspens are studied not so much tree by tree as grove by grove. The New Age lesson contained in that knowledge is so obvious that one wonders if God also has some crystals in his house. Maybe the sky smells like Nag Champa.

Grand Lake faded along a trail of yellow aspens. We first climbed above the lake and then turned towards a campsite and a country store. A gardener on an ATV stopped to ask us if we were SOBO; We said we were. «It’s getting late, isn’t it?»

“Probably,” we told him.

«You better hurry or you won’t be able to get through San Juan.»

«If it’s not over, then around,» I said. «We’ll do what we have to do.»

We found the store (it was more of a small hostel) and ate microwaved food, soft drinks, and whatever else they sold. They let us hang out and carry things in the living room and fill our water at the pump in the back. Ice cream called Frito. «I think he has service. He texted me a while ago.»

He answered. Ice Cream had it on speaker. “Fried!” we said.

«What’s up, bitches!» said. Finishing the greeting, he and Ice Cream quickly caught up until Frito said, «So… Toolman quit.»

Ice Cream and I shared a wide-eyed look. Never had a close friend left a trace. «Why? What did he say?» Ice Cream said.

Frito’s voice crackled at the poor service. «He said he was born with a genetic predisposition to deeply hate the wind.»

We all laughed, something too unexpected. “The wind?” Ice Cream said.

«That’s what he said. He said his mom hated the wind too.» Then Frito said something else, but we couldn’t hear what.

«Frito, if you can hear me, we’re heading to Silverthorne to meet Dij. We’re going to walk a little CT with him.» Crackle, crunch, click.

Ice Cream and I shared the same look again for a full five seconds. “Damn,” I said. «But why, really?»

«I don’t know,» Ice Cream said.

«Should we call him? He’ll have service if he’s home.»

Ice Cream shook his head. «I want to talk to Frito more first. I feel like I don’t know enough to talk to Toolman yet.» She paused. «But he didn’t tell us. That’s what makes me wonder how he feels.»

***

We talked about Toolman as we hiked into and then through the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Permits were required for any non-thru hikers, but today was the last day for that anyway. For a while we swam with a group of day hikers until we were far enough away from the parking lot that everyone was small. They were tied to their cars, their houses, and their dinner plans, until Monday; We were tied to Mexico.

Walking into the darkness was our new normal and as it got darker the climbs started to get steeper and it started to rain. We climbed to the height and the night turned the rain into ice and snow. The wind stayed calm enough that we still used our umbrellas. Visibility dropped to a few meters as we entered the clouds and thunder could occasionally be heard from far away. Behind me, Ice Cream kept his phone out to make sure we were on trial while I kept my eyes on the real world to make sure we didn’t fall off a cliff or get into trouble.

I stopped and pulled up my umbrella.

«Are you OK?» Ice Cream asked.

I turned around, raised my hand and found nothing. «I thought my umbrella got caught on a branch. I felt like it did.» Then I tried to move it and it resisted. «The whole summit is covered in ice. It’s heavy.»

«Mine too. Shall we stop soon?»

I had to speak louder because the ice fell harder and the wind picked up. «In that camp you mentioned. When we get close, you stay on the path as an anchor and I’ll go around and look for it. I won’t get lost if I can see your lighthouse.»

She nodded; We walked painfully until we found the camp. I found it after about five minutes. We found a place under some pine trees where the snow was thin and we settled there.

***

Morning came. We drank hot chocolate and packed up. The tent was covered in snow and ice and we did our best to shake it off, with moderate success. «We’ll dry it at lunch,» I said. “Do you want me to take it?” Ice Cream shook his head.

I put on all the warm clothes I had; Ice Cream just squeezed the hood of her Mellie. We climbed even higher until we reached the ridge where a young moose was chewing crystalline leaves. «It’s so cute!» The ice cream almost squeaked. «Hello handsome!» The moose moved one ear and made the head-to-side-and-then-look-back motion that animals do and which usually means: If you are calm, then I am calm. We were calm.

The next power animal found us near the top, or at least it found me. Ice Cream was too far back to see him when, as he rounded a corner, a huge golden eagle launched itself from a rock and glided lazily below the tree line.

More wind. More snow. Colder. Some of my fingers were going numb; Ice Cream had finally gotten bloated. We came to a set of tracks going in the opposite direction after passing what might have been a snow-buried fork in the trail. We followed the footprints to a trailhead and turned off the red line onto a road. The world was different below the tree line. Mostly no snow, warm sun and calm wind. We had lunch, dried our things and continued. The road ended at a bridge that looked like death. At the edge was a warning sign: anyone who wanted to drive, or even walk on it, would be nominated for a Darwin Award, so we turned left along a narrow path that wound through the pine trees.

A hawk tried to dive-bomb a gray jay and missed.

Mount James appeared behind a hill with sudden immensity. «Are we going to go over or circle that?» I asked Ice Cream.

«It’s over, I think.»

I reviewed the sketches. «Yes, right over the top. Fuck me.»

Ice Cream laughed. «At least it’s not snowing.»

Clouds were swirling everywhere; From time to time drops of cold rain splashed on us. «Maybe it’ll stop until we’re up and up.»

He didn’t stop. James Summit greeted us with a hailstorm complete with thunder whose lightning we never saw and hail that roared against our thin umbrellas. We used them as shields when we reached the top and began descending into the trees. The hail stopped, but the wind picked up so fiercely that the snow was moving sideways, so we turned our umbrellas ninety degrees and let the wind collapse them around us. It was enough to keep the snow out of our faces and give us some warmth. Then we reached the trees and found respite. As always, the weather grew warmer as we descended below ten thousand feet and camped among soft pine needles in a rough, unnamed camp.

Lunch arrived the next day. We sat on the soft grass in a parking area surrounded by bowhunters fiddling with their equipment while chatting about that big bull they almost caught, or that bear they had caught last year. The gray of the sky had turned blue, and now the only gray was that of the stones and the jays that watched us while we ate. I always try to share with the jays, but I wonder if they would rather steal. I suspect that for them the pleasure of theft is independent of the pleasure of the food. Maybe that’s what happens to all thieves.

We left the hunters and their jays and returned to the mountains. We passed over or along ridges and ridges, our breath pulled by the endless wind and our legs burning on the climbs and recovering wherever they could.

The Berthoud Pass was approaching and we could see the road for several kilometers before we got there. Tiny cars crawled like ants in a tight, winding line. The day hikers and dog walkers started showing up, the trail opened into a double-wide trail, well-groomed enough for a logging truck to pass through. Rounding a sharp bend in the mountain we could see the Berthoud Pass bath about thirty meters below us. People lingered, some stretching, others talking or letting their dogs lift a paw at the edge of the parking lot. On one of the benches sat a thin man in a yellow cap, a dark paisley shirt, and clay-colored pants. He was looking down the road and didn’t see us. I stopped and pointed at him. «That guy looks like Toolman.»

Ice Cream looked. «That is Tool Man.”

«By no means.»

She raised her finger at him. «That’s Toolman’s hat, his shirt. That’s Toolman.»

«Frito said he went home. What is he doing here?»

«Let’s find out.» Ice Cream quickened his pace. We walked side by side to the parking lot where Toolman was waiting.