if i could turn the page
in time then i’d rearrange just a day or two
close my, close my, close my eyes
but i couldn’t find a way
so i’ll settle for one day to believe in you
tell me, tell me, tell me lies.
oh, no, no, you can’t disguise,
tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.
- “tell me lies” fleetwood mac.
we’d kicked through snow for two days, but finally, we were kicking snow off of flat ground. our campsite was hidden under a half foot of snow that had blown in around the cover of spruce trees. i was thankful. we weren’t dry, but our drop to lower elevations hadn’t dropped us below the snowline. sunday night had seen us walk through rain after being snowed on all day. but monday night had just been snow. cold is better than wet. and snow much warmer than rain.
tuesday morning was promise. i’d slept on top of my shoes and socks. they were cold, but not frozen. my water bottle, wrapped in my backpack inside my map bag, had a slight trickle between the ice blocks. my tent was dry except for the frozen condensation on the inside. there would be warmth but we had to watch the promised sunshine spill down the other side of the valley. we started traversing below the east valley wall, where the sun had been absent from the earth the longest.
most people who hike the continental divide trail skip the San Juan Mountains. people who start in new mexico get to the high ridge lines too early and find them covered in last winter’s snow. people who start in montana arrive too late and find the craggy peaks covered in winter’s fresh new snowfall. so. we set out into the Weminuche wilderness keenly aware of alternate trails that could deliver us to safety below treeline. one of those bail out routes left from squaw pass.
but like i said, tuesday was a promise. what i didn’t say was that it was a perfect disguise too. the two days before had been trapped in a walk-in freezer in a wind tunnel during the world championship snowball shoot out. we’d been swimming through waist high snow drifts. the wind gusts were enough to lift me up and spin me around. multiple times i’d stopped hiking to brace against the wind. i had even dropped to one knee to lower my center of gravity against the wind. not only was the wind whipping me around, it also shot the snow in our faces painfully.
– i would put on my sunglasses to protect my eyes from the stinging snow. then, i would pull up my neck gaiter for fear that my cheek was going white from frost bite. until my glasses would fog up and i’d take my glasses off. until i’d put my glasses back on to save my burning eyes, i’d lower my neck gaiter… until i worried about frost bite and the neck gaiter would come back up. and that cycle was less than ten minutes long but felt like ten hours at our crawling through snow drifts pace. —
**thank you letters to our non-official sponsors**
dear garmin, i would imagine thanking someone for saving your life is a bit like apologizing for dropping an atomic bomb. you write thank you letters for birthday presents; i have no idea what you write in this case. at any rate, we were on the continental divide above 12,000ft. as we climbed, the wind got worse and the visibility got awful. we could have been in the artic or on everest. we had driving snow and a steep pitch and could use neither to orient ourselves on our map. our GPS was the only way to find our way down. we scrambled, off trail, down the eastern side of the divide. we climbed around cliffs – romped over downed trees and slowly made our way down to safety. all thanks to your company and the etrex vista HCx.
so thanks but times a million hundred thousand. it’s a life saver, literally. kevin.
**back to the letter**
after two days of blizzard, tuesday finally found us standing in sunshine, standing at squaw pass. it was a perfect day. perfect for walking down out of the mountains to the safety of colorado 141, perfect for staying on the high route. during those two days of blinding snow, we’d barely stopped. most of our snack brakes and lunches had been wolfed down between gasps for air while climbing. so. on tuesday. after we’d decided to stay on the high route, after we climbed back up to the divide, up to a vantage of endless snow covered mountain peaks. after we found wind scoured rocks to sit on – sharp but dry – we laughed. in a heaven of mountain majesty. with this huge vista (the largest wilderness area in colorado). we could have been sitting in the window seat of an airplane. we had reached our cruising altitude. we laughed, how could you bail today? it was tuesday after all. the first sunny-sit down lunch in three days. it was promise.
and if that sun soaked hour of lunch was our manic, five hours later was our depression. we came to our last water source for the day. the sunshine, that warm morning promise, was sinking behind the knife edge (a narrow, snow covered ledge we traversed earlier in the day). the evening cold set in and we’d only hiked 7.8 miles that day. we were exhausted from taking turns breaking trail in snow so high it was hard to lift your legs above the drifts. and below those straining legs, my feet had started to swell. they had been soaked for three days and frozen ever since we’d left lake city. stuffing them into my frozen solid shoes in the morning was like putting square pegs into round holes. i had rubbed four new blisters onto my frozen toes. and maybe my feet were too numb to feel them, but maybe my chapped, chilled ankles out ached the four measly blisters. but our afternoon laughs had turned somber. how could you bail today? how could you not have bailed today?
if tuesday was a promise, then wednesday was reneged. we woke up to snow. driving, wet snow. soaked tents, soaked rain jackets. we packed up, put our heads down and marched, miserable to piedra pass. from piedra pass, we left the divide for treeline and lower elevations. we walked down the west fork of the san juan river. and after miles and miles of forest service roads, we found the highway just as night settled. i wasn’t too hopeful, but we caught a hitch into town. fingers and toes tingling, as feeling and warmth crept back into them. we got food and laundry and showers and a warm bed. we woke up without frozen socks and shoes. we had water that was not frozen or in need of filtering. and with a happy ending, and all ten of our toes and fingers, you find yourself laughing at the craziest of things. just happy.
- while i was out there walking uphill in snow, for miles and miles. i couldn’t help but smile. you always hear the story of how lucky the youth are. and how the older generation suffered through walking miles in the snow to school, uphill both ways. so i imagined myself telling this story to kids. “when i was your age…” and watching kids roll their eyes. and i could only smile –
- and when i wasn’t day dreaming of being a grandfather, i was singing “tell me lies” by fleetwood mac. -
a ruse. a disguise. tell me lies, tuesday, tell me sweet little lies.
kevin . valley bro . blackwell. CDT ‘09
ps. i guess an alternate title for this piece was almost :by the pass piedra i sat down and wept:
O.K, I’ll try again. (I keep writing in wrong place.) Sooo glad to hear from you two again. Glad to know you just might be warm tonight without frozen shoes, socks, gloves… that makes me shutter in the warmth of our NC-highs-still-in-the-80s. Adam, we had dinner Wed night with the Chambers and spent all last week at the beach with the Matthews…we were all thinking of you and Kevin and hoping you were safe…knew you could not possibly be warm but hopefully you were safe.
Stay well, hope you are enjoying a warm bed tonight. Bobbye (and Rusty)
The more I read the more I think you guys are simply bat shit crazy. And by that I mean inspirational.
That’s some mighty fine writing, Mr. Valley Man. I just found your blog today through a link on Freefall’s blog. I’ve been concerned about Freefall’s group, not realizing there were even more of you trying to take on those San Juans in snow. I’m glad to hear everyone’s okay. The Gimp, my son, came through there just as the snows were beginning so he chose the Creede cutoff and got through without too much trouble. His worst weather time in Colorado was a severe lightning storm right over his tent where the thunder and lightning were one experienced essence, also he experienced snow and temps in the teens when he left Creede. Glad you made it out okay. Except for the water situation in southern NM, you guys are probably going to like the warmer temps and more gentle terrain of NM. It fact, some places might get boring.
Looks like you boyz have been doing some class V hiking. Pretty impressive the will and self determination. Keep it up!
i promise not to say “i’m cold” out loud, until you return.