Saloon Girls and Hard Bodies; Beware the Wolf! South Fork; Beavers; Creede; Rocky Mountain National Park; Cutthroats!!!

My last post ended with a photo of me flirting with a saloon girl (actually just a mannequin) in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. I received an email from a friend (who shall remain anonymous for his personal safety) saying that there were some benefits to mannequins – they had hard bodies, could be taken anywhere and never complained. I don’t think I’ll share that email with My Lovely Bride…



We departed Pagosa Springs (7,126 ft) on US Highway 160, and immediately started on the steepest long climb the coach has ever made. We topped out at Wolf Creek Pass (10,850 ft), after an average 6.8% grade that had a few short sections of 7%+. We were averaging only 25 mph, still passing some loaded semis, and our coolant temps were edging close to the red line at times. The Colorado Dept. of Transportation (CoDot) web site has this warning sign for “The Wolf” and Hwy. 160, which has seen many fatal accidents, mostly on the way down from Wolf Creek Pass. 

Our next stop after clearing “The Wolf” was South Fork, CO, where we spent several days catching our breath from some long driving days. The whole area was blanketed with smoke from two major forest fires, one to the north and one to the east. The latter would result in closing our route to the east, but that was yet to come. On our second day, the smoke cleared a bit, and we went for a hike in a beautiful valley.

This lake near South Fork was my first attempt at Colorado trout fishing. It was more a gear-testing afternoon, with new waders, boots, rod, reel, line, leader, tippet, and flies being worked out, along with my less than expert casting techniques being “refined”. As any fly fisherman will tell you, it’s easier casting on a lake because there aren’t trees and bushes around on which to hang up your fly. (The totality of the preceding sentences is fisherman-speak for “I didn’t catch anything that day.”)

I also tried some trout fishing on the south fork of the Rio Grande River, for which the town is named, but high water temperatures made the fishing very slow. I spoke to two fisherman downstream of me, and none of us caught anything in the two hours before noon. The river was basically closed in the afternoon because the trout would die if they were hooked and landed – being catch and release guys, none of us fished after 12 PM. Locals said that we should come back in October or May-June, when the fishing was much better. It’s the Angler’s Lament… “But Sweetheart, the weather was too hot in July… I have to fly back to Colorado in October and try again…”




So what do you do when the fishing’s bad? “Go for a hike!” Suzanne had a reading to give, and some other work to do, so I took a few hours and hiked the Deep Creek Trail near the tiny town of Creede (8,700 ft). The first thing I saw at the trailhead was this small marker; it reads, “Here lies a small girl who died of a sickness on the wagon train west. In memory of all the children who died going west.” Typically, 6-7% of the people traveling west died enroute, with typhus, diphtheria, measles, scarlet fever, Rocky Mountain fever, and violent interactions with locals being the principal causes, but even simple accidents like falling off a wagon or underneath an ox or wagon wheel could easily be fatal, since there was precious little medical care available on the Oregon, Emigrant, Mormon, Santa Fe, or Overland Trails.











The Deep Creek Trail follows Deep Creek (isn’t that a surprise?) for 9 miles into the Rio Grande National Forest, but I made this a 7 mile day hike (round trip). A beaver dam and pond along the way made a pleasant place to stop for lunch. The beavers’ lodge was on the other side of the pond, and I purposely didn’t go near it so as not to disturb them. The beaver is  probably my favorite wilderness animal.










The beavers (Castor canadensis) must have heard me coming, because none were to be seen or heard. I include this web photo for those who have lived sheltered lives and never experienced seeing these delightful critters in person. They were trapped extensively in the 19th Century, mainly for their pelts, which were made into men’s hats. As of 1988, their US population was estimated at 6-12 million, compared to 60 million at its peak. Being herbivores, their diet is principally aspen, alder, cottonwood and willow. Their flat tails are used for swimming and as alarms – they slap them hard on the surface of a pond or stream to alert other beavers nearby. When alarmed, they can stay underwater for up to 15 minutes. Adults can weigh up to 55 lbs, and their teeth are self-sharpening and keep growing so they don’t wear down as they chew on trees and branches. 








This photo shows why the trail follows Deep Creek through its canyon – the walls are steep and rocky, with many rockslides and avalanche chutes that make climbing up from the creek trail, well, problematic… not to mention difficult, dangerous and dumb… (oh, it would then be a 3-D trail!) I can hear the bighorn sheep  booing – or is that baaaahhhhing -now.











From South Fork, we had to detour about 100 miles out of the way because of the forest fire near La Veta Pass (9,413 ft), which had forced the closure of Highway 160 through the Sangre de Christo mountains. Our destination that day was Buckley AFB, where we spent one night. Our goal was to meet with our dear friends Jeff and Lynn Hollahan, and we enjoyed a delightful dinner at their house in Denver. We had last seen Jeff and Lynn in Scottsdale, but they are such fun that we are trying to get them to move to the East Coast… wishful thinking, but we can try!

Rocky Mountain National Park – our next stop, and one of our favorite destinations in Colorado – is a hikers’ dream. We stayed in a commercial campground right outside Estes Park, a typical crowded tourist town, but close to the park entrance. I went on a two day backpack in the high country, and had a ball. It was a 13 mile loop trail that started at one of the park’s most popular destinations, Bear Lake (9,450 ft), where Suzanne dropped me off. There were several hundred people here, because there is parking and a shuttle stop, but once I left Bear Lake, I only saw a handful of people over two days. 







It was a couple of hours hike up through aspens, spruce and pines, then over a pass and around Joe Mills Mountain (11,078 ft) to Odessa Lake, where I stopped for lunch. The spur trail to the lake is uphill alongside this gorgeous stream… 




















Odessa Lake is another of what Suzanne and I refer to, tongue in cheek, as “Hateful Places”… It was very crowded, though; I think I saw three people in the distance. The lake is surrounded by several 11,000 – 12,000 ft peaks, including Flattop, Notchtop, Little Matterhorn (the sharp one over my thumb), Knobtop, Gabletop, and The Gable. It’s a climber’s paradise.











Another few miles along was my destination for the night, Fern Lake. (Yes, another Hateful Place…) I chose Fern for my campsite because I would be getting the best campsite there – a “group camp” with four campsites, but because I was the only person asking for it, I would have my pick of the four, with no one else around. “It don’t get better no better than this!”











I set up camp in a grove of spruce and pines, with my tent on a relatively flat spot with few rocks. There was a requirement to carry bear canisters for food and smelly stuff like toothpaste, so I didn’t have to hoist my food into the trees; the down side is that the bear canister (hard plastic, cylindrical, heavy) weighs 2.2 lbs. This added a lot to my pack, and made the total about 33 lbs. And there was no spare weight for even a small bottle of wine… what a bummer!










I didn’t encounter any bears (so I could have replaced the bear canister with a small cask of Zinfandel, but I digress), but I had a visit from this attractive young local female late afternoon as I was prepping my gourmet dinner – freeze-dried Spanish rice and chicken… Emeril would not have been impressed, and neither was Ms. Doe; she walked calmly through my camp, as I stood stock still, and started browsing in a nearby meadow. It was a delightful encounter… mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) are the predominant species here. 







At dusk, I swatted away only a couple of mosquitoes, and crawled into my sleeping bag, and because rain wasn’t forecast, I hadn’t rigged a rain fly over my tent. This was my view as I contemplated my good fortune in being in one of Mother Nature’s most beautiful places. I fell asleep with an owl hooting in the distance…












The next day, after coffee, freeze-dried eggs and hash browns, I got to fishing; Fern Lake is famous for its Greenback cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarkii stomias), one of the prettiest fish in the world. It is a threatened species, so it’s all catch and release, which I was happy to do anyway. Cleaning fish in bear country can be… well, problematic… The cutthroats here are all small, about 10-13 inches, but they put up a good fight on a fly rod. I caught three in an hour or so, one on a black and yellow spider fly and two on a caddis pattern. (For those of you have followed my blog, my success at fishing has been… well… spotty. For the record, this day’s catch was no Fisherman’s Tale!





I have mentioned that my meditative time comes most often on hikes. This photo may give you an idea of why… It was a joy to be on a pristine mountain lake, surrounded by sawtoothed peaks, with only two other people in sight, far away on the other side of the lake. Life is Good!